* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Sicarius found himself strolling down the town’s main street with Amaranthe’s arm linked in his. Docking had not been as precipitous as he had anticipated. The dock master had been drunk—though the surprise of seeing his first submarine might have tipped him into the water even sober—so Sicarius and Amaranthe had simply claimed an empty berth, tied up, and locked the hatch, ensuring nobody would snoop inside, then paid the public mooring fee. The overnight charge.
Amaranthe, smiling all the while, seemed delighted to be walking on solid ground again, and she greeted every vendor’s hello with a cheerful greeting of her own, stopping more than once to admire the wares on display and ask after the local gossip. Some of this might be considered intelligence gathering, but Sicarius suspected she had missed the presence of other human beings during their sea voyage. He, on the other hand, had found the isolation peaceful. Though he had struggled to come up with training exercises and calisthenics that could be performed in such a small space, he had never felt so safe and able to relax, knowing any enemies couldn’t be closer than the surface of the ocean. But Amaranthe was far more a pack creature than he.
As they moved away from a salt vendor—Sicarius failed to see how Amaranthe could have found those wares as fascinating as she had seemed to—he asked, “Have I failed to entertain you suitably on a social level?”
“Pardon?” She blinked up at him, the gesture having nothing to do with the bright sun overhead. She seemed genuinely surprised.
“You are chattering copiously with these strangers.” On their trip, he had spoken whenever she asked questions, allowing himself to be drawn into conversations, and he had even told a few stories from his past, but he did not require chitchat every hour, or even every day.
“I have missed people, I’ll admit that,” Amaranthe said, “but it’s not a reflection of your ability to entertain. At all.” She patted his abdomen. “I found our interactions quite stimulating.”
Sicarius snorted softly and was on the verge of asking if some sort of sexual encounter might be considered an appropriate Solstice Day gift when a poster pinned to a stout roadside palm tree drew his eye. Across the top, it read: WANTED, though it was the pictures below that captured his attention. The paper had yellowed with age, the ink fading to gray, but the four portraits, each in separate quarters, were still prominent. Three of the squares featured pirate captains, two male and one female. The last... held his own picture, an identical version to the one that had graced Stumps for so long. The rewards, along with descriptions of the criminals and warnings of their dangerousness, accompanied the portraits. Across the bottom, a short message stated that the sign was posted by imperial decree and removing it would result in punishment.
Sicarius pulled down the poster, folded it, and tucked it in a pocket.
“I hope you’re not planning on autographing that and giving it to me as my gift,” Amaranthe murmured, watching the street with new wariness.
“No.”
“There could be fifty of those posters all over the town. And they doubtlessly have a press somewhere and are capable of replacing those removed.”
“I am aware of that,” Sicarius said. “Given this revelation, I suggest we shop for our supplies and return to the submarine as quickly as possible.”
“I suppose that’s wisest.” Amaranthe’s expression grew wistful as she gazed toward the beach at the north end of town, where numerous cozy cottages overlooked the placid aquamarine lagoon.
Though he could not understand why this notion of a night in a bungalow appealed to her, Sicarius did feel a twinge of discomfort—guilt—from knowing she wished it and his past would keep them from sharing it together.
“It is an old picture,” Sicarius said, “drawn of me many years ago. The paper it’s printed on is almost as old. Perhaps few people pay attention to it. There cannot be many enforcers in a town this small. If we are careful and nobody alerts the garrison, we may be undisturbed.” He nodded to the fortress atop the escarpment.
Amaranthe’s lips twisted into an expression he had trouble reading. “It’s my job to suggest things like that and your job to point out all the reasons why they’re ludicrous, or at least unnecessarily dangerous. As much as I appreciate your willingness to entertain such notions for me, please don’t give up your logical and practical ways. Though I doubt anyone here could threaten you in an attack, we don’t want one of those situations where you’re forced to defend yourself... to the detriment of others, right? You should go back to the sub and stay out of sight.”
“I believe you have grown wiser,” Sicarius said.
“I don’t know about that. The stakes just aren’t worth any risk this time.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
Though Sicarius was keeping an eye on the street and his surroundings—doubly so now—he allowed himself a few heartbeats to appreciate this gesture. The warm softness of her lips on his cheeks was most acceptable.
“Of course,” Amaranthe said, “if you choose to defy me, I’m sure we could dress you in a nice costume.” She nodded up the street toward an open-fronted hut offering saris and oversized shirts in obnoxious floral colors. “I bet you could still manage to look intimidating in a bright yellow shirt.”
“Unlikely.” Sicarius did admit that his customary black attire was warm and out-of-place in the tropics, but he had solved this by simply going shirtless when he had been out fishing. A number of men on the streets—and some of the women—walked by without shirts or with little more than open vests that left their arms bare.
“So you wouldn’t like to receive that pink-and-lime-green shirt for your Solstice gift?” Amaranthe winked.
“No.”
A girl of ten or eleven walked past, glancing at them and also at the tree. An observant native might notice the missing poster. She continued on without stopping, but children could relay messages to enforcers as easily as adults, so Sicarius did not dismiss the youth, or any of the other people nearby, browsing the produce, clothing, and dried fish stalls.
“Any other shopping requests?” Amaranthe asked. “I’ve seen coconut candies, taro chips, and decorative bells you can hang on your ship to warn you when the wind is coming—albeit that would be less useful for us.”
“A new net for fishing.”
“There’s my practical former assassin. Always thinking about survival matters.” She smiled and pointed a finger at his chest before backing away. “Just because I’m relieving you of shopping duties—and being seen in public—doesn’t mean I don’t expect a gift. While you’re waiting for me to return, perhaps you can fold that poster into some interesting origami shape. The Nurians have made an art form of that, I hear. I’ll take a nice swan or orchid.”
Sicarius did not quite know whether this was a joke or not, so he didn’t respond.
Amaranthe didn’t seem to mind. She said, “Be careful,” and ambled up the street toward the next vendor.
Sicarius headed back toward the dock, walking in the alley behind the buildings instead of chancing the street. He soon grew aware of someone following him. He added a few twists to his route, slipping down a passage between two buildings, then skimming up a drainpipe to a thatched roof. Despite the slant and the slippery nature of the material, he perched on the edge without trouble, observing the route he had left.
A girl walked down the alley—the same girl who had passed before. This time, she carried a long, narrow cane blowpipe and gripped darts in her free hand. Was she after him with such a feeble weapon? To chase him at all... what was she thinking? The sign had not offered the full list of his crimes, but it had made it clear he was a dangerous assassin.
The girl walked past the passage he had taken, but he waited a few moments before dropping down. The rooftop offered a good view of the surrounding streets, and he had no reason to hurry back to the submarine. He certainly didn’t want to risk being followed.
Having realized she h
ad lost him, the girl returned to the passage. She peered down it thoughtfully, and Sicarius leaned away from the edge so he wouldn’t be visible if she looked up. Clad in a threadbare sari and a vest that left her scrawny arms free, she crept down the alley on tiptoes, as if she were sneaking up on a sibling to play a prank. But a smudge of dark green goo laced the tip of the blowgun. Had she smeared poison on the dart inside? She couldn’t be more than ten or eleven. Did she truly think hunting him wasn’t suicidal?
Sicarius waited for her to pass beneath his spot, then dropped down behind her. He tore the blowgun from her grip before his feet touched the ground. Holding a knife to her throat seemed unnecessary given her immaturity, but he grabbed an arm so she couldn’t flee and was prepared to clasp a hand over her mouth if she screamed. Child or not, she could call the enforcers down upon him.
She struggled, trying to twist away from him, but she didn’t scream. He waited for the ineffective flailing to end, dodging or blocking her wild kicks and punches without harming her.
“Have you completed your attempts to escape?” Sicarius asked when the flailing stilled. Shoulders slumped, arms limp, sweat bathing her forehead, she alternated glowering at him and glancing at the blowgun he had leaned against the wall, as if she still thought she could attack him with it, if only she could figure out a way to reach it.
“Maybe,” she said in a sullen tone that reminded him of Akstyr, though the natives had a lyrical accent that made it sound more exotic.
“Why were you following me?” Sicarius asked, though it seemed obvious she had identified him from the poster. One couldn’t make assumptions or give the enemy unasked for information.
For a minute, she looked like she would mulishly refuse to answer him, but when she peered up at his face to meet his eyes—to perhaps gauge whether she was in danger if she didn’t speak—the equation didn’t add up to defiance. Sicarius never thought he was intentionally making his face fierce, but the emotionless mask that had been drilled into him as a child always disturbed people more than sneers and snarls might. Even when he had tried to soften his features on those times he had encountered young Sespian in the Imperial Barracks, it had failed to reassure him. As a boy, he had run away in terror and even when he had grown older and more tactful, he had made hasty excuses to depart.
“The bounty,” the girl mumbled.
“You believed you could best an assassin?”
“Not really, but...” She stared down at her dirty hands, the nails peeling and split, and each tendon visible due to an unhealthy leanness. “Haven’t got much to lose. I’m hungry. Tired of being hungry. That much money... it could feed us forever.” She shrugged. “Besides, people come here to relax mostly. Lie on the beach and play in the water. Thought you wouldn’t be paying much attention here and maybe I’d get lucky.”
Sicarius released her, trusting that he could catch her again if she tried to escape, and lifted the blowgun to examine. She didn’t try to flee. She stood there, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, head scrunched in as if she were a turtle, and watched him through her lashes. Expecting a beating? Was that the worst she thought could happen when attempting to slay someone who made a living killing people?
Careful not to touch the tip, Sicarius dumped out the dart loaded in the blowgun. “Poison has been applied.”
“Yes.”
“Deadly poison?” He sniffed the dart but wasn’t familiar with the substance. Doubtlessly some homemade tropical concoction.
“Nah, it’s for hunting. Knocks you out.”
“You’ve tried it on humans?” Sicarius suddenly had an image of this girl stalking every dubious sort who landed, hoping one might turn out to be a criminal with a bounty on his head. But she wouldn’t still be alive if that were the case. Some people would throw a knife into a street urchin’s chest for daring to be so presumptuous. Sicarius did not believe he would have to consider such a drastic solution—without the blowgun, she did not represent a physical threat to him—but admitted he could not simply let her go when she might run to the enforcers or to those soldiers in the fort on the hill. He wondered what Amaranthe would say if she found out he had tied up a girl on the way back to the docks, leaving her in some hole where she wouldn’t be discovered until the submarine left port. Most likely... she wouldn’t approve.
“It’s extremely effective,” the girl said, then mumbled, “on wild boars.”
Sicarius gazed at her, tempted to tell her to run along with a promise he would do more than take her weapon if she told anyone about him. He didn’t care to threaten children though. Even adults, he rarely threatened verbally, letting his reputation do the job for him.
She shifted from foot to foot under his long scrutiny. “What’re you going to do with me?” she whispered, glancing toward the street. The few passersby ambling down the thoroughfare weren’t peering into the alleys.
“What were you going to do with me?” Sicarius asked. “If you’d succeeded with the dart.”
“Bring the enforcers and try to collect the reward.” She shrugged.
At least she was honest. If he offered her some coin in exchange for her silence, she might agree—and keep her word. Paying someone to leave him alone would be a first. It didn’t seem right, but maybe she would use the money to buy food. Amaranthe would approve of that.
It occurred to him that he could catch up with Amaranthe and simply ask what she would approve most of in this situation. Or he could foist the girl off onto her. It might not be the gift she had in mind, but she would surely find a more appropriate solution than he would. Yes, that was the more acceptable choice.
“Come,” he told the girl. “You will speak with my comrade.”
The fresh fear that entered her dark eyes made him doubt his decision. Still, she couldn’t be allowed to roam free and tell others about him. This would have to do. Amaranthe would find a way to alleviate the girl’s fears.