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desk, pulled the keyboard toward her, and began to type.
The Museum got a grant last year to scan all its field notebooks and similar documents into a database,
she said. With any luck, we ll find the journal here.
She initiated a search on three words:Whittlesey, hut, andskulls. The name of a single document
appeared on the screen.Margo quickly called it up, then scrolled ahead to the penul-timate entry. As she
read the words, coldly impersonal on the computer screen, she was irresistibly reminded of the events of
eighteen months before: sitting in a darkened Museum of-fice with BillSmithback, looking over the
journalist s shoulder as he paged eagerly through the moldy notebook.
... Crocker, Carlos, and I press on. Almost immediately, stopped to repack crate. Specimen jar
had broken inside. While I repacked, Crocker wandered off trail, came upon ruined hut in the
center of a small clearing. It appeared to be made entirely from human skulls, pegged with
hu-man longbones setjacal-fashion into the ground. Ragged holes cut through back of each skull.
Small offering table in the center of the hut, made from longbones lashed with sinew. We found
the figurine, along with some oddly carved pieces of wood, on table.
But I get ahead of myself. We brought gear down to investigate, reopened crate, retrieved
toolbag before we could investigate hut, old native woman wandered out from brush,
staggering sick or drunk, impossible to tell pointed to crate, wailing loudly ...
That s enough, Margo said more abruptly than she meant to, clearing the screen. The last thing she
needed now was another reminder of the contents of that nightmare crate.
Very curious, Pendergast said. Perhaps we need to sum up what we know so far. He paused a
moment, poised to tick off the items on his slender fingers. Kawakita refined the drug known as glaze,
tested it on others, then used an improved version on himself. The unfortunate users, deformed by the
drug and increasingly shy of light, went underground. Growing feral, they began preying on the
subterranean home-less. Now, in the wake of Kawakita s death and loss of the glaze supply, their
prédations have become bolder.
And we know Kawakita s own motive for taking the drug, Margo said. The drug seems to have a
rejuvenating ability, even the ability to extend one s lifespan. The under-ground creatures were given an
earlier version of the drug he gave himself. And it seems he continued to perfect the drag evenafter he
began taking it. The creatures in my lab show no physical abnormalities at all. But even his most refined
drug has negative effects: look how aggressive and homicidal it made the mice and even the protozoa.
But that still leaves three questions, D Agostasaid sud-denly.
They turned to look at him.
First, why did these things kill him? Because it sure seems obvious to me that s what happened.
Perhaps they were growing ungovernable, Pendergast said.
Or they became hostile to him, seeing him as the cause of their troubles, Margo added. Or perhaps
there was a power play between him and one of the creatures. Remember what he wrote in his
notebook: The other one grows more eager by the day.
Second, what about that other mention in his notebook: the herbicide, thyoxin? That doesn t seem to fit
anywhere. Or the vitaminD you said he was synthesizing?
And don t forget Kawakita also wrote the wordirrevers-ible in his notebook, Pendergast said.
Perhaps he ultimately realized that he could not undo what he had done.
And that might account for the remorse he seemed to show in his notebook, Margo said. Apparently,
he concentrated on ridding the drug of its physical changes. But in the process, he ignored what his new
strain might do to the mind.
Third, and last, D Agostacontinued, what the hell was the point of rebuilding this hut of skulls
mentioned in Whittlesey s journal?
At this, everyone was silent.
At last, Pendergast sighed. You re right, Vincent. I find the purpose of that hut incomprehensible. As
incomprehensi-ble as the odd pieces of metal I found on its offering table. Pendergast removed the small
items from his jacket pocket and spread them onMargo s worktable. D Agostapicked them up
immediately, examining them closely. Could they just be pieces of garbage? he asked. Pendergast
shook his head. They were carefully, even lovingly arranged, he said. Like relics in a reliquary.
A what?
A reliquary. Something used to display revered objects.
Well, they don t look reverential to me. They look like the pieces to a dashboard. Or some appliance,
maybe. D Agostaturned toMargo. Any ideas?
Margostood up from the computer terminal and walked over to the worktable. She picked up a piece,
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