* * *
“He should add horns.” Bashka snickered. “And more belly hair. Ma always said Da should have lived in the Northern Frontier where all his body hair would keep him warm.”
Sicarius knelt before a flat rock at the end of the beach, a stack of papers resting before him, and a pen in his hand. He felt ridiculous drawing the picture and taking suggestions from the girl—though some of Amaranthe’s suggestions had been even worse. The two of them stood at his side, observing his progressing—and commenting often. He glanced up from time to time, aware of the military outpost perched on the cliff above their heads. He doubted anyone leaned over the precipice to check the beach directly below very often, but he could not imagine the expression a soldier might have when realizing that a notorious assassin was drawing a caricature of the postmaster under his nose. Better here, without anyone else around, than at a picnic table in town, he supposed. Even with Amaranthe standing guard, he wouldn’t have been comfortable focusing on the work—if one could call it that—with people milling about at his back.
“Why don’t you add some garlands down below?” Amaranthe suggested. “So we can keep with the nudity theme, but you don’t have to draw anything... inappropriate for younger passersby.”
“Garlands,” Sicarius said, letting his tone be as flat as his humor. He was ready to return to the submarine and forget the island and this mischief. Only the amusement glinting in Amaranthe’s eyes kept him from suggesting this course of action. Part of this was humoring the girl, but part of this was clearly humoring her as well. In the aftermath of the battles in the capital—and all of the people who had died, some as a result of her actions—amusement had been a rare visitor for her of late.
“Yes, popcorn and cranberry garlands,” Amaranthe said. “The traditional Turgonian decoration. Normally one wears a wreath on the head, but in this case, a... lower positioning might be wise.”
“Popcorn and cranberry may be inappropriate at this latitude,” Sicarius said, then immediately wondered why he had bothered. What did he care? Artistic accuracy hardly mattered for a caricature.
“We’ve read about those,” Bashka said, “and we do grow some corn and string popcorn, but it’s usually kumquats or starfruit as an accent.”
“Starfruit,” Sicarius said, “would be a more appropriate size for covering his—”
“Nether regions,” Amaranthe blurted before he could give a more anatomically correct term. She tilted her head toward the girl. “You can draw whatever you like down there. Just don’t get too detailed. We’re going to need, what, eight of these posters?” This last question she directed toward Bashka.
The girl nodded. “There’s a bounty poster every two blocks along the main street, I think, and it’s sixteen blocks long.”
“They’re not located anywhere else?” Amaranthe asked. “We’ll want to replace all of them. To ensure maximum embarrassment for your father.”
She hadn’t yet revealed her plan to Sicarius, since the girl had been with them the whole time, but he could see that this was an excuse and that she had an ulterior motive. That relieved him. Drawing eight of these ridiculous caricatures...
“That’s all of them, plus one in the post office,” Bashka said.
“Good.” Amaranthe patted Sicarius on the shoulder. “Let me know when you’ve finished the first batch. We’ll go place them while you’re working on the second.”
“As you wish.”
“Thank you for going along with this.” She bent and kissed him on the cheek.
Sicarius appreciated the kiss but managed only a grunt to demonstrate his enthusiasm for the rest. He finished four copies of the caricature as quickly as possible, then handed them to Amaranthe. She and Bashka took off with their prizes, and he focused on finishing the rest of the stack, though, without her standing guard, at a slower pace. It was hard to keep an eye on one’s surroundings while drawing. Still, when Amaranthe returned for the rest of the posters, he was ready.
“You are magnificent and efficient,” she declared with a smile.
Interesting how flattery that he would ignore from anyone else softened his heart when it came from her. He was aware of the phenomenon, yet at the same time was reluctant to resist it.
“Where’s the girl?” he asked.
“I’m going to finish hanging these around town, and then she’s going to pop into her father’s office and warn him about the dastardly crime.”
“To what end?”
“With the holidays coming, he’s the only one working in there today,” Amaranthe said. “While he’s distracted collecting these odious posters, you’ll have time to slip into the combination newspaper press, enforcer headquarters, and post office. You can find the template that’s used to print the bounty posters and alter it.”
“If I can find it, it will take time to alter. It’s not a drawing; it will be an engraving. It will require that a new plate be made.”
“Much as we did with the counterfeit money scheme. I know you can do it.”
“I had Akstyr’s assistance with that.”
Amaranthe waved a dismissive hand. “This is much less sophisticated. All you have to do is make it so it looks like someone else. Then you won’t be identified while we’re here, and we can both enjoy our evening in the bungalow I’ve picked out.”
“This seems an extreme measure to avoid detection. We could simply gather our supplies and leave the island.”
“Yes, but this also insures that your face won’t be plastered all over town the next time we come.”
Sicarius gazed down the beach, wondering what appeal this simple island might have that Amaranthe would wish to return.
She might have guessed his thoughts for she gave him a playful swat. “Come on, it’s fun. Consider it a prank, if you can’t consider it a logical survival choice.”
“A prank.”
“You’ve never pranked anyone? Well, you’ve learned to tease me sufficiently. I’m certain you have the skills within you. If not, we can work on developing them.”
Sicarius stared at her. He could not imagine why one would wish to do such a thing.
“It’ll be fun,” Amaranthe promised again. “It might even cause you to feel merry.”
Without waiting for agreement, she took the last set of posters and trotted up the beach. Sicarius did not follow at first. He had to find a paradigm in which this foolishness made sense to him. Training exercise? Even with light holiday staffing, it should prove moderately difficult to sneak into an enforcer building. And engraving a printing press plate in such a short time? Nearly impossible. But perhaps someday, President Starcrest would see fit to send him on a spy mission where artistic, or even engraving skills would be helpful. Though he struggled to imagine what exactly that mission might be, he bolstered himself with this notion that he wasn’t wasting his time; he was participating in a training exercise. Yes, very well.
Sicarius jogged up the beach, hugging the cliff walls. No one would see him entering town.
Solstice Day Gifts (an Emperor's Edge Short Story) Page 4