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so. And if I fail, there will be no question of my fate.'
    He inclined his head very slightly, and held my gaze for a little too long. 'We understand each other perfectly.' He then turned back to his desk, briefly scanned the papyrus document, looked up at me with an enigmatic expression somewhere between a smile and a warning, and almost negligently let the document drift back down into the empty tray on his desk. 'Your interview is destined for sunset,' he said, before sitting down and turning his attention to the window.
    I walked out of the room with the feeling he was watching me through the back of that cruel skull, and closed the door behind me. I had to give it a little shove to close it fully, and the squeak and bang alerted the guards, the nasty little secretary and the assistant. The latter came forward and said, 'I will show you your accommodation. And then bring you to your appointment.' So he already knew all about it. I felt like an animal being prepared for the offering table.
    Sunset, indeed. The hour of death.

    7
    I can do nothing but wait, and waiting is torture to me. I would rather eat sand. I have been given an office, with a couch and a desk, in a construction behind the main temples and the Medjay barracks. It looks on to an empty pool, with a fountain that does not work. It is surrounded by a terrace, and beyond that there is a view of a rock-strewn, red-earth plot. Someone has hurriedly tried to make the terrace look less derelict by placing some uncertain plants and little acacia bushes in pots. And a bench, as if I might have the leisure to sit in the shade and think of pleasure and poetry. But otherwise the build ing seems uninhabited. Above the head of the couch is a niche containing an icon of Akhenaten himself, the Great King into whose presence I am shortly to be ushered. Well, I will then be able to gauge the differences between the strange fellow in this niche, with his long neck, sagging belly and large sloping eyes, somewhere between a mule and a mother-in-law, and the reality of the divine incarnation.
    I drank water from the jug. It was unusually sweet and clear. Then
    I tested the couch for softness and was surprised by how comfortable it seemed, especially after the spine-bending experience of the ship's hammock. Too comfortable as it turned out. I awoke, suddenly, to banging. It was late, and someone was knocking on the door. I remembered nothing. My journal lay on the floor, its sheets somewhat creased, the flow of words stopped in mid-thought. The image of Akhenaten still stared down at me, as if I was already failing on the job. But I felt strangely rested. Had I been so tired to sleep like that? I checked the room. Nothing seemed changed. I examined the journal: no sheets torn out, no markings. Yet - something felt different. As if there were a trace of some other presence in the memory of the air. Had there been some potion in the water? I remembered then its unusual sweetness.
    The knocking was repeated. I called out 'Enter!' in an authoritative way that I hoped disguised my afternoon sleepiness. The officer of the guard who had conducted me to the interview, and then to this office, appeared at the threshold. A man perhaps five years younger than me, with careful eyes and a well-learned expression of caution accommodated within a pleasant, alert and undistinguished face. He was followed by a younger man, more handsome, neat and smooth, with the eyes of a charmer and that deliberately slow leisure of movement common to our profession.
    'What is your name?' I addressed the more senior of the pair.
    'Khety, sir.'
    'A wise name for a wise ma n?' 'My parents hoped so, sir.'
    'We gain power from our names, don't you believe?'
    'It is generally believed to be so, yes, sir.'
    He held himself carefully. Unconfidently confident.
    'How long have you been here, Khety?'
    'Since the beginning, sir. With Mahu himself.'
    'You mean since the city was built?'
    'All my life. My father worked for