Another long chapter! Yay! I hope you like this one, it has lots of Akefia and Malik goodness just in time for the weekend.

A big thank you and much love to everybody who reviewed last time – Angael, ChaosRocket, LadyBlackwell, Jaims17, Calm Envy, Spyncr, BlackxCinderella, ChocolateLizz, Niamy Tak, haku fan1, BlueFox of the Moon, ltkk022, and Almond Luver. You guys are awesome! Last chapter wasn't my favorite so far, but I'm a lot happier with this one. Thanks for keeping my morale up!

A warning for those with allergies: onions, slight impropriety and storytelling to ensue!

Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh, some middle aged guy does. Middle aged guys own everything, don't you know?

ʘ

It really was too bad that Akefia left when he did, it turned out. If he'd stayed half an hour longer he would have gotten to witness Nefermaat's graceless awakening.

First, there was a distraught howl that resounded throughout the cave, then a muffled thump as of a flailing body falling to the floor. Malik and the other thieves watched as Nefermaat came blundering through the curtain, clawing at something behind his back.

"I can't get it out, I can't get it out," he was repeating – this was followed by a string of feverish, unintelligible Nubian.

Realization dawned on Aminadav's face. "So that's where it went!" he exclaimed, with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

The knots in his braids were rather complicated, but eventually a patient Siamun managed to undo them and extract the problematic disembodied hand. Nefermaat, meantime, had calmed down somewhat, and had the good sense to look mortified. He was still a bit dismayed, though, and Kawab used the opportunity to mutter something about superstitious Nubians that went unchallenged. The general consensus seemed to be that Nefermaat had richly deserved it – firstly, for being a useless layabout, and secondly for having his hair in such a ridiculous style to begin with. Teti-En pulled out his axe and generously proposed giving him a haircut; the offer was ungraciously refused.

"There's gonna be some kind of curse," Nefermaat lamented. "You'll all see."

Some time after that, Malik finally, finally finished sorting the last of the treasure. It was mid-afternoon by then. He felt extremely pleased with himself and vowed to revel in this sense of accomplishment for as long as it lasted. He stood up, stretched, rubbed his hands together, and then realized he felt somewhat grimy. More than that, actually, he realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd bathed (when had he had the opportunity, after all?) He could practically see the layer of dirt that must have accumulated on his skin. Disgusting. "I can't believe I didn't tell you yesterday," Zaza said when Malik hesitantly asked him where (or really, if) the thieves bathed. "There's an oasis right over there."

It was only ten minutes away by foot, Zaza told him, due east, just over a ridge of black rock. The rock looked isolated out there, but it was probably connected beneath the sand to the low foothills – like an island offshore from the Nile. There was plenty of time to go and come back before the sun set. Akefia was gone, the day was winding down, and nobody else seemed much inclined to give him anything else to do, so Malik immediately set out.

The sand slipped around in between his toes as he crossed the softly rolling dunes. On his right was the mountain range, and on his left, the lonesome stretches of sand extended into immeasurable distance. After a while, it seemed the further away from the cave he got, the smaller he became. Human beings might dwindle to nothing out here. When he looked out over the wasteland, there was an unobstructed view of the horizon that seemed almost to curve at the edges. Whenever he turned his head, though, the horizon straightened out, so that he was unable to tell whether the land was actually curved, or whether it was just another trick the desert was playing on his eyes.

The Thief King was alone out here too somewhere, probably far away by now. He'd taken off without a word, without a backward glance. Malik's mind was of the analytical sort, and so he was forever picking away at problems, searching out reasons for everything. At first he'd worried that perhaps he was the reason for Akefia's departure – maybe he hadn't been working fast enough, or maybe it had something to do with last night. At heart, however, he knew he had nothing to do with it. There was a kind of change that had come over the man, as if everyone and everything around him had suddenly become not only invisible, but had vanished altogether, as far as he was concerned. No amount of reasoning, he knew, could work out why. The Thief King's motives were as inscrutable and as secret as the patterns of stars behind a cloud. Malik wondered if he ever got lonely.

Because even when he was in the midst of others, there were times when the Thief King seemed to Malik to be in a remote world of his own creation. Because even though he was a man who laughed unrestrained, who gave orders as if the Gods themselves would have to obey – there was a different look that sometimes surrounded him, in the space of his silences. His face would become still, grave as a prophet's, and his thoughts would seem to depart, like a soul after death, to some solitary height. Sometimes Malik would find himself stealing glances at the Thief King, when he didn't think he'd be seen, hoping to catch a glimpse of that infrequent look. It drew him without his knowing why, the way dry blossoms are drawn into the current of the wind.

The jagged black stones kept tripping him up as he climbed the ridge. He stole a glance back at the thieves' cave, a hollowing out in the side of a low mountain. Malik didn't think he'd been walking very long at this point, and the cave was farther away than he'd expected it to be. Two of the men – he was too far away to see who they were – were walking somewhere farther away down the mountain, in the opposite direction. Outside, the horses stood sleepily in the meager shade, flicking their tails every now and again to keep off flies.

Finally, he made it to the top of the ridge. The landscape beyond had for some time been hidden from his view but now he saw the glittering oasis that lay beyond – and it was more beautiful a sight to Malik's eyes than all the treasure the thieves had stolen.

There was a dip in the landscape, a slight valley, and in its center was a calm pool of water. It was bigger than he had expected, and so crystal bright that its blue reflection of the sky outshone the real one. Its source was an underground spring; around the edges of the oasis there had grown patches of grass as well as seven date-palms that swayed lazily overhead.

He approached the edge, and stepped into the water. It was warm from the sun, and he sank into it, letting it envelop him like an embrace. It was deeper than he'd thought it would be, so he slipped out of his tunic and left it to dry on the shore. The water came up to his shoulders. It was wonderfully clear; he could see all the way to the sandy bottom of the oasis.

As he rubbed the dirt from his skin, he found his thoughts turning to sad things, as they often did when he was alone. The cares of the day had distracted him thus far, but now he began wondering about Ishizu, and if she was alright. He didn't have her gift of sight, he knew, and so he could only guess and hope. She was in danger because she'd helped him escape. He had faith that she was smart enough to evade punishment, but all the intelligence in the world could only go so far if luck failed her. Even if they both lived, in all likelihood, he knew, he would never see her again. Helpless pain gnawed away at him; for the loss of his sister, Malik knew, he had only himself to blame. He missed her terribly. He'd seen her last four days ago, by his estimation, but it seemed like an eternity. She was already sinking into the filmy past, like a ball that had been accidentally dropped down a well.

But then, he was suddenly watching himself from outside, and he could feel his emotions losing their edge. The pain receded into the chambers of his heart, leaving a somewhat dull numbness. Maybe it was the intuition of a weary consciousness, knowing enough than to spiral into despair. He didn't have the luxury of doing that; if he sank, who would catch him?

Dear Ishizu, he thought vaguely, composing a letter in his mind he knew he would never be able to send. You should visit the desert sometime. I know you've traveled through it on your way to other places, but you should really stop somewhere, just spend a few days out here and see what it's like. It's not what you think, I promise you.

You probably think it's hot and dry and dead, and you'd be half-right - but it's freezing at night, and there are animals here that come out from nowhere when the sun goes down. There are lakes out here too. They're not real lakes, though.

You probably think it's lonely out here, and it is. If you were here, it would be all right, but you're not. Like right now – except it seems that sometimes, if you get lonely enough, you start to get a feeling like someone else is there. You probably have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm not sure I do. Things stop making sense here.

I remember dreaming about Mahado last night. Does that mean anything, sister? You would know. Did they embalm him in time? Maybe he walks the halls of the other world now, or maybe he wanders out here, as a ghost. Can ghosts come into dreams, Ishizu?

I wish I knew where we were. We could be ten miles from the Pharaoh's city, or a thousand for all I know. I have a feeling it's far, but I could just as well be wrong.

Malik ducked his head beneath the water and reemerged, up to his eyes. If he stood on his toes and put his arms out to the side, he could feel weightless. He imagined what it might be like to drown. It was something he'd never thought about before. It couldn't be such a bad way to die - it wasn't like being burned alive or impaled on a stake. He knew the punishment that awaited him back in the city. It would only take a moment to chop his head off, and it probably wouldn't even have to time to hurt – but he didn't want to end life in two parts. If it was drowning, he decided, he wouldn't mind as much. It would be like being born, except backwards.

There's nothing out here except for the sand and the sky, Ishizu, and sometimes it makes you feel like the smallest thing in the world. But at the same time, you feel like you're expanding in order to take up all that empty space. Do you have any idea what I mean, sister? Everything here is like that here, you know. It looks one way, and then it turns out to be the opposite of what you thought. The men here are like that. You look at them and see one face, and at the very same time there are many other faces they do not show you. When someone tells me something I'm not sure whether to believe it's the truth or not. I start to wonder if I'm telling the truth myself.

If he inhaled, he found, he could float face-down in the pool. The water didn't sting his eyes when he opened them. He held his breath, looking down, wondering if he could remain floating long enough for the sandy clouds to settle where his feet disturbed the bottom. It would be as if he'd never been there at all.

Around the floating shadow of his form, the water was shot through with the sun's rays. But even as he watched, unblinking, he found his thoughts following the source of the water instead, an underground current stemming from some cold, lonely spring deep beneath the mountains. When he surfaced from the water again, the sky beyond the waving fronds of the date-palms was an empty, oblivious blue.

Malik was certainly no stranger to loneliness, but it had never been this harsh. The cares of the day so far had acted as a temporary distraction for this weird, shining desolation. It waited to catch him, unaware, when he was by himself – and had come swooping down on him so suddenly his mind reeled. Am I really so defenseless? he wondered. Maybe it was because he was alone. Maybe it was because of who he was with – but no, there was nobody else here, not now. Maybe his surrounding were simply having a strange effect on him. There was an eerie elegance to the wilderness around him; it was clean as bone and, apart from the faint wind and the whisper of the palm fronds above, it was dead silent. He tried to remember where the stars had been last night. Did they appear with the departure of Ra and vanish, frightened, when He came? Or were they there the whole time, hiding behind the light? Perhaps the day was nothing more than a veil for the darkness, like a layer of makeup on a woman's face. He could hear the buzzing of flies somewhere nearby – it seemed to come and go. Every time he looked, though, there was nothing there. It was becoming harder to tell what was real. If he passed his hand in front of his eyes, it seemed to leave a thin trail of light behind it in the air.

His wandering eyes fell on a dark shape approaching from the top of another rocky abutment, and with a jolt, he snapped out of his trance. It was a man on a horse - the sun was behind him, and his form was dark against the light. Malik couldn't see much at first, and his heart began to beat faster in alarm. But then the man drew closer, approaching in his direction, and he was just able to make out the red cloak. Akefia was back. He'd been expecting him to be gone for days, but it had only been a few hours. Malik's relief was short-lived, however – he remembered his tunic was on the shore and grabbed it hastily, pulling it over himself in a rush. Nice going, Malik, he thought, now it's all wet again. Should I leave the water or not? He felt awkward all of a sudden – more so than usual, anyway. I think not.

Akefia called out a greeting from afar, and Malik waved to him. Although Akefia was very far indeed from being what Malik would deem a reassuring presence, he was still oddly grateful that he'd showed up. The sand and the sky and even his own self had seemed, for a brief while, to become like a thin layer of glass. Something else had been pushing against it, starting a slow fracture. But then Akefia came, and suddenly it all seemed very normal again, like confused colors that jumped into place again once you focused your eyes.

"I know the Pharaoh's subjects have a lot of peculiar habits," the Thief King said as he drew closer, "but I was not aware they bathed fully clothed." A bow was slung across Akefia's chest, and a quiver of arrows was at his back. He scrutinized Malik with a roguish smile. "Isn't that a little inhibiting?"

"I saw you coming," Malik said, feeling a little defeated.

Akefia was looking at him curiously, a suppressed half-smile playing around his eyes.

Malik frowned and folded his arms a bit uncomfortably. "What is it?"

"…I'm guessing this is your first time living with other men."

"Why?"

The thief leaned forward. "You look like a drowned rat," he said conspiratorially, "but you act like a shy maiden."

Malik bridled at this. "That's not true," he disagreed. "I just have a sense of decorum."

"Fancy words, princess."

Malik really hoped this wasn't going to be his new nickname. He decided to change the subject. "I hope you had a pleasant trip."

"So formal, aren't you?" The Thief King smiled; Malik noticed he didn't say anything about where he'd been. "Come here."

Malik peered at Akefia and put a hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. "Why?"

"You're going to come with me, and I'm going to teach you how to shoot."

"Oh. …Why?"

A furrow appeared on Akefia's brow. "So that someday you'll be able to shoot people who are trying to kill you," he said slowly, "and other things like that. Archery has any number of practical applications."

"Ah. You know, I never really counted on having to shoot people," Malik confessed hesitantly. "Ever, in fact."

"You'll be glad you learned. Only way to get things done, really." He clicked his tongue impatiently and made a hurry-up-get-over-here gesture.

"Well, it's very nice of you," Malik said, stepping out of the water.

"I happen to have some free time, and you could be doing something useful besides splashing around looking pretty," said the Thief King offhandedly. "And thank you; it's been a while since anyone called me nice, although I'm not sure how true it is seeing as how teaching you self-defense benefits me just as much as it does you."

Again, he had a point. The sand was sticking to Malik's feet, which had left dark prints from the edge of the water. Wringing the sleeves of his tunic, he approached the Thief King. He hadn't remembered quite how big his horse was. It was a beautiful beast – its coat was a glossy black, obviously well-cared for, and it was lean and strong, built for running fast. Its sentient, intelligent eyes followed him as he got closer to it, the whites just barely visible at the edges. It occurred to Malik that it seemed almost to inhabit the moods of its owner – that night in the desert, when he'd first laid eyes on the man, this horse had been pawing the ground, a harbinger of destruction, pacing back and forth as if it were angry at having to stand still. Now, however, it was calm and relaxed – regarding him coolly, the way the Thief King himself was doing now.

Akefia extended a hand to Malik, to help him onto its back. Malik hesitated. The hem of his tunic was still dripping onto the sand.

"I'll get you all wet," he said.

The Thief King shrugged. "I think I'll live."

Malik appeared to consider this, consented with a shrug, and let himself be pulled up onto the front of the horse. Akefia wondered briefly if he realized how deliciously the wet tunic was clinging to him. He probably didn't, the poor naïve. "I'm sorry," he was saying ruefully, as he settled in front of Akefia. "I'm dripping everywhere."

Akefia was riding without a saddle, so he put an arm around Malik's waist to keep him steady as the horse began to walk. "Not to worry," he said, with a smile Malik couldn't see. "It suits you."

"Oh, thank you," Malik said blandly, trying not to sound like he was blushing, and he could feel the Thief King laugh softly against his back. He didn't say anything else, though.

The stallion carried them over the foothills to slightly higher land, where they reached an expanse of rocks that covered a terrain of sand. There was a dead acacia tree at the other end, gnarly-branched and twisted, which looked as if it had been there for a long time. It was little more than a stump at this point; a hollow in the center of the bleached wood would have once been a perfect spot to keep bees, if they had been in a place with flowers.

Akefia dismounted about a hundred feet away from the tree and Malik followed him, leaping from the stallion's side to the ground. The front of the thief's robe was wet, he noticed guiltily, but the man didn't seem to mind; he just slipped it off and threw it across the back of his horse. The water had soaked all the way to his skin, though, gleaming off his chest when he moved. It was a bit distracting for some reason. Malik surreptitiously shifted his gaze to the tree.

"So," Akefia was saying, "do you know anything at all about shooting?" Malik confessed that he did not; anything he might have once known he'd certainly forgotten in recent years. Akefia thankfully didn't make any remarks on that end; he simply told Malik to watch and then drew an arrow to demonstrate. He pulled back the sinew bowstring with his right arm and, holding the bow level with his other, he leaned back and took aim. Tilting his head to the side, he let the arrow fly – straight and true into the very center of the dead tree.

Well, that looks easy.

Malik filled his cheeks with air and disconsolately puffed it out. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll never be able to do that. He was good at studying, and writing, and reading, and healing, and waking up thieves, and mucking about with treasure, but if it involved coordination or strength, he could count on himself to fail.

"Your turn," said Akefia brightly. He offered him the bow, and with a feeling of impending doom, Malik took it. It was on the heavy side, and when the bowstring wasn't pulled back it was roughly the height of his shoulder.

"You've got a pretty tall bow here, huh?" Malik said apprehensively.

"That's your bow," he replied. "Mine's a bit taller than you are, I'm afraid."

So much for that. Wait, his bow? For him? Malik looked down at it wonderingly. It was a present, then. Where had Akefia gotten it from? Was it stolen or had he made it? It was fashioned of two conjoined black horns, ridged and curved backwards. The horns were longer than those of the local gazelles; he wondered what animal had yielded them. It was a well-made bow; very generous indeed.

Akefia looked at how he was holding it. "You're left-handed, are you?" he asked; Malik nodded.

"All right then, just do everything opposite." Malik raised the bow in his right hand and pulled back the bowstring; Akefia gave him a critical once-over, stepped behind him and thumped his stomach. "Back straight."

Malik straightened up. He felt a hand come under his elbow, lifting it gently so his arm was level with his jaw. Malik tried to draw the string back farther, the way he'd seen Akefia do it and found to his delight that it was easier with his arm up. He wasn't strong enough to pull it all the way back, though. "It'll come with time," Akefia reassured him, and pulled him by the shoulders so he was leaning backwards slightly, so he wouldn't fall over when he shot the arrow.

Akefia went on to explain how tilting one's head when aiming made it easier to judge the height of the target. Malik had seen soldiers in the city doing archery practice near the barracks on several occasions, and they always looked straight ahead, backs rigid and straight, as if they were posing for a painting. However, he felt more inclined to trust the Thief King's method. He closed one eye and tried to level the arrow towards the center of the tree.

"Relax, you're too stiff," said the Thief King, softly. "Now. Want to know what you're doing wrong?"

Malik felt warm, capable hands covering his, guiding them into the right position. "You're watching the arrow," Akefia continued pointedly, "when what you should be doing is watching the tree. Don't get distracted by what's right in front of you…" He brushed Malik's hair out of the way and leaned in, next to his ear. "Or what's right behind you, for that matter. Your eyes should always be on your goal."

Akefia was so close, Malik could feel the gust of his breath on the side of his neck. He kept still, resisting the urge to look around, and stared at the tree defiantly. If the stare had been slightly more intense, the tree might have run the risk of bursting into flames on the spot.

"Keep what you want in sight, and you'll get it," the Thief King went on. "In the end, it's all about your ability to concentrate. What if you're in the middle of battle? You need to be able to keep your mind free of distractions."

Despite the distraction at hand (which, looking back, Malik realized had probably been intentional), he made a heroic effort to disregard it. His thoughts yowled in protest, but he managed to shove them to the back of his head.

"And remember to breathe," Akefia whispered.

Malik took a long breath in and out.

"Are you looking?"

He nodded.

"Have at it."

Malik let go of the bowstring and it snapped back; the bow tugged forward from the impact and the arrow flew in a gentle arch – coming to rest embedded in the upper part of the tree.

Akefia gave him a hearty clap on the back. "Not bad," he said, sounding pleased. "Not bad at all for your first time. Think you can remember what I told you?"

The Thief King sounded almost proud, and despite the fact that Malik knew he could have done better, he couldn't help but feel rewarded. "I'll try," he said. And then he smiled.

It was that same smile he had seen the night before, Akefia realized, the one it had been so hard to look away from. The boy's face, which usually wore a rather watchful, withdrawn expression, was suddenly transformed. He smiled sometimes to be polite – and he was always so bloody formal, too – but this was something different. This smile was pure as a raindrop, bright as a beacon through fog. Akefia knew the boy wasn't happy – wouldn't be for a long time, probably, and who could blame him, in a world like this? But for a brief second, he could see what Malik would look like if the world were perfect. But then Malik seemed to grow shy again, and the smile vanished as suddenly as if a veil had come down over his face. Do that again, Akefia felt like saying. But of course he didn't. Nobody could smile like that on command, not even for the King of Thieves.

Instead, he unstrung the quiver from his own back and slung it over Malik's. "Right answer. Now just shoot all the arrows here, gather 'em up and do it again. Then come find me."

Malik looked over his shoulder at the quiver. It held thirty or thirty-five slender arrows easily; to shoot them all twice would take him a while. And his arms were already beginning to tire from the weight of the bow. "Consider it done," he said bravely.

Akefia flashed him a grin and mounted his steed - grasping the mane and leaping up onto its back. The stallion paced slightly, swishing its tail. "I'd leave you my horse," he said, looking down at Malik, "but I don't think you'd be able to ride him. Can you remember how to get back?"

Malik nodded and the Thief King seemed satisfied; he dug in his heels, and rider and horse disappeared in the direction of the cave.

As he rode away, Akefia found himself compiling a mental list of things that seemed to make Malik happy. Tunics were one, it seemed. Approval was another. Beer might be a third. How uncomplicated the boy seemed in retrospect! It was hard to believe he'd ever been suspicious of him, for he was transparent to a fault – all his thoughts or feelings might as well have been written on his face. If a regular man's eyes were a window into his soul, Malik's were like wide-open doorways.

But last night, he couldn't deny he'd seen some other side of Malik, one he couldn't so easily understand. It was an alien factor, therefore potentially hazardous, especially since there was a lot about Malik he didn't yet know, and until Akefia had him completely figured out, he had to be careful. Other men would have dismissed the uneasy feeling from last night as the figment of an exhausted imagination, but Akefia hadn't gotten to be the King of Thieves by ignoring his instincts. His instincts said to keep his distance, and yet, Akefia had felt himself utterly entranced by that smile. It had taken him completely off guard, like a bludgeon to the side of the head, and he didn't like it at all.

There were few things the Thief King suffered that he couldn't control. His desire for revenge was one, but it had served him well. He had poured all his hatred and all his love, even his very soul into the furnace of that desire, and in turn it fueled the flames and the billows of smoke that would consume whoever tried to stand in his way. The desires of the flesh held sway over him too, sometimes very strongly. But in his youth, he had realized it could prove dangerous if he let those desires have dominion over him, instead of the other way around, and so he had hardened his control systematically, the way a jeweler cuts facets into a gemstone. This was also why, although the Thief King drank a considerable amount, he never got to the point where his logic was compromised. By nature, he was one of those men who walked the thin line where reason gave way to chaos. To keep his footing was all-important, for his reason was what determined where he would ultimately succeed or fail. This didn't mean he didn't avail himself of loose women and other conveniences when the urge struck him – he was a hot-blooded man of considerable appetites, and since he could get practically any woman he wanted, there wasn't much to prevent him satisfying his hunger. But never did he want someone too much, beyond what was rational. At the end of the day, he could take them or leave them. As ironic as it seemed, it was by keeping his passions in check that he was able to obtain and keep the things he truly desired. A thief of meager ambition or talent might have given into any temptation that came his way and lost nothing. But, the way Akefia saw it, a great thief was like a knife – his mind had to be razor-sharp, like the cutting edge, and his body had to be strong, like the tempered metal of the blade. But the handle of the knife was his will, his resolve, his reason – it must be sturdier than city walls, and more unbreakable than a solemn vow. For with a weak base, the best-wrought blade in the world might prove useless in the moment of truth.

That smile ran a risk of turning problematic, he realized, and so did Malik. He would have to watch out for both in the future.

Meanwhile, Malik had turned back to the dead tree. He tried to do everything Akefia had told him, defying the urge to watch the arrow he was aiming and training his eyes instead on the tree skeleton, but even so, the second arrow he shot was way off-target. The third was only slightly less far afield. He'd managed to hit the tree once, though, and he could do it again. Akefia had been trying to distract him, god damn it, and he'd been close to succeeding too. But the fact of the matter was, now that he was gone, it was actually becoming harder to concentrate for some reason. Malik was alone again, and he became aware of his mind resisting him, wanting to spiral away again onto odd tracks. Back straight. Relax. Remember to breathe. Malik drew another arrow from the quiver, and tried to imagine Akefia's hands on his, helping him shoot true.

ʘ

By the time Malik returned to the cave, the sun had just slipped below the horizon. There was still some violet light left in the western sky, but it was rapidly being taken over by the deep indigo blue of night. The thieves had already lit a fire; he could see its glow flickering on the rock walls as he approached the entrance, and the occasional outburst of raucous laughter was audible even from a distance.

True to his expectations, it had taken him a long time to shoot all the arrows, but it had paid off – even though he still couldn't hit the cavity in the center of the tree, the arrows he was shooting by the end didn't tend to be more than a foot off-target. Malik considered this pretty good progress. Of course, he was exhausted, and his arms felt like they were about to fall off, but it was worth it. Also, he'd managed not to get lost on his trek back. Things were definitely looking up.

The thieves looked up from where they were sitting around the fire and called out various greetings as he drew closer – "Hey, look who made it back in one piece!" "Long time no see, buddy!" "We gave you up for lost!" "How are the scorpions tonight, Malik?"

Malik just smiled; everyone was in a good mood, even Nefermaat, who appeared to have forgotten his previous threat. Even Mekhu proved more sociable than he'd been the previous night, although he periodically jumped back and forth between his companions and whatever he was writing on his papyrus. The Thief King tossed him an onion, which he caught. "How's your aim, Majesty?"

"Getting there."

"Nice bow," Nefermaat commented. "I'm surprised a pipsqueak like you can wield it."

Was he going to get irritated that he'd just been called a pipsqueak? No, Malik decided. He was not going to get irritated. It was much too nice a night for that. He decided to take it as a compliment. Akefia motioned for him to sit down beside him, which he did, stashing the bow and arrow beneath the bench. He bit into the onion. It wasn't bad. It wasn't really that good either, but what else could you expect from an onion at the end of the day?

Now that he was closer to the fire, everything outside seemed to have gotten darker by comparision. Outside the archway, the multitude of stars were beginning to come out one by one in the twilight. The thieves returned to whatever they had been discussing before his arrival. They appeared to be having a friendly dispute of some kind.

"Look," Zaza was saying on Malik's other side, "I hate to make generalizations. But a few of them are hard to deal with. I don't like being asked questions all the time."

Nefermaat agreed wholeheartedly. "Not only that," he complained, lip curling in disdain, "but they've got nothing going on upstairs. All they ever seem to think about is how they look. If you give them the chance, they'll spend bloody hours talking about jewelry."

"Look who's talking," Mekhu muttered without looking up from his papyrus.

"Wanna get hurt?"

Mekhu ignored him loftily, looking somewhat put-upon. Then again, he seemed to look disgruntled whenever Malik saw him. It occurred to him that maybe Mekhu's face was just like that naturally.

He noticed that Akefia was being unnaturally quiet. He was making good progress on a bottle, watching the argument with an unreadable expression on his face. He might very well have been following the proceedings seriously, and then again, he might have been laughing to himself the whole time at everything and everyone else. Malik would have given a good deal to be able to tell what he was thinking. He didn't seem to be entirely present, however; his gaze kept wandering to the cave entrance, as if he were expecting something to happen. Or maybe, it occurred to Malik, he was considering leaving again that night. Or maybe, like himself, Akefia was just watching the stars coming out.

On Akefia's other side, Aminadav was waxing poetic. "Women are like flowers," he said passionately. "They're delicate. You've got to treat them carefully."

Ah, women. So that's what they were arguing about. Vaguely, Malik wondered what could have inspired the discussion. There were probably no women to be found for miles.

"They're like flowers, sure," Nefermaat conceded, with a snigger. "Short-lived, and largely useless except for one thing."

"I never went that far," Zaza said with a frown.

"Forgive Nefermaat," Teti-En mumbled from somewhere behind a cloud of blue smoke. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

The Nubian glared at him. "Say that a little louder."

"But they're all soft and pretty and they smell good," Kawab countered, looking somewhat at a loss. "How can you turn up your nose at that?"

"Fine qualities, to be sure," Akefia said measuredly, finally contributing to the discussion. "But all I said before you lot started bickering was - I don't see what the big fuss is about. After you've had one woman, you've pretty much had them all." His gray eyes flickered over to Malik, and he smiled. "Am I right, Majesty?"

"I'm not really the person to ask," Malik said around a mouthful of onion, and immediately regretted it as he realized how it sounded. "I mean…"

Siamun snickered. Nefermaat nudged Mekhu in the ribs. And Kawab just looked confused. Akefia raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, so perhaps our little guest has found occupations other than females," he said slyly, relishing Malik's obvious discomfort. "Or should I say, is occupied by - "

"That is not what I meant!" Malik was quick to protest, thankfully before Akefia could finish his thought. "Females are my occupation. I mean, not really, but they would be, if…" There was no graceful way to finish that sentence, so he gave up.

Teti-En went into a brief coughing fit; some smoke must have gone down the wrong way.

"Is that so?" Akefia still had that knowing smirk. "Isn't that interesting. I would have thought the palace girls would be all over you."

Malik didn't think he had ever been this embarrassed before in his life. He covered his eyes and shook his head. "They're into guys like him," he replied, waving an arm in Kawab's general direction. It was true; the women seemed to like muscles and although it killed him to admit it, Malik had simply not been blessed in that respect. Girls didn't tend to seek out his companionship for any purpose other than friendship (although to be fair, Malik didn't really seek out their companionship either).

"He's right, you know," he heard Kawab say, sounding pleased.

"Yes," Aminadav replied patiently, "we know."

"What a shocking exposé," Akefia drawled, sounding anything but scandalized. "It seems I shall be forced to conclude that our dear guest has never had the pleasure of feminine company. We'll have to fix that right quick, don't you think?"

"On the double!" Kawab cried earnestly, hoisting a bottle aloft (six more bottles followed his, along with a chorus of affirmative shouts).

"No," said Malik hurriedly, wishing to Ra the conversation would end. "I mean, no thank you. That's fine, really." Kawab shot him a look that was genuinely perplexed. Akefia, however, just sized him up.

"You're sure? It wouldn't be any trouble, I can assure you."

"I'm sure," Malik said, gratefully.

"So perhaps, after all," the Thief King mused, "it's not feminine company you - "

The fire pit was starting to look kind of appealing. Malik sat forward, buried his face in his arms, but instead of heaving the piteous moan he felt was entirely warranted by the situation, he just said, in a small voice that was very distinct if a bit muffled: "I would like to conclude this discussion now, please."

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, and then everyone started to laugh.

"Of course. Consider the topic closed." Akefia gave his hair a benevolent ruffle. "He's got a sense of decorum, wouldn't you know," he said by way of explanation to the thieves.

"Imagine that," Zaza exclaimed, sounding impressed.

"I've heard of those," said Teti-En obscurely. Malik could not for the life of him tell whether he was joking or not.

"I wonder where you would go about finding one," Kawab wondered aloud.

"From time to time," Nefermaat said, a little wistfully, "I wish I had one myself,"

"Well, that's the biggest lie I've ever heard," said Mekhu bluntly.

"What about that time your mother said she wasn't a whore? Because that was a pretty big lie too."

Zaza wrinkled his nose. "You can come up with better jokes than that."

"Oh, that wasn't a joke. Mekhu, tell him."

"I can feel myself growing stupider," said Mekhu coldly, "the longer I listen to you talk. Do you think there might be a connection?"

"Must be the old age kicking in. It must be awfully depressing to be you."

"I refuse to engage in this conversation any longer."

Nefermaat made some half-baked accusation that Mekhu's parents had been siblings, and after that the two started trading insults in earnest - Zaza and Kawab provided occasional input and appeared to be keeping a score of some kind. Meanwhile, Akefia had started talking to Aminadav about something else entirely, and Teti-En was having an intense, if one-sided conversation with Siamun; as far as Malik could tell, his embarrassing interrogation had been all but forgotten already. He made the resolute decision to forget about it as well.

Except he didn't.

It was a little troublesome, actually. He'd never given much thought to the fact that he didn't generally find himself attracted to women – he'd just always assumed it was something that would happen with time. Akefia seemed to think there was another viable option, which had set Malik's mind to its usual worrying. Maybe it was customary for the commoners to talk of such things, but in the palace such a practice was an utmost taboo. It wasn't like he didn't hear gossip flying around about so-and-so who was rumored to be doing such-and-such – but it wasn't the kind of thing that could be openly discussed. Which Malik, admittedly, found confusing from time to time (especially seeing as how he'd come across stories about it in his scriptures – but they didn't seem to be the stories that people cared to explain an awful lot). Anyway, it wasn't something he was in the habit of thinking about. And that was how things were supposed to be.

Probably.

Malik decided to have some beer.

ʘ

He was willing to bet that the thieves drank every night. It certainly seemed that way. Wine, it seemed, was something reserved for special occasions (such as a raid), but tonight everybody was hitting the beer pretty hard. As the night wore on and the sky deepened to an inky black, the thieves got progressively louder and more rambunctious. Malik himself was enjoying the happy feeling for the third time that day. Life with the thieves, it seemed, was evenly divided into two parts – during daylight hours, they were all more or less serious – doing what needed to be done and working hard. But as soon as the sun went down, it turned into a celebration – regardless, apparently, of whether there was anything to celebrate or not.

"It's time for a story!" Kawab declared, and was met with an enthusiastic roar of assent.

"A story!"

"Right on!"

"Whose turn is it?"

"Hey Teti-En! Tell a story!"

"Wait," said Zazamoukh, trying to quiet everyone down. "Siamun told a story last time, and before that was Teti-En…"

"I don't want it to be Mekhu's turn," someone said candidly. "His stories always put me to sleep."

"I beg your pardon," Mekhu retorted, although at this point he sounded more exhausted than grouchy.

Eventually, after much consultation, the thieves decided that it was Akefia's turn to tell a story. The Thief King didn't protest, but told everyone to quiet down while he thought of a good one. The thieves used this golden opportunity to pour themselves more beer. Zaza threw a few more lengths of dry wood on the fire, which quickly blazed up.

"I've got it," Akefia declared at length. The hubbub of chatter around the fire diminished into silence. "Now, prepare to hear a tale of hazardous undertakings and bloody vengeance. This was a story told to me a long time ago, by an old man who is probably dead by now. Remember it well; every word is true."

Once, long ago, before songs had words and before rivers flowed to the sea, there lived two brothers, the Thief King began. The younger brother was much the handsomer and cleverer of the two, and naturally everyone loved him. As time went on, the older brother got more and more jealous, until finally he came up with a plan that would rid him of his troublesome younger brother forever.

Everything around the fire seemed to have gotten a bit darker, so now all the men were isolated in a ring of light, like an island separated from the sea of shadow all around them. The Thief King's voice was low and unhurried and spellbinding, sweet as narcotic honey. The rings on his hands gleamed darkly in the firelight.

The older brother lured the other out to the desert one day. Once they were a reasonable distance from civilization, he overpowered the younger brother and tied him to a boulder with a length of rope, leaving him there to die.

Lo and behold; before much time had passed, along came a camel trader with his caravan – a wizened old man, bent almost double, who had been traveling the deserts all his life. He stopped when he saw the young man.

'Greetings!' he said. 'Why are you tied to that boulder?'

'Funny you should ask that, my friend,' replied the resourceful younger brother. 'You see, my back used to be most awfully crooked – but this is the perfect cure! Since I've been tied to this rock, all my ailments have vanished! But it all depends on the knots."

'How I wish someone who knew the correct knots would help me!' moaned the old camel trader. 'My back has been plaguing me all my life!'

'If you'd be so kind as to untie me,' said the young man, 'I'll have you properly knotted up in a jiffy.'

So the old man freed the young one. As soon as the camel trader was tied helpless to the rock, however, the younger brother bade him a fond farewell and made off with his entire caravan of camels. He traveled up and down the Nile, stealing a goat here, a herd of oxen there. Before long, he was renowned throughout the land as a master thief.

The story was affecting Malik more than it usually would have; he attributed this to the beer. "Why did he have to trick the camel trader?" he found himself asking forlornly. "He could have just untied him."

"You'd be surprised actually," Akefia replied, "how many people will just leave you to die."

Startled, Malik looked up. The Thief King's grey eyes met his; they looked a little darker than they usually did. There was a glimmer in there somewhere – he couldn't tell if it was amusement, or just a reflection of the leaping flames.

"Don't trust anyone," he said.

"Especially not camel traders," Teti-En chimed in, out of the blue.

"Especially not camel traders," Akefia agreed emphatically. "Now where was I?"

Time plodded on in its grim cycle, and for a while he managed to evade capture, but in the end his luck ran out as luck will; he was caught and brought before the Pharaoh of Egypt.

'See here, thief,' the Pharaoh said, pointing to his law book. 'According to the rules, I ought to have you executed. But I've decided to give you a chance. If you can bring me the flying horse which belongs to the mighty Sphinx, I will set you free.' You see, the Pharaoh was the sort of man who wasn't content to simply dispense justice. He liked to toy with people, and he thought he'd set an impossible task before the thief – one he would surely die trying to attempt.

'That's nothing!' cried the thief unexpectedly. 'I'll have it done before you can say Banephthysdjedet!"

That night, he snuck up to the Sphinx's stables. He could see where the beautiful flying horse was tethered, but as soon as he drew closer to try to steal it, it neighed loudly, awakening the Sphinx.

'Who's there?' he thundered, sensing an intruder. But the thief had hidden so well that - "

"Hang on," Kawab interrupted. "You mean to tell me the Sphinx is male?"

"But of course," Akefia replied.

"I've only ever heard of lady Sphinxes."

"Well, obviously there must be male Sphinxes too," Akefia replied patiently, "to help make the little baby Sphinxes. Consider your world expanded. Now shut up and let me tell the story."

The thief had hidden so well that the Sphinx could not find him, so away he went back to bed. When the thief tried to approach the horse again, however, it neighed once more. Again, the Sphinx came downstairs, but when he still couldn't find any sign of a trespasser, he dealt the horse a mighty blow on the head, angry that it had awakened him. When the thief drew closer for the third time, the horse had grown bitter at being mistreated, and decided not to alert its owner to the fact it was being stolen. The thief took it by the bridle and led it outside, but not a sound did it make. He leapt onto the creature's back, and flew away into the night.

The next morning, he showed up at the Pharaoh's palace with the flying horse in tow.

'Hello there, Pharaoh,' he said cheerfully, in high spirits. 'I've done as you asked. It's time for you to set me free!'

The Pharaoh had not been expecting him to succeed, and he was very impressed. Naturally, though, he was too much of an asshole to show it, and only said:

'Any old bum could have stolen the flying horse; that's not much of a challenge. But unless you can bring me the bed-spread that belongs to the Sphinx by tomorrow morning, I'll have you chopped up into a thousand pieces!'

A shiver went down Malik's spine at the thought. Every so often, it seemed, he would even forget that Akefia was telling a story, so masterfully did he recount it.

"Why would he want the bed-spread of all things?" Mekhu was asking with a frown.

"No reason; it was just absurdly hard to steal."

"That son of a bitch," Nefermaat muttered darkly. "If I were the thief in the story, I would have just told him to go fuck himself."

"That would have made for a very quick ending to the story," said the Thief King with a smirk, "which is why you're not in it."

"Yeah, yeah," Nefermaat said. "Come on, keep going, what happens next?"

All the thieves' eyes were on Akefia as he resumed the tale, waiting to hear how the story of the unlucky thief played out. The fire crackled as the Thief King spoke, punctuating his well-timed pauses.

Now, here he is, in the Pharaoh's palace, defenseless and surrounded by guards. Our hero doesn't have much of a choice, does he? 'Why, that's nothing!' he cried, even though he was secretly outraged that the Pharaoh had broken his promise.

That night, he journeyed to the Sphinx's house, and quietly climbed up onto his roof while he was asleep. Ever-so-carefully, he sawed a hole in the roof right over the chamber where the Sphinx lay in bed next to his wife. He lowered a chain with a hook on the end through the hole, with which he began to haul up the bed-spread.

But what do you know; the Sphinx was no fool. There were little bells sewn all over the bed-spread, which rang and straightaway the Sphinx woke up, crying, 'Wife, you have pulled off all the bed-clothes!' He yanked them back, and of course, the clever thief fell head first onto the bed.

'Aha!' exclaimed the Sphinx when he saw the man. 'So that's where my flying horse went!' He promptly tied the thief up with the chain and threw him into the pantry.

The next day, the Sphinx made ready to leave for the bazaar, where he usually went to trade. He turned over a huge profit because of his exorbitant prices; after all, nobody wants to haggle with a Sphinx. Before he left, he said to his wife, 'I'm leaving for the day. You must stay at home – I'll be back by sundown, and I want you to roast that thief for my dinner!'

Sundown came, but when the Sphinx returned home, what should he find but the pantry empty and his wife roasting in the oven instead.

"Wait," said Kawab, a frown on his brow. "I just thought of something."

Akefia sighed. "Yes, what is it?"

"Is the Sphinx's wife a human or another Sphinx?"

"I believe she was a Sphinx. I also fail to see how this is important."

"Because, I was just thinking," Kawab continued, oblivious, "that if a lion had sex with a human, the baby would be a Sphinx. But what if a Sphinx had sex with a human?" He raised his eyebrows and spread his hands wide, as if to indicate that this was a mystery for the ages.

Teti-En blew out a puff of smoke. "The baby would be a lion," he reasoned.

"No way," Zaza argued. "It would be, like, a half-Sphinx."

"I have an idea," said the Thief King brightly. "Why don't we send you to go find out?"

Kawab looked distinctly horrified at this prospect. "I don't think so."

"Are you sure? Because I'd love to find out."

"I'm pretty sure."

"Do you feel like being quiet now?"

"Maybe."

The Pharaoh could not believe his eyes, Akefia continued, when he saw that the thief had succeeded once again. But if he kept up his end of the bargain, it would mean he had been defeated – nobody was supposed to be skillful enough to steal the Sphinx's bed-spread! He decided to assign the man a task that was sure to be impossible.

'You have stolen the bed-spread,' the Pharaoh acceded. 'But I am afraid that is not enough. To prove yourself worthy of my mercy, you must bring me the Sphinx himself.'

At these words, the thief felt a nagging twinge of doubt. Always before he had completely trusted in his own abilities, but this was a tall order to fill. Nevertheless, he managed to smile and told the Pharaoh, 'No problem!'

He racked his brains for hours and hours, pacing through the streets. Eventually he found himself at the outermost boundaries of the city, and there he saw the Sphinx from a distance, busy doing something in front of his house. And like a bolt from the heavens, an idea came to him.

He disguised himself as an old man, dressing himself in rags from head to toe. Hobbling on a cane, with a slow, ponderous gait, he approached the house where the Sphinx was toiling, busy building a box.

'Good evening, your worship,' said the thief, in a voice as dry and whispery as dead leaves. 'Might you be able to spare some bread for a poor old man?'

The Sphinx didn't like being disturbed. 'I'll see when I've finished building my box,' he snapped.

'I'll wait,' said the thief. He took a seat on an old olive stump. 'What is the box for?'

'I'm making it to bury a thief in,' the Sphinx gloated. 'Not only did he cook my wife, he stole my bed-spread and my flying horse too!'

No doubt about it, the thief was frightened. 'He certainly deserves such a fate,' he croaked, disguising his voice as best he could. 'But he's much too big to fit in that box!'

The Sphinx scoffed. 'What are you talking about?' he said. 'This box is big enough to hold even me!'

'Hmph,' the thief snorted. 'I don't believe you.'

'I'll show you, then!' growled the Sphinx – and he leapt inside the box, curling himself up to fit.

As soon as he was safely inside, the thief grabbed the lid quick as a flash and locked him in. The Sphinx kicked and howled, but to no avail; he had built the box so sturdily for his enemy that he himself now had no chance of getting out.

Akefia smiled and leaned forward, eyes traveling from one listener to the next. Malik wondered how many stories he knew.

The thief once again went before the Pharaoh. 'Your Majesty,' he exclaimed, exhausted – 'I have brought you the Sphinx! Threefold, I have kept my end of the bargain! Are you going to let me free now?'

The Pharaoh turned a skeptical eye to the box. 'I don't believe you!' he cried. 'There's no Sphinx in that box!'

'Do you want to see him?' asked the thief craftily.

'Show me him – if you can!' The Pharaoh scoffed. 'Such a thing is beyond impossible!'

The thief opened the lid just far enough – the Sphinx put out his head and devoured the Pharaoh in a single gulp! Instantly, the thief locked the lid back on again tight, nailed it down, and sealed up the Sphinx for all eternity. The princess saw her father die, and was immediately so overtaken with joy that she proposed to the young man on the spot. He decided he wouldn't half mind living in the palace, so he accepted and they were married the very same day. He ascended to the throne and began to live a life of uninterrupted indolence. It was fun for exactly two years, and then he got bored, so he abandoned the princess and journeyed off somewhere – and where he is now, nobody knows.

"And there the story ends."

There was an immediate cacophony of appreciative whistles and clapping from around the fire. Akefia bowed his head theatrically and took another long drink.

"I knew it," Nefermaat exclaimed, with a broad grin of satisfaction. "Fucking Pharaoh got what he deserved."

"What happened to the Sphinx?" Malik wanted to know. "Did he die?"

"Not at all," Akefia told him. "Sphinxes live forever, didn't you know?"

"What happened to the box?" he asked, eyes wide.

"He threw it to the bottom of the ocean, so no-one would ever have a chance of setting the monster free."

"Sphinxes can't breathe water," Kawab harrumphed.

"How would you know?" Mekhu demanded.

Another argument seemed on the verge of breaking out, but before it could escalate, Akefia interrupted. "You're all taking this too seriously," he said with a half-smile. "It's just a story."

"I thought it was true," Malik said, feeling a little confused.

"That it is," Akefia replied expansively. "But it's also just a story. Know what I mean?"

ʘ

Ishizu sobbed in her sleep and woke herself up. She found herself in her own, familiar room. Through the window, outside, she could see the stars were in their right place. The floors were clear of sand. She wiped a solitary tear she didn't remember crying from her face. She must have shed it while she was dreaming.

Ishizu felt as if all her innards had been taken out and left for rats to feed on – then someone had put them back, half-gnawed, in the wrong order. She sat on the edge of her bed and held her head until the feeling passed. She was to meet with Atemu tomorrow; perhaps she was simply nervous. Maybe she'd been in her chambers too long; the walls were beginning to feel like they were moving in. Or maybe she'd eaten something she shouldn't have. But even as these thoughts occurred to her, she knew they weren't what had caused the dream.

This dream had not been sent from the Gods, of that she was certain. It left her feeling sick and alone, and for once in her life, she could not begin to guess what it meant. Although she was afraid – indeed, very afraid – she closed her eyes and tried to remember.

Ishizu was on a journey, riding a night-black horse as swiftly as the wind. Where she had come from, she didn't know, but she was speeding homeward now. Terrible news had reached her about her brother. He had been stolen away to a foreign land.

When she returned to the palace, it was high noon, and nobody was to be found. The Pharaoh's throne room was empty. Piles of sand had accumulated everywhere; statues and pillars were half-buried, as if the desert itself had quietly invaded the sanctuary while she was gone.

She tore along the empty hallways to the chambers she had always shared with her brother. There was a layer of sand on the floor here, too, as if it had lain empty for untold time. Two of the three rooms were abandoned; it was in the last of them that she found Malik. He was standing alone by the window, looking out. Ishizu heard a faint scuttling from the corners as she entered, as if the room had only a moment before been filled with insects.

She rushed to his side and took his hand, tears of relief springing to her eyes. He only looked at her blankly.

The Gods have brought you back to me, safe and sound, she said.

Malik took a reed that was growing by the window . Who? he wrote in the sand.

Ishizu didn't understand. Who were they? she asked. Where did they take you? When did they bring you back?

The reed had turned into a knife when she wasn't looking. Malik turned it towards himself and made a long cut down the front of his body; it didn't bleed. Then he held his stomach open for her to see. Inside was nothing but dead leaves and sawdust.

Can't you speak? she asked.

He shook his head. When he opened his mouth, she saw that it was filled with linen.

Usually Ishizu was able to tell if someone she knew was all right, regardless of where they had gone. If their hearts still beat in this world, she would know. And if they were dead, or in trouble, a premonition would come to her. But tonight, when she searched the landscape of her heart for a sign of Malik, he was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had vanished from the map.

ʘ

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