The Bone Wars, page 13
Molly frowned. “So we have the religious camp and the non-religious camp.”
“Well, it’s more than that,” I said.
“Later,” Sarah interrupted. “We’re here.” She halted in front of a doorway of a large yellow room, and motioned for us to follow her inside.
The museum had undergone several major remodels and exhibit changes since its construction. However, our destination hadn’t really changed much since the museum was opened in the 1880s. That’s because Owen’s will stipulated that the mold used for the Crystal Palace Iguanodon was to be maintained at this location in the museum. Forever.
The room we were now standing in was known as the Lasting Impressions Hall. It was perfect for displaying the massive Iguanodon mold: high ceilings and wide, yellow-painted walls. Along the back wall was a dark glass door etched with the words: “British Geological Survey.”
“So that’s it,” Molly said.
I chuckled. “Yes. Yes. Very impressive.”
“It’s . . . something,” Molly replied.
Owen’s mold was an incredible relic. It was a huge, imposing reptile-like creature. It had a giant head situated on a stunted neck, and its mouth was open slightly to show several cylindrical teeth. The body was large and lumbering, with a long tail that extended away from the rest of the body.
Nearby, I overheard Sarah quietly speaking to Farnsworth. Snippets of his reply hit my ears: “BLM,” “fossils,” and “make a call. I’m done after this.” Good. Hopefully he’d leave soon. He shouldn’t be here anyway. I stole a glance at the door to the room. A docent stood near the door. I gave him a nod. No reason to annoy the local fuzz.
“It seems so fragile. Why was this one preserved? How?” Sarah asked.
Interesting question. There were no other molds still around, as far as I knew. And it was in remarkable shape, considering its age and composition.
“Heh, its thumb is stuck to its nose.” Molly laughed, pointing at the head.
I chuckled, too. A silly detail to put on the mold. It showed what Hawkins and Owen believed at the time. They were very wrong. When paleontologist Dr. Gideon Mantell described the first Iguanodon fossils in the early 1820s, he didn’t know that Iguanodon had large conical spikes for thumbs. Instead, he thought that they were defensive horns and added one to its nose. Eventually, Mantell found more skeletal material. However, he failed to convey any new information to Owen and Hawkins. Mostly because he was dead. So, the Crystal Palace Iguanodon had a spike that was really a thumb on its nose.
“Did they cut the legs off at its shoulders?” Sarah asked. “I thought this mold was of the standing one?” There were two Iguanodon sculptures at the Crystal Palace Park: one standing, and one lying on its belly with one of its front legs raised, resting on a large fallen tree trunk.
“Yeah, Owen cut the legs before positioning the mold here. Due to its size,” Farnsworth said.
“How do you know that?” Molly asked, leaning forward to touch the mold.
Farnsworth grabbed her shirt and pulled her backward. “Easy there, kid.” He pointed to a sign on the nearest wall that said “DO NOT TOUCH” at the same time the docent echoed the sentiment loudly.
I motioned to another plaque on the floor next to the legs of the Iguanodon. “Says Owen wanted the legs cut off so it would fit here.” Even with these alterations, the mold was still huge: probably seven feet tall and fifteen feet long, tail to snout. Imagine the New Year’s Eve party inside this baby. The local press even covered Owen’s 1853 New Year’s Eve dinner in the Iguanodon mold, so there were several drawings made of the night’s events. He had invited some of the brightest and most powerful men of the day to dine right inside this mold. In the belly of the beast! What a bash it would have been. For a moment, I mused at time travel. I imagined traveling back in some H. G. Wells machine and walking into the museum almost 170 years ago, knowing everything we did now. What I could have taught them!
Sarah cleared her throat. “Okay. We’re here. What’s next?”
Excellent question. Why the mold? How was this going to help me? I should be in the basement. The museum’s library was unmatched in terms of original documentation. I’m sure a lot of it is digitized, but just in case, I need to peruse through the original paper journals to see if Owen had other documentation about this strange new animal. Or maybe more photographs or drawings of the skull that he had on his lap in that picture sent to Farnsworth. Perhaps even notes on where to find the skull.
I’ll give this five more minutes, then head down to the basement.
I glanced at Molly. Since she had come along, I’d put her to work. Interns were notoriously hard workers. Not to mention free. Young eyes coupled with a hungry personality would really help going through all that documentation. Sarah could manage Farnsworth. And I’d have them review the documentation, too. Then, together we’d take a look at the bone room. Who knows, maybe between Farnsworth’s weird knowledge of paleontology history and Sarah’s eye for detail, they would find what we need. Drawings. Descriptions. Fossils.
“The second part of the poem,” Molly said. “Let’s read it aloud. It’s gotten us this far.”
Farnsworth pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I copied it from the painting.” He cleared his throat:
Its mind contains the key
Made of red and crystal bone
Oh woe is the legacy of the Dracosauria
The world has never known
An ancient enemy impedes
Those that will save the truth
But fate will lead the willing
To hallowed halls that whisper of the Origin in sooth
To the dragon you will fall.
Its mind contains the key.
Yeah. I had absolutely no idea what that meant. I shot a glance at Sarah and saw she’d closed her eyes. Her mouth was moving silently, repeating the poem. Molly was staring at the mold as if the answer would be revealed to her in some strange form on its body, like ghostly letters or glittery runes.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s take this in steps. We know this mold held that New Year’s Eve party, and distinguished guests literally ate at a table set up inside the mold, but what could ‘its mind contains the key’ mean?”
“Maybe it’s referring to the minds of those who attended. They were all scientists or important politicians of the day, right?” Sarah said. I nodded. “We know Owen was there, what about other scientists?”
“No, that doesn’t feel right. Its mind . . .” Molly snapped her fingers. “Its head, maybe?” She walked over to the giant head of the Iguanodon mold and stood on her tiptoes, looking intently at its chin. “Owen was seated in the head section of the mold during that New Year’s Eve dinner. Maybe there is something inside?”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“The plane had Wi-Fi,” Molly replied. “Sarah and I read about the party on the flight over.” She quickly looked around and up near the ceiling. Reflexively I did the same, wondering what she was looking for. Since we arrived near closing time, this room was now entirely empty, except for our docent friend in the doorway. But he looked tired and bored.
That’s when I saw it. Cameras. They had a good view of most of the room. Except for the far side of the Iguanodon, closest to the door to the British Geological Survey.
“We need to get inside the mold,” she said, her voice no higher than a whisper.
“Wait, what?” Sarah said.
But Molly didn’t answer her. Instead, she walked up to the docent and spoke to him. She pointed to me, and his eyes went wide, his hand moving toward his mouth. He then walked away, speaking into his walkie-talkie. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he sounded excited.
“Okay, we have only a minute,” she said as she walked quickly past us to the far side of the Iguanodon.
“No, Molly!” Sarah hissed. Too late. Molly lunged at the mold, scrambling up its side, using the shoulder as leverage to reach the top. She grabbed the upper lip, and was over its side before I could even blink.
“Molly, what are you doing? Be careful!” Sarah warned.
“I’m okay,” her reply was muted by the walls of the mold.
“Not you! She was talking about the mold,” Farnsworth said, but he couldn’t hide his huge grin. “It’s very old and important, and you could have set off an alarm.”
“Glad you’re concerned. Anyway, in case you all want to know, it looks like the bottom of the Iguanodon has been removed. I’m looking at floor tiles that are different from the rest of the room,” Molly said.
Oh, what the heck. I was on the same side of the mold, so I grabbed its top edge and pulled myself up. I dropped down next to her with a soft thump. It was very dark inside the mold, but a weak beam of light from Molly’s cell phone illuminated her face.
“What did you say to that guard?” I asked.
“That Dr. Sean Oliphant, a National Geographic Explorer in Residence, was upset that the director of the museum had missed their appointment.”
She shrugged. “You’re famous. That docent had been trying to place you for the last five minutes.”
This intern was growing on me.
Behind me, I heard the grunts and thumps of Farnsworth and Sarah as they climbed into the mold. Farnsworth helped Sarah stand up. “Ouch,” she moaned, rubbing her left leg. “I need to work out more.”
“More time with the pickaxe, less time with the dental pick,” Farnsworth said.
She snorted and gave him a gentle push. “Yeah, I heard that the first fifty million times you said that to me.”
I reached down and brushed my hand against the floor. These tiles weren’t smooth like the rest of the room. Each tile was large, maybe a square foot each, and they seemed to have their own texture. One felt like scales, another like carved feathers.
“Well, if they couldn’t move the exhibit, it would make sense that it would be the original 1880s flooring,” Sarah suggested.
“Maybe . . .” I said.
“This one has fur,” Molly said. “Stone fur.”
“This one has triangles carved down into the tile as if pieces are missing,” Farnsworth said.
“If this mold weren’t here, protecting them, these tiles would be worn down, destroyed by visitors walking all over them. They look just like the designs on the facade of the museum, or around the entrance. Owen wanted them this way,” I said.
Molly carefully moved toward the head of the Iguanodon and squatted down. The head was big enough for all of us to sit in if we were friendly, so I moved in closer to Molly. The head was all waves and bumps—an inverse three-dimensional replica of the creature’s face, covered in scales.
“Look—there.” Molly pointed to the top of the head. Etched into where the mold would form the forehead of the Iguanodon was an inscription in large block lettering: To the Dragon We Will Fall. “That’s from the poem.”
“Looks like we’re on the right track,” I said.
“And look there. Look at the tile,” Farnsworth motioned between us.
This tile was dark with a glassy surface, not light yellow like the other tiles. It was a large mosaic of deep red and black triangles. I leaned forward and used my nail to try lifting one of the red triangles. Surprisingly, with slight pressure, it wiggled. After a few pulls, I lifted it right out from the floor. It was dark red, translucent, and shimmered in Molly’s cell phone light.
“I bet that’s garnet,” Sarah said.
“Not glass?” Molly asked.
Sarah took it from me. “Too heavy. I’m almost positive this is garnet.”
Molly removed a black piece and handed it to Sarah. “And this?”
“Onyx, maybe?” Sarah asked.
“Maybe these shapes are the ‘blood red and crystal bones’ from the poem,” Farnsworth said quietly. “Maybe they are the key?”
“Like we have to use them to open something?” Molly said.
“Exactly,” he said. “We just need to find the lock.”
Suddenly, a loud squeal from a walkie-talkie radio echoed around the room. “Our friendly security guard has returned,” I whispered. We traded a series of glances, and I couldn’t help but feel like a high schooler in some over-the-top prank, waiting like a statue until the walkie-talkie sound receded and disappeared. Molly nodded and continued to pull up pieces of red and black triangles from the tile.
“But what are they supposed to do?” Sarah whispered. She moved away from the head and held a tile up into the dim light. “How can these tiles be a key?”
I shook my head. I had no clue. But if they were a key, what kind of lock would they work with?
“Wait! What about that tile that had strange grooves carved down into it? Other tiles had raised, nature-themed symbols on it. That one didn’t,” Molly said. She pushed past us and scrambled the few feet to the tile on her knees. “Here it is.” I saw her carefully place a garnet tile into a space on the stone tile. “Dude! It fits! See? All of these pieces are triangles. This tile carving was designed to accept these triangles. If you look carefully down at the tile, they have lines that show where each of the triangles fit.”
Suddenly, she slapped her forehead. “I know what this is! Give me the others, will you?” I moved over and handed her the tiles one at a time.
“First, shhh! Secondly, what the heck, Molly?” Sarah asked.
“It’s a tangram puzzle,” Molly said, biting her lip while she moved a triangle down into the floor.
“A what?”
“I have one at home. It’s a type of puzzle from China. You take various shapes—like triangles, parallelograms, and squares—and make bigger shapes with them. Often animals . . .” She pointed down at the figure she was creating. “See, the black onyx triangles are forming a shape, where the red ones form the background. This looks like a lion . . . I think?” She turned her head to the side. “Maybe a horse?”
Farnsworth started to grin. “What about a dragon?”
“Yeah . . .” Molly said, sitting up. “A dragon.”
After a few minutes, Molly had almost completed the design. It was crude, but unmistakable—a black winged dragon on a bloodred background. Just as she placed the final onyx into its spot, we heard a loud click, then the movement of gears.
What the hell?
Sarah grabbed Molly’s shoulder and pulled her small body back just before the large tile, now covered in a black dragon, dropped down several inches. It threw up a small dust cloud.
After a few moments of silence, Sarah cleared her throat. “Does this tile just drop down and that’s it? Is something else going to happen?”
“Well, maybe if we . . .” I leaned forward and poked at it gently. After nothing happened, I tried sliding the tile around a bit. Maybe whatever it was supposed to do was stunted by one hundred years of non-movement. Maybe it needed some WD-40 or something.
Suddenly, the tile moved again with a loud grinding noise, rotating clockwise, sliding beneath the other tiles. It stopped with a decisive click halfway through the circle, but the grinding noise continued for some reason. Then, the grinding noise stopped, and we heard a loud whoosh sound. In unison, we turned toward the source of the noise—the head of the Iguanodon.
Molly aimed her light at the head. The tile that held the tangram pieces had disappeared, as well as some neighboring tiles, creating a large hole in the floor.
“So, that was the lock . . .” Farnsworth said.
“We knew you’d prove useful eventually, Derek,” I said, but I was too shocked to even make a proper joke. I half expected a boulder to fall down from the ceiling on us.
We walked over to the hole and looked down. Molly’s flashlight revealed a giant, spiral metal staircase. It was so dark below that I couldn’t see farther than its first curve.
“Big hole beneath a mold of a giant Iguanodon head.” I looked at our strange little group. “Now which of you wants to be the proverbial sacrificial lamb?”
Letter between Mary Anning and Sir Richard Owen, 1830
Mr. Richard Owen
Royal College of Surgeons
My dear Sir,
As you requested, I am sending you a rough sketch of the fossil arm I found. You can see the long bones as well as the smaller hand bones. As we previously discussed, I do believe it is the wing of the Pterodactylus, perhaps with bones from another specimen mixed in. Our geologist friend, William Buckland, is in agreement. I will say, this wing is larger than the other that I found nearby. Interestingly, its stones are of the deepest black, which made it very easy to see amongst the light grey cliffs.
The Duke of Buckingham has offered £50 for it, but as your letter arrived the day before his offer, I will consider your claim first. Should you wish to buy, I humbly request £60. Buckland has also offered to purchase, but I told him of your prior claim, which I will honor. He is in agreement. Please send your decision as soon as possible.
I thank you for thinking of my little dog, Tray. He was not lost, as I feared. He came home at midnight, with a slight injury to his leg. We managed to bandage the wound, and he is now very happy. My brother believes he got into someone’s chickens as it looks like a pellet shot.
Your most humble servant,
Mary Anning
Lyme Regis, February 1830
Office Hours
Molly
Farnsworth grabbed my arm as I moved to lower myself onto the staircase. “I’ve got a light,” I said, shaking his hand off.
