“Deal,” he smiled. “Thanks. I promise I’ll be long gone by then.”
* * *
When it was dark, Syrina returned, n***d and slathered in fish oil, which made her want to throw up but would cover her scent from any dogs. Of course, they’d notice the overpowering stench of fish—the dogs and everyone else—but she hoped they wouldn’t be able to smell a human intruder under the stink.
The rickshaw was still where they’d pushed it against the wall in front of the vent. The board she’d banged out at the dry docks remained in place, protruding from the Trade Union building, three fingers out. As far as she could tell, it still reached over the sewer drain to the shaft on the other side.
She climbed up to the roof, got the spare wheel, and repaired the rickshaw well enough to get her the short distanc
