Pushing through the crowd clogging Nam-lu’s market square, Sayeh tried to ignore the cries for mercy from yet another transgressor shoved toward the execution block. Life in Nam-lu was hard and often cruel, but for a thief, doubly so. The three losing a hand or head today were lucky in an odd way, if losing a limb could be considered lucky. Most were simply sacrificed on a festival day. Either crucified or presented to the gods at the ziggurat’s summit. But these three were being made an example of for their crimes against the temple, and if past examples were anything to go by, those who kept their heads today, would be found nailed to a cross by the river’s edge by the end of the day. One Sayeh knew, and the other two were familiar, but there was nothing she could do to prevent their fate, and in a morbid way their punishment helped Sayeh. A public execution or chastisement always drew a crowd, and in the press of bodies, Sayeh could find rich pickings more often than not. The juxtaposition was not lost on her, as the unfortunate men on the platform received capital punishment for the very act of pick-pocketing she was engaged in.

Unfortunate for them, but an opportunity for me, Sayeh thought, slipping past a fat merchant and grinding her teeth. The man had his coin purse securely clasped in his hand, like many others, and today the pickings were poultry at best. Oh, she had cut a purse or two, but other than a few tiny coins that would gain little more than a loaf of day-old bread, Sayeh was having little luck. So, as the last unfortunate prisoner lost a hand and the crowd dispersed, Sayeh made for the market edge and a tiny baker’s stall. Paying for a loaf of bread, she tried to ignore the brown-robed fanatics of the night god stalking the market, pulled the wrap around her head tighter, and slipped into a lane that meandered east toward the river.

The temple guards were bad enough without the fanatical cultists of the night god, and Sayeh was sure she recognized the face of a former thief among the handful of cultists stalking the market. Zaba and his little gang of cultists despised Sayeh, and with the festival of the summer moon drawing close, they would like nothing more than to see her and Mausse on a cross or sacrificed under a bronze dagger. How the queen of Nam-lu tolerated them in her city was a mystery, but only the foolish would believe the royal family held any power over the temple of the Night God. Neti, the Priestess Queen, ruled Nam-lu, and the royal house was nothing more than puppets to support her illegitimacy.

Pushing thoughts of the cultists of the Night God from her mind, Sayeh wove deeper into the confusing maze of narrow streets and stairways that riddled Nam-lu away from the wide avenues leading between the royal palace hill and the one the great temple sat on.  

Nam-lu was old, and like any old city, one generation built on top of another until there were two cities. One high above and the other deep below the earth. Casting a glance back up the lane, Sayeh quickly slipped through an arched door and down into the warren of tunnels honeycombing the city above. How or why this network of chambers and galleries came to be, Sayeh did not know or even cared to know, but it served as a sanctuary from the fanatics and temple guards that stalked the city above. Well, it did until either group ventured down here, and that was all too often in her opinion. Working deeper into the confusing maze, Sayeh paused before what seemed a dead end and quickly scaled the wall using little niches cut into the solid rock. Reaching a little alcove, she rolled her eyes at the sounds of lovemaking emanating from the curtain covering the opening.

Pushing it aside, Sayeh crawled through the narrow opening and smiled at the pair enjoying each other. Mausse lay on his back while Nintu rocked her hips over his, hands firmly planted on his chest. “Sayeh… join us,” Nintu breathed, feeling Sayeh crouch next to her and kiss her head.

“Not today, Nintu. I will need to work tonight if we are to eat and continue living here,” Sayeh said, planting a kiss on Mausse’s head and settling back to watch the pair. The living arrangement was far from unusual in Nam-lu. Most men had more than one partner, and often it was a pair of women who wished to live with each other that chose the man who shared their bed. Mausse was a good thief, almost as good as Sayeh, but Nintu was possibly the worst thief Sayeh knew, yet she earned her keep in other ways. Sayeh and Mausse both loved the slender, bronze skinned dark-haired girl to distraction, so they left her to keep their little home in order, fetch water, and take care of them when she did not sell herself to the traders that passed through the city.

“I will entertain a little tonight then,” Nintu said haltingly, clearly finding it hard to split her focus. Snorting at the comment, Sayeh moved closer and kissed her on the lips.

“No, stay safe here Nin, there are more fanatics than normal in the streets, and I would sooner see you safe,” replied Sayeh, and laughed as the pair came to a shuddering stop.

“But we need to eat,” Nintu replied, settling down on top of Mausse. The two loved each other deeply, and it worried Sayeh how either would react should anything befall the other.

“Yes, and we will get the coin for food. But you will stay in here until the festival passes. Besides, if you two keep this up, you will end up with child Nin, and we don’t need another mouth to feed,” Sayeh said, earning a snort from Nintu and prompting her to sit up and snatch a little pottery jar from a niche carved into the wall. The little space they all occupied was barely tall enough to stand in, and little more than six feet wide. But it housed them all comfortably, and it had a little cooking alcove near the door.

“I have plenty of silphium, šamšum,” Nintu said, waving the little pot of contraceptive at Sayeh and using the little name Nintu used for her. It meant sun in Akkadian, and like Sayeh, Nintu was not from Nam-lu. Why Nintu used it, Sayeh did not know, since her name meant shadow in the old tongue, but the two had been friends since they were children. Grunting at the reply, Sayeh just shrugged and broke the loaf of bread she acquired into three portions.

“It is not foolproof, Nin,” Sayeh replied flatly, shuffling over and handing Nintu some bread before snuggling into the semi-naked girl now leaning against the smooth rock wall. Tossing the last portion to an amused Mausse, Sayeh rolled her eyes and flicked the blanket over him. “Eat and get some sleep, Mausse, we both need to work tonight,” continued Sayeh, and nibbled on her portion of bread.

“The temple…?” Mausse questioned, pulling a chunk from his bit of bread. Snorting at the comment, Sayeh shook her head while Nintu made a strangled sound.

“Only if we must, but not tonight, Mouse. It is dangerous, and with all the cultists in the city, getting in and out unseen to rob the place may as well be suicide,” replied Sayeh, shuddering at the idea of breaking into the temple priest’s quarters and using the literal meaning of Mausse’s name. Oh, they had done it before, but it was a terrible risk and a last resort.

“Good, and don’t be a fool and try it yourself, Mouse,” Nintu snapped, shoving Mausse with a tiny foot. Rolling his eyes at the two women, Mausse got up and snuggled in between them. For a street boy, Mausse was muscular, yet still slim, dark-haired, and olive-skinned like all natives born in Nam-lu.

“Fine, but we could find enough to live free for months in the temple. We have risked it before, Sayeh,” Mausse replied and sighed at the flat looks from his two girls. He may be a man, but like all homes in Nam-lu, the women ruled, even in a thieves’ house. Twitching a smile around a mouthful of bread, Sayeh leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. They did not have much, but they had each other, and that had to count for something. Mausse had a reckless nature that often drove Nintu to tears and Sayeh to shouting at him, but he was not stupid enough to venture into the temple without extra eyes and a clear plan.

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𒊀𒄠𒀀𒂠𒀭𒆤

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Keeping to the shadows, Sayeh hunkered down and pressed herself against the rough alley wall, working to look like another indistinct shape in the general gloom. The night had contained little success in the way of easy opportunities for a young thief, and the city guards along with roving bands of cultists in the half-moon lit streets only added to her sense of failure. The Festival of the Summer Moon was only a month away, and the Priestess Queen clearly required sacrifices to the night god. Why the gods demanded such things, Sayeh did not know, or even cared to know. But it was all too often the poor and homeless that saw crucifixion at the river’s edge, or death at the summit of the great ziggurat. 
This is why I told you to stay in tonight, Nintu, Sayeh thought, freezing and holding her breath when a cultist paused at the alley entrance and squinted at the dark before hurrying on. “Zaba,” she hissed, catching a glimpse of the former pickpocket’s face. The recognition sent a cold flush of fear through her. If Zaba had found her, there would be no question of her fate. Yet he was far from the only former criminal now turned cultist fanatic for the temple.
Along with the temple guards, ordinary citizens mixed in with outcasts, now become temple fanatics, were rounding up any with no good reason to be out so late, and any thieves such as herself would end as a sacrifice; that was a certainty. But cultists like Zaba, well, they were all too happy to help. With men like Zaba, the temple would occasionally overlook their sordid past in exchange for thieves like Sayeh, and men like Zaba were all too eager to obey in exchange for coin, food, and some limited authority. It never ceased to amaze Sayeh how quickly one man would sell out his fellow man for a little coin and a pat on the back. They all seemed little better than a pack of wild dogs. Worse, really, the dogs were simply trying to survive. Men like Zaba and his gang seemed to enjoy the fear they spread. Straining at the night sounds, looking for any hint Zaba and his men were still close by, Sayeh carefully stood and edged toward the alley entrance only to freeze at hushed voices nearby.
“Are you sure it was her?” one whispered, causing Sayeh to slink back into the shadows. She knew Zaba’s voice all too well. 
“Yeah, I know that little bitch no less than you do. Saw her in the market today, but missed my chance to grab her,” another voice hissed in the dark, earning a grunt from a third man Sayeh recognized.
Bucha, Sayeh thought, grinding her teeth at the name. Both he and Zaba hated Sayeh. Not that she saw it as her fault, but she had lifted a few items from them before they turned fanatic, and neither seemed to have forgiven her for it. All part of the trade, and besides, you would have done the same, she mused, eyes darting around looking for an easy escape from the blind alley. Stealing from another thief, while frowned upon by others in the trade, was far from out of the ordinary, and Sayeh had simply taken an opportunity.
“Well, she is gone now. That little shit is slipperier than a river rat, but still plenty of days before the festival to add that devious little slut to our list,” Zaba whispered back, the telltale sound of cheap hide sandals crunching in the dust echoing back up the alley to Sayeh as he moved away.
Damn them, Sayeh growled internally. Life was hard enough, but now she desperately needed money and food to see her and her little family safe in the coming weeks, or it was a certainty Zaba and his ilk would see them sacrificed. “We need to escape this city,” she whispered, frantically searching the street for movement beyond her alley. But leaving would require provisions and a caravan to join. Only the truly desperate ventured into the wilds alone or in a tiny group that Sayeh and her little family presented.
Noting a canvas awning and its pole pulled back for the night at the edge of the tiny alley, Sayeh counted her heartbeats until the trio of fanatics footsteps faded away, then scurried across the street, up onto a roof and lay flat eyes darting up and down the dim street below.
Letting out a slow breath, she rolled onto her back to stare up at the scattering of stars and enjoy the cool night air. It was a blessing when placed against the heat of the day. Even in winter, Nam-lu was a hot place, but in recent years hotter than it had ever been, but in summer, the city could become a furnace in the heat. The world was changing, or so she was told by the traders who traveled through Nam-lu. They brought news of the outside world to the citizens of the city. News of the wars to the east, and the rise of new empires to the west, of glittering kingdoms beyond the northern mountains, and god-kings to the south. Yet all, if asked, said the desert to the southwest was growing, and harvests poor away from the great rivers this season, as they had been for the past two. The thought caused Sayeh to flick a glance at the looming shadow of the great ziggurat and shudder. It would mean more sacrifices than normal to appease the night god so that he would let the sun rise each day and the rains flood the river. 
Not that any of it mattered to her; the gods took what they willed, and so would Sayeh. All that mattered was gaining some coin for food or stealing the food. Either one would do, and either way, she needed to eat and pay for her little family’s lodgings to keep them safe and away from the guards and cultists for a month. But with such a poor night made all the worse by fanatics like Zaba and the temple guard stalking the streets, Sayeh had little other option than to sell herself. It was far from her first choice, and it felt degrading even if it did not seem to bother Nintu, but it earned coin. Growling in resignation at the thought, she gained her feet and crept along the rooftop in the general direction of the great caravanserai and its many trade caravans on the outer reaches of Nam-lu beyond its walls. It was not a place Sayeh would rob. Even among the loose collection of thieves in Nam-lu, none took from the traders. The place could be a sanctuary of sorts when a thief needed to hide or run from the city.
A good hour later, and two more close brushes with fanatics and guards alike, Sayeh crept carefully into the caravanserai. The place never seemed to sleep, underscored by low voices and hushed laughter from tents and fire pits scattered around the open space. Beyond lay the rich, irrigated farmlands that terminated in rolling, patchy grassy hills that faded into desert in the west and forested mountains in the north. Not that Sayeh had ever ventured that far from the city, and not that she even cared to unless it was to escape it one day. Yet that was unlikely, and more so she would end up executed as a thief, or become a slave… either was death in the end. Slipping from shadow to shadow, Sayeh eyed the campfires, looking for just the right one. She may be forced to sell herself, but she would damn well choose the customer, and she had little liking for the men from the western desert or south near the river delta. The ones from over the northern mountains were always the best. They were most often careful and generous, making the act seem less degrading to her. But more so, they looked like her. Sayeh was not born in Nam-lu, or even close by, made obvious by her unusual features. With light brown, almost red hair, green eyes and pale skin, Sayeh was clearly from the far distant north, well beyond the edge of the world… or so she was told. Honestly, Sayeh knew very little of her origins, and the old woman who cared for her had told her nothing of them. The woman had not even given Sayeh a name, and only called her girl. She had been a slave of sorts until she ran away one night and joined the rest of the young thieves that shadowed the night streets and hot days of Nam-lu. 
Rounding the edge of a large tent, Sayeh frowned at a nearby fire and some familiar faces seated drinking beside it. Twitching a smile of recognition at one, Sayeh went to join the men and squeaked in fright when a set of rough hands pulled her in close and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Another bloody thief creeping around the camp,” the rough voice of a man hissed in her ear and grunted when Sayeh bit his hand. Struggling to get free, she received a sharp smack on the head for her efforts. Sayeh was not just small; she was tiny compared to the other girls she knew, despite her age. Slender as a pole, Sayeh did not even have a tenth of the strength needed to break away from the caravan man holding her fast. 
“Let me go, damn you!” she shouted while his hand was off her mouth. 
“Naram, let her go!” a man shouted from near the fire, moving quickly to accost this Naram. “I know the girl,” continued the man, closing the distance and pulling Sayeh from Naram’s clutches.
“Astios,” Sayeh breathed, throwing her arms around the man. 
“Hello little shadow. Not been hung or crucified yet, I see?” Astios said, patting Sayeh on the back and using the literal translation of her name.
“Never,” replied Sayeh, “but I need a bed for the night.” Snorting at the bold comment, Astios picked Sayeh up and carried her toward the fire. 
“At a price, I am sure,” Astios said, flashing her a wry smile, and earning a laugh and a pat on the cheek. 
“Of course. Everything has its price, remember,” replied Sayeh with a demure smile. Snorting at the comment, Astios walked past the fire to a small tent set just within its glow.