With much under-the-breath cursing, J.B. got the band saw working. He had to keep pumping a foot pedal so it would spin at a high speed and continuously apply oil to the metal wafer to dim the screech of the saw blade.
He managed to cut a fairly close approximation of the ankh, then moved over to the drill press to punch a hole through it. With a hammer and grindstone, he smoothed down the rough edges and spurs, then tossed it to Ryan for inspection.
The one-eyed man stowed it in his apron, saying, “It’ll have to do. Make another one.”
J.B. repeated the process, laboriously forming a second ankh in less time than it took to make the first. He was busy outlining the third amulet when Ryan hissed, “Somebody’s coming.”
J.B. turned over the metal wafer a second before Fasa sauntered in. He regarded them both with surprise, then suspicion. “Why are you here?”
“No reason,” J.B. replied.
Ryan winced.
Fasa swept his gaze over the drill press and band saw and announced, “You’re not supposed to be using the tools without authorization or supervision. What have you been making?”
J.B. caught Ryan’s eye. “Should I tell him?”
Sidling up behind the man, he replied, “Why not?”
J.B. turned over the piece of metal on the table, exposing the template ankh. Fasa’s eyes widened, then bugged. “A forbidden thing. You’re making a forbidden thing! Pharaoh will punish you!”
“Why?” J.B. demanded. “It’s just jewelry, right?”
As if explaining a complex math problem to a child, Fasa said patiently, “It’s not so much the symbol itself as the metal fashioned into that shape. It interferes with Pharaoh’s power.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said quietly. “So we’ve heard. That’s why we’re making them.”
He hit him hard, a short jab to the kidney. Fasa uttered a gargling cry, rising up on his toes and falling forward into J.B.’s arms. The Armorer wrestled him to the floor, squatted on his chest and covered his mouth with a hand.
“We don’t want to chill you,” J.B. said quietly, “but we will if you force us. All we want is to get out of here.”
Fasa mumbled something through J.B.’s clamped fingers. The Armorer moved his hand away, ready to throttle him if the man spoke in anything other than a whisper.
“Why?” Fasa asked, voice tight with pain and confusion.
“Why do we want to leave?”
“Yes.”
“My friends and me don’t like living as property or as work animals.”
“But you’re well treated here!”
J.B. shook his head in disgust. “I’m not going to waste my time explaining things about freedom and liberty to you. All you need to know is this—if you betray us, you’ll die.”
While J.B. spoke, Ryan found a coil of rope and a handful of oily rags.
“Your choice, Fasa,” the Armorer continued. “We’ll tie you up and hide you, or kill you and hide you. Which one will it be?”
Fasa considered his options for only a heartbeat before replying, “Tie me up and hide me.”
Securely binding and gagging the man was the work of only a few minutes. Hiding him presented another problem. An upright tool chest was affixed to the wall in a far corner. J.B. removed the hand tools, and Ryan dragged Fasa over to it, pushing him face first against the wood backing. The locker was tall but not particularly deep, and the fit was tight. The man’s bound wrists were jammed fast against his hips when Ryan shut and locked the door. He immediately regretted not chilling him, but he knew it was a bit easier to conceal a live body for a couple of days than a dead one. If luck was with them, Fasa would suffocate before he managed to work the gag out of his mouth and call for help.
“Let’s get back at it,” J.B. said. “Next time somebody comes in, we’d better think about chilling them.”
“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “It’d be simpler all the way around.”
IN THE HOURS after sunset, the great, endless vista of the dark, star-sprinkled sky spread out above the city of Aten. The walls were made of dressed concrete, and vigilant sentries paced their length.