Don't you just love it when you meet your deadlines :)

And i was SO happy i made this one phew! This one was a beast! Not just cause of all the research and stuff i had to check and recheck, but also work left me with no time, and what time i did have lost the war to laziness (headdesk) but i got it done and I actually really like it, took a massive amount of editing to get it to that spot but I did :)

WARNING: VIOLENT SCENES AND INJURY AHEAD. Nothing severly graphic but not for the faint of heart either.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plot

HISTORICAL NOTE: Everything mentioned in this chapter from meds to chip repair to injury fixes was taken from actual ancient Egyptian papyrus and knowledge, so i don't own them but for the purpose of keeping this story historically accurate i used them

As always, read, review, reply, comment, critique, ask questions, flame if you must but there must be reasons for your rants, and go nuts!

IMPORTANT NOTE: For those interested in what's been going on writing wise, with future fanfics and are interested in poetry, original fiction and editing and writing advice, check out my profile for updates, contests and updates. I LOVE YOUR FEEDBACK!

Chapter XL: Surgery

The storm had cost them nearly two days' travel and left wounds that had taken the better part of three days to fix. Though the crew had escaped the hurricane unscathed, her winds had been fiercer and stronger than originally calculated. By the time all hands secured the sails, lowered the anchors, and secured both rows of oars half-out and perpendicular to the hull, the Eye had been knocked several leagues off-course. And though the drogue of the ship cancelled the threat of increasing speed and collision against high waves, they'd lost much of the time the galley's oars had earned them before.

Malik, whom Yugi understood was the Shipwright, concluded the damage early that morning as Timaeus and Yugi healed the ship's holes with oakum and pitch. The worst of it were minor, but the mizzen-topmast had splintered, leaving half her sails useless. Worse, with the storm gone, the winds turned traitorous—leaving mobility entirely dependent on the oars.

Yugi recalled with a grin and a shiver that Timaeus had been adamant against staying dead in the water. "As long as she's seaworthy," Timaeus had said, standing against the dusky dawn with the rising light streaming behind him and the wind billowing his mantle like the wings of some majestic dragon god, "then the Eye of Timaeus will sail!" The applause that followed was so loud and infectious that even Yugi found himself touched by it—even more so when the Trierarch, bearing all the glory of a Dragon Knight, stepped down from the aft and summoned him to his side. He'd never felt more like a Trierarch or a Magistrate than he had in that moment.

After that, the oarsmen resumed their duty, leaving most of the repairs to a handful whose talents were better served elsewhere. Yugi was one of them Yugi was quick to adapt to the routine of rising early. Hem-netjer and Per-A'Ah alike rose at dawn to greet the sun and prepare the matutinal rituals. Trierarchs, or at least Timaeus, rose an hour earlier than the sun. Timaeus would rise early and Yugi rose with him. They would bathe and break their fast together, where Timaeus educated him on the customs of Locri—all basic and what he would need to know upon his arrival. More complicated customs which could not be taught would be learnt through experience. Yugi would observe and remark on the whole process with sheer amazement and Timaeus would watch him with an amused chuckle. They spoke of his duties before, but never had Yugi listened with such keen interest; Timaeus was a passionate teacher and Yugi an eager student. Yugi fell into the routine with an easy acceptance he'd never had as an apprentice in Amun's House

One afternoon, he'd learned that unlike Kemet's wet and dry seasons, Locri was divided into seasons of colder months and warmer months called winter and summer. Instead of roads and streets, Locri had canals and waterways; houses were built directly on the lagoons and the islands were all connected by bridges. He learned that women wore slippers outside in the summer and boots in the cold, and how the length of sleeves on an outfit represented one's status. Timaeus told him about the masks worn—to keep from catching diseases—by doctors, a field left to the Headwomen of each keep, and about the fantastical festivals where everyone wore elaborate costumes and masks, and of the enormous Grand House called a temple, dedicated to the God and Goddess—whose story, Timaeus told him, he would learn from the priestess, as only she was permitted to share it with others.

It sounded like a whimsical paradise, Yugi found himself imagining. Locri is all water and stone—a magnificent city of islands in a great green. He daydreamed, scrubbing his fingers vigorously. They came away pale, wrinkled, and dripping, but miraculously clean. With a near-cry of satisfaction, Yugi drowned the thick bundle of wool in the suds and set to the task of scrubbing.

After three days of grueling work, he and Timaeus had finally finished replacing the last of the hull's water-rotted boards sometime late in that afternoon, then set to the task of cleaning the deck. "A Trierarch's work is never done," Timaeus had said nonchalantly, but Yugi knew it was another lesson—the mischievous gent. It wasn't a difficult task, though Yugi still felt his ego dented at doing what was more commonly a servant's job than a naval commander's. He chuckled to himself. "Perhaps that was the point."

He sensed the light disappearing before the shadow loomed over him. When he opened his eyes, he was unsurprised to see it consuming his smaller frame—the evening sun had warped it into a vague, gangly outline.

"Can I help you?" he asked without looking.

"Quartermaster wants you," Otogi snapped in annoyance. Yugi paused in his work and sat back on his heels. He threw the man a nonchalant gaze over his shoulder. Otogi's fingers twitched with annoyance and his lips were pulled into an irritable scowl, like those of a skilled assistant ordered to do the job of an apprentice.

But he was no sniveling milquetoast.

"Did she say why?" Yugi pressed blankly.

"Ask her that yourself," Otogi growled—then amended himself by adding, "She wouldn't tell me."

Yugi caught the lie and smiled. "Very well." He stood and casually wiped the suds off his hands, looking proud and regal despite his wet apron and the soap dripping from him. "I'll be certain to assure what a wonderful messenger you were."

Otogi twitched visibly and spun away, his mission complete, but not before his heel—so quickly it almost could have been an accident if Yugi didn't know better—clipped the side of his bucket and sent it toppling over. Yugi didn't move or show any emotion other than his smile, even as the cold water spilled over his boots and soaked through the soles.

Only when Otogi was gone did he sink to the deck with a growl and tried his best to spread out the river of water. That was all he needed for the wood to rot again.

"That was a bit uncalled for." Timaeus' baritone voice announced his arrival before his clicking boots did.

"Perhaps." Yugi shrugged. "But I doubt Otogi will—"

"I wasn't talking about Otogi," Timaeus cut him off quickly.

Yugi shot to his feet. "Are you insisting I did something wrong?" Yugi demanded, his temper rising.

Timaeus expelled a sigh and pinched his nose for a moment. "We agreed to be honest with one another, yes?"

Yugi nodded.

"My men do not respect you, but it has little to do with our relationship."

Yugi looked at him in bewilderment, and he continued. "You asked me to teach you the ways of a Trierarch. A Trierarch is King on the deck of his ship, but like how a king is only as strong as his kingdom, he is also only as strong as that ship and the ship as strong as the men who wield it. He is feared by his enemies and respected by his men, but he wields his power with humility and cares for his people openly."

"And I do not?" Yugi accused, interrupting.

Timaeus only shook his head. "We both know that you do, but you wield your power like a sword, especially pointed at those you feel are subject to you. My men do not see that as strength. They see it as arrogance, and they show you the same level of care."

"That is—" Yugi protested immediately, but Timaeus cut him off once again.

"Do you not agree?" Timaeus challenged.

"I do not," he said immediately.

"Ujalah…" Timaeus dragged out his full name in two syllables. The annoyance of the tone signified that he was done with such juvenile answers.

Yugi blanched like a child. "… Forgive me," he said at last, eyes downcast and inner cheeks bit on lightly.

Timaeus lifted his chin and smiled. "Do not be. I think they expect more from you because you are mine. You are so strong that even I forget at times how young you are—how much you have yet to learn."

"What should I do?" Yugi asked hesitantly. "How do I apologize without appearing weak?"

"You are many things, my love, but weak is not one of them," Timaeus insisted sternly. " 'Tis not apologies they require, nor strength. It is to know that you see them as more than subjects."

"But I do!" Yugi insisted.

"I know that, love," Timaeus explained. "And there are some that do as well, but there are still many who do not. Otogi is one of them, and the rest are uncertain."

Unable to articulate any more questions or thoughts, Yugi sighed heavily with frustration. "Then what can I do?"

Timaeus' answer was a tender kiss on the curve of his lips. "You do what you do best." His eyes were bright and proud.

"Endure?" Yugi asked jokingly.

Timaeus only laughed. "You act."

X X X

Timaeus' words echoed in Yugi's mind for the rest of the evening. Dumping the inedible skins and scales of the day's rations overboard, he found himself pondering them again. His hand flew through bloody feathers, slimy scales, and wet, bumpy vegetable skins, clenching handfuls of sticky textures and dragging them across the wood and over the railing of the ship until a heavy gray rain splashed into the ocean. It was hardly pleasant work, but it helped him think. He couldn't really discern anything different about his recent behavior. He and Timaeus were talking, of course, and he'd taken a more active role in caring for the ship, but was it so minor a thing that it hardly counted?

With a discouraged sigh, he upended the bucket over the railing and shook his hand clean, then ran his other one through the loose gold bangs of his hair. The action brought none of the comfort it had when it was Timaeus playing with them. No ideas came.

As it stood, the crew had gained a begrudging respect for him, but remained divided. Some, like Ryou and Rhebekka, were supportive, others—the Boatswain and Shipwright, especially—held their suspicions firm. The rest, like Raphael, were either uncertain or just didn't care—neither of which showed loyalty in a consort.

His eyes wandered across the deck where the small faction not designated to rowing oars had set to work patching sails with pickers, seam rubbers, needles, spliced ropes with fig, and freshly-caulked oakum in the uppermost part of the mizzenmast. Malik guided the repairs in strict directions from up high on the rafters. Below, Otogi stood alone upon the stern deck, the image of a stony commander. Even Malik flinched at his severe expression. In charge of repairs, the Shipwright might have held status on the ship, but it granted him little power in terms of command, leaving Otogi the real authority. Though fourth under Ryou, it was he the crew answered to and, Yugi suspected, the one whose opinion in regards to Yugi himself most prefer. His cold green glint focused and his jaw tight, it was clear the man's mood had not improved since their encounter that morning—had not improved at all since that first meeting.

Even from this distance, Yugi could feel their eyes on him. Twenty meters up and with the fading sun behind them, Yugi couldn't make out the looks on the men's faces, just their silhouettes, but he felt their burning eyes inspecting him like a dress on a hanger and reminding themselves once again that this was the Trierarch's chosen. Timaeus had encouraged him to act, to openly show his care and devotion, but the question remained: how to show the crew that he was sincerely irenic? His soups and wits would only take him so far. He desperately wanted to prove himself.

Not just for himself, but for Timaeus. Timaeus was Trierarch, and the Trierarch was loved and trusted—his choice admired and respected. His decision of Yugi as consort was neither. What would it mean for his future decisions if they protested this one so fiercely?

His ponderings found him standing on the open deck where the breeze picked up and whipped loose strands of hair against his face, once more boasting her fickleness. But these were not gentle sea breezes. It hit him like fireworks. These winds were too fierce. He'd known them in Kemet and he knew what they meant. But were they just as dangerous on open water? Or just another common part of life at sea?

He looked up, and the sails that had hung drooping forlornly from the masts had the slightest of flutters in them. The men on the rafters, where the wind was strongest, found their balance suddenly shifted and quickly grabbed hold of the wood. Another thrall soon followed, and Yugi felt the force of it pushing him back. Amethyst eyes widened in trepidation. The wind died as quickly as it started, and Yugi seized the chance to bolt towards the foredeck.

"Where's the Trierarch?" he thundered in a single breath, slamming against the wood.

Otogi stared down at him quizzically, a raised arm shielding his face against the next thrall. His long hair whipped about his face, smacking him like the tails of an annoyed animal.

With a growl of aggravated rage, he batted it away like he was trying to swat flies, then fixated his gaze on Yugi. "What do you want, boy?"

Yugi matched his expression, but held none of the ferocity. "Where is the Trierarch?" he demanded.

Otogi's brow arched but his expression did not soften. "What business have you—"

"I didn't ask for a question." Yugi's incontrovertible tone sliced away any argument. "I need to speak with the Trierarch. The winds are picking up—"

"The winds?" Otogi glared at him incredulously. "The winds are part of a life at sea—though I don't expect a whelp from the desert to know much about it." The words were a sneer. "Go back inside, boy; there is no place for you here."

"Otogi!" Yugi roared over the winds but his voice was a frail squeak by comparison—like a squabble of seagulls screeching over the loud, obnoxious bellow of a foghorn. "Get the men down! It's too dangerous to continue in these winds!"

Otogi just glared at him. "Don't think to give me orders!" His snap caught on the wind, making it sound like a long, drawn-out hiss. "I know these waters and these winds as you do not. And it matters not; The Eye is wounded and she needs fixing. We cannot stall any longer!"

"Damn it, Otogi, this is more important than your dislike of me!" Yugi wanted to scream, but forced his voice to stay civil with only the slightest raise of indignation. "Your quarrel is with me, fine! But I'll not have it put the rest of us at risk. These winds are too fast and they're growing in speed!"

Almost as if to prove his point, another sharp wind roared to life with a fierce howl. Not a strong thrall, but fast and prickly with bitter coldness. So cold, that Yugi had to shield his face with his arms, suddenly grateful for the full body coverage of Timaeus' under-armor. Despite the wind's sharp blades stinging his eyes and biting his cheeks, Yugi dared to look up. On the rafters and riggers, men were struggling to shield themselves from the speedy gales. The mizzenmast groaned under the weight of the wind, and the ship rocked violently with a low groaning screech of protest.

Up high, Malik spat a handful of nails into his palm and tried to bark something, but the command was lost to the wind. It did not go unnoticed and Otogi signaled him with his hands.

Wasting no more time, Yugi bolted up the steps to the aft. As he did, another large gust of wind roared, swooping right past Yugi and over Otogi like a wave and spiraled upward to drown the freshly-repaired sails in a fountain of winds.

Only then did Otogi look worried. He spun his attention back to Yugi and with hard eyes said, "Leave us, boy! This is no place for—" He didn't hear the electric snap of the ropes or hear the crack in the wood, drowned out by the sounds. What he did hear was a loud, unknown howl of "WATCH OUT!"

Otogi spun and Yugi's eyes followed in time to watch the farthest end of the mizzenmast's lowest yard snap and spiral towards them. For a split-second, time itself had frozen, all of Yugi's wits had abandoned him, and he could only stare at the falling tree-sized limb tumbling downwards. Then the moment was gone, and his body moved independent of his mind and instinctively dove with a desperate leap. It morphed into a summersault half-way through—his skills as a dancer not abandoning him—and he rolled until he crashed against the wooden railing and collapsed in a heap of sore muscles and pained limbs.

When he looked up, the yard—no longer than a tree branch—had spun in the wind and landed with a crash half-over the side of the rails. Before it did, Yugi gasped in horror as the loosened top smacked Otogi clear on the side before it landed, the knock propelling his own jump farther than he anticipated and sending him plunging down the stern deck's steps. He didn't just fall, but cartwheeled and bounced down the short stairs, landing with an awful hybrid of a thud and a crack, followed by a hideous morph between a howl and a scream.

To Yugi's horror, Otogi writhed on the ground, having landed on the side that he'd been struck, and his arm was spotted in red and twisted in a sickeningly unnatural angle.

Yugi was down the steps before he could think, but not before shouting, "All hands to the main deck!" to the men on the rafters. "Now!"

He knew it was Otogi's injuries rather than his command that had them scrambling, but it didn't matter. Not while the wind was blowing this fiercely. He dropped to his knees and crawled to Otogi's side. The man was half-conscious and his eyes were glazed. Yugi's eyes fell on the man's twisted arm, and gently, he grabbed his shoulder to roll him onto his side. Otogi screamed when he was moved and tried to clutch his arm but Yugi stopped him.

"Don't," he half-ordered, half-pleaded. "You'll make it worse." He rolled Otogi to his other side. The pained spasm seemed to have brought him back to his senses, and his eyes fell on his injured arm and the rising bump of his skin where his shoulder should've been. Suddenly, his mouth dropped open, his skin paled a sickly green, and his eyes expanded and glazed with an emotion Yugi didn't think the man capable of: fear.

"No…" It was the whisper of a squeak. Yugi tried to press his shoulder when Otogi tried to get up but he forced him away with a hard shrug, screaming. "No! No! No! No! No!"

"Otogi!" Yugi screamed and tried to grab him, fearful he'd make it worse. "Stop! I have to—"

"I said no!" he shrieked, half-conscious but somehow coherent. He glared at Yugi, eyes blazing and wild like some frightened animal becoming a mad beast by fear. "I'll not be nothing!" he shrieked. "I'll not fail him! I'll not lose this arm!"

Yugi blinked. "Why on earth would you—?"

"What's happened?!" He was cut off by Malik's scratchy shrill. The men soon crowded around them like a pride of jackals. Their eyes bore past Yugi and fixated on Otogi's injured arm like he was an antelope with a wounded leg, but instead of savage hunger, their frowns were pitiful—their eyes hopeless and sympathetic. Their faces darkened as if it were a funeral procession.

"We should find the Quartermaster," someone said flatly, almost like it was a courtesy. By the shallow rasp, Yugi assumed it was Raphael.

" 'Tis no use anyway… Look at it," someone else said solemnly.

"Best we just get the saw and ale." Defeat.

The words rose like an arrow, piercing Yugi's heart. The realization that followed struck just as sharp and twice as sudden.

"Are you all mad!?" His scream was a creature—alive, protective, and as dangerous as a mother lioness. He didn't realize he was standing. The man behind him trembled, but Yugi stood—his eyes fierce and defensive, his fingers flexed like claws, and his teeth clenched so hard with rage he thought they might crack.

Only Malik had the gall to question him while Sekhmet's avatar. "What are you doing!? Do you want him to die?! Without the Quartermaster, he'll—"

"He'll die," Yugi snapped, spitting the word as if it were a curse, "if you take off his arm like a pack of savage jackals!" His glare hardened and his claws sharpened, his scowl morphed into a mirthless laugh. "I take it back, you men are not mad—you're daft!"

They all rose to protest, but Yugi silenced them with a sharp retort. "You'd rather cripple a man than bother saving him." He ignored their stunned silence and stomped through the circle, scrutinizing each member of the crowd. "Who has a cloak?"

The question caught them all off-guard.

Yugi rolled his eyes. "A mantle? Jerkin? Anything?" His eyes continued searching, then fixated on Raphael standing stupefied at the back. "Raphael?" He shoved anyone foolish enough not to move aside. "Take off your cloak," he demanded, like he was asking for more parchment.

"What?" The man stared at him, aghast.

Yugi didn't flinch. "I'm in no mood for amusements. I can reset his arm but first, I need something folded for him to lie on. Now give it to me or I will take it myself!" Though petite and delicate compared to the taller, brawnier soldier, the unbridled authority and sheer ferocity he illuminated was so overwhelming that it brokered no argument. Raphael surrendered the horse-hair cloak without speaking.

Snatching it, Yugi rushed back to Otogi's side, barking to random men. "Fetch me clean linens! Rhebekka should have some! You! Go to the kitchens and bring me honey—lots of honey—and dew, fresh dew, and seawater—and boiled wine, I'll need that as well—and see if we have shemshemet! "

"Shemshemet?" Someone asked, baffled?

"The Medical Marihuana Plant?" Yugi rolled his eyes, aggravated.

"Cannabis?" Someone suggested?"

"Yes that!" He was interrupted when Malik stupidly, inquired about the honey, too shocked to believe it had any value. "Do I sound like I'm going to sweeten fruits? Bring me all of it! You'll never find a better repellent for the demons of infection than that. There's some in the infirmary! Now go!"

The crew gaped at him, unsure how to approach the situation. Stammered questions fell from their lips as if they'd forgotten their own tongues. Yugi whirled on them. "Did I stutter!? Go!" He roared like a lead lioness scolding her pride.

The men stumbled and scrambled as they left to retrieve the orders.

Still gaping, the men obeyed, too stupefied to do anything else. Those that remained watched him gently lift Otogi up. Yugi bit into the cloth, and then ripped the thick material free with an ease that stunned even Otogi and Malik to silence. Once it was folded, Yugi placed it under the small of Otogi's back and commanded him to lie down. When he didn't, Yugi shoved his good arm down gently and shoved a ball of cloth in his mouth.

"Bite down," he ordered before Otogi could spit it out. "I need to examine your injuries and it's going to hurt. You're better off biting horse hair than severing your tongue."

He examined Otogi's arm, starting with the shoulder, and ran his fingers downward. Otogi hissed at each laceration. The worst was along his upper arm, where the wood had slashed the flesh. Yugi pressed his fingers into the wound, squeezing Otogi's good shoulder tighter when he heard the man's muffled scream. When Yugi retracted his fingers, the nails were painted red, but the cuticles were dry. When he found the lower arm, only a small crease along the skin was needed to feel the break there. He felt nothing in the wrist but Otogi's wince was sharp and his cry, though muffled, was high when he touched it.

To his relief, the men returned with buckets of water, linen, and the herbs he requested. They approached him hesitantly and left the items, then shuffled back like they were offerings to a God they had offended and were uncertain if it was enough.

He upended the saltwater over the bleeding arm, sanitized it with boiled wine, cleaned it with dew, and wrapped it tightly in honey-soaked linen. Otogi hissed like a serpent, felt the salt and wine burn his wounds clean of infection, then gasped heavily at the touch of soothing honey.

Otogi finally spat out the gag, but remained where he lay. "The bottomless abyss was that?" he demanded, his voice all breath.

"I cleaned your wound," Yugi explained. "Your arm's not broken but there's a fracture, and your wrist is sprained. I need to set them before I can reset your shoulder," he mollified.

When Otogi nodded and replaced the cloth, Yugi hopped to Otogi's wrist and wrapped it so thick that only the fingers peeked out. Yugi tested the thickness of the gauze with a gentle squeeze. Otogi remained silent and Yugi smiled.

"Lie down and hold still," he commanded gently. Otogi obeyed. Taking Otogi's forearm in hand between the wrist and elbow, Yugi laid it parallel and pulled. Otogi tensed immediately.

"Stay still," Yugi gently ordered again. He pulled harder, testing with his fingers until he felt the breaks align and fit back together. He bandaged the wound between two slings with more honey-soaked linen, then tied them on either side of his arm.

He stopped only for a minute to breathe, and the exhale was so heavy that Yugi deflated under the weight, but he recovered just as quickly and moved adjacent to Otogi's side.

"I need to reset your shoulder," Yugi's words softened."This part's the worst. but I'll keep it quick." he warned gently. Gone was the fiery commanding lioness from his face. Instead, the comforting, reassuring smile of Mut replaced it.

Overcome with the same bewilderment he had when Yugi first rushed to his aid and defense, Otogi could only nod.

Yugi positioned himself and, mindful of the other injuries, gently grasped Otogi's elbow and his unwounded upper arm, and held it against the man's body. He angled it in a perfect right, and carefully rotated. His gaze fixated on Otogi's for the first sign of resistance.

The whole ship gathered around them, watching blank-faced and silently. Finally, he stretched Otogi's bound hand to his opposite shoulder and with a quick flash of pain, the arm popped back into place—the task complete. Otogi gingerly sat up and Yugi tore the remains of Raphael's cloak into strips with impressive strength, tied both ends in a sling and wrapped it around Otogi's arm.

"There. You're set," he explained, his voice breathy. "It'll be tender for a few days, but otherwise fine. It will take a few weeks for the bones to heal, so you'd best not use it for a while." He rose on numb legs, like he'd been frozen in time and just now regained his mobility. It had probably taken no more than half the time to walk a mile to see to all of Otogi's wounds, but for Yugi, it could've been ten years.

Otogi spat out the cloth and pushed himself up. His gaze fell disbelievingly on his sling-wrapped arm, fixed and still attached—like he expected it to be gone at any second. He gave his shoulder an experimental roll and his fingers a flex. Their mobility was minimal and both were stiff, but not uncomfortable.

When the shock retreated and the reality of it settled in like a thick ocean mist, his eyes fell on Yugi's trembling form.

"Thank you…" he mumbled begrudgingly.

Yugi spun to him. Otogi expected him to gloat or glare—to snap at him to be grateful or scold him for not listening sooner. But all he saw was surprised bewilderment.

"Why are you thanking me?" Yugi just stared at him. Their eyes were suddenly on him, identical masks of surprise and befuddlement. Yugi scrutinized them all with a swooping glance and merely chuckled. When he faced Otogi again, he was smiling. "You were injured; I am trained as a hem-netjer of Sekhmet. Did you think I'd just stand by and watch you writhe, knowing I could do something about it?"

Otogi looked at him like he'd been slapped. A flush of shame crept across his features and his face dropped to his feet, unable to meet Yugi's eyes.

Before Yugi could question his behavior, the doors to the navigation room flung open with a thunderous boom that rivaled the wind's roar. Timaeus burst through, charging across the deck like a territorial dragon with Ryou in tow. With a glance from the Trierarch, the Navigator banked left and burst up the steps towards the wheel.

Timaeus stopped suddenly, surveying the broken yard and scrambling crew circled around two men: one his Boatswain, the other his consort.

"What's happened?" he commanded, a sonorous yell deep as the ocean and thundered like the waves. It was addressed to all, but his eyes were on Yugi.

Phew! We finally get to see Doctor Yugi in action! or rather Sekhmet's avatar in action ;) now you all know why this chapter took so long, it was a BEAST trying to find out how they did this stuff. Especially becaus the common assumption was you broke your bokes you lost your arsm-since the Egyptians were incredible advanced in medical sciences i knew that wasn't the case-problem was proving it (collapse)

Ironically this turned out to be a more Yugi and Otogi chapter than Yugi and Timaeus, aside from his cameo in the middle but Yugi needs more creds with the crew so i think helping the person who's been hardest on him without hesitating in front of everyone says a lot.

I originally planned to end this with Yugi bringing him to the infirmary, but reseach gave me an another awesome idea for next chapter ;)

Glossary

drogue — part of a boat; a device external to a boat, attached to the stern and used to slow the boat down in a storm and to keep the hull perpendicular to the waves.

yard — part of the mast that holds the sail and is perpendicular to the mast, making a cross; divided into parts (in the story, the farthest end is the part that broke).

dew — fresh water

shemshemet – above its its literal translation but basically, cannabis or medical marijuana, yup the ancient egyptians were the first to use the stuff for medical purposes. Technically it was used to treat hemroids or eye-pain and poppy seeds aka opium as an antiseptic, and for insomia, but in the "absence" of that this was a nice back-up

Notes about used medical methods:

All medical practices mentioned in this story were accurately taken from the Edwin Smith papyrus copyrighted in 1600 BC, currently located at the New York Academy of Science. It is the oldest-known document referring to how the Ancient Egyptians treated injuries from headaches and simple cuts to wounds as severe as broke bones, open gashes, and dislocated limbs, which were extremely common during the construction of the pyramids. Contradictory to popular belief (and ironic given later treatments millennia to centuries later), the Ancient Egyptians were incredibly advanced healers, surgeons, and doctors (Sekhmet and her cult were not known as the slayers of the demons of disease for nothing). In fact, many of their techniques and practices are better than modern Western medicine and became the foreground to a variety of modern surgical procedures—and also contradictory to popular belief, AMPUTATIONS WERE EXTREMELY RARE AND ONLY USED IN EXTREME CIRCUMSTANCES. Such as a shattered arm or a bone breaking THROUGH the flesh.

Items and procedures used:

Depending on the depth of the wound, open wounds were sewed up using needle and thread—if it was not too deep, it was simply treated and cleaned with water and boiled wine or beer (though this was more common in Europe).

Bandages were made from linen.

Honey applied to linens when dressing and treating wounds is a disinfectant (no joke, the hyperosmolar and hygroscopic character of honey aid in host defenses against infection) while the Egyptians believed it repelled Sekhmet's demons.

Broken bones and fractures were treated by first laying the patient on their back with "something folded" between the shoulder blades, then they pull on the two bones until the two fractures fit back together. They secured it with a sling and then wrap in honey-soaked linens.

The shoulder relocation surgery used in the story was taken from the Kocher method used to relocate dislocated shoulder, which was actually taken from a 3000-year-old hieroglyph painting found in the tomb of Ipuny, interesting enough on the sculpture of Ramses II (Yugi's ancestor). This procedure is still used today and, if done correctly, is painless for the patient.

NEXT UPDATE: FEBRUARY 6th

NEXT TIME: The winds of change are blowing, there's a new order on deck, and an unwitting chance to impress may just shift the balance of power to Otogi's favor...

As always: review, reply, comment, critique, ask questions, post your theories, go nuts and have fun!