Chapter Sixteen
I ran up to Plutarch's podium and, shaking his shoulder, said, “Mr. Plutarch, are you okay? Can you hear me? Are you still conscious?”
To my relief, Plutarch's eyes flickered open and he looked up at me, but he no longer looked as confident as he did before. He looked weak and almost dead, which was no surprise, given his age and injuries.
“Kid …” Plutarch coughed. “Ow …”
“Who shot you, Mr. Plutarch?” I said. “Can you remember? Or at least tell me where your assassin fled?”
Plutarch just pointed a weak finger at the entrance to the backstage.
“That's where the assassin went?” I said.
Plutarch nodded weakly. “Y-Yeah …”
Then he slid off the podium, but I caught him and gently lowered him to the debate floor. Once I was sure he was safe, I stood up and ran off to the b
