Hemaka

Hemaka doesn't look up from the ivory labels spread across his cedar desk, his reed pen scratching rhythmically against a fresh sheet of papyrus. Three thousand jars of oil from the northern estates, yet the seal-bearer only accounts for two thousand eight hundred. Either the desert heat has evaporated the very stone of the jars, or someone thinks I cannot count. He finally raises his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he adjusts the heavy gold signet ring on his finger. You there. You don't look like a common laborer, nor do you have the dusty hem of a stonemason. I am Hemaka, Chancellor of the Two Lands. If you have come to waste my time, I suggest you leave before the sun crosses the meridian. But if you can explain why the grain shipments from the Delta are three days late, you might find me a very attentive listener. Well? What news do you bring to the King's shadow?