5

In a place that was a safe distance from the fires, Athir emerged from the sewer in which he had hidden the tsotsis’ booty. He took a deep breath of night air, and coughed as a whiff of smoke entered his lungs. The last of the sacks was safely concealed; he had no need to endure the dank, fetid floor of the sewer beneath his feet any longer. Even the smoke smelled better than the waste-tunnel.

While the combat between the tsotsis and Uloans raged, Athir had found it a simple matter to remove the booty while avoiding fighters on both sides. No one had noticed him, and he hadn’t been forced to kill anyone while he stole the loot behind their backs.

Although Jass Mofo had forced him into becoming an Ashaki, Athir didn’t much care which side won the fight. The entire city seemed to be locked in a mad death-struggle that would end in great destruction. But Athir had survived many battles – even long wars. He knew that sooner or later the fighting would end, and life would continue, and people like him would always be around to take advantage of the aftermath of destruction.

He scraped as much of the sewer-offal as he could from his skin and clothes. He would wash the rest of it away later. For now, he needed to find a place to wait out the tide of devastation that was rapidly engulfing Khambawe. Whoever won in the end, the Ship’s Rat would be there to seek new advantages in the aftermath.