* * *
Sicarius wondered what it said about him that he was more alarmed to find Amaranthe browsing a clothes rack of those obnoxious colored shirts than he had been to spot someone stalking him with a blowgun. He had been sticking to the alleys since he had the reluctant girl in tow, and since she had tried to cry for help several times. Clasping his hand across her mouth had made him feel like a kidnapper rather than the victim of her bounty-hunting whims. He would hand her off to Amaranthe with relish.
He tossed a pebble from behind a palm tree to the side of the clothing hut. It landed on Amaranthe’s toe, and she lifted her head, noticing him immediately. She raised a hand and said something to the vendor, then picked up a canvas tote and wandered casually into the greenery. Though Sicarius was busy keeping an eye on his surroundings and on his prisoner, he found a moment to consider that bulging bag with wariness. She hadn’t already purchased some jarring clothing item, had she? Surely not. A gift was supposed to be something that would please the recipient, wasn’t it? Although he was aware of some people’s predilection for choosing gag gifts. Whenever Maldynado gave a present, the recipients always wore expressions somewhere between fake gratitude and utter puzzlement.
“Hello,” Amaranthe said to the girl, then arched her eyebrows at Sicarius.
“Bounty hunter,” he said.
“Uhm.” Amaranthe took in the girl’s dirty bare feet, grimy hands, threadbare clothing, and scowling face. “I don’t think a terse answer is going to be sufficient this time.”
“She wishes to collect my bounty,” Sicarius said. “I wish you to convince her to turn her attention elsewhere.”
“Ah.” Amaranthe smiled at his prisoner. “I’m Amaranthe. What’s your name?”
“Bashka,” came the mumbled response.
Sicarius wondered if he should have asked the girl her name. It might have helped to establish a rapport—or reduce the number of times she tried to kick him anyway.
“Want to get some lunch?” Amaranthe asked.
“Not with him,” the girl—Bashka muttered.
“Oh, we won’t invite him. You’d be alarmed at the things he considers food, and he’s happier playing with his weapons anyway.” Amaranthe extended an arm toward the girl.
Sicarius stepped back, making it clear she could go, though he had no intention of straying from eyesight or earshot. A merchant ship was docking, and there would be more people on the streets soon. Already he spotted someone in a white-and-gray version of the enforcer uniforms employed in the capital; the man carried a baton and short sword at his belt, the same as the law officers on the mainland. He also had a smaller version of the girl’s blowgun. A favorite island weapon, apparently.
“I tried to collect his bounty once too,” Amaranthe was saying as she strolled toward the street, her arm linked with the girl’s arm.
Bashka’s shoulders were still hunched, but she gazed up at her with curiosity. “You did? What happened?”
“He almost killed me. I got lucky, and he saw past my enforcer uniform to the fact that I’m a delightful soul and he desperately needed me in his life.”
Since Sicarius was in silent stalker mode, he kept his snort inward.
“Other people haven’t been so fortunate,” Amaranthe went on. “I suggest you abandon this interest in hunting him. Why did you need the bounty anyway?”
“We haven’t had any money since Da took up with that other woman and left Ma, Bria, and me alone. Then Ma got sick and lost her job, and we haven’t eaten a real meal in weeks. Ma hates taking charity, but if I got bounty money, that wouldn’t be charity. That’d be us taking care of ourselves without his help.” Bashka sniffed.
“Ah, I know what it’s like to lose a parent and struggle.” Amaranthe pointed at picnic tables next to a vendor serving battered fish chunks impaled on a stick. “How does that place look for lunch?”
Sicarius knew that asking questions and sharing information was part of the way Amaranthe made people feel more comfortable with her, so he tried to adopt a stoic patience to see him through the next hour. This is no different from perching in the eaves of a roof until one’s prey walks by, he told himself.
Amaranthe waited until the girl had six fish sticks and a dubious side dish called Taro Strings piled in front of them before asking her further questions. Sicarius had never eaten food from a vendor or restaurant—being poisoned was an easy way to die, and when one couldn’t monitor the cooking, one never knew what might sneak into the sauce—and the smell of the oily fried food did nothing to convince him he was missing out. However, the girl dug in with gusto.
Sicarius chose a position between two trees, where he could observe them as well as the street and the harbor. He didn’t think the girl was aware of his presence. Amaranthe was deliberately not looking in his direction.
“Is your father still on the island?” Amaranthe asked between bites of their meal. She licked her fingers and tore the battered fish off the stick with gusto that almost matched the girl’s. People had odd tastes when it came to food.
“Everyone’s on the island,” Bashka said. “Nobody can afford to leave and go somewhere more interesting, unless you stowaway or hire on with a merchant ship, but you hardly ever see the same one twice, so you figure if you leave, it’s forever. That’d be all right, but my ma and sister need me. Da works at the post office. His new girl brings him lunch every day.” Bashka managed a sneer despite the enormous wad of taro gyrating around in her mouth.
“Where’s the post office?” For the first time, Amaranthe met Sicarius’s eyes and used Basilard’s hand code to sign. That might be where the bounty posters are printed.
Sicarius wondered what scheme was percolating through her mind.
“In the gray building by the docks,” Bashka said.
“Ah. I thought that was the enforcer headquarters.”
It was. They had slipped into the vendor alley to avoid drawing close to it on their way into town.
Bashka nodded. “Enforcer headquarters, the post office, and the newspaper building. Da oversees all three. There are only two full-time enforcers here.”
Sicarius wondered at the girl’s willingness to share information that revealed the paucity of the law’s presence here. Had she forgotten all about him? That there was a known criminal lurking in the shadows? Granted, Starcrest had pardoned him, but as he had suspected when they were gliding into the harbor, news of recent events hadn’t yet reached this remote outpost.
“Small town, eh?” Amaranthe’s smile might have had to do with more than sharing camaraderie with the girl.
“Real small,” Bashka said. “And boring. And Ma can’t find any work, because almost all the businesses are run by one person, and they don’t sell enough to afford to hire more because it’s all based on the tourists, and some days, nobody comes.”
Sicarius continued to listen to the girl’s rambling, but he was trying to figure out what Amaranthe had in mind. That enigmatic smile remained on her lips, and she perched on the edge of her bench, waiting—he sensed—for the opening she sought. Something to do with the bounty posters, it must be. Maybe she thought they could sneak in and remove his template from the post office’s inventory.
“We did all right until Da left. He has a government job, so he always gets paid. But he’s... It doesn’t matter. We’re better off without him. He used to yell at Ma all the time, and sometimes...” Bashka must have sated her hunger, for she was picking at the food now. She flicked a taro tidbit to a seagull stalking about the table.
“Do you celebrate Solstice Day down here?” Amaranthe asked.
The girl’s face crinkled up. “Yes, of course.”
“Maybe you’d like to give your da a gift this year.”
“A gift? He’s not going to give us anything.”
“I was thinking of the sort of gift that... might cause trouble for him. Nothing too detrimental, but we could ensure he doesn’t have a pleasant evening with his new lady.”
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Sicarius didn’t shake his head, not in the physical sense anyway, but he did wonder how Amaranthe could come up with schemes even while she was vacationing on a tropical island. But if this had to do with his bounty posters and their ability to spend a restful night together, he wouldn’t object. So long as it didn’t turn into something that grew out of hand... There might only be two enforcers, but soldiers surely occupied that outpost on the promontory.
“That might be all right,” Bashka said. She wasn’t yet mirroring Amaranthe’s mischievous smile, but she wore a thoughtful expression. Even better, she seemed to have forgotten all about Sicarius.
“My comrade, the one you wished to kill—” Amaranthe frowned at the girl, who in turn dropped her head and appeared almost embarrassed, “—is a talented artist.”
If Sicarius had been sitting at the table instead of spying from a distance, he might have objected to that statement; his ability to reproduce what he saw could hardly be considered art. He merely listened from behind the trees though, curious as to where this scheme was going.
“Artist?” the girl asked, her face screwed up in confusion again.
“Will you trust me to put together this prank, Bashka?” Amaranthe asked, her brown eyes warm and friendly. And innocent. Who wouldn’t trust them? Sicarius certainly had come to over time. Judging by the slight nod Bashka gave, it wouldn’t take her long to develop trust either. “You can come with me and approve everything of course. The first things we’ll need are pens and paper. Can you show me where to find them?”
“Madam Goushia’s Shop will have them.” Bashka stood up. “I can show you.”
They walked back toward the street, arm-in-arm again. This time, the girl’s shoulders weren’t hunched.