Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any characters described in this fic.

Author notes: In response to reviewer's questions this is NOT a yaoi fic. All characters are present in hetero capacity. Although Bakura displays some sensual tendencies, this is innate in his character :) Thanks for all the great reviews! Much appreciated! Here's the next installment. Shora refers to the headdress worn by Bakura in the series and calasiri refers to the robe worn by Ancient Egyptians, generally floor length and open or with a belt to hold the material together.

The River of Thought

Sin-nasir was not a brave man. When a deal was to be made, haggling to be done with customers, or large sums of money to be carefully handled, the stout merchant was your man. But place a sword in his hand, or, even worse, turn one upon him and he was rapidly reduced to a miserable, shivering wreck. So Bakura noted, relishing his apple as he allowed his lazy stare to drift across the merchant and the other cowering slaves in the belly of the ship. He had ordered for animal skins and blankets to make himself a bed in a corner, separate from the others. A portion of the ship's stores of food had also been allotted to him. He did not want to draw attention to himself, however, so he had refrained from venturing out of the hold. Even though he was more than a match for every man here, he was wounded, the adrenaline fueling his daring escape wearing off slowly, drawing his attention more and more to the bruises, lacerations and infection rife on his dark skin. He knew that he could not possibly hold off the entire crew should they choose to attack him all at once. What they don't know can't hurt them. Or me, he thought with a smirk.

He held the remains of his apple out to a small child slave, of dubious gender, with matted hair and eyes bright with hunger. Watching his face carefully, the child edged forward, hands outstretched and Bakura dropped the core into the waiting palms. He ruffled the child's hair and glanced up at the stricken trader, his slate blue eyes laughing in silent mockery. "Bring me some water, merchant."

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Atem sat back, steepling his fingers as he watched the furious pacing of his High Priest from one end of the conference chamber to the other. Isis and Mahad were seated on his left, Karim and Akunadin on his right. Shada stood behind Mahad's chair, arms crossed, deep in thought.

"High Priest," called Isis softly.

Seth ceased his pacing and whirled on his heel. "I must go after him, my Pharoah. There is no other way."

Atem frowned and motioned for him to sit. Seth obeyed reluctantly, placing his arms earnestly on the table before him.

"I understand the threat to our land, now that he is on the loose again, Seth," said Atem quietly, "But this matter must be discussed thoroughly. I cannot send you straight into a foreign land where I will find difficulty contacting you. Besides that, Egypt's relations with Sumer are tentative at best. We have good trade with them, but they keep their politics distinct and their alliances distant from us. Bakura is as much a threat to the Sumerians as he is to us. They have a right to know the nature of the man amongst their people."

Mahad leaned forward. "My Pharoah, how certain are you that the Thief is bound for Sumer? This may just be a cunning ruse to lull us into a false sense of security."

Atem glanced at Shada. The priest shook his head. "That is true Mahad. But during our search of the city, we came across a witness at the docks who claimed that he spotted a man with white hair boarding a Sumerian slave ship in the early hours of the morning, just after the Watch Horn was sounded. The only ship matching such a description was one owned by the slave-trader, Sin-nasir, who left with the dawn." At this mention of the merchant, Seth's head snapped around. Shada went on, "Sin-nasir was due to hand in his trading permit to the harbour master just before he left. He never appeared. This is not consistent with his previous visits, as the merchant is known to be a stickler for record-keeping. It was also reported that he unlawfully appropriated an extra portion of rations apart from those allotted to him. A complaint was made by the quarry ship owner regarding this."

Mahad looked unconvinced, but Seth was already planning. "I spoke to Sin-nasir just yesterday. What Shada says is true. Bakura is badly injured. There are decrees out offering large rewards for any information regarding him and our soldiers have orders to kill on sight. He is a man without any hope of trial, wounded, alone and with his Ka at minimal strength . . ."

"Minimal?" boomed Karim, interrupting Seth's tirade, "Did you examine that cell carefully? I know what I saw and it did not look to me as if there was anything minimal about what he unleashed on those men."

Seth gave him an icy glare across the table. "Yes, Karim, I scrutinized the cell well enough. Closer than you, apparently. The wounds inflicted on those men were from weapons, none of them were created by a Ka monster attack. All of their swords and spears were drawn and bloodied, indicating that Bakura had somehow turned them against each other."

Shada looked up sharply and Mahad turned a shade paler at these words. "Are you sure about this?" asked Isis in a hushed voice.

Seth nodded shortly, turning back to Atem. "My Pharoah, Bakura's Ka may be weakened, but he has certainly never displayed this ability before. Who knows what other terrible secrets and skills he may harbour? We cannot allow him free access to the Sumerian people. Although they are aware of him, they have no concept of how evil and ruthless this man truly is." The bitterness and disgust was undeniably evident in Seth's voice as his clear eyes caught and held each of them, "I beg of you, my King, give me leave to travel in the capacity of ambassador and tracker to Sumer, so that these people know exactly what they are facing and can take the necessary measures to protect themselves."

Atem closed his eyes, indecision and worry passing briefly across his strong, young features. "Seth, what you say is perfectly correct in all honour and sentiment. But do you intend to do this by yourself? I cannot willingly allow you to put yourself at risk." Akunadin, who had been very quiet, raised his head and nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Your Pharoah speaks wisely, Seth. Heed his warning. Will you not take one among us to support you?"

Seth's eyes softened slightly as he turned to his father. Their relationship was not one based on affection, rather on mutual respect and pride. But blood always runs stronger.

"There are many concerns, I am aware of that. However, I am but one man, admittedly, in an important position. It is my duty to my Pharoah, this council, the people of Egypt and Sumer to do this. Consider, my Pharoah. This land needs its priests, its leaders to remain strong and united against foes such as this Thief. If I can at least warn the Sumerian authorities and track him down, you will hear word of it through my regular reports and be assured in the knowledge that I will be surrounded at all times by my most trusted guard. And besides, do you think my abilities lacking?"

Atem looked up and slowly matched the smile of his oldest and most trusted friend. "No, Seth, I do not."

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Bakura stretched out his long legs, tapping his knee in time to the swaying of the dancing girls, teeth gleaming as they swung closer to him. Having furnished himself with a shora and dark green calasiri to cover his hair and injuries, Bakura had proceeded to extend courtesies to the other slaves. Uneducated, and having spent most of their lives confined or in hard labour, most of the younger generation had some vague idea of him being a bandit of some sort. The older slaves were still wary of him. Even in Sumer, tales of the fearless, white-haired Thief King had captured imaginations and created irrational fears in the hearts of the people. However, Bakura, as little as he cared for contact with others, was not referred to as the master of deception for no reason. His charm, good manners and generosity with his food soon had the slaves overcome most of their fear of him and some of the slave-girls had tentatively offered to assist in cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

Comfortable, relatively clean and above all, free, the Thief King was in an indulgent mood. Sin-nasir, however, was deteriorating in fear every day. It showed in his pale, sweating face, the wringing of his hands and the nervous tic in the corner of his eye. Bakura enjoyed this more than anything. The merchant refused to let the Thief out of his sight, spending most of his time in the hold under pretext of sea-sickness. He was rendered helpless as he watched Bakura talk, laugh, flirt and eat, those bottomless, mad, laughing eyes always ready to turn on him and deride his impotence.

Bakura's gaze now swung casually back to the merchant as the dancing girls surrounded him again, the fat, worried face weaving in and out of his vision between the heady billowing of skirts and scarves. I see you, my unhappy little friend, how you stare, how you wish you could clear them all out so that it could be just you and me. But see how they laugh? How they like me? How their dark eyes brighten when I offer kindness? Do you wish that you had done the same? Do you wish that they trusted you like they trust me? I hold their lives in the palm of my hand, my fat friend. Tread carefully.

And Sin-nasir shivered as Bakura watched him through half-lidded eyes, brushing the silky, dark locks of the swaying dancers as they dipped their heads towards him, a dark smile forming as he gently brushed a curving, bare hip with his lips. Sin-nasir closed his eyes and prayed for morning, the rising of the sun, the sighting of land and escape from the nightmare waiting in the shadows.