The Place of Truth

The sun was hot. The litter was comfy. As we crossed the Nile and journeyed into the desert, I finished the snacks and fell asleep, dreaming of stewed antelope and roast quail.

“Wake up, Ra! ” Khepri blared in my ear.

I kept my eyes closed and tried to push him away with my paw. “Khepri, please! ” One more bite of antelope…

“Ra, we’re here, ” Miu said. “At least, I think we are. ”

I opened my eyes—and wished I hadn’t. The walled, mud-brick village before me looked as dry and dusty as the cliffs behind it, a far cry from the elegance of Thebes. But I recognized the place. I’d made the trip here a few years ago, when Pharaoh selected our tomb site.

“It’s Set Ma’at, ” I told Khepri and Miu. “The Place of Truth. ”

Khepri looked confused. “I thought we were going to the Valley of the

Kings. ”

“The Valley starts there. ” I bobbed my head to indicate the high cliffs just north of us. “But Set Ma’at is where the workers live. ” I turned to the crowd gathering outside the walls. “Look! They’re expecting me. ”

With Khepri hanging on to my neck and Miu at my heels, I went out to greet my people.

A burly man with inky fingers stepped forward and bowed. He gripped a staff in one hand and a writing board in the other. “Welcome to Set Ma’at, O Lord of the Powerful Paw. We were honored to hear from Pharaoh that you were coming to visit us. ”

“Hey, I remember him, ” I whispered to Khepri and Miu. “It’s the Scribe of the Tomb. ”

Have you ever met a Scribe of the Tomb? Unless you have a tomb of your own, probably not. Here’s how it works: When Pharaoh and the Vizier send orders to the tomb workers, it’s the Scribe of the Tomb who reads them and writes back. He tells the Pharaoh and Vizier their orders have been received, and he notifies them of any problems. It’s also his job to record everything that happens on the tomb site: every chisel borrowed, every absent worker, every payment made.

Pharaoh also has guards in the Valley of the Kings. Their leader is the Captain of the Guard, and they watch over the tombs under construction, as well as the completed and sealed tombs. But it’s the Scribe who oversees the workers themselves. And there are a lot of them. To build a tomb, you need foremen, carpenters, stonemasons, plasterers, sculptors, goldsmiths, painters, and other artisans—and the Scribe keeps track of them all.

In short, the Scribe of the Tomb has a lot of power, and this particular Scribe was the boss of Set Ma’at.

His voice still booming, the Scribe bent down to Miu and the Vizier. “And welcome to the Lord of the Powerful Paw’s honorable escort. ”

Instead of replying, the Vizier focused on the crowd. “Look at you all, standing idle. Why aren’t you working? ”

“Exactly what I was about to say, my lord, ” the Scribe said smoothly. “Yesterday we had our annual holiday feast to celebrate the ancient founder of Set Ma’at, but today we must get back to our normal routine—”

“You took another holiday? ” the Vizier growled at the crowd. “That’s not what Pharaoh pays you for. ”

The crowd murmured, and a gaunt man stepped forward with a paintbrush in his hand. “O Great Vizier, speaking of payment, perhaps now is the time to remind you that our wages of bread and beer were late last month, and the month before, and the month before that. ”

There was a murmur of agreement from the back of the crowd, but the Scribe nudged the man with his staff. “That’s enough, Pentu. ”

Pentu didn’t stop. “And our pay has been cut, even though we are worked harder—”

“Who gave you permission to speak? ” The Vizier was so angry he almost spat out the words. “If I hear you complaining about wages again, you’re fired. ” He turned on the crowd. “And that goes for the rest of you, too. ”

Everyone went quiet. Pentu hunched his shoulders, and his paintbrush dropped to the ground. A skinny boy behind him picked it up and silently handed it back to him.

“You heard the honored Vizier, everyone, ” the Scribe boomed. “Back to work! ” He pointed to a strapping young man near Pentu. “Except for you, Huya. ”

Clearly pleased to be singled out, Huya smirked and flexed his muscles. “Want me to make sure that troublemaker Pentu keeps his mouth shut, my lord Scribe? Just say the word—”

“Not just now, Huya. ” The Scribe ushered him over to the Vizier. “My lord, this is the carpenter Huya, the one I mentioned in my last letter. He’s been assisting me with various duties. ”

“Indeed? ” The Vizier gave Huya a piercing glance. “I hear you’re quite capable. And discreet. ”

Huya’s smirk widened as he bowed low. “I’m quiet as a tomb, my lord Vizier. ”

“Huya has set up a place for you inside the village gates, ” the Scribe explained to the Vizier. “I had him build the platform in the cool of the wall, where the light is good. You need only escort Pharaoh’s Cat there, and our best artists will begin their work. ”

The Vizier didn’t even look at me. Snapping his fingers, he called the nearest boy over, the skinny one who had picked up Pentu’s paintbrush.

“You, there. Carry the cat where he’s supposed to go. ”

“But—”

“Don’t argue! ” the Vizier barked.

Shoulders tense, the boy bent down to me. He was about the age of Pharaoh’s oldest son—eleven or so, with long fingers, a long neck, and alert, hungry eyes.

“He looks like Pentu, don’t you think? ” Khepri whispered.

“Hmmm. Yes, ” I agreed. If they were related, no wonder the Vizier made him tense.

Once the Vizier swept past, the boy smiled at me and held out his arms. “O Gracious Pharaoh’s Cat, if you would do me the honor—”

I’m not thrilled about being carried by strangers. But I didn’t want the boy to get in trouble, so I let him scoop me up.

To my relief, he knew exactly what he was doing. Honestly, the boy could have a job as an official cat carrier.

“My mother liked cats, ” he whispered to me. “I don’t remember much about her, but I do remember that. So I like them, too. ”

Moments later, we entered the village gate. Inside its high outer walls, Set Ma’at was just as cramped and busy as I remembered, with dusty houses packed tight together. Water carriers and workmen jostled in narrow, noisy alleys that smelled of wood fires and kitchen scraps.

“Ah! ” The Scribe caught up to us. “Kenamon, I see you’ve made the acquaintance of Pharaoh’s Cat already. Very good! ” He ushered us toward a platform near the gate. “Now set him down on that pedestal there—the one in the sunshine that Huya set up—and get out your tablet and paint box. I expect to see some very fine work from you today. ”

As Kenamon settled me on my pedestal, I stared up at him in surprise.

This boy was my portrait painter?

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