When he felt the time was right, which was when the talla-beit patrons no longer regarded him primarily as a pale-skinned outlander who had come on a mysterious ship out of the mist, but as just another slum-dweller who happened to look a little different, Athir introduced them to the thrills of dice-throwing. The new game quickly became popular, and Athir’s assets, which he kept hidden in various caches in the Ukili, grew just as rapidly. Soon, the “Fidi with the bones” became an accepted, if not necessarily well-liked, figure in more than a few talla-beits.
Athir was prudent enough not to win all the time. His dice had been weighted by a master craftsman in Vakshma, Cym Dinath’s City of Thieves, and he had spent many months mastering their use. With a subtle twist of his wrist, Athir could control the way they fell, and he could choose when he won or lost. The trick was to find the balance between winning enough to stay ahead and losing enough to keep the Matile interested in playing his game.
“Nobody else?” he said half-heartedly.
No one answered. And Athir didn’t like the way some of the Matile were looking at him.
He got along with the Matile well enough, and even liked them to certain degree. They seemed more tolerant than many other people he had known, and the authorities didn’t care very much about places like the Ukili – as far as Athir knew, they didn’t even demand bribes to look the other way while criminal activities were occurring. Athir did, however, give a cut of his profits to the owners of the talla-beits he plied. And, of course, he was careful not to let any of them know how wealth he was really amassing.
Athir sighed – but only inwardly.
I should have let him win a little more, he thought ruefully of his last mark. But there was no point in regrets now. The time had come to make a graceful exit, then come back to this particular talla-beit later ... much later.
Before he could open his mouth to give his farewell speech, Athir felt a slight tug at his belt. He looked down, and saw that his pouch was gone. He looked toward the talla-beit’s entrance. And he caught a glimpse of white-clad legs scissoring their way out the door.
2
“Mugguth’s balls!” Athir cursed, unable to believe he could have been so inattentive, yet still be alive.
Not forgetting to snatch up his dice, the Ship’s Rat sprinted out the talla-beit’s doorway. Behind him, several of the patrons exchanged sly smirks and knowing glances. Others merely shrugged. Within moments, all of them had returned to their cups of talla.
Outside, the sun was close to setting and shadows spanned the narrow street in front of the talla-beit. Looking both ways, Athir quickly spotted the fleeing thief. As Athir charged after him, Matile men and women dodged from his path, then shook their heads at the foreigner’s audacity – or, more likely, ignorance. They knew who the Fidi was chasing, and they would never have done the same themselves, unless they no longer cared about living.
The thief cut around a corner. Athir slowed and pulled out the slim, keen-edged dagger that was the only weapon he needed. Then he peered around the corner. He saw a long alley with an end that was swallowed in shadows. Of the cut-purse, there was no sign.
Cautiously, Athir eased into the alley. He knew it was foolhardy to pursue a potential foe into unfamiliar territory. But the pouch contained his hard-earned winnings for the day. Of course, the coins it contained were not all that he had. He had other loot stashed elsewhere. Still, to have had the pouch taken from him so easily galled Athir’s pride as a master of the thieves’ trade.
He took another few steps forward, peering intently into the shadows, still seeing nothing. Then his instincts warned him – too late. He heard a soft rustle of clothing behind him. And the point of something sharp prodded into his back.
In front of him, the Matile thief glided noiselessly from a space between two buildings in the alley – a space Athir had not been able to detect in the semi-darkness. The thief came closer. Athir’s purse dangled from one of the Matile’s hand. In the other was a spiked, mace-like weapon unlike any Athir had seen before.
Behind him, the sharp point prodded Athir again, deeply enough to cut through his clothing and draw blood from his skin. Athir got the message. He opened his hand and let his dagger drop to the ground. The sound it made as it landed was the only thing he could hear in the alley, the entrance of which seemed to have suddenly receded a vast distance from the nearby street.
As his eyes became accustomed to the half-light of the alley, Athir recognized the thief. It was the young man whose money he had won in the talla-beit. Beneath the braids that hung over his brow, the Matile’s eyes gleamed with a feral light. Gone was the resentment Athir had seen in them in the talla-beit. He realized now that had been only an act; what was in this youth’s eyes now was something to be dreaded far more than mere anger over losing a few coins.
Athir was also beginning to suspect what this young man truly was, and he was becoming very afraid. When the thief spoke, he confirmed Athir’s suspicions – and his fear, which was beginning to crawl in his stomach.
“You, Fidi,” the Matile said. “Why you try to be tsotsi? Only tsotsi can be tsotsi. Heard?”
Other figures emerged from the shadows in the alley. They appeared as if by magic from spaces Athir would never have noticed even if the alley had been bathed in bright sunlight.
Say something – anything! Athir told himself.
“Uh, hey, I’m sorry, friend,” Athir managed. “I didn’t know this was your territory. Why don’t
