This was yet another reminder not to mess with this crazy man. It was safer to be on his good side than make an enemy out of him. He shook his head, following behind Tonna through the dimly lit gallery, where the air hummed with hushed conversations and the faint scent of paint. The walls were alive with canvases that seemed to pulse under the soft spotlights, each one a window into a twisted tale.
Tonna moved like a shadow in the room, scanning the space with sharp eyes, his gaze lingering on Amy as she moved gracefully from one piece to the next. He spotted the other six ex-members of the Klarity Foundation scattered among the crowd: Mrs Anthonia with her stern posture and pearl necklace, Ms Holly fidgeting with her glasses, Mr Arin whispering to a companion, Mrs Tyla clutching a program like a shield, Mr Thomas adjusting his tie nervously, and Mrs Happy forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. They were the ones alongside Mr Achebe who'd secretly snapped up shares in his company, and Tonna wasn't surprised to see them here. Hell, he'd orchestrated this whole exhibit just for them—he could practically taste the anticipation, waiting to watch the dominoes fall.
Amy paused at the next painting, her fingers lightly tracing the air in front of it as if she could feel the anguish radiating from the canvas. The artwork depicted the same man from the previous piece, now on his knees, being dragged away by two stern figures in crisp uniforms. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his face a mask of raw despair—mouth agape in a silent scream, eyes wide and glistening with tears that the artist had rendered with heartbreaking accuracy, each droplet catching the light like shattered glass. The ground beneath him was rough, scraped earth, and the uniforms of his captors bore insignias that screamed military authority, their grips unyielding on his arms.
"Wow! Is this the same man from the other painting? Tsk, tsk. He looks like he's in some serious trouble."
Amy said, her voice bubbling with a mix of excitement and mock sympathy, loud enough to turn heads. The words hung in the air, drawing curious glances from nearby patrons who edged closer, their murmurs growing like a gathering storm.
Ami, spotting his chance to shine, puffed up his chest and stepped forward, his voice booming with feigned expertise.
"This is one of those paintings. I seriously love the art behind it, and I also cherish the storytelling. Look here..."
He pointed dramatically to the very edge of the canvas, where a shadowy figure lurked in the background, almost invisible against the dark tones—a man with a sly smile, watching the arrest unfold like a predator savouring the mystery of its prey. The figure's eyes gleamed with subtle malice, a detail so finely brushed it could easily slip past a casual glance.
"Oh yes! I see it. Oh my! If you hadn't pointed it out, I wouldn't have even noticed him."
Amy exclaimed, her tone rising deliberately, pulling more people into their orbit. Whispers turned to excited chatter as fingers pointed and heads tilted, the crowd swelling around them like moths to a flame. Ami beamed, thrilled at the attention, his ego inflating with every nod and gasp.
"Oh, you have no idea how good this story is," he continued, milking the moment.
"See this figure here. From my understanding, he is easily unnoticeable and... well, let's just say he's the puppet master in the shadows, pulling strings while everyone else suffers."
The group shifted from one to the next, the crowd now fully invested, trailing behind Ami like disciples. He saw his opening—not just to impress, but to capture Amy's attention, this Charismatic woman who was hanging on his every word. The canvas ahead showed the woman from the first painting collapsed on the floor of a lavish living room, her body wracked with sobs, tears streaking her face in vivid, watery strokes. An older man in a high-ranking army uniform loomed over her, his insignia—an eagle perched atop a crossed sword and baton, encircled by a wreath—glinting under imagined light showing his high Authority in the military. Beside him, an older woman gasped in shock, her hand pressed to her chest. In the foreground, a male figure dressed as a servant, his clothes ragged with deliberate holes, bent forward, mouth parted as if mid-sentence, extending a hand toward a crumpled paper on the floor. Scattered around it were gruesome photos of mutilated bodies, and the paper itself bore a bold heading: "EVIDEN," with the "CE" crudely squeezed out. Other pieces bore transactions of money exchanged for names labeled "SECRET SERVICE AGENTS," paired with images of the corpses in tattered uniforms.
"Next, you can see that the woman, his love, is crying because he has been sent to prison," Ami explained, his voice dropping to a dramatic hush.
"Apparently, this servant had found out that the man had betrayed her love and sold information, resulting in the deaths of these corpses you see in the picture."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a wave of intrigue and confusion.
"How did a love story turn so dark?" someone whispered.
"This is getting twisted—I need to know what happens next," another added, their voices blending into a low buzz that heightened the room's electric tension. It was like the paintings were alive, feeding off the curious energy of the surging crowd, with each brushstroke pulling the audience deeper into the narrative's grip.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the entrance, doors swinging open with a flourish. Phones flashed like lightning as Governor Buike Robinson strode in, his arm linked with his wife, Alicia. The air crackled with excitement—cameras clicked relentlessly, capturing the couple's polished smiles and practiced poses. They moved through the gallery like royalty, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, especially with the six Klarity Foundation members, who nodded eagerly. Tonna's eyes locked with Alicia's for a split second, and her face lit up with a genuine smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. But Tonna's smirk grew when he noticed another figure slipping in—a man who looked out of place, fumbling with his invite before security waved him through. He scanned the room awkwardly, like a deer in headlights. Tonna chuckled inwardly; this was about to get good. He turned back to Amy and Ami, the real show about to unfold.
"Ah, welcome! Welcome! All esteemed guest in the building. Governor Buike has come to grace us with his presence!" Amobi announced, his voice cutting through the din. The gallery erupted in applause, cheers echoing off the walls like thunder.
"I'll hand the floor over to you to say a few words, sir!" Ami added, stepping aside with a flourish.
Amy and Ami cleared the way as the Governor took centre stage, laughing heartily, his presence commanding the room.
"One Life!" he chanted, raising a fist.
"One people!" the crowd roared back, the energy surging.
When the cheers died down, he smiled broadly, his voice smooth and reassuring.
"I am so very glad to be in the midst of such excellent people. It's been a gruelling couple of weeks. I had initially come down here to unwind with my wife and enjoy the beautiful arts and scenery after coming back from an attack on my reputation and name. But our beautiful citizens can never be fooled! They know what they want and what works best for them, so therefore, they wouldn't fall into these outrageous rumours. I am also deeply grateful to my team, the Belvarian police force, and the general public for their faith in me. I promise not to disappoint you, but instead, continue to strive for the growth and betterment of the great republic of Belvaria!"
Whistles and hoots filled the air again, the crowd hanging on his every word. The Governor motioned for quiet, his hand waving gently.
"Don't forget to get your voter's card and vote. The presidential election is next Wednesday. Make a wise decision and vote for a better-working, cleaner, and more resourceful country. Thank you!"
The applause thundered, chants of
"Buike our president! Buike our president!"rising like a chant. Tonna scoffed, rolling his eyes with exaggerated sass, catching Wren and Alicia's attention—they stifled laughs, but the moment passed quickly.
Ami reclaimed the spotlight as the noise faded. "Since the Governor is here, shall we continue our painting tour?"
"Yes!" the crowd chanted in unison, the air thick with anticipation.
Amy stepped back respectfully, trailing the Governor and Alicia at a distance, the rest of the group following like a procession. Ami led them to the next canvas, a darker piece with ominous undertones. It showed the servant with an evil grin splitting his face, clutching stacks of money from a scarred man in a rebel army uniform—marked "REBEL" on the pocket—his handshake firm, teeth crooked and stained brown. Between them, the original man languished behind bars, one hand thrusting through the iron gaps, eyes wild with desperation, tears carving paths down his cheeks. The colours were muted, shadows creeping in to underscore the betrayal.
"From this illustration, it seems like the servant had set the other man up and received a bribe for doing so," Amobi said, his tone grave.
"Look at the greed on that face and the stacks of money he is holding. As you can see, the other man is reaching out to see what's happening, and it seems like he's trying to reach out for freedom and get justice for himself."
Tonna glanced at the Governor, watching realisation dawn like a storm cloud. Buike's face twisted into something feral, veins bulging as he fought to mask his rage. Alicia, slightly turned, had eyes wide with shock, tears pooling as she pulled away from her husband's touch on her back. The air at that moment felt heavier, and charged with unspoken truths.
Ami pressed on to the next painting, which was a wedding scene: the servant beaming ear to ear, teeth flashing in triumph, while the bride knelt beside him, her expression hollow and sad. They bowed before the older couple, parental hands resting on their heads in a blessing that felt more like a curse. The bride's gown flowed in sombre whites, contrasting the servant's smug joy.
"Sadly, the servant married this woman," Amobi narrated.
"As you can see, she has lost her smile, while he can't seem to hide his. The bride's parents are blessing the wedding between these two."
Governor Buike's disturbance deepened, the crowd murmuring in confusion and outrage. "Why would she marry him after all that?" one guest hissed. "This servant's got some nerve—framing a good man and stealing his life!" another added, voices rising in a chorus of disbelief.
The next painting hit like a gut punch: the imprisoned man tied to a pole, kneeling in a bloodstained uniform, head bowed as bullets hung mid-air from firing squad rifles. Alicia clutched her dress, stumbling, her breath hitching. The Governor and his guards steadied her, but she stole a tearful glance at Tonna before straightening, moving like a mechanical doll.
"This painting shows the tragic death of the Lieutenant General by firing squad," Ami intoned solemnly.
"What a tragic way to end," a voice lamented from the crowd.
"I wish that servant had died instead. He does not deserve to live at all," another spat.
"What an evil servant. Such a shame that a mere servant grew wings to plot such kind of evil. I would be the happiest if he burns in hell forever!" a third chimed in, the Governor clearing his throat repeatedly, sweat beading on his brow.
Ami guided them swiftly to the next: the servant, now bloated and masterful, standing atop a pile of corpses with gold bars in hand. Chaos reigned around him—people fleeing, crying, frozen in terror, the scene a whirlwind of despair in stark reds and blacks.
"This is pretty self-explanatory; as you can see, this servant built his entire empire upon the death and suffering of others," Ami said, his words cutting through the boos and jeers that erupted.
The final painting unleashed pandemonium: two naked teenage girls knelt on cold ground, bound and gagged, eyes wide with unfocused agony, tears streaming. Behind them, a naked man in a pig-head mask wielded a whip, a faint tattoo on his left chest barely discernible. The crowd recognised the servant instantly from his body shape from the previous painting, erupting in fury—curses flew, voices overlapping in a frenzy of outrage. "He's a monster!"
"Worse than dirt—burn it all!" Tonna watched Inspector Ade, who scrutinised the art with growing suspicion, eyes darting around.
"Now for my last act," Tonna murmured, snapping his thumb and middle finger sharply.
A teenage girl burst from the crowd, screaming her admiration at the Governor, clutching a bouquet and a water bottle.
"Governor Buike, you're my hero!" she yelled, drawing all eyes. Bodyguards moved to intercept, but Buike waved them off, forcing a smile despite his foul mood. She stumbled toward him clumsily, and he caught her, helping her up. As he did, the loose cap on her bottle let water spill onto his left chest, soaking his shirt and making it cling transparently to his skin. There, small but visible to the sharp-eyed inspector, was the tattoo of a headless horse. The girl gasped, apologising profusely before thrusting the bouquet into his hands, her eyes wide with innocence.