Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any characters described in this fic
Author notes: For those of you who are curious, Inanna, the god sworn to by Sin-nasir in Ch. 2 is the Sumerian Goddess of Love and War, also known as Ishtar (yes, you heard right). She is often depicted standing atop a lion holding various weaponry. She is also very commonly featured in most Sumerian folklore. Once again, thanks for the great reviews!
The River of Thought
Memorizing the sweeping corridors of the palace was a task relatively simple for a tomb robber. Draped between two guards on his way down to the dungeons, he had feigned weakness so that they would drag him along. Every rise, every dip, every staircase and slope had been thoroughly stored away in his retentive memory for this moment. The periodic brightening of the torches against his closed eyelids had also been carefully counted, such that he knew the exact number of brackets placed at all the levels he had passed. First left, staircase, one flight, another left, gravel flooring, paving stones, two flights and his homing instinct tingled.
On the fourth floor, he heard the heavy tramp of a palace cohort and the clank of spears. He swerved towards the sounds, the torchlight reflecting off the stolen armour adorning his chest and the scuffed leather helm shielding his white hair from view. Bakura grinned. Where was the fun in simply running away?
He encountered the soldiers as he passed the next break in the long corridor he followed. They weren't close, and when viewed from that distance, he easily passed for a battered prison guard.
"In the dungeons! The thief is escaping!" he shouted, before haring off so fast, they could only assume he was going to alert more support. Bakura encountered a few more scattered groups of soldiers as he steadily tracked his way back to the main palace halls. The same ruse worked its magic and he began to sing to himself softly, ignoring his throbbing wounds and exhausted body, his teeth still bared in feral glee. And promptly ran into two young guards. The blood spurted faster than the words left their mouths and they sank to the floor, scarlet air bubbles blossoming out through ruptured tracheas as the final bars of an Egyptian lullaby drifted softly around the corner. Hush my child, fear no demons, I watch over you tonight.
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"WHAT?" The roar which escaped the High Priest's chambers could easily have been mistaken for a thunderclap on a stormy summer night. The voice was swiftly succeeded by his imposing figure as he swept out into the corridor, his own guard running to keep up with his long stride.
"Brief me," he ordered curtly, snatching a torch from a wall bracket.
"The thief has escaped, my Lord. He murdered the guards in his cell with the aid of his Ka and broke free. We think he might be heading for the royal quarters."
"That's impossible," grated Seth, "We contained his Ka in our last battle. I visited him myself afterwards and tested it. There is no way he could cause it to physically manifest within that room."
"My Lord, I think you should look at the cell. He could only have used his Ka monster."
The Captain earned himself a sharp, penetrating glance before Seth frowned, relapsing into deep thought. "Escort the Pharoah to the audience chambers and alert the other priests. They need to assemble with him. Double the guard around the royal quarters and send two cohorts out to track him, one from the South Entrance and one from the North."
"It is done, my Lord."
After dispatch of the necessary orders with a swift runner, Seth proceeded with his retinue to the dungeon. He could sense it, almost as soon as he stepped into the corridor. There was something very wrong here, something that hung in the air, even worse than the scent of death. A heavy, musky odour, seductive and choking all at once cloaked the High Priest and his guards as they approached slowly. Seth eyes narrowed as he recognised it. He had caught several whiffs of a similar scent on a previous occasion, distinctive to the Thief's agile, muscular form. His very essence magnified by his Ka, thought Seth, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The Captain flung open the cell door and backed away, his arm over his face and his eyes watering with disgust. Seth lifted the hem of his cloak to his mouth and, despite his strong constitution, turned a shade paler at what lay within.
The smell they had noticed in the corridor outside was drowned by the sheer animal stench within, sweat, blood, faeces, death and, almost perceptibly, fear, hung like a funeral pall within the confined space. The floors were slick with blood, spilled intestines and trampled brain matter. The bodies lay heaped, one over the other like pieces of some gruesome jigsaw puzzle, melded together in chaos. Scarlet arcs were sprayed across the walls from fountaining jugulars and rats had already begun their scavenging work.
Staggering backwards, Seth found himself steadied by a hand in the small of his back. He turned, face pinched and drawn, a terrible anger blazing in his eyes. "I'll find that Ra-damned bastard if it's the last thing I do," he croaked, "And I'll make him suffer before the end."
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Stars reflected in his burning eyes as he raised them to the heavens, joy and freedom and laughter bubbling up in a never-ending fountain of bliss. He was free again, to roam, to steal, to burn and plunder. He laughed silently, brushing off his stinking rats-nest of hair. Now, that would never do. The Thief King must be presentable, he thought, gaily. Passing a dark alley, he pulled the top off one of the drinking-water storage barrels outside a tavern, dunking his head in whole and surfacing, breathing hard and wiping away the caked grime. Somewhat refreshed, he darted furtively through the darkest corners of the city, making a steady line for the docks. Upper Egypt would be stirring like a bee-hive after his escape, and he would not risk any further detection, not while he was still so cursedly weak.
A swift and silent shadow, he passed though the city like a sighing, stealthy breeze. The docks grew ever closer, the gently bobbing shadows of the longboats and river barges and the sound of lapping water reaching his keen ears. He slipped from his crouching position and listened as he heard the distant calls of the Watch Horn sounding, alerting the city to his escape. It was then that he saw the Sumerian slaveship, anchored near the magnificent barge already loaded with stone from the quarries. A few dark figures were moving about on deck, one directing and the others carrying out the preparations for an early morning voyage. A feeble light trickled out from between the planking in the galley below. He smirked. So, they were setting out in the morning for Sumer. The ideal worm to catch, proverbially speaking.
His attention focused on the burly shape standing to one side, now and then giving out hushed orders, one hand placed imperiously on a hip. Hello there, my plump little saviour. Edging closer, he was able to travel the length of the upper deck rails, sliding along the side until his hand encountered a make-shift rope ladder. Swinging himself up, he slipped over the rails and darted for the cover of the ship's cabin, the strong scent of tar assailing his nostrils. Just ahead of him, an unsuspecting Sin-nasir lit his pipe and leant over the side, enjoying the Egyptian sunrise.
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The fat merchant smiled smugly. His trading had gone well. Many Egyptian houses of the noble class had admired and complemented him regarding his fine choice of slaves. And all this excluding the hefty pouch of gold sealed in his trunk below decks. A good trading trip indeed. The last preparations had just been completed and he took a few moments to take in his last view of Egypt for that year. And a powerful, rough hand closed around his mouth, dragging him backwards into a pile of sheepskins. A muffled yelp escaped the startled merchant as a smooth, deadly voice murmured close to his ear, "You move and I slit your throat."
He nodded, his head bobbing several times in abject terror as he was harshly spun around to face the one responsible for this sudden ambush. His eyes widened as he took in the bloodstained weapon, the Thief's bruised, bloody appearance, the starkness of his now exposed hair and the madness dancing in his blazing eyes.
"Wha . . .What are . . .?"
"Silence, you fat fool. You will take me on your boat, house me with the other slaves and carry me to Sumer, where you are bound. And," here Bakura dragged the merchant forward till the rolls of his thick neck bulged over the razor edge of the sword, "you will inform no questioners from the palace of my presence, or I will rip you open and strangle you on own guts. Understood?"
A weak nod was all the answer he received. "Good. Take me below."
The merchant stumbled out from their place of concealment, his bulky form shivering uncontrollably as Bakura followed, one fist clutching at the back of his voluminous robes. Avoiding the stares of his crew, Sin-nasir smiled painfully in reassurance as he led Bakura below-decks to where the other slaves were housed for the voyage ahead. In the presence of his crew, the merchant regained use of his voice slightly.
"Noble Thief King," he began, and Bakura grinned in pleasure when he realised that he was almost as popular in Sumer as he was in Egypt, "I beg of you, reconsider. This is but a humble slave-ship, not fit to transport one as renowned as yourself. There are women and children on board. Please, grant some mercy."
"As much as I am fond of babies, I must say I prefer them stewed rather than raw," Bakura replied, earning a grimace of horror from Sin-nasir. Honestly. Some people had no sense of humour. Nevertheless, the merchant tried again.
"There are only quarry workers and dancing girls here, not fit company for one such as you. Please, I beg of you . . ."
Bakura interrupted impatiently. "Well then, your quarry workers should be well trained to fetch and carry on my whim. And your dancing girls had better be talented. These long sea journeys tend to get rather tedious. I could do with some entertainment."
The merchant shuddered as he watched the Thief King trace his canines slowly and gently with a flickering tongue, a demented smile blossoming in all its burning glory.
"Raise the anchor, my fat friend. I'll be watching."