By the gods, forging papers is harder than it looks.
I was hunched over the only reasonably clean piece of parchment we had left — the back of some dumb temple sermon or trade receipt, who cares — tongue sticking out the corner of my mouth, charcoal smudging everything, including my cheek, the rock, and probably my ass.
Dragon's shadow loomed over me like a disappointed schoolteacher.
"What," he said slowly, "are you doing?"
I didn't even look up.
"I'm forging my own damn papers," I muttered. "If that smug gobshite Ogden can do it, so can I."
A pause.
"Ah," he said. "So we've entered the 'revenge forgery' stage of the trauma response. How mature."
"Shut it," I growled, carefully scratching out a line of text. "Look — see? I hereby declare the bearer of this document — that's me — to be a free woman, formerly indentured, but now released of all claim by temple, brothel, state, or bastards."
I added a flourish. It looked like a dead insect.
He peered over my shoulder, squinting. "You spelled 'formerly' with two m's. Also, 'indentured' is missing both a vowel and a sense of shame."
I glared up at him. "Are you editing or helping?"
"Neither," he said, inspecting the page like it might give him fleas. "Also, your official seal appears to be… what is that? A pair of tits and a fishbone?"
"It's symbolic."
"Of what? Poor hygiene?"
I hissed through my teeth and dipped the charcoal again. "Fine. Then you do it."
"Oh no," he said, backing away with mock horror. "I'm an ancient creature of fire and wisdom, not a notary public."
I blew on the parchment to dry it. Accidentally spit on it. Smudged half the ink across the "Emancypashun Deklarayshun."
Perfect.
He was laughing now. Bastard.
"Look," I snapped, holding it up proudly. "Once I sign this and maybe add some thumb blood or a tear smudge, it's official."
"A smudge?"
"It's how we did it in Seebulba. Very legitimate."
He made a strangled sound. "You're going to march into a magistrate's office and slap that down like it's divine law?"
"Why not?" I shrugged. "People believe anything if you say it with enough cleavage and confidence."
He sighed, deeply. Then muttered, "You know, I almost hope Ogden sees this. I want to watch his face melt when you serve him freedom on forged stationery with a smudge signature."
I grinned.
He grumbled.
And I wrote: Witnessed and approved by the Dragon of Whom No Man Shall Speak Ill, Under Penalty of Being Set on Fire.
He blinked.
"You spelled 'penalty' with an 'i'."
I dipped the charcoal again. "Then don't cross me, and we won't need to enforce it."