The lair of the Sewer Rats was, well, a hole. There aren't many other ways of describing it: it had literally been carved out of the side of the sewer tunnels. A steady stream of murky, heavily polluted water flowed by it constantly. Tiny, deformed lizards and other unspeakable creatures prowled around it with impunity, often sneaking in to snatch up a few crumbs of food (not that the children left many: each amongst them knew the worth of nourishment to Lower Valuans, and hoarded every last particle of bread jealously). Each amongst the Sewer Rats had a theory about what had originally created their rather expansive cubby- hole of a home: Squim, personally, believed that a water dragon had dug into the wall, and made a nest out of its creation. Tricks considered it the work of a pair of lovers (deep down, she was quite the romantic) who had used it for many a midnight rendezvous (romantic in a crude sort of way, that is). Galley envisioned their home as the former hideout for a gang of thieves and brigands, the likes of which Valua would never see again (he was already well aware that the Sewer Rats were a temporary organisation, at best). Marlo, quite simply, considered it home. Where it came from didn't really matter, so long as it was there at the end of the day.

Mama, however, possessed the most accurate estimate of its origins. Upon first discovering the hollowed out rooms, she'd found a large number of human bones and scraps of mouldy clothing. She'd cleaned them all out, long ago, but never forgot about what she found: her theory was that some form of murder had taken up residence there, one strong enough to somehow pound living quarters out of the very rock. In actual fact, it had once been home to an infamous sociopath by the name of Tooth, who had captured people in the streets and dragged them down into the depths of the sewers. The things he'd done to each and every last one of them before ultimately sucking the marrow from their bones would make any person's blood curdle. Fortuitously for the Sewer Rats, however, he was one hundred and twenty-two years dead. His former den was now their cosy little home, one that they each loved in their own way.

It was this very home that they were now returning to, Tricks leading the band along as per usual. Squim aside, they each bore a considerable amount of valuables, scattered amongst the various folds and rips of their tattered clothing. Galley even had a golden pocket-watch perched upon his head, hidden by his cap. It was their policy to make sure that any empty space upon their personage be filled as quickly as possible.

Tricks halted a little short of the entrance, a gaping puncture in the wall of the sewer, and called out 'ki la la la' softly. It was returned in a singsong manner, by a voice far more gentle than Tricks could ever manage. Tricks grinned and sprinted into the hole, exclaiming wildly that they'd had the greatest success in working tonight. Squim leapt in after her, somewhat abashed that he had so little to contribute after losing much of his.

Before Galley could enter, however, Marlo laid a hand upon his shoulder. Galley tipped the rim of his cap up and gazed back at his friend inquisitively.

"You think mama'll be mad?"

Galley twisted his lips up, considering the question. "Hmmm. . . I dunno. You think?"

Marlo nodded mutely. Galley could only shrug at it. They clambered in.

Despite outside appearances – and the fact that it was, well, a spacious hole – the laid of the Sewer Rats was rather nicely adorned, if a bit eccentric. The cold floor had been abundantly carpeted with a wide range of battered rugs, most of which probably originated in Nasr. The walls were covered in knickknacks and pictures of all kinds, some culled from the garbage and others stolen. Several clocks hung from dull nails; only one worked. A great deal of beadwork spread across almost every vertical plane – Mama was a big fan of beads – and obscured many of the objects on the walls like a series of wooden webs. Upon the floor one could find toys, trinkets, pencils, quills, tools, fabric, clothing, blankets, utensils, parchment, maps, urns, pottery, and any number of other odds and ends. A few books even lay scattered around Mama's bed, though the children were forbidden to touch those. They were worth a lot. The children's bed, a large, bouncy cot that was surprisingly comfortable after years of wear and tear, rested in the corner of the hole.

In the midst of it all sat Mama, her legs folded delicately upon her bed (which was, admittedly, more of a thick bundle of blankets and towels than anything else – it served her needs, nevertheless). She was sewing.

To hear the name 'Mama', one invariably thinks of a decrepit old woman, rather like a spinster. This was not so. Though she never told her children as such, Mama was just barely out of her teenage years, at the ripe age of twenty. She was an eclectic figure: lithe and spry, with brunette hair worn in a ponytail, she wore a vast array of vibrant clothing that made her seem rather like a sideshow oddity. Her pants were long and baggy, and covered in a vast array of daggers (she specialised in throwing knives) held in place by dirty belts and worn straps of all kinds. She was garbed in a loose fitting tank top, over which she draped a quilt: it was, after all, cold in the sewers. Gaudy bracelets and beaded ringlets adorned her arms. She jingled wherever she went (unless engaged in thievery, in which case she removed her adornments). A plethora of cheap necklaces lay around her neck. Anyone who saw her thought her some kind of Gypsy.

She gazed up to look at her children, one sewing needle clutched firmly in her teeth. Removing it, she smiled. "Welcome back, all of you. How did it go?"

Tricks scampered around the room gleefully, Squim sticking fast on her heels. "Great, mama, great! Lookit!" She thrust her hands into her pockets and removed a large cache of gleaming coins, stopping only temporarily to hoist them into Mama's lap. "We did great! Yeah! Lookit, lookit!" Any semblance of maturity dissolved when Tricks was around Mama.

Mama grabbed a hold of Tricks' arm and pulled her back. "Whoa, easy, child. Calm. You know the routine, no?"

"Ah, yeah, ah, yeah. Sorry Mama." Tricks came to a halt in front of Mama, standing stock-still. Squim pulled up beside her, uncertainty playing over his face. Galley and Marlo approached from behind and lined up as well. Squim did his best to edge away from Galley, earning a furtive smack from Tricks for getting too close to her.

Mama unfolded her legs and rose, setting aside her work. She strode about in front of the Sewer Rats, eyeing them all with the look of an eagle. She was the commander, and they her troops. It was time that they report their good news, albeit in an ordered fashion.

She came to a stop in front of Marlo. Wordlessly, he emptied his pockets in front of her. Two wallets, several handfuls of coins, a glimmering pair of earrings (the woman had been keeping them in her pocket, lord knows why) and a few pieces of wrapped food. Mama nodded and patted her unimaginative little ward on the head.

Galley was next. He bore hordes of coins, four wallets, the watch, several wrapped sandwiches (he and Marlo had made a point of robbing the vendors on the street), a few jewel-encrusted buttons, several military medals (stealing those was a matter of pride alone, as selling them would be far too risky), a bracelet (Mama immediately snatched up this prize and slid it on her arm), and a small porcelain doll. Mama smiled at his stash and rapped affectionately on his cap.

Squim was trembling. He knew he was done for. More than half of his booty was gone. Unsure of what to do, he simply emptied his pockets and swore quietly to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Mama eyed his share. It looked pitifully small beside Galley's: a few coins and a wallet. Kneeling, she tipped up his drooping chin to face her, and spoke in the softest, yet most malevolent voice possible.

"Is this your idea of a joke?"