Beastly Bones (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

L
ook but do
not
touch,” Lamb repeated for a third time as Charlie and I followed him to the entrance in the canvas. “And let me remind you that everything you observe is completely and utterly confidential.”

“Your secrets are safe with us, Professor,” Charlie assured him.

Lamb's eye narrowed, but he pulled back the canvas flap and we stepped inside. The enclosure was not a tent, but more of a wide privacy fence. Each wall angled inward toward the top, which provided a bit more shade, but left the top wide-open for sunlight. The tools had been laid out neatly, and here and there smaller drop cloths and tarpaulins had been draped over sections of the skeleton. The widest of these covered a broad stretch of earth toward the creature's back. Whether these were in place to protect the fossils from the elements or because of Lamb's paranoia about privacy, I could only guess. Lamb and his crew had made considerable progress. The contours of the head were fully visible now, and although the midsection had been partially shrouded under the tarpaulin, it was clear that Lamb's team had uncovered the full curve of the gigantic beast's spine.

Mr. Bradley, the slender dark-skinned man, was working his way down the creature's neck with a brush and fine chisel. He smiled at our approach until he caught Lamb's glare, and then hastily returned to his work.

“You say you're Daniel Rook's daughter?” Lamb asked as he walked us down the length of the creature.

“That's right,” I said.

“Well, let's see if you actually picked up anything useful from your father's not entirely negligible career. To what bones do the tibia and fibula attach?”

If he had asked me to thread a needle or play the harpsichord, I might have balked, but I had assembled model skeletons as a child the way most little girls assembled jigsaw puzzles. “To the femur at one end—that's the knee joint—and to the tarsals on the other—the ankle.”

Mr. Bradley kept his head down while Lamb was looking, but he snuck me a supportive nod as we passed. I wondered how someone so pleasant had come to work for a walking scowl like Lewis Lamb. “And what is after the ankle?” my inquisitor continued drily.

“The same as it is with humans, the foot and the toes. Metatarsals and phalanges, if you prefer. With most dinosaurs, as with modern birds, the metatarsals are actually clear off the ground, with the weight of the thing on its—”

“Wrong,” Lamb interrupted.

“Wrong? No, I'm quite certain—”

“You're wrong, Miss Rook. As you can plainly see, after the ankle joint there is . . . nothing at all. That is the point. My dinosaur's entire foot has been stolen.”

I looked down. The massive femur was still there. Beneath it lay the long tibia and fibula, but then there sat a series of hollows in the earth, outlining where the creature's long talons should have been. The bones of the foot were gone.

“These were definitely here last night,” Charlie said, stepping carefully around the hollows. I nodded.

“I tried to stop her, boss!” wheezed August Murphy suddenly from the entryway. His freckles were lost in a mask of beet red.

Nellie Fuller was stepping over a pile of freshly turned soil. Her slick, striped dress looked as sharp as her tongue, cut expertly to complement her full figure. It was out of place in the dirty mess, but she strode across the uneven terrain with confidence.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” Lamb snarled.

“Journalism,” she said. “It's a terrible habit, I know, but I can't seem to kick it. Hello! Isn't this a handsome fellow?”

Mr. Bradley fumbled with his chisel.

“I mean that strapping brute you're digging up.” Miss Fuller said. “But what's your name, mister?”

“Bradley. Bill Bradley, miss.”

“Good name, Bill. Alliteration always looks sharp in typeset. What species would you say you're uncovering?”

“Shall I bodily remove her, sir?” Mr. Murphy asked.

“Aw, Guster, if you wanted to dance, you really should have asked,” Nellie called over her shoulder. “My card's all full up, now.”

“Just go and look after Horner, you incompetent cretin,” Lamb said to Murphy, stomping across the dig site to intercept the reporter. “You know very well that you are not permitted to be on the premises!”

“Do I? Honest misunderstanding, I'm sure. You should be more clear in the future.”

“
More cl—?
Miss Fuller, I addressed you by name, looked you squarely in the eyes, and told you to
stay ou
t
!”

“Then we're agreed that it was poor communication all around. No hard feelings, though, sunshine. I forgive you. Goodness, just look at the ribs on this behemoth! That first bone was impressive and all, but this is really a sight to see.”

“I think you've all seen quite enough,” snapped Lamb.

“But, sir, we've only just begun,” I said meekly. “In fact, Mr. Jackaby really ought to be here as well. Do you think you could send one of your men to fetch him? He might be able to see . . .”

“Out! I'm done with all of you!”

“Professor Lamb,” Charlie began.

“Don't you
Professor Lamb
me, Officer Barker! I am in direct communication with your supervisor, and Commander Bell has promised me your full cooperation. I played your game. I gave you your look. Now go get me my property—and take these . . . these . . .
women
with you.”

“You're the boss,” Nellie said, making no rush to leave and turning to me. “But
you
seem to be the brains. It's Abigail Rook, yes? Mind if I call you Abbie? Lovely. Before we go, do you happen to know the word for that bone that birds have right here?” She pointed along her sternum.

“It's called the keel,” I said.

“That's the one. Is it just me, or is that a big fat keel?” She pointed toward a wide stretch at the creature's front, which I had missed entirely, having simply taken it for a flat stretch of earth. “Is that normal on a dinosaur?”

Mr. Bradley looked up from the creature's neck. His eyes were twinkling. “You think that's crazy? You ladies should see this.” He stepped away and began to lift the tarpaulin shrouding the creature's back.

“That's quite enough!” yelled Lamb, vibrating furiously. Bradley dropped the canvas and froze.

He had not been quick enough. Miss Fuller and I turned to each other, and I saw reflected in the reporter's face the same impossible thrill that was dancing through me. Wings. The colossus had wings.

Lamb ushered us brusquely through the canvas flap, all but literally kicking us off the site. He gave Mr. Bradley an acid glare on the way, and I did not envy the lecture the poor man was likely to endure later. My mind was reeling at the implications of what he had revealed to us.

“What do you make of it, Miss Rook?” Charlie asked.

“It's impossible!” I said as we trod back down the sloping foothills toward the farm.

“This is front-page material, without a doubt.” Nellie grinned.

“It's like some amazing amalgam of a theropod and a pterosaur! The scientific community will be absolutely astir!” I said.

“Abbie, darling, you're cute, but the scientific community won't be the half of it when I'm through writing the story,” said Nellie.

“Your story will have to wait until I've finished my examination and am fully ready to release a formal report on the specimen.” Lamb was keeping pace behind us, unwilling to trust that we could find our way unescorted.

“Surely it won't take long to finish a report,” I said. “The figure is almost entirely intact, and the fossils are unbelievably well preserved.”

“They
are
unbelievable, Miss Rook, which gives me all the more reason for pause. I do not know how Owen Horner feels about the integrity of the scientific process, but I for one am not eager to be made a fool.”

“You think they've been tampered with?” Charlie asked.

“Horner had his hands all over this site before we arrived. It would not be the first time he intentionally sabotaged a dig site.”

Lamb's own record was far from spotless, but he was not entirely wrong. From what I had read in the journals, Owen Horner might have been more likable, but he was no more scrupulous. “Professor, is it really as bad as all that between the two of you?”

“Worse,” Lamb said. “But it is not my fault! That brat hadn't even finished his schooling when we met. He had assembled a sizable theropod as the focus of his thesis, but the amateur had obviously attached the head of one specimen to the body of another. Naturally, I was obliged to report his error, and the disgrace set back Horner's thesis a year. His pride has been fueling this one-upmanship ever since. Whenever he can't outdo me—which is most of the time—he settles for obstructing me. Why do you think he keeps appearing every time I take on a new project? I can think of nothing Horner would like more than to push me into putting wings on a flightless body, or giving a pterosaur the wrong legs. It is not the sort of oversight I tolerate, so you will understand my reluctance to rush.”

I did understand. Field research was exhausting enough without extra hurdles and misdirection, and Lamb's story had the unfortunate ring of truth. “That's fair,” I said.

“There are other facets of the excavation worthy of skepticism as well,” Lamb continued. “The site is notably shallow. Layers of ash in the soil suggest the area suffered a series of fires, which could potentially have affected plant growth and subsequent soil settlement. However, if one were to age the fossils purely on the visible strata, estimates would fall in the mere thousands of years.”

“That's obviously wrong,” I said. “Even the most recent Cretaceous dinosaurs died off—”

“Exactly! What's more, aside from the wings, this one appears most like an
Allosaurus
, which suggests Jurassic!”

“Pardon me, kids,” Nellie chimed in. “A little translation for those of us who don't speak dino? You said it looks thousands of years old—how old
should
it look?”

“Somewhere in the area of one hundred fifty
million
,” I said. She whistled. I turned back to Lamb. “You really think Owen Horner parted with a complete, pristine specimen? Just to make you look foolish?”

“I can't imagine that snake parting with so much as a toenail if he didn't have to.” Lamb scowled. “But something about this dig is dodgy.”

We had reached the farmhouse. Horner was just coming out from the back of the building toward us. Murphy had made himself Horner's shadow.

“I was just on my way to fetch you, Miss Rook,” Horner called as we neared. “You really ought to see the tracks your boss has been examining. Come on. I'll show you around back.”

“I'm sure we can manage to find a big red barn without you,” Lamb said flatly.

“Oh, you're good at finding things,” Horner said. “I'm just good at finding them first—like this dig site. I'm not sure Miss Rook has a week to wait for you to get there your way.”

“Gentlemen, please.” I shot them each an imploring look. Lamb rolled his eyes but bit his tongue, and Horner just chuckled and led the way.

The barn was a wide, red building, bordered with a chicken coop to one side and a collection of barrels and wheelbarrows to the other. On the path between the barn and the farmhouse, we found Jackaby and Hudson hunched over the dirt. Brisbee stood, watching. Jackaby held a disc of colored glass with symbols etched around the outer edge. He was peering through it intently, tilting his head this way and that as we approached.

“Sir?” I said.

“Peculiar.” I could not tell if Jackaby had actually recognized our arrival, or if he was merely talking to himself. He tucked the lens into his bulky coat.

“Miss Fuller!” Brisbee said cheerfully. “Welcome! Wonderful to see you again!” Then, taking in the whole group of us, he added, “Oh good! So glad you folks are getting along. I've just made a fresh pot of coffee. Why don't I just bring everyone some refreshments?”

“That's really not necessary,” said Lamb.

“No, no trouble at all.” With a wave of his hand, Brisbee was already away, bustling off into the farmhouse.

“What exactly are you looking at, gentlemen?” Nellie Fuller asked.

Hudson leaned on one knee. “These tracks ain't like nothin' we got around here—least nothin' I ever hunted.” He thought for a moment, and then added with a grin, “Yet.”

My heart, which had been up in my throat since the revelation at the dig site, dropped suddenly to the pit of my stomach. I slipped back and slid toward Charlie while the others were crowding around to gaze at the footprints.

Charlie read my intentions and met me halfway. “In case you were wondering,” he whispered in my ear, “I have never visited the farm in my other form. Whatever Mr. Hudson is tracking right now, it isn't me.”

“Good,” I said. “That's good.”

Charlie's eyebrows knit, and his expression was torn. “If I
did,
however,” he continued, “I might be able to put this whole business to rest a lot sooner.
Someone
stole those bones, and we've yet to uncover any obvious leads. Jackaby's right. If I could just pick up a scent before it has time to fade . . .”

“You know that's a bad idea,” I whispered. “Mr. Hudson is already on the hunt for
something
, and even if it isn't you, you're still—”

“Rook!” Jackaby's voice broke me away from my thoughts. “What do you make of these tracks?”

“Me, sir? Wouldn't Mr. Hudson be a better judge?”

“Of course he would,” said Jackaby curtly, “which is why I asked Mr. Hudson first. Now I am asking you.”

“Looks like a bird,” Hudson said as I shuffled past Lamb and moved to join my employer in the soft dirt. “Three big old toes and just a hint of a back one. They're real thin, but those talons are long and nasty. I thought Rosie was big. Whatever left this makes her look like a chickadee.”