A chapter full of mysterious conversations...

"Why do you continue to waste my time?"

"I don't waste anything."

A sharp blow, and a strangled grunt.

"I think you have forgotten exactly how matters stand. Perhaps a reminder?"

More half-choked sounds of pain.

"You are nothing without me, do you understand? And should I leave you, how long would you last?"

Hateful silence.

"Ah, a sign of wit at last. I was beginning to think you had forgotten."

Savagely, "I never forget."

A smirk. "See that you do not."

Light returned to the small room, and Bakura was left alone, gasping on the floor.

They found him in the kitchens. One moment, Seth was eating quietly in his accustomed corner, thinking of his day and wondering whether the prince would summon him again. The next, two of the pharaoh's guards were standing in front of him and motioning him to his feet.

"The pharaoh wishes to see you."

Seth swallowed on a suddenly dry throat and tried to ignore the cramp of panic in his stomach. "W-why?"

"It is not for you to ask," the first guard said, not unkindly, and gestured for Seth to precede them out.

The prince told someone.

"Pharaoh doesn't tolerate the existence of Shadowmancers who don't work for him."

Call on Lord Aknadin? Would there be anything that he could do?

The doors to the throne room opened. Seth tried not to let his fear show as he was led inside. Pharaoh sat at the far end of the hall. Shimon stood beside him, and Seth's heart jumped to see the prince as well. Crimson eyes studied him gravely.

Trying his hardest not to tremble, Seth knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor.

He could feel the pharaoh studying him. "This is the second time you have been drawn to my attention. What is your name, boy?"

"Seth, Great Pharaoh."

"Seth." The god-king mulled this over for a long moment, as though he could read more from the words than just the syllables of Seth's name. "The prince came to me this morning with an interesting tale."

A sense of hurt and anger flooded him, and he pressed his forehead even closer to the floor to conceal it from the prince. Well, what did you expect? the cool voice in his head said acidly. What would Pharaoh do? Would Seth simply be pressed into service?

"You can read?" the pharaoh asked.

What? Seth dared to look up. The prince's grave front had cracked a little; there was a hint of a grin on his face, hidden from his father.

He became aware that Pharaoh was still waiting for an answer. "Y-yes, Lord."

"Can you write as well?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Where did you learn to do so?"

Taking a deep breath, Seth explained that his mother had known and had taught him when he was small. Pharaoh's brow furrowed a little more with each word.

"Strange that a peasant would know such skills," he murmured. "Strange that she would consider them important."

Seth said nothing. Thoughts of his mother temporarily overwhelmed him: her smile, her soft skin, her voice as she told him, "Seth, you must try again," when he struggled with difficult words. She'd taught him history and mathematics too, but Pharaoh hadn't asked about those and Seth found himself oddly reluctant to volunteer the information. He just kept his head down, fighting to keep his face blank and free of tears.

The boy's face was strangely set, Aknankamon thought. Perhaps mentioning his mother had distressed him in some fashion. The boy had claimed to have no family in the city. Alas, it would take a wiser head than mine to understand small boys.

"As the boy has these skills, Pharaoh," Shimon said suddenly, "It seems a shame to waste him on changing linens."

"I agree," Aknankamon said. "Go now, boy. I will ask the gods for guidance, and send someone later to inform you of your new duties."

"Father," the prince said before Seth could rise. "May I suggest a place?"

Pharaoh raised an eyebrow slightly. Atem rarely contributed aloud.

"Speak," he said. Below, the servant boy looked up.

"We have spoken of my need for a scribe," Atem said, bowing his head respectfully. "If his writing is adequate, may he be assigned to me, at least for everyday matters?"

The other eyebrow rose, and Aknankamon swiveled to study the peasant boy again. Was it only that the boy was roughly Atem's age? There was something about Seth that did seem different, though he could not put his finger on what that was.

He is a servant, remember that, Atem.

Atem nodded.

"Testing must come first, and training," Aknankamon said slowly out-loud. "After that, I will consider." He looked at Seth. "Report to the head of the palace scribes."

The boy bowed lower in his clumsy peasant fashion, then retreated from the room.

"If I move my hand, will you promise not to scream?"

"Mmph!"

"A nod? Very well. Your word."

"Mmphu hu hu..."

"You seem a likely looking boy. Work in the palace suits you."

"How...how did you get here? Who are you?"

"Just a man interested in the ways of the palace. So many people, so much going on...so many interesting things to overhear."

"And you w-want me to hear them? And to...tell you?"

"Ah, a clever boy. Just the sort I need."

"And...and what do I get i-in return?"

"That," Bakura said, smiling and watching the boy's face go very pale. "Would depend on whether it's worth paying for."

"Master Paki?"

The scribe came over to examine what Seth had carefully copied: "Fingers like the claws of a crocodile and stinking more than fish roe."

"This line should be more curved."

"Yes, Master Paki."

Under the watchful eyes of the teacher, Seth tried again. "I will admit," Paki said, "you are quick at improvement. Practice that line thrice more."

Seth did so as the scribe moved around the room, correcting the other boys. "This is no ordinary task you are performing," Paki told them as he walked. "Master this hieratic. After that, if you are lucky and talented, you will also learn the sacred script."

Seth finished describing the blacksmith and started copying the description of the potter: "He grubs in the mud more than a pig, in order to fire his pots." His attention was on Paki, however, as the scribe paced. The man's eyes were bright.

"Those who learn the sacred script," he said, "will learn the secrets of the gods."

Seth felt a thrill run down his spine and focused eagerly on his work.

"How does the boy?"

"He learns quickly, my lord. His writing is quite good. Are you sure that he was born a peasant?"

"Push him harder."

"My lord?"

"I wish to see how he will do under pressure. Push him harder. Expect more of him then the rest."

"Yes, my lord."

"What's wrong, Seth?" the prince demanded. "You lost too easily that time!"

Seth, struggling not to writhe with pain on the ground, bit back a nasty retort with some difficulty.

The prince's exasperated expression faded to something like real, startling concern. "What's wrong?" he asked more softly, coming to crouch by Seth. "Are you sick? The palace healers..."

"No," Seth said, and stood on shaky legs. But the prince was still looking at him, so he added. "I'm just tired. It's not an excuse." He could not help but smirk at the prince's look of surprise. "Startled at the lives of your servants, my prince?" he asked.

"But you're not a servant now," the prince said, furrowing his brow. "You're a scribe-in-training."

"…Do you even know what a scribe-in-training does, Your Highness?"

"Of course!" the prince said indignantly. "Writes...things..."

"Practices writing," Seth corrected. "All day. Demotic and hieratic right now, though I hope Master Paki will start teaching me the sacred script soon."

The prince stared at him. "How do you stand it?"

"No," Seth said, shaking his head and sitting back down at the senet table to reset the board. "It's wonderful. I am learning so much. Perfecting my hieratic, reading stories about the gods..." He realized he was babbling in his excitement and made himself stop. "And I play games with you, and have lessons with the Lord Aknadin, and try to practice what he teaches me."

"Dear gods, Seth. When do you sleep?"

"Sleep, my prince?"

"You will simply have to…" The prince trailed off uncharacteristically as he realized that if Seth were to cut back, the logical thing to cut would be the games. Seth shook his head quickly.

"I'm fine," he said as sincerely as he could. We are not stopping these games until I win!

The prince stared at him with his eerie red eyes, clearly not convinced. Then, suddenly, he brightened. "Perhaps we can combine some of those things, Seth." He lifted a hand towards Seth. "Magic and games."

"How?" Seth asked warily.

He was answered in a smirk. "Open up your mind."

Author's Note: Interestingly enough, the text that Seth was copying is a real text used to train scribes in Ancient Egypt. The descriptions of each type of artisan are hilarious! I would like to thank saphren for the kind review; reviews are a highly motivating factor for quick updates!