The most mysterious product of human activity is creativity. The authors themselves say that the best lines are whispered to them by an invisible and intangible Muse, but for some reason, for the aspiring writer Zhenya Prokhorov, one of the glorious nine, the Muse of History, Clio, decided to appear in person. It turns out that she is red-haired, looks about thirty, and drives an old brown Opel. Unlike the first time, Zhenya misinterpreted Clio’s clues and the novel about the Middle Ages did not work out. Frustrated, Clio abandons her ward, who has lost her trust, but Zhenya is a stubborn person and finds her own way into the past; only he finds himself not in the era of the Crusades, but among the ancient Incas, and not in the role of an observer collecting material for a book, but of Naiplum, a priest of the dark god Lanzon...