Whether Wekapipo was real or not, it took you a while to figure it out.
It was a warm day with a gentle wind, 28 December, according to Wekapipo. Cicadas were buzzing loudly in the woods on the outskirts of town and, despite the heat, your fingers were cold and stiff, clutching the bag of herbs you had dropped during your sudden nausea.
"Feeling better?'' He asked, crouching down in front of you.
"Ah, sí, sí. It was just dizziness, it always happens, don't worry."
''What are you doing here with that bag?''
''Nothing, I was attending to... a patient.''
He stood up and looked round a corner, restless, then turned back to you.
"A patient?'' He asked, raising an eyebrow involuntarily, then returning to his normal expression of impassivity. ''What are you hiding, miss?''
''What am I hiding? What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be looking for Lucy?''
''I had to take a slight diversion, see?'' He gestured to the street, but you couldn't see what was there, so you leaned over. ''Stephen Steel is in that carriage. He's been called to attend a meeting with the president.''
''A meeting with the president? But for what?''
"That's what I'm trying to find out.''
You squinted to see the restless silhouette inside the carriage, bent over, agonized, like a wounded insect.
''He's...''
"Crying.'' Wekapipo added dryly. "He's a widowed man now.''
You swallowed dryly as if the burden of grief could be felt a mile away, shifting your sensation to the gaze of the man next to you, still wondering. What made you think you could fool a man like him?
"I just... I don't want to get in the way, I'm leaving.''
"There's something wrong''. He said. ''What's happening? What do you intend to do?''
You didn't intend to say anything. That was simply because if you said something you wouldn't be able to stop talking.
"That's none of your business, Wekapipo.''
Before you could leave, he grabbed you by the arm.
''We're in the same boat, for the same reason. I know you're not interested in the corpse and only want the good of Lucy Steel.'' He didn't maintain his grip when you released yourself from his grip. ''You're in a cold sweat, like someone about to do something stupid. What are you planning to do?''
"I... I'm going to see Lucy Steel at Independence Hall.'' You said, reluctantly. Your heart was pounding so hard that you couldn't breathe. ''I've been invited... I mean, I'm waiting for confirmation of the invitation.''
The long muscles in his throat rippled briefly as he swallowed, staring at you in disbelief.
"Good Lord.'' He muttered. ''You can't be serious.''
''And what's the problem? I told you, this is none of your business.''
''I have a debt to you, (Y/N), just as I have a debt to Gyro Zeppeli.'' He said firmly, his voice and diction that of a trained soldier. ''Not only for saving my life, but also for allowing me to have a second chance. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it without hesitation. After all, we both want to protect Lucy. But this is stupid.''
You hesitated, but you had to speak. The possibility had to be mentioned; whether your friends - or you - could do it or not.
"It's the president.'' You said, finally. "It's him... everything. The corpse, the race, the deaths... everything depends on him, don't you see?"
Wekapipo's eyes narrowed.
''If he dies... now. Today. Or this afternoon. Wekapipo, without the president, there's no way to be killed. There would be no one to hide the corpse. There would be no deaths.''
''Be more coherent, woman.''
''I could... I could do that. I could prepare a cup of tea, a potion. I think I could persuade him to drink it.''
Wekapipo was dumbfounded, his military posture of discipline blurring into the realms of absurdity. You could see in his eyes his clear opinion of your plan.
"What if he died with you there, just after drinking your tea? Christ, (Y/N), they would kill you right there.''
You put your hands on your crossed arms, trying to warm them up.
"And... does it matter?'' You asked, desperately trying to stabilize your voice. The truth was that it did. Right now, your own life weighed far more than the hundreds you'd already saved. You clenched your fists, trembling with dread, a mouse in the jaws of the trap.
Wekapipo was at your side at the same moment. Your legs wouldn't obey you; he practically dragged you over to the crate and sat you down again, his hand tightly squeezing your shoulder.
"You've got the courage of a lion, frate.'' He said. "Of a bear, of a wolf. But it's suicidal courage, you can't do that.''
The tremors subsided, although you still felt nauseous at the gravity of what was approaching.
"There must be another way.'' You continued. ''There's a lot of food that goes to the president. It wouldn't be difficult to add something to his plate without being noticed. Everything is completely disorganized.''
That was true. At the dinner, where there should be the most organization, officials and guards dozed on benches around the park, too tired to drop their weapons. Outside Independence Hall was chaos, anyone could get in if they weren't afraid of the president. There was constant coming and going. It would be simple to distract a servant long enough to add your deadly potion to the afternoon meal.
The immediate terror had subsided somewhat, but the horror of your idea lingered, like poison, chilling your blood. Wekapipo's hand squeezed your shoulder again for a moment, then pulled away as he contemplated the situation.
The president's death would not put an end to the question of the corpse; things had gone too far for that. Gyro, Johnny, Diego, Hot Pants and who knows how many other mercenaries the president had paid in advance were still searching for the corpse; but as long as the president is alive, you were all traitors, with lives and property pledged to the state. The Steel Ball Run was in ruins; without the figure of the president to finance the event, it would dissipate like smoke. Now, people like Diego would not hesitate to pursue the remnants of the fame and wealth promised by the run, seeking to recover the honor lost within the run and wash away the insult with blood.
There was nothing else you could do. Nothing ahead of you but catastrophe and devastation, and no way of avoiding them. All that could be saved now was Lucy Steel's life.
Wekapipo stood, staring at something in the street that you couldn't know what it was, as if looking for an answer on the horizon. Murder. Not just murder, but suicidal murder. Not just murder, regicide.
Suddenly, a violent commotion in the street interrupted your thoughts. A muffled pop, like gunpowder, but too low to be a weapon.
However, Wekapipo had been quicker and more efficient than you in understanding the situation.
''Mister Steel!'' He exclaimed, running towards the street.
"What's wrong?'' You asked, running after him, worried.
He didn't answer, and it wasn't necessary either. You stopped next to him, paralyzed as you watched a hole in the carriage's door release smoke. Craning your head to look into the window, you saw a disturbing scene; Stephen Steel had been shot twice in the chest by relatively large-caliber projectiles. The perforation in his right lung caused him to agonize and choke on his own blood, which flowed from his nose and mouth. His body struggled with weak, useless spasms.
"Mierda! What's happening?!'' You shouted, not hesitating to open the door and get into the carriage to help him.
''Wait, (Y/N), don't go any closer! Don't stay there!''
Without any conscious thought or fear of the consequences, you chose to ignore him and act on the instinct that had already helped you save dozens of lives. But something interrupted you.
The bang of the shot silenced everyone but the horses. You looked out of the window, Wekapipo's face was livid, his blond eyebrows raised in disbelief as he stared at the roof. In a very efficient reflex, he threw a steel ball at the aggressor, which gave him time to confirm that the gunshot wound to his shoulder was not serious while the shooter was thrown into a pole in the street.
''There's a terrorist here, (Y/N), get out!'' He shouted, his voice breaking as he squeezed the wound to stop the bleeding slightly.
''What? I can't leave him here, Mister Steel will die!''
''I admire your compassion, but you need to get out of here!''
''You'll have time to admire my compassion when we come out of this shit breathing through the right hole!''
Back to work, you thought as you checked Stephen Steel's condition. Not good, definitely, but reversible. You felt the warm blood seeping from his wounds and stood in front of the man's still gasping body. Your eyebrows clenched, concentrated, even though you were shaking like a leaf, unable to move or think, your hands wrapped tightly around the almost lifeless body.
The only movement your body could make now was to look outside, searching for the attacker.
Then you saw him. You could feel all the blood drain from your head as your eyes traced, in disbelief, the twisted, disheveled figure in purple and black clothes.
On the other side of the street, watching you with a look of absolute disgust, was Magenta.
He had deteriorated over the last few weeks; his near-death, sleepless nights of sterile struggle, tension, illness and now the bitterness of a vengeful spirit. There was a grotesque scar on his pale, sickly face, and his nose oozed a worrying trail of greenish phlegm. With a shock, you understood what was happening, but you couldn't understand it either. Had Diego forgotten the man he had saved? Would he allow Magenta to attack you and Wekapipo? Or had he only been ordered to kill Stephen Steel? Well, he looked terrifying with every step, with a murderous fury that would be equally divided between you and Wekapipo. Even if Diego hadn't saved him or given him orders, you imagined that Magenta would seek revenge anyway, like the fool he's always shown himself to be.
''Filthy... treacherous... slut!'' Magenta said. "It's you, (Y/N), the whore witch?!"
Wekapipo jumped as if he'd been shot again, his face as white as snow. You stood up, banging your head on the ceiling with a noise that echoed through the carriage.
"Well, it's not the queen!'' You said with hatred. "Don't try anything stupid, Magenta!''
Magenta advanced slowly towards you, pushing his curly dark hair away from his face. The hilt of the gun was visible in his hand and he walked with the posture and noises of a skinwalker.
"Magenta!'' Wekapipo shouted from outside. ''You're back... did Dio send you?!''
"No... it can't be.'' You muttered. ''He's here for revenge, Wekapipo... The two of us here... we're the whole package for him. Two birds in one shot.''
''You.'' Magenta said slowly. "I should have known; from the first time I saw you, I should have known.'' His eyes were fixed on Wekapipo, something between horror and fury in the dark, misty depths.
Wekapipo looked at you for a moment, indicating a slight pause that reminded you of Stephen Steel. While Magenta was neutralized, you could save Lucy's husband. This plan was harmoniously shared with Wekapipo as he closed the carriage door with you inside and then the click of his steel ball holster was heard.
"You're only here for money and revenge, Magenta?'' Wekapipo said in a provocative tone. ''You're the most inferior and despicable being I've ever had the misfortune to meet.''
Then the only sound you could recognize in that cacophony was that of a gunshot. The air exploded from your lungs as the violence from outside hit the carriage. The weight of the two men on the fragile wooden structure shook you like a cat in a bag. There was little space for any maneuvering in that place. There was nothing you could do but stop Stephen Steel's bleeding - but stopping a bleeding with two men weighing about 170 pounds fighting over your head in a horse-drawn carriage was something even God wouldn't know how to handle.
On the bright side, you thought, the imminence of death was the best remedy for nausea.
With a hiss of pain, you felt Wekapipo jump backward. Magenta had wounded him. But then a dull glow from his steel balls flashed once and disappeared between the shadows of the struggling bodies.
"Mister Steel!'' You exclaimed, shaking him lightly. ''It's me, (Y/N)! I'm here to help you, your injuries aren't fatal, but only if I'm quick!''
You did, or at least tried to do, what was up to you. To stop the bleeding, administer a few drops of plantain vinegar which you kept in small bottles in case of emergency to stop the bleeding immediately. Your treatment was done with interspersed pauses to check that Wekapipo was still alive, feeling immediate relief whenever you heard his voice, even in moans of pain.
In one of these pauses, for a moment, you imagined that Wekapipo had successfully neutralized Magenta, as the agitation from before ceased. Magenta seemed immobile, in a fetal position, by the glowing shadow on the street. But Wekapipo still looked unsettled.
You were inside the cab of the carriage, focused only on the dying Stephen Steel. The flashes of firearms sparked randomly outside the window. You could hear, faint and intermittent, the clank of the wheels and the dull thump of some obstacle or other in the street. Now and then you could hear the cry of a passer-by, as loud and shrill as a bagpipe, unlike the shouts of Wekapipo. Then the wind changed direction, as did the carriage, and you couldn't see a thing.
"Hey, you! What are you doing in Mister Steel's carriage?!'' Someone shouted from outside. ''Stop the carriage or you'll be trespassing on government property! We have authorization to shoot if you don't stop!''
Subconsciously accustomed to the measured movements of battles restrained by horses and dynamite, you didn't quite realize how quickly things could happen in a tiny, fixed battle of small arms combat.
The first warning you had was a scream very close to you.
"Left side ataxia! (Y/N), hold on!''
Deafened by the wind and the gunfire, you didn't hear the carriage suddenly change direction followed by several stray guards, as if they were all blind and couldn't see the speeding vehicle.
The small group of guards disappeared at the continued speed of the terrified horses. You could no longer see Magenta or Wekapipo through the window, but you could tell they were on the roof of the carriage by the screams and gunshots.
''Ah?! What was that?!'' Wekapipo exclaimed, but he didn't seem to be talking to you.
You didn't have time to reply before you slammed into the wall, shaken by the carriage and the sudden, hissing presence of an intruder. A dark shape launched itself into the cabin and frightened you as if you had seen the devil himself.
The devil in question wasn't very big but had a tail and pointed teeth. One of the dinosaurs, which you recognized from the colors as Agno, had been present the whole time and had fled the situation in the blink of an eye. You couldn't tell if this was typical of your cat or Diego.
But there was no time to think about it, only to prevent the movement from causing Stephen Steel to hit his head on the window pane. You threw yourself on top of him to contain him. The bleeding was getting worse and worse; the floor was now covered in warm blood on your knees. More shots, more screams, but you couldn't understand what they meant.
And those sounds. They were devastating, the sounds of battle and of civilians being run over, punctuated by the neighing of terrified horses and the impossibility of ascertaining whether Stephen Steel was still alive. It occurred to you for a moment that you were holding a dead body, so you shook your head, knowing that you wouldn't get any answers from your thoughts. You didn't know how strong Magenta was; you'd only seen him at his worst and taken advantage of that to tear away the rest of his dignity. You hoped that Wekapipo would survive and put an end to this, because there were no conditions for you to look after a patient and fight a mercenary on your own.
When the screams stopped, you corrected your posture, still holding Stephen Steel tightly in your arms, tucking yourself in for courage. It takes a lot of courage when there are revolver bullets and the sizzle of dynamite just above your head. The kind of terror you were feeling now was more like a wasp in a beehive.
"Impressive, Magenta...'' The sizzle seemed louder than Wekapipo's voice. ''Even with your minuscule, you've managed to strategize.''
''Ah?! What's going on, Wekapipo?!'' You shouted, somewhat relieved that he was still alive and terrified as the sizzling diminished, announcing the proximity of the flame to the pile of gunpowder.
''Miss (Y/N)! You're going to feel an impact, but just hang in there!"
"Puto infierno, Wekapipo!''
He was right, you did feel an impact; he just didn't warn you how strong and disorienting it would be to have a steel ball almost go through your flesh to the point of numbness. For a moment, you seemed to have entered an irreversible medical condition; your left eye was completely blind, you couldn't move the left side of your body and you felt your tongue curl up in muscular and sensory confusion, closing your throat and being pressed by your teeth, although you felt no pain.
However, you imagined that you weren't the only one suffering from Wekapipo's terrifying ataxia ability; the horses suddenly turned to the right, without the sensibility or vision of the left side, and the speed caused the carriage to tip over. The rotation threw you and Stephen Steel into the railing, your back slamming hard against it, expelling all the air from your lungs, the impact like a solid crash bar on your kidneys, unable to defend yourself against the shards of wood and metal that the late explosion had caused.
The effect gradually faded, you could see the outline of the street and the sea on the other side of the road, where the carriage had been thrown with electric poles and barrels dumped. Within seconds, it turned into a vivid agony and you squirmed, sliding to the ground. On your feet, you felt a little better. The weakness in your body began to disappear, along with the sense of chaos and tearing in your mind. It had been more frightening than you had anticipated, this explosion; perhaps worse. You could feel Magenta's terrifying presence in the water below the street and you shivered, your skin crawling with anxiety.
However, you were alive. Alive and with a slight sense of relief, although you still couldn't rest. You ran and leaned on the railing, looking for any of the men in the sea.
"Wekapipo!'' You shouted, both to get his attention and to warn him of a purple dot approaching behind him, like a sneaky shark. ''Wekapipo, look behind you! Magenta is armed!''
And thank God he did, but that didn't stop the shot from being fired. You didn't know where Wekapipo had been hit, but any injury in his current state could easily be a death sentence. Without understanding exactly what was going on, the only thing left to do was to draw your revolver, a move already engraved in your mind. In the explosion, one of them was thrown, but the other was still in its holster and you grabbed it.
The barrel of the gun glinted in the strong sunlight. Magenta seemed to be blabbering about something, probably threats or warnings about what he would do to Wekapipo; things you couldn't allow to come true. You aimed at Magenta, disbelieving that the bullet would even make it that far, but you hit him.
The bullet, however, bounced off something that didn't look like human flesh at all. A kind of armor that soon disappeared. The sharp, warm sizzle of the bullet whizzed past you, hitting the balustrade, dangerously close to your thigh. You stepped back, not knowing exactly what to do, and tripped over something.
A slight throbbing through the rhythmic sounds of gunfire, your bones had absorbed all these impacts and violence without you realizing it; you could feel the ebb when the first shot was fired and the wave when your bullet ricocheted. Something in the back of your head was counting... one... two... and you looked back to see what you had stumbled upon. It was Stephen Steel.
"Shit, shit, shit!'' You said in a trembling voice, and knelt, shaking your head. You could now feel that his heart was still fighting, even though his lungs had been severed and were now full of blood. You fell to your knees beside the dying man, not knowing what to do, holding his cold face between your hands, his brown eyes clouded with fear and leaking blood.
"I'm here.'' You said, although more shots rang out and your voice made no sound. ''I'm here, you're going to be all right. Think of your wife, think of Lucy. She'll be back; you need to stay with us to see her again!"
Horses' hooves... Stephen seemed to have heard them as clearly as he had heard your voice, because he let out a pitiful breath, followed by a kind of scream that he hadn't given. A bunch of men shouting together. And then a crash, smashing, breaking, and suddenly there were horses everywhere, running... Running in the position of damn redoubts full of guns.
A sequence of rifles unlocking and the cavalry split up, half the horses spinning, backward and away, and the rest coming closer, dancing through trampled civilians, trying not to step on the bodies, big heads jerking as they struggled against the nets.
You didn't run; you couldn't. You just looked straight ahead as you held Stephen Steel. You could still help him, with a drink or by using your hand to press his wounds while tying a cloth around them. And even if he left, you would put your hand over his eyes and say goodbye in a hurried prayer. But those guards wouldn't stop you from any of that, ever.
"Hands up!'' The imperious voice said. "Get away from Stephen Steel or you too will be accused of terrorism and murder!
You didn't obey, you just put your fingers on Stephen's neck to feel his pulse.
"Jesus Christ...'' You said, because there was nothing else you could say. You could feel the man's heart beating under your hand through the soaked cloth of his jacket, slowly stopping.
"This is the last warning or my men will open fire!''
''This man needs help, I'm trying to save him!''
''Hands up!''
"You're going to kill him!''
A spasm took hold of Stephen's chest and he coughed up blood, which gushed onto his face. You took out a piece of tissue and used it to blot the hole in his chest, pressing out the warm dampness. You leaned on the wound to stop it bleeding and he groaned.
And so the guard's warning proved true; but much safer for Stephen. You didn't notice when a guard snuck up behind you and hit you on the head with the butt of an eight-pound rifle. It was a muffled blow that bounced off your skull with a hollow, resonant noise, and you staggered, falling over the dying man.
''What? Change course? Why?''
''Orders from the superior, man, there's nothing we can do.''
''But what about that damn crowd?!''
"Reinforcements are coming, just follow the damn orders!''
You woke up in a state of total confusion. You vaguely remembered that something was wrong, but you couldn't remember what. In fact, you had blacked out so deeply that for a moment you couldn't even remember who you were, let alone where you were. Far away from Stephen Steel, you thought, looking around for the man.
Dumbfounded, you looked around. You were in a carriage, but it looked nothing like Stephen Steel's carriage. The window had iron bars, you couldn't see the driver, the doors were locked and, above all, your hands were tied. Tied in a firm knot of sisal rope. You tried to free yourself a few times, to no avail.
Looking between the iron bars of the window, an escort of guards. Eight or ten, you can count, surrounding you. The locals, ecstatic, threw tomatoes and other rotten organic things at the armored carriage. You turned away from the window in disgust when a very fermented eggplant hit the window grill and spread in a stinking goo all over the place and your face too.
"Oh, fuck!'' You shouted, wiping your cheek on your shoulder and turning back to the window. ''Hey, you! You on the gray horse!''
Your iron casing with wheels was a great noise suppressor, and you had to shout a few more times. To your considerable surprise, the guard turned to you, his face contorted and made a point of ignoring you and turning to the guard next to him.
"What a noisy woman.'' He said. "Why on earth would he want to see her?''
''She's a terrorist, man, he must be trying to show his competence.'' The other replied.
''Ha, that makes sense. I just hope this witch doesn't curse us.''
''I'll fucking curse you, you pieces of shit!'' You shouted. "May you burn in the deepest pit of hell, next to me!''
"Be quiet, bitch!'' Another guard, on the other side, slammed the butt of his rifle into the window grill, rattling the carriage with a metallic creak.
The carriage moved very slowly, as if on purpose so that the locals could enjoy the spectacle. You could also swear you saw some photographers frustrated by the commotion. As you were escorted away, the booing and cursing echoed in a dissonant chorus, like an open-air courtroom. You could feel the heavy, electric atmosphere of social condemnation, but you couldn't let it get to you.
All you could do, apart from trying to free yourself from the restraints, was to check the place you were in and try to understand what was going on. You'd been knocked out, that's obvious. And you were being arrested, that was also obvious. But where was Stephen Steel? What happened to Wekapipo? A growing anxiety was becoming more and more evident in the pit of your stomach. You knew, however, that your bag was on the floor.
They would never escort you as a prisoner with your items. Unless they didn't think the bags of herbs and jars of vinegar were really dangerous. Ignorant or not, you prayed that the soldiers hadn't checked your shoes, where you used to keep a small blade for emergencies.
Without much difficulty, you searched for the blade and found it without difficulty and with great relief. You bit the blade, catching it between your teeth, and made repetitive but careful movements against the rope near your wrists. A tear and a tug were enough to free you to grab your bag.
When the crowd outside calmed down and you felt safer to look out of the window. You were no longer on the cobbled roads of the streets, but on a noisy gravel path. All around was a park bathed in sunlight, an imposing oasis, surrounded by buildings that had witnessed the birth of this nation. You knew very well what that place was; just beyond the park gates of Independence Hall.
"He". Now you knew who "he" was that the guard had mentioned, and that didn't put your mind at ease one bit.
As you slowly made your way along the gravel path, you didn't give it a second thought. It's your last chance, there is no way back. You needed to prepare yourself with what was in your bag. A quick check added, next to the dried datura flowers and croton leaves, aconite. You used to administer aconite to adults with insomnia, but you knew all too well the lethal power of this plant. The more poison, the better. If the president took more than two minutes to die, that would be your end.
Wondering about the president's intentions and his ability, you plunged into a frenetic dance of agile hands and concentrated eyes, feeling the crushed leaves burn your skin in the absence of a mortar. A small leather bag would hold your lethal promise. Perhaps tucking it under your clothes would be enough.
You stuck your face between the bars of the window to breathe cleaner air and escape the pungent, bitter aroma that had taken over the carriage. At least now you knew you weren't armed only with your courage - if you had any left after all.
The carriage turned a corner which, from the window, gave you a privileged view of Independence Hall and its red bricks supporting the liberty bell that hung like a sentinel. The rustling of the trees and leaves created a natural symphony, as if in response to the human tension that once hung in the air.
Arrested or not, you knew that what awaited you in that place wasn't justice. What did you know about the president? That he was a soldier, yes. He had a good public opinion, and mercenaries loyal to him, if not to the money he offered. That man had been to war and, like all the other men of war you've met, he had a vile mind.
You knew it, and the thought chilled you. You can't help but remember the description in a record of the fate of the Bolivian vanguard deserters captured after a conflict in the north of the Atacama six years ago: "The dead lay on top of each other, soaked with rain and their own blood".
It made you think of your friends and everyone else involved. You were the same, despite the completely different scenario. There were deserters, soldiers, nobles, men with vanguard blood, mercenaries and terrorists, all together for a common reason. All were poorly organized, hungry, wounded, but fierce to the end.
They would all be destroyed in a few decisive hours. Piled on top of each other and abandoned, bleeding in the cold December sun, the goals and hopes they had nurtured for months dead together.
You felt the small leather bag scratch the skin under your clothes, just as you felt your heart race as the guards, in immaculate uniforms, approached to open the iron door.
The door was rusty and difficult to open, but it couldn't resist the brute military efficiency of those men. With unnecessary violence, one of them grabbed you by the arm and pulled you like a rag doll out of the carriage. You stumbled and cursed, but you endured the violence. Realizing that you had freed yourself from the ropes, another guard approached and grabbed your other arm to escort you. The fool squeezed your arm as if he were restraining the devil himself, and perhaps your cursing in Spanish contributed to this image.
When the doors to Independence Hall opened, you took a deep breath. You took a deep breath for your friends, for Wekapipo's safety, for Diego, for the hundreds who have died and will die because of this conflict and its consequences and, above all, for Lucy Steel. The risks were too high for you to allow your emotions to surface more than necessary.