Time. He just needed more time.
But like kingsparrow feathers, Tyvian ore and those dear little apricot tartlets he'd come to crave, time was in short supply. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when he felt so stretched. Not even when he had cowered in this very building, with his rival-turned-reluctant-ally Sokolov, waiting for the city watchmen outside to get through the doors and cut them, or shoot them, or set them on fire, or whatever other ghastly demise they could concoct. He had never liked the city watch. They were unmitigated brutes, all of them. Always knocking in doors, barking orders, disrupting the careful work of intellectuals such as himself. In fact, he would bet that no-one else in this accursed city had suffered as much as him-
Piero stumbled, and brought a hand to his head. He could almost feel the poison swirling around, eating into his thoughts, making his actions wearied and slow. No! It would not be the end of him. The great Piero would die someday, yes, but on his terms, and not at the insidious hands of a plague that was spread by rats. He would find the cure. He would succeed where Sokolov had not. He would prevail, and once again hunt through the world for knowledge, unmolested by city watchmen, rats or anything else!
The thought of the Royal Physician made him turn groggily, and look towards a corner of the workshop downstairs, where he had placed him. Sokolov had been no lightweight, and Piero's physical attributes were less than desirous, yet he'd somehow managed to take the poor bastard downstairs without adversely hurting him. As it turned out, by the time he'd wiped the sweat from his forehead and re-adjusted his spectacles, it had been for naught. The man had passed on, taken by the plague he had fought so hard to defeat.
If-no, when-Piero lived, he would compose a great sonnet detailing Sokolov's life, and his own pursuit of enlightenment in a decidedly unenlightened world. He owed him that, surely enough. Perhaps the man had been a swine during his time at the Academy, but they'd more or less reconciled during their brief time in the workshop, before Corvo had come and rescued them.
Piero let out a great sigh, his headache worsening as he rummaged about in a drawer for the implements he required. Corvo. Living proof that a man could be given great tools, great responsibilities, and still end up a monster. And yet, was not he also proof that a man, under enough pressure, would break? Would become insensate to the suffering he caused, all done in the name of one person?
Well, to the Void with him now. The bloodthirsty brute was long gone with Samuel, due for a reckoning with Admiral Havelock and the rest of the conspirators. Despite his disdain for the former Lord Protector, Corvo wished him all the best. They deserved to pay for their disgusting attempts at manipulating Emily. Not to mention trying to kill him! Him! Piero the great!
At last, he finally found what he was looking for. A metal tube, with a small glass bulb on the end. Hurriedly, he snatched up a scalpel from a discarded tray and scrambled down the stairs, nearly tripping twice. Sokolov had been hanging on for an inordinately long time before he'd succumbed to the plague. Fortunately, he'd not shown any signs of becoming a weeper, which was odd. Perhaps it had something to do with the sheer amount of elixir he'd consumed. Or his general proximity to the main Elixir Distillery. Whatever it was, his blood might contain properties that could form the basis of a cure. It was worth a try.
He stumbled over to Sokolov's shroud-wrapped corpse, fumbling with the tube. He would have to be very careful, lest the smell of blood attract more rats-
Suddenly he doubled over, his gorge rising. Before he could control himself, Piero sprayed bloody vomit all over the floor. Gagging on the foul taste, he feebly wiped away traces of it from his mouth, and crawled over to Sokolov's body. He was almost there. He just-
The pain was overwhelming. It commanded him to stop. To let the inevitable happen. Piero wanted to fight. He would not be beaten so easily. But he was only mortal, and the plague was all-consuming.
As he slowly fell unconscious, Piero tried to think of a plan. A solution. Anything that would get him out of this.
But the only thing that would have done that was time. And he was out of that.
