Hunting for Silence

22. A Wolf in Jackal's Clothing

'You,' Karim said, his face as wooden as a five-hundred-year-old oak that had decided it was time to retire and petrify, 'must be joking.'

'I am not in the habit of joking,' I said in my best Rikkard Ambrose imitation. I could keep it up for about five seconds, then my face broke into a grin. 'Well, actually I am, but this isn't one of those times. I'm actually being serious.'

'You want me—me!—to put on one of the uniforms of the oppressors of my country, and go to the man under whose tyranny my family still lives, bend my knee before him and pretend to be one of his men?'

I patted his shoulder. 'You'll make a fine oppressor. You've got the physique for it. And your face...just perfect!'

To judge by the expression on his face, the compliment did not go over well.

'You'll get to lie to him,' I pointed out the bright side of things. 'You can lie until your pants catch fire.'

'What a cheering prospect,' Karim told me with a face that was just about as cheerful as that of Ah-Puch, Mayan god of death, darkness, and disaster. I had seen a few pictures on my trip to South America. Trust me when I say it wasn't pretty.

'I must say, Mr Linton's suggestion is not without merit.'

Karim's eyes widened, and he whirled to face Mr Ambrose. Our dear employer had so far stayed out of the conversation, while I had explained to Karim what my intentions were. But now he was looking at his bodyguard with a cool, determined look I knew all too well. It was the same look that had gotten me to stay for free overtime around five out of six weekdays on average.

'Sahib! No, Sahib, please. You cannot be seriously considering—'

'Do you have a better suggestion to accomplish our goal?'

'No, but—'

'Is impersonating a soldier of the presidency armies beyond your scope of abilities?'

'Of course not, Sahib, but—'

'Very well, then. It is decided.'

An unhealthy noise reached my ears. It took me a moment to realize it was Karim grinding his teeth. His eyes flicked from left to right, desperately searching for a way out. It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for him. Almost.

'What about the uniform?' he demanded. 'We don't have a uniform, and not nearly enough time or information to have a convincing one made.'

'Hm...' Thoughtfully, Mr Ambrose stroked one long finger along his chin. 'A valid point. Mr Linton?'

'Well...' I wet my lips. 'Actually, I have thought of a solution for this. The only thing is, it might be a teensy-weensy bit....adventurous.'

*~*~**~*~*

'This is what you call "adventurous", woman?'

'What would you call it?'

'I would call it "Take your foot out of my face!"'

'Oops! Sorry.'

Shifting my foot, I wobbled, and thrust my arms forward. Just before I slipped, I managed to grab hold of the iron spikes atop the wall. My feet flailed, and I kicked out, trying to find anything to stand on.

'Arrg! Kīṛī'āṁ tuhāḍī'āṁ āndhararī'āṁ vica phasa sakadī'āṁ hana!'

'I hope,' Mr Ambrose said in a voice cool enough to freeze lava, 'that was simply an expression, and not an actual idea which you plan to execute.'