Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any other Yugioh character portrayed in this fic

Chapter 4

The silence that filled the Champion's Box gaped deeper than one of Joey's yawns. Yugi stood stock still, one hand clutched convulsively around the Millenium Puzzle. The taller boy was pacing in circles, hair disshevelled and standing up in golden cow-licks where he had run his fingers through it.

"Yug . . . Yug, man dis is bad. Real bad. Where'd dey go? How . . . how? Where's Mai? Oh man, oh man, oh man . . . "

"Joseph, calm down."

Joey spun on his heel, nearly stumbling over. "Huh?"

He stared at the slightly taller, solid frame and narrow, determined gaze of his friend and made the obvious connection.

"Oh. It's you."

"Yes, me. We need to inform Mokuba Kaiba of these developments immediately."

"Wait, you sure 'bout dat? The kid'll freak if he knows his bro went . . . "

"We have no other choice, Joey. And Mokuba Kaiba is Vice President of Kaibacorp. I have complete faith in his ability to both assess and handle the situation."

Joey shrugged doubtfully. "S'pose so. Aw, man, Yami Yug, you have any idea what might have happened to 'em?"

The former Pharaoh frowned. "I might have an idea. I'm not entirely clear on this, though. And Mokuba needs to be here when we discuss it."

"Hey, dey in any kinda danger?"

"No, not if I can help it. Although the circumstances are highly unusual . . . "

Joey stared intently at him, panic growing behind his brown eyes. "What's dat? Unusual in what way?"

The Pharaoh met his gaze with a grim smile. "Unusual for a shadow game, Joseph."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())

A profound silence, more vast and far more expressive, filled the audience hall of the palace at Thebes. All seven of the royally appointed high priests were present, along with the Pharaoh, the apprentice, Mana, and one Seto Kaiba. The latter was currently standing at the foot of the dais, jaw grinding in pure frustration, as the occupants of the dais regarded him as they would a sheep they were sizing up at the market. Then they began to speak and Kaiba had to restrain himself from reaching across the narrow space and bashing all of their over-dressed heads together.

"Remarkable."

"Indeed."

"An almost exact likeness."

"Handsome young man, isn't he? Fine, upstanding posture . . . "

"Hush, Seth might hear you . . . "

"Exception of the skin. He must hail from a considerably colder climate."

"Hmph. Or simply not spend enough time outdoors. He's certainly a lot scrawnier that Seth over there . . . "

"What curious apparel!"

"Seth's statement indicated that he was a man of business. A merchant of some sort. Maybe that's standard uniform."

"Look at this strangely coloured object they obtained from him. It's quite harmless . . . just makes noises when you press it. Do you think he's in the entertainment or conjuring trade?"

"More like weapon trade. Look at him scowling."

"Now, now, he's just a youngster . . ."

Seth, who had been standing to the side, cleared his throat noisily. "My Pharaoh? What pronouncement do you make on the imposter?"

Atem was thoughtfully examining the colourful object, a.k.a. cellphone, they had taken from Kaiba, turning it over between his fingers. "I have some questions for him, if you don't mind, Seth."

"My Prince, we've already asked him . . . "

"That's true. Nevertheless, there are some things I would like to hear from him."

The young Pharaoh leaned forward in his throne and examined Seth closely. "Hm. Remarkable. Tell me, Seto Kaiba, how is it that you resemble the High Priest Seth to such a great degree?"

"I really have no idea."

"Your Majesty," hissed Seth in outrage, his imposing height seeming to grow even more as he stared Kaiba down.

"Fine. I really have no idea. Your Majesty."

Atem cocked his head, face serious, but eyes dancing slightly. Seth didn't like that face. He recognised it from their sparring days.

"Tell me, Kaiba, why do you not afford me my title, even when you were asked to?"

Like the shrewd man he was, Kaiba retreated behind caution. "I apologise, your Highness. Where I come from, the power afforded to national leaders is often a front for the sake of maintaining unity. The men with the most power are the ones who remain discrete."

Atem nodded slowly. "I see. But I, too, have an observation to make. You do not look like the kind of man who is accustomed to showing deference to any kind of authority figure, let alone the truly powerful."

Kaiba took in a sharp breath and raised his eyes. Atem was smiling.

"If my guess is correct, Seto Kaiba, you were the one who wielded the power and influence. And yet, you told us that you were a man of business. How is this so?"

"I told the truth," Kaiba squared his shoulders and looked his questioner in the eye, "'Man of business' is but a general description. Your power and influence, as Pharaoh of this nation, come from divine right. In my country, such things come to one . . . under different circumstances."

"So wealth determines power?"

God, he's a sharp one. "Yes, that's right."

"Your Majesty, if I may?" Mahad had been eyeing the cellphone ever since they had first gotten hold of it. "May I ask Kaiba what the purpose of that object is?"

"Of course." Atem passed the phone across to Mahad who held it up and looked at Kaiba eagerly.

"That's a cellphone," said Kaiba, stiffly.

"A . . . cellphone?"

The CEO sighed. He was fully aware of the effects of tampering with the timeline. But quite frankly, he was beyond caring. All he wanted was to get back to Mokuba. And if they made little 'cellphone' hieroglyphics and put them up there with all those unexplained flying saucer carvings, then so be it.

"Yes. It's a communication device."

"Who would you communicate with?"

"Another cellphone user."

"Are they common, where you come from?"

"Just about everyone has them."

"Indeed."

Mahad resumed his examination of the phone while Seth stepped forward. "Kaiba, you mentioned a brother?"

Atem noted how the man straightened slightly, the sudden flicker of emotion behind his cold eyes.

"Yes. He is not here. He is in Japan. I have to get back to him as soon as possible."

"And you mentioned someone else who came with you."

Kaiba paused, looking slightly uncertain, but then shook his head and frowned. "I'm sure she is here somewhere. Mai Valentine. A woman from Japan who was also transported with me by accident."

Seth took a breath and turned away from him. "I would also like you to inform the council of the manner in which you were transported here."

Kaiba smirked at his look-alike's ramrod straight back. "Why, of course. I was sent here with the Millenium Rod."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())

It was on the third night of her captivity that she decided to put her escape plan into action. If she had known how that night would have eventually turned out, she would have simply hidden away in a corner, covered herself with a rug and thought pleasant, bittersweet thoughts about Joey and their eventual anticlimatic reunion, safe until the horror was over. But she did not know, and so, she plotted and planned and acted.

She could not deny that she was excited. Terrified, yes. After all, swords were not a patch on guns, but it wasn't as if she had a gun. And cold metal through the guts was a sensation she would avoid at all costs if she could. But the thrill of flight, of the unknown, of that sudden feeling where your stomach swoops right down between your Jimmy Choo's, that was the risk she lived for. No flaws in this plan, Valentine.

The prisoner, despite the fact that he was obviously old and had been under immense strain for heaven knew how long, was a native to wherever they were. So, it naturally followed, he would know roughly the direction in which to go. Getting free, along with him, however, was the least of her worries. She had to do it such that they would not be followed and before they encountered the slave traders. Mai knew that whoever she was 'sold' to would do a far better job keeping her secure than her current traveling companions were. She had not spoken to Khalid since their last disagreement, although she had seen him give her a dismissive glance now and then when their paths crossed. Now that she was no longer a threat and a mere 'woman' and source of potential income, she was no longer of much interest to him. Although this riled her, she was somewhat thankful.

And so, when night fell, Mai followed her guard obediently to the campfire where the evening meal was being prepared. She made a show of sauntering into the circle of firelight, the cloak they had given her as protection against the night chill doing little to hide her ample bosom and swaying hips. She had guessed that the men who accompanied the caravan, as serving soldiers, had seen very little woman in the course of their journey, unless you counted the female lizards that sometimes scuttled out from under their feet. And she had guessed right. More than one pair of eyes followed her progress to the warmth of the fire.

She stretched out, allowing the cloak to fall away from her knees, while mentally thanking her lucky stars for that drunk hotel owner in Vegas who had paid for the full laser treatment on her legs. There were some uncomfortable shuffles around her.

My, oh my, aren't we restless, boys.

She leant forward, catching the eye of the man stirring their broth. She smiled coyly. He smiled back, hesitantly.

Ha. Yeah, I'd like to see you try to resist Mai Valentine's patented 'I'm-oh-so-shy-you-retarded-sucker' smile.

She pouted and the man's eyes immediately fell to her lips. "Are we having that boring gruel again?" she whined, one finger stroking the rim of the warming pot.

"Uh . . . we're having stew."

She giggled and something about her laugh made the hapless stew-brewer feel like a very humourous man indeed.

"Well," he scratched his neck awkwardly, "there isn't much else . . . "

"What?" Her eyes opened, round and wide and lovely in the flickering firelight. "Not even some spices?"

"Those are for the Captain's private stores."

"Oh come on." She playfully tapped his arm, letting her fingers linger for just slightly longer than necessary. "Surely he won't mind just this once. I'm sure your comrades will appreciate it too."

"Woman, I am not able to . . . "

"Please?" Her voice was a sultry purr. Her long eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings. The stew-brewer promptly lost his willpower.

"You tell nobody about this, you hear?" he scolded as he rose, in a futile attempt at reasserting some authority.

"Of course not," she whispered. She gave a sensuous smile and pressed one finger against her lips in the universal gesture of 'keeping mum'. As soon as his back was turned, she scoped out the rest of the assembled troops. The guards patrolling to the left of the caravan would soon make a shift change with those seated around the fire. With the absence of the man watching the pot, that shift change would be her opening. She noted their approach.

Come on, come on, faster, faster, you dickheads.

The men around the campfire rose, one or two giving one last appreciative glance at her legs. She gave a strained smile in return.

Come on, come on . . .

In that one golden moment, all turned their backs on her. And for the first time in her life, Mai thanked heaven for chronic insomnia as she dropped the entire bottle of very, very potent sleeping pills into the stew-pot. The cook returned with a small array of spices in his cloak, giving her a hesitant smile. She smiled back broadly.

Nighty night, boys.

Oh, how she would kick herself for this later. They ate hungrily. She wasn't sure if everyone had partaken, but even if they hadn't, a pursuit would be impossible to mount if more than half their force was hampered by falling out of the saddle. She only hoped that the dosage wouldn't be too diluted by the volume of liquid in the pot. When she returned to her wagon, she lay still for what seemed like hours, listening until the breathing of her guard turned heavy and steady. Emerging cautiously, handbag and cloak safely secured, she made her way stealthily past his slumped, sleeping form to the rear wagon. She bit her lip in consternation when she saw that the prisoner was absent.

Dammit. Why tonight?

Calming herself, she retraced her steps, stopping just before the centre wagon. If he wasn't out there, then surely . . . A sudden movement caught her attention and she darted backwards, pressing herself against the side of the wagon, heart pounding. When no danger was forthcoming she looked around cautiously and let out a breath of relief. It was only the stationed watchmen for the prisoner's wagon. His foot had shifted. She was about to bypass him, when a flash of something bright on his belt caught her attention.

It was a strangely shaped metal object, with odd carvings and projections along its length. Almost like a . . . a key! The carvings matched those on the prisoner's shackles! Stooping, she slipped the key free of its various fastenings, holding her breath every time the man shifted. Finally it came loose and she fisted the air silently.

The entrance of the prisoner's wagon was dark, a foul smell emanating from the interior. Mai knew that she herself was in need of a serious shower, but this was . . . Bastards, torturing an old man this way. Pushing aside the leathery overhang, Mai couldn't help but feel a strange sense of foreboding, something like walking into a lion's den. Chiding herself for her overactive imagination, she climbed up gingerly and stepped in.

"Hello?"

There was no reply. She squinted, eyes growing accustomed to the pitch black interior.

"Psst, it's me. I'm here to get you out. They're all asleep, I drugged the chow."

She advanced further, hands outstretched.

"Where the hell are you, buddy?"

A movement in the corner. She came forward slowly. "Hey, it's okay. It's just me, the other jailbird. I'm gonna get you outta here, old man."

A clinking of chains and he was suddenly visible, his crouched outline edging forward slowly. She smiled. "That's right, take it easy. I'm gonna get us both out. Look, I got the key off the guard. Let's get those god awful chains away from you. Here, show me where the keyhole is."

He stretched his arms out silently and in the dim ray of moonlight coming through the slightly parted canvas, she saw the hole where the key could be inserted between his wrists. Kneeling, she slotted the metal rod in, twisting right first, meeting resistance, then left. A satisfying click echoed through the caravan. She frowned.

"Wait, where's the key for your neck?"

He was silent. She swore at her own stupidity. Of course. More than one key. Khalid would have it.

"We're gonna find that key, sweetie pie. Now follow me. Quiet now. We gotta get food and water, then you need to remember the way to the nearest town for me. Got it?"

She saw him nod, his white hair moving up and and down. Good so far. She turned back to the opening and crawled forward, feeling him follow her. She slipped down from the wagon and was about to turn to help the old man out when she felt the tip of a sword press to her throat and a rough hand grasp her shoulder, tugging her painfully forward. Her eyes widened as they met the reddened, furious gaze of Khalid.

Oh . . . damn. She was stupid. So utterly stupid. 'Captain's stores', that cook had said. Of course Khalid's food would be prepared separately from the rest of his men. He was the fucking captain.

"You bitch!" he spat, "What did you do? I knew it, I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

"Oh yeah? Why'd you let me run around then, tubby?" she snapped, far more bravely than she felt.

He jerked her fiercely. "What were you doing in there? What did you do?"

"Nothing! I . . . "

"TELL THE TRUTH!"

Throwing caution to the winds she screamed. If she couldn't get away, then it didn't mean he couldn't. "Run! Go old man! Run for it!"

"What? . . . " Khalid's eyes snapped over her shoulder to the opening of the caravan and Mai saw his eyes widen, the blood leave his face. He let out a soft strangled noise. "You fool . . . " he whispered.

There was a soft thump behind her, the sound of someone hopping down to the ground. Khalid dropped her, shoving her backwards, now hyperventilating and drawing his sword with a quick motion, holding it out in a ready position before him. Mai stumbled backwards into something warm and very solid. Turning in confusion, she was met with the sight of skin, dark brown skin, small white scars criss-crossing across a very broad, very muscular torso. She took a step back. And another. And looked up, up into blazing, bottomless slate-blue eyes that caught and held her like a deer in headlights. A vicious looking scar crossed the right eye, all down to the cheek bone. And his hair. White hair.

Holy crap.

Then he smiled. The widest, sharpest, most frightening smile she had ever seen. The voice that emerged from behind that twisted smile was deep, nightmareishly harsh the rumbling purr of a wild panther.

"Actually, I think I'll stay. Step aside and let an old man do his job, sweetie pie."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())

A/N: Haha, another fast update :)