The city appeared before us only after several days of travel. The mudbrick walls were high and at first glance looked solid. In front of the gate, carts, donkeys, and people with baskets of grain crowded together. The air was full of dust and the shouts of merchants.
Karem leaned toward me. "It looks bigger than I expected," he remarked.
I nodded. "And the bigger the city, the bigger the problems. That's why we're here."
At the gate, two soldiers stopped us. Both carried short spears and wooden shields, their helmets made of hardened leather. The captain, a man with a scar across his cheek, looked us over from head to toe.
"Who are you, and where do you come from?" he asked sternly.
I stepped forward and answered calmly, "We are envoys from Pharaoh Sobekneferu. We have orders to speak with the local governor."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. The soldier kept his eyes on us, while the younger one glanced back and forth, unsure if I was serious. At last, the older man nodded. "Wait here."
He turned, disappeared through the gate, and returned after a while with another man in a robe—not a soldier, but a scribe. The scribe motioned for us to follow.
The city was noisy and crowded. The streets were narrow, the houses built of sun-dried bricks. Merchants shouted, selling fish, vegetables, and clay vessels. The air was heavy with the smell of animals and cookfires.
The scribe didn't give us time to look around. He led us straight to the palace—a large building of stone and mud rising above the other houses. The guards at the entrance let us through without question once they saw the emblem hanging from the scribe's neck.
Inside, it was cooler. Cloths hung from the walls, mats covered the floor. In the main hall waited a man in his middle years—the governor of the city. His name was Horemhotep. He wore a simple but clean robe, his eyes sharp, his gaze steady.
"So, envoys from the palace," he said, narrowing his eyes. "The Pharaoh found time for our little city?"
"It is not little," I replied politely, but firmly. "And the Pharaoh knows that every stone matters if the whole structure is to stand."
The governor let out a short laugh. "A good answer. Very well, come. Let's discuss what brings you here."
Karem leaned closer to me as we walked behind the governor. He whispered, "You sound confident, as if you've lived here for years."
"I have to," I murmured back. "Otherwise, they'd never take us seriously."
"So, the Pharaoh sent you," he said, his tone cold rather than welcoming. "And you want to hear what is happening here?"
I nodded. "Exactly. My task is to find out why the supplies are lower than they should be, and why complaints from the people are becoming more frequent."
Horemhotep laughed. "People always complain. That's nothing new. If a man is hungry, he cries out. If he has enough, he still cries that he wants more. That's how it was and always will be."
Karem, who sat beside me, leaned forward slightly. "And the taxes? Why are they lower?"
The governor looked at him as if he were just some servant. "Because the flood was weak. There was less grain. What do you expect? Miracles?"
I answered calmly but firmly. "The flood was weaker, that is true. But the numbers we have in the palace show that even what was harvested did not simply vanish because of the Nile. A part of the grain never reached the records. It disappears between the fields and the storehouses."
His eyes sharpened. "Are you accusing me?"
"No," I replied steadily. "But I want to see the storehouses with my own eyes. And I want to speak to the scribes who record the supplies."
Silence followed. The guards shifted slightly, as if waiting for the governor's order. But he leaned back, gripping the armrest of his chair.
"Very well," he said after a pause. "We will show you the storehouses. But you'll see the same thing I've told you—nothing."
I nodded. "That I will judge for myself."
---
The next day the governor had us taken to the large clay granaries. At first glance they looked full. But as I stepped closer, I noticed something was wrong. The sacks were stacked in a way to make the rooms look filled, but when we opened one, it was only half full.
Karem bent toward me. "This is fraud," he whispered.
I nodded, but out loud I said only: "We must check more storehouses."
The escorts looked uneasy. One of the scribes wiped his forehead as if from heat, though the day was cooler.
"These storehouses are managed by your men?" I asked the governor, who had come with us.
"Of course," he replied curtly. "Who else would you trust them to?"
"Then the responsibility lies with you," I said.
His face darkened. "Watch your words, palace man. You are not at home here."
I met his eyes directly. "I am where the Pharaoh sent me. And I have her trust. That should be enough for you."
For a moment the tension was so sharp I felt the guards preparing to lift their weapons. But in the end Horemhotep looked away and waved his hand. "Fine. We will show you other storehouses. But that is all."
---
When we left, Karem leaned close to me. "Amenemhet… this doesn't look good. He's lying. I know it."
I nodded. "I know too. But we don't yet have proof. We need more. Otherwise he will turn this against us."
When we left the granaries, Horemhotep let us go under the watch of two guards. They allowed us to move through the city, but it was clear they were ordered to watch our every step.
"We can't trust only his men," Karem whispered as we walked down a narrow alley. "If there really is deceit here, we need to ask those who work the fields."
I nodded. "The people know more than the powerful think. They're just afraid to speak."
---
On the edge of the city, we found a group of men repairing grain baskets. They looked tired, their hands worn, their faces cautious as they noticed us.
"We need to speak," I said carefully. "Not as with subjects, but as with those who know the truth."
The oldest among them, a thin man with a scar across his cheek, smirked. "The truth? Truth isn't spoken aloud here, lord. Whoever speaks it ends up in chains."
Karem stepped forward. "But if you don't speak the truth, nothing will change. And you'll keep starving."
The man measured us with his eyes for a while. Then he motioned the others away. When only the three of us remained, he leaned closer.
"There is grain," he whispered. "The fields gave more than they claim. But half of it disappears before it ever reaches the granaries."
"Where does it go?" I asked.
The man looked around, then whispered: "South. Onto boats. Horemhotep's men load it and send it away. They say it's trade… but no one knows where. And we… we see nothing from it."
His hands trembled as he spoke. "If he finds out I told you this… my family will pay."
I placed a hand on his shoulder. "No one will know. You speak to me, and I speak directly to the Pharaoh. That is your protection."
The man nodded, though fear still lingered in his eyes.
---
Later, we stopped near a group of women grinding grain at a millstone. One of them, a young mother with a baby at her breast, spoke up on her own:
"You're the ones from the palace, aren't you?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Then you must know something is wrong here. The men work all day, the fields are full… but our home stores are empty. The governor's collectors come, they take more than they're owed, and say it's an order."
"And if someone complains?" Karem asked.
The woman laughed without joy. "Then we never see him again."
---
On the way back, Karem lowered his voice to a whisper. "So it's clear. He's stealing the grain and sending it away. And he's not afraid to threaten his own people."
"We don't have proof yet," I warned him. "Only words. And words aren't enough."
Karem clenched his fists. "So what now?"
I smiled. "There's one chance to learn more. We need to go to those who know everything, yet few listen to them."
He looked at me suspiciously. "You mean…?"
I nodded. "The courtesans. They hear the things men say only when drunk, or when they think no one is listening. If there's truth hidden somewhere, it's in their chambers."
Karem smirked, his eyes gleaming. "Now that, I like. You always know how to find a way. And you're saying we go to them?"
"We go," I said calmly. "But I won't take part. I wouldn't be convincing. You'll handle it. And I'll just listen."
"Then I'll take it," Karem laughed. "For once, it pays to be younger and less bound by courtly ways. They'll relax and talk, and I'll make sure you hear everything you need."
We headed to the edge of the city, where the street of pleasure houses lay. Lamps hung by the doors, laughter and music spilled from inside. Men came and went, some grinning, others barely able to stand.
Karem walked confidently, as if he belonged there. I stayed a step behind, watching the courtyards, the doors, the people drifting in and out.
One courtesan noticed Karem. She was young, her body covered only by a thin veil of cloth that revealed more than it hid. She smiled and beckoned him closer.
"Come, warrior," she said with a grin. "You look like a man who wants to forget his troubles."
Karem smirked and let her lead him inside. I stayed in the shadows by the wall, where I had a view of the open door and could listen.
Inside, the woman slowly let even that last cloth fall away. Karem sprawled across cushions, enjoying the sight and the wine she poured for him. He spoke with her like an old friend, though I knew his real task was different.
"Tell me, beauty," he said as she leaned over him. "The men who come here… what do they talk about? What weighs on them, what makes them laugh?"
She laughed, ran her hand across his chest, and answered. "They talk about everything. Wives, work, wealth. But most of all, about the governor. They all fear him, but they laugh when they've drunk enough. They say he sells the grain and takes the gold for himself. They say the ships leave quietly, at night."
Karem nodded, pretending to enjoy her touches, but I knew he took in every word. I stood in the shadows, listening. What we needed was right here.
"And who runs it?" Karem asked, stroking her back so she wouldn't stop speaking.
"His men," she whispered. "But one of them, the one with the scar across his face—he keeps the keys to the storerooms. He makes sure the grain jars are loaded. If you're looking for someone, look for him."
Karem smiled, nodding as if it were idle gossip. Then he kissed her neck so she'd continue playing her role.
I stepped back into the dark. I already knew enough