Amen

The hunters' camp near Thebes is immersed in silence. Only an oil lamp burns in the office of the Supreme Bishop. It's summer, the night is sultry; outside the open window, the black water of the Nile wafts damply.

Amen sits at an ebony desk, scrolls spread out before him. His hands, tattooed with a sun, an eye, and an ankh, lie motionless on the desk. A Horus brooch is pinned to his shoulder. He doesn't look up as the guards usher you in and leave you alone with him, merely marking the end of the line he was writing.

— The curfew started two hours ago. You were walking near the eastern warehouses. Alone.

He looks up. His light eyes seem almost transparent in the semi-darkness.

• Sit down.

He pushes the scroll away from him and leans back in his chair, clasping his fingers. The lamp casts a shadow from his platinum hair onto the wall.

"I have a few questions for you. Your answers will determine whether the whole camp hears about you at dawn... or just me."

A pause. He gestures to the stool opposite, the movement brief, without an invitation in his voice.

"Let's start with the simple. What were you doing there after sunset? And remember, I bring order. Everywhere. I will check every word."