Ryan shrugged and sat next to the man on the bench. He ran an oiled rag over the chisels to no real purpose except to appear helpful.
“Tell me about the capstone ceremony,” Ryan suggested, hoping to sound ingenuous.
Fasa launched into a long, fancifully worded dissertation about how the capstone was a crystalline pyramidion built by Pharaoh’s own hands, following ancient texts. Once in place, it would draw down the power of Osiris and fill Akhnaton with the supernal power of a god.
“Where’s the capstone now?” J.B. asked.
Fasa regarded him solemnly. “Why do you want to know?”
“Won’t we be the ones to put it into place?”
“No,” Fasa retorted. “You have yet to be purified. You won’t be allowed to touch it.”
“Oh,” Ryan said. “You can at least tell us where it is.”
“I can’t. Its location is a secret, known only to Pharaoh.”
J.B. poked around in the contents of a wooden bin at the end of the table. He picked up a thin wafer of gray metal. “Some kind of alloy…lead and copper, mebbe.”
“It is used in the manufacture of the metauh rods,” Fasa said.
“This stuff?” J.B. said doubtfully. “Doesn’t seem like it would be a very good conductor.”
“That and other materials are used on the rods’ handles to protect the Incarnates from their own mena energy.” He glanced from J.B. to Ryan suspiciously. “You are a rather inquisitive pair.”
“Why shouldn’t we be?” Ryan responded smoothly. “If our futures lie in Aten and service to Pharaoh, we need to learn as much as possible.”
The answer seemed to satisfy Fasa. He returned his attention to sharpening the chisels, and J.B. and Ryan wandered away from the workroom.
“Did you understand any of that mumbo jumbo horseshit about the capstone?” J.B. asked.
Ryan shook his head impatiently. “Not nearly enough. We’re getting nowhere fast.”
A tall, scrawny, faintly ridiculous figure suddenly stepped from a side corridor. It required a second for them to recognize the lean figure wearing a kilt as Doc.
J.B. laughed. “What are you doing running around in that hairdo with your skinny shanks showing, Doc?”
Doc’s lips tightened in disapproval. “I assure you that you present quite as ludicrous a picture as I, John Barrymore.” In a low voice, he added, “I have felicitous news, but I cannot tarry overlong. So far, no one has prevented me from going where I will, however I do not care to—”
“Have you seen Mildred?” J.B. interrupted.
“Yes, yesterday. She is working on Mimses’s staff.”
“Mimses?”
“A counselor. His real name is Stockbridge.”
“What about Krysty?” Ryan asked.
“I have not seen her, but I am sure she is being well treated.”
“Any word from this Kela about efforts to get us out of here?” J.B. inquired.
“Not directly, though Dr. Wyeth informed me that Akhnaton’s daughter, Nefron, is the guiding force behind the plan. Or plot. She seems to be in touch with Dr. Wyeth, and that is the reason I am here.”
Doc dug around his loincloth and brought out an ankh, a smaller duplicate of the one Danielson had around his neck. “The doctor lifted this from Mimses. She theorizes it may be our key to getting out of here.”
J.B. took it from his hand and inspected it closely. “It looks sort of like that alloy in the workroom. Why does Mildred think it’s important?”
Doc quickly related their discussion of the day before, concluding, “The doctor feels that the ankh may dissipate or block psychic influence directed toward us by our hosts.”
“I suppose I can make a couple with the odds and ends in the workroom,” J.B. said musingly. “I’ll use this one as the template… I just don’t know if the metal is the same.”
Ryan shook his head. “It’s straw-grasping, but it’s the only straw we have. Krysty may be under psychic influence. We’ll need to make enough of those things for all of us.”
“Has it occurred to anybody that we could already be under the influence of Hell Eyes and not know it?” J.B. inquired.
“An unnerving notion, indeed,” Doc replied.
“He said something to me last night…if a strong mind consciously resists him, he can’t do much,” Ryan said.