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Pixornino Shots

Lawrence Erasmus Peregrine and the Linnean Society

written by Antonio Modest Tambornino

Last updated: 9 / 26 / 2022

To my teachers. You know who you are.

To Tim Berra, and to “Bob”: Your signed copy of Darwin and His Children: His Other Legacy helped make this book possible.

To Brandon Sanderson: Your lectures on YouTube are invaluable.

And to Andrew Stanton: Your films with Pixar and your TED talk encourage and inspire countless individuals.

Prologue:

The carcass ashore was the only indication where he was. Charlie was on a beach with no ship in sight, nor boat. There were no tracks, no trail, no hint of anyone or any living animal - foreign or domestic - close by. The hissing of the ocean waves reminded him how close he was to water, or so he thought. Walking on sand felt unnaturally slow. Perhaps the heat was getting to him.

The day, however, was overcast. Nothing looked familiar. There were three large, armored reptiles at a distance, each of them distinct, even dangerous looking. Like trying to see trees for a forest he couldn’t see their individual features, yet there was no mistaking their individuality, for he was able to make educated guesses about what these animals were and where they came from. Their marks: upside, bent-broken crosses, identified them. Marks that displayed in the sand, drawn by a child who scratched away with a red-hot rod, spelling out the names of each animal, names he did not recognize. He felt deeply intimidated, though he knew not why. The child’s movements suggested no malice or ill will. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he began to get closer, yet the more he advanced, the further away things got. The marks in the sand, however, seemed to get closer, bigger, more saturated. Some of them even began to emit small flames. A great feeling of disorientation began to overwhelm him.

Charlie heard a hissing noise like that of the sea and looked up again to find the fascinating reptile specimen making its way toward him. Its movements were slow but powerful, its great bulk moving along on the sand, and yet the sand did not give way under foot for the animal. He took particular interest in what made these animals distinct, for it seemed strange they would have large, pointed, cerated teeth.

From the corner of his eye Charlie thought he saw shadows move across the sand past him toward a cluster nearly indiscernible from dark matter that slowly morphed into a group of men, their features hard to make out. For a brief period, he thought he heard one of the figures running past slow down to whisper in his ear, “you’re a crock”, though he must have been mistaken. One of the men pointed in Charlie's direction and the man turned his head toward the being closest to him. A form of acknowledgement seemed to have been made as a nodding of one of the heads. He heard someone say, “Animals changing over time…? Nonsense,” giving him alarm that only increased. Perhaps the whole thing was a mirage. But how could that be when the animal's mouth was now on his neck?

Its jaw gently but persistently clamped down on his throat. He did his best to break free but to no avail. He called for help, but no words came, and no one came to his aid. He was on his hands and knees as the sand gave way for him, and strangely only for him. Further into the sand the animal forced until his hands and knees pressed against something solid and flat. The reptile was gone, but the force that brought him to his knees remained. A firm hand held him down as he watched several figures surround him, some of them in robes. Men’s voices were heard, talking about him, his work, his theory of animals changing over time. A sense of dread filled him.

He was somehow aware of others seeming to fill rows and rows of pews and bleachers. Their unblinking stares fixed on him, somehow oblivious to the several men who surrounded him, or the rigid hand that held him firmly in place as though he were a misbehaved animal. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. A wooden contraption was brought before him, and he was forced to move over while being placed on a hard surface. He recognized what he’d been planted on as he stared at nothing. The blade was not far above his head. The crowd in the pews gave thunderous applause as the rope was let loose and the blade came down.

Charlie sat bolt upright in his bed and hit his head against the frame of the bunk just above him. He had to hold his now throbbing, sweating head. He lay drenched in sweat as the ship rocked on the ocean’s surface.

A deafening crack, a bolt of lightning parted the sky and the mast split. Waves thrashed against the hull as the ship plunged. Sailors left and right ran across the deck, working the ropes as water from the shower and salty bathed all on board. The moon held high in the sky, barely seen between the thick storm clouds. With all the activity on deck, it was all Charlie could do not to lose his dinner.

He woke up still partially damp by the Atlantic, his head swimming and still feeling swollen, his stomach threatening another moment of nausea. Doing his best to get up, he found something dry to put his feet in while he stumbled toward a sailor who led him to the ship’s doctor. The ship’s doctor didn’t look much better than Charlie felt.

Chapter 1: The Voyage of the H M S Beagle:

The layover was already three weeks in and Captain Fitzroy was growing anxious. The

23-year-old Charlie, fascinated by the variety he saw among the flora and fauna, also had a sense of dread.

He was terribly seasick. Each time the vessel went up, so did his stomach contents. He couldn't help but feel there was more than motion sickness on this trip, or contemplate possibilities of future stomach problems, though this trip engaged his academic mind more so than his fear of sailing.

As Charlie stood in the ship's hallway the room felt warmer, he could smell a strong aroma, and heard soft footsteps. He sensed someone was close by. As he turned, a gentleman approached. “Your coffee, Señor.”

“Thank you,” said Charlie.

“De nada.” The coffee had a warm, rich aroma. Soon after tasting it, Charlie was determined he was not a coffee drinker. After one sip, his taste buds were bombarded with a strong, bitter flavor. He preferred tea. Not wanting to be rude, he did his best to look as if he enjoyed the strong blend. However, the highly caffeinated coffee gave him an odd sensation. Never had he felt so jumpy and high-strung.

Charlie had an overwhelming sense of anxiety. This was the feeling that continued to bother him while he remained aboard the Beagle. He wasn't allowed to leave the vessel. No one could leave the vessel unless on official business with the residents of the harbor. It could be why Captain FitzRoy's mental condition worsened. FitzRoy's condition wasn't just apparent by his actions, but also by his physique. Hence why Charlie had worked to convince the captain to engage more with the residents while they remained at harbor.

“I see no reason why we can't engage with some of the locals, provided we don't leave the ship,” Charlie attempted to reason with FitzRoy.

The captain had a different point of view. He acted as though he was less eager to engage with the people of the northern end of South America. He was also tired of Darwin's constantly telling him how to handle his voyage.

“The sooner we leave the harbor, the better off we will be,” FitzRoy complained. “This voyage already feels like an eternity has passed.”

“I'm only trying to offer my input,” Charlie tried to make a case for himself.

“And since when would a shut-in know anything about sailing?” FitzRoy snarled at him. “Just look at your hands. You probably would not know a rope from your sister's cheek.”

“I certainly didn't come on this expedition for us to throw insults at one another.”

“I didn't come on board just so we'd have to stay a month getting friendly with the locals,” FitzRoy growled.

“I think they are more hospitable than you think they are,” Charlie continued to try to encourage the captain.

“Mr. Darwin,” FitzRoy barked at him, “I've had enough of you for one day. In fact, I've had enough of you to last the remainder of the voyage.” With that, FitzRoy ordered the first mate to escort Darwin out of the captain's quarters.

Moments later, they made their way along the ship toward the deck. Darwin still had his coffee in hand, but he seemed to have lost interest in drinking the remainder.

“The captain is a most disagreeable man,” said Charlie. “It must be the weather.”

“I wish that were the case,” said the first mate. “The situation is actually worse than we know. I think our captain has a friend among the locals, someone he's trying to pursue, and he's been given strict orders not to engage directly with anyone.”

Charlie brought the cup nearer his lips. “How is it you know this?” he asked.

“Would if I could share that with you” said the first mate. “It so happens I found a letter on the captain's desk from the man in charge of this voyage.”

“When was this?”

“About a week ago.”

“And where is this letter?”

“Mr. Darwin,” the first mate's tone began sounding more ominous, “I am not at liberty to show you the captain's personal affairs. It is my understanding we shall not be at this harbor much longer.”

Charlie made an audible groan, then acted like he was trying to stifle a belch.

“I hope you enjoyed your coffee, Mr. Darwin,” the first mate said as he looked away from Charlie, grinning.

“How much longer before we reach the Galapagos?” Charlie asked as they ascended from the lower deck.

“At this pace, it will be months before we reach our destination.” They both looked up at the sky. “You mean because of the weather?” Charlie asked.

“That's only part of our problems,” the first mate responded, and then explained further with a curt nod toward the open ocean, and the people at the harbor.

Charlie had mixed feelings about this news. His academic ambitions helped him see grand opportunity in this journey. His heart sank, dreading the forthcoming violent storms.

For three years he continued exploring the tropics and eventually the Galapagos Islands. Upon his return from his long, dramatic voyage, he found Emma again. They married, and as their marriage blossomed they had ten children. He also be addressed his previous work that contained studies on life and species. This work he intended to present to a prestigious league of scientists obsessed with animals, as well as the order in which they fell. As confident as he was in his theory, he feared for his life because of it.

Chapter 2: A Rosetta's Stone:

Charlie was an amateur scientist. Years prior, he had returned from his trip to the Galapagos Islands with a discovery that shook him to his core, frightening him beyond measure. The trip itself took many months, with long delays in South America, and it turned a would-be clergyman into a true naturalist. Not long after his trip, news of the voyage connected Charlie with at least several individuals of considerable status. Did he keep his discovery secret? As reserved as he was, with his closest friends he did share some intimate, even bizarre concepts; some of them, in fact, most of them renowned and respected scientists themselves, but few could prepare for what lay in store for their good friend Charlie.

Charlie's good friend Joe had been walking toward the park. It was a beautiful day for England. Before reaching the walkway that led the people to the bridge over the river, he was stopped suddenly by his friend Charlie. The man had grabbed Joe’s hand briskly and firmly placed a pile of pages and a letter into his hand. It took Joe a moment to realize what was happening, and then he saw how pale Charlie was.

“That’s some greeting, Charlie,” said Joe.

“Don’t refer to me that way,” said Charlie.

“How else would a man greet his friend?” asked Joe.

“Listen to me, please. I’m frightened; I tell you, frightened,” Charlie stammered.

“What is wrong with you, my friend?” asked Joe.

“You will see when you have read the letter and manuscript that is in your hands,” said Charlie.

“Oh, your theory on--”

Charlie cut him off. “This is extremely sensitive material, Joseph.”

Being referred to by his proper name got his attention.

“It can’t be that sensitive,” said Joe, his brows furrowing.

“Until you’ve read it, don’t judge.”

Charlie turned away, his head low, reminiscing on a particular parcel that had recently arrived on his doorstep.

Joseph Hooker stopped by Michael Adams' bakery with the manuscript in his hands. He also just happened to find Emma Darwin selecting some choice bread.

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Joe.

“And you would be?” She replied. Then she saw the papers in his hands, with her husband’s name on them.

“Mr. Hooker!” she exclaimed, getting the attention of Michael and his assistant Henrietta Darwin. Joe was a bit startled by her outburst.

“Please, call me Joe,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” she apologized. “Have you enjoyed my husband’s work?”

It took Joe a moment to realize to what she was referring. “I’m about three-quarters of the way through it, still giving it some comments,” he said. “Overall, his theory regarding animals changing over time seems most intriguing.”

At those words, Michael’s ear tuned in, and he started making his way over, as intrigued as Hooker, if for different reasons.

“Do you agree with what my husband has to say?” Emma asked.

“I don’t think that’s for me to decide,” said Joe, “but I think the Linnean society will be fascinated by his proposition.”

“Excuse me?” Michael inquired.

Joe looked at him with confusion, and then began to make his order.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “A baguette, if you please.”

Michael brought Joe his bread, and when Joe tried to pay him, Michael insisted on the manuscript instead.

“Joe hasn’t finished reading it yet,” Emma scolded the baker.

“With a tome this size, Joe probably had more to say than you think, my lady,” said Michael. As Michael held up the manuscript, Emma noticed the drawings, scribbles, and notes left on the squiggled sides of the pages.

“Joe?” she said.

Joe flushed. “I am truly sorry,” he said. “I was too late when I saw what my children had done with your husband’s work.”

She just smiled. “It’s quite all right. Charlie loves his children, as I’m sure you do yours.”

“Will that be all?” Michael asked Joe.

“Indeed,” said Joe, suddenly behaving as though it were Christmas day.

Michael then turned to Emma. “I’ve come to collect a loaf of wry,” Emma responded. Michael wasted no time placing the pile of pages he’d collected from Hooker under the counter, then proceeded to fetch Emma her loaf of wry, but before he had gone two paces she asked, “What do you plan to do with my husband’s work?”

“I know someone who will find it very interesting,” Michael said. This earned a scowl from her. “Rest assured, nothing bad shall happened to it. You have my guarantee.”

Henrietta came nearer where they stood, a hand towel over her shoulder. Henrietta preferred being addressed by her nickname, Etty. She went to bid hello to her mama and “Uncle Joe.” They weren’t related by blood, but Joseph Hooker had played a significant role in her life.

“Good morning, Etty,” Joe greeted in return.

“Hi, honey,” said her mother. “Is the bakery keeping you busy?”

Etty merely smiled and nodded before turning away to wipe down a table.

“I certainly try to keep her busy,” Michael began to explain. “Sometimes she forgets herself.” He sighed and then continued. “Sometimes I feel I have to supervise her while manning the bakery. There are only so many hours in the day.”

“Can't you make an exception when I show concern for my father?” She asked.

Michael moved again to collect for Emma her loaf of wry but was again interrupted. “Can you please explain to me why you horde my husband's work?”

“It will be returned to you.”

“If I may?” Joe cut in. “Perhaps, Emma, a fresh perspective is what's required?”

“Were you not enough for that?”

“I believe Charlie's book to be a fair trade.”

Emma put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. “You'd trade my husband's life's work for a loaf of bread?”

“Emma,” said Michael.

“My name is Mrs. Darwin,” she scolded him.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Darwin,” Michael apologized. “Your husband's book will be safe as long as it is at this bakery.” He wasn't lying.

“For your sake, sir, I hope it will be,” and then she turned on her heel, and stormed away.

John Lubbock met his friend Michael Adams at the bakery just as he was closing up shop. Henrietta had recently left for her other job. Not a star could be seen in the sky, and Michael had no time to light the street lamps. A young couple had finished selecting a baguette.

“Good day, Michael.”

Michael looked up and greeted his friend with a smile.

“How is business?” John asked.

Michael finished exchanging the baguette for a few coins. “Business remains steady. Are you here for your order? I’m afraid it isn’t ready yet.”

John merely laughed. “That’s not why I’m here. I thought I might catch you as you were closing up so we could walk together to the pub.”

“I appreciate the invitation,” said Michael. “You may want to meet me there. It will be some time before I’m ready to depart this shop.”

“Would if I could wait that long,” said John, “but I have something to share that you may find very interesting.”

Michael stopped managing his sale for a moment to look his friend in the eye. He wasn’t wearing so big a smile anymore.

“John, when have I ever turned down an opportunity to chat, even if we were only catching up? I will meet you at the pub.”

“What shall I order for you?”

“A glass of port will be all.”

“As you wish.” And then he left. Had John been paying closer attention, he might have noticed an odd fellow with strawberry blond hair sitting alone in a corner of the restaurant who nearly made eye contact with John, and then quickly averted his gaze to observe the Michael. Michael, on the other hand, had to approach the young man and ask him to leave, because it was closing time, and because the young man seemed shady.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” the young man asked.

“I am indeed,” Michael responded.

“If I might have a word?”

“We are closed for the evening, young man.”

Michael was as good as his word and met John at the pub. He greeted his friend with a warm smile.

“Your port, as requested,” replied John, gesturing for Michael to take a seat. Michael took the seat without delay and then addressed his glass of port, which he took in one gulp. His burly size prevented him from being overly affected by the potent content of the port. Not far from them a musician provided live music, which added to the natural soundtrack of ponds and nearby running water.

“Good to see you enjoyed your drink,” John remarked. It took Michael a moment to respond, allowing himself a brief period of reprieve. When he finally spoke it was to say, “It is most excellent indeed. The young Etty usually does a good job.”

“To whom do you refer?” John asked, inspired by the mention of Etty.

“Etty Darwin happens to be my assistant during the day.” At the mention of the name “Darwin” John became more curious.

“Are you referring to a child of Charlie's?”

“Now it is you who surprises me?”

Etty came over to briefly give her greetings.

“Why Etty,” said Michael. “Thank you for this wonderful glass of port.” She outstretched her hand, palm up.

“Beginning with business,” said Michael. He reached into pocket for several coins. When they landed in her palm, Etty looked at her tip, her jaw dropped.

“Mr. Adams,” she gasped.

“Etty,” said John.

“Good evening, sir,” she said with some difficulty.

“Would you happen to be the child of a Charlie Darwin?” She nodded her head, her face suddenly pail.

“Good heavens, Etty, what's the matter?” Michael asked. She remained quiet.

“Papa has been missing for a few days,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper.

“Have you told anyone about your father missing?” asked John.

“I have.”

“And?”

“My mama and uncle remain quiet.”

“If there's anything we can do to help, Etty,” Michael offered.

Etty pocketed her tip and walked away. They watched her as she tended to the bar.

“Most noble of you, Michael.” said John at last.

“Well, she is my assistant.”

“Most noble of you indeed.”

“Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”

“I’ve discovered something with controversial evidence on animals changing over time.”

“Ah… that’s what you wanted to talk about.”

“Well, someone, it seems, agrees with you, and whoever they are, they're going to present their discoveries.”

“Good for them. They have more courage than I.”

“You’ve never struck me as cowardly, Michael.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

“I mean you don’t strike me as shy.”

“When is the presentation supposed to happen?” asked Michael.

“February 12th. A week from this morning,” answered John.

“I’m sure this man will enjoy the fame he gets for presenting something so provocative,” said Michael.

“I wouldn't be so sure.”

“How do you mean?”

“He isn't the most gregarious type.”

“Does one need to be sociable or outgoing to enjoy prestige?” asked Michael.

“According to some he's been a nervous wreck lately.”

“Why doesn't that surprise me?”

They sat in silence for a time, enjoying the evening air and live music as best as they could. It had become chilly.

Chapter 3: An English Naturalist's Twilight:

It was Charlie's birthday. The sun had just set. The priest of the Church of England Samuel Wilberforce sat in a chair opposite Charlie and close enough that Charlie could smell alcohol on his breath. Samuel reached into his back pocket and showed Charlie a piece of Charlie's work, On the Origin of Species.

“Where did you get that?” Charlie demanded.

“It was handed to me by Joseph Hooker.”

Charlie was gobsmacked. “I don't believe you,” he all but whispered.

“Yes, you seem to believe in something else,” said Samuel. “An idea that speaks of unlawful karma knowledge.”

“...I only wished to share with others something wonderful I discovered when I was young,” he struggled to say, his heart caught in his throat as he tried to rationalize this scenario, and reason with Wilberforce.

“And if you had found the mark of the devil, would you have shared that as well?” Samuel challenged him. “If you had seen the son of the devil roll up to you in a wheelchair, would you have delivered him to the world as the holy Son himself?”

Charlie couldn't respond, for he knew not what to say.

“I see things much clearer now, Mr. Darwin, and I will act swiftly.” Samuel stood up from his chair and motioned to a man at the end of the room.

What happened next didn't take long, but to Charlie the last few moments of his life seemed to stretch beyond eternity, and all senses became duller. His body became numb. Things close-by sounded far away. The man at the end of the room went to the door, and a moment later three more men entered.

The hour grew late, the sky grey, threatening a storm that never arrived. Leaves fell, red and gold. Autumn darkness lifted, but barely, while people marched to Mass for a sermon.

The evening light, what little of it there was, inched into the dorm where a young cleric finished his prayers and made ready for his night. He stood in a room that wasn’t as tidy as he would prefer. Many notes, ranged from subjects on the Gospel of Luke to animals changing over time and changes in rock patterns, obscuring sheet music and large drafts of figures drawn in charcoal. The untidiness of Lawrence's dorm wasn’t entirely his fault. Lawrence prepared to meet his sweetheart, Etty Darwin, whom he would meet just before mass.

The small crowd shouldered its way into the sanctuary and from there into the nave. The smell of incense filled the air. An altar boy wobbled in front of the young cleric and his sweetheart as the crowd toward the altar. The priest, whom Lawrence recognized as Samuel Wilberforce, stood at the podium and addressed those in attendance with a sermon that struck Lawrence as a trifle odd: Samuel spoke of creatures that seemed to exist only in imagination, creatures that resembled men while possessing the faces of devil-fish and the ability to fly, and held terrifying power, enough to sway others, friends, and neighbors toward misguided ideas and eventually to a dark place where minds are lost forever. Lawrence also thought it strange that Samuel would speak of naturalists as the kind of people who would want to make people lead unpleasant lives and make people lost.

The odd tales didn’t end there. He called out friends of the church – the Darwins - for being the kind of people who could be swayed toward strange, even damaging methods.

“Hope remains to bring them back to the good and loving lord’s good graces,” said Samuel in an authoritative tone, as if he had thought about all of this for quite some time. “And rest assured, as long as you all hold onto faith and preach the lord's words, you need hardly fear for your safety or your sanity.” He left them with as pleasant a smile as he could give, his features not being the pleasantest. Lawrence, however, left feeling oddly disturbed by what he’d just heard.

Not yet an hour later, the scene in the nave changed. The fall season blew gently into the cathedral. People filled pews to observe as Lawrence Peregrine and Etty Darwin gave a violin recital on stage. Most sat quietly. Even Lawrence’s athlete buddies were quiet, which was a relief to a few in the room, especially to Lawrence. He hoped their odd actions would not distract his good friend, Anne Augusta, as she sat in the audience, a bit further away from the stage than Lawrence would have preferred. He tried not to let that bother him and continued to perform alongside Etty.

Chapter 4: Turmoil With The Peregrines:

The cold and dreary fall season began in Oxford. For the next nine months, there would be constant gray with little precipitation. The snow here was not a welcome sight. Profound orders from the mills crept into their small, isolated county. This bothered some.

It was another bleak day with the Peregrines: Lawrence Erasmus Peregrine and John Peregrine and John Peregrine's mother. The company was not what made the day bleak, it was the weather, but the constant overcast, the dull feeling that often was inspired by the less than exciting weather was something they were all used to, and they knew how to make things livelier. Sometimes.

“Another interesting day,” said John, while Lawrence stared outside, letting his mind wander for a change. It had been some time since he'd been with his grandmother. He was also trying to mentally escape being in the room she called “a family room”. It reminded him too much of the places he had tried to leave behind as he'd grown older. She was, however, his connection for where he was as a student and as a cleric. For those he was indeed grateful.

“I take it your case is going well?” John's mother inquired.

“More dead ends, unfortunately. However,” and he glanced over at Lawrence, “there is some talk of a young cleric who could assist me with my investigation.” The subtle nod escaped Lawrence. John deliberately raised his voice as he said, “if he isn't too preoccupied of course.”

At those words Lawrence brought his attention back to the family room. “Forgive me,” he responded. “You were saying?”

“It's about my investigation, son.”

“And how is that going?”

“If you're interested in learning more,” his father raised his voice again, adopting a sterner tone, “you're invited to assist me.”

Lawrence gave the man a blank look as he said, “It would be my honor.”

“Excellent.”

Lawrence's grandmother changed the subject. “How are things at school, Lawrence?”

“School goes well.”

“I should say so,” his father responded. In some ways, or so it seemed to Lawrence, his father snapped at him. “The dean seems most pleased with your performance lately.”

“And with the church?” she asked.

“Mr. Wilberforce keeps me busy rewriting the Bible for him. I don't mind. And I get along well enough with the other clerics.”

“I'd say better than getting along with,” his father continued to speak as though scolding him. “Last I heard, you nearly spent the night with a woman you'd never met.”

“I wouldn't call exchanging a few words with a young woman spending the night,” Lawrence countered. “And that night was spent with a man I'd rather not speak of.” More to the point, thought Lawrence, it was nowhere near as exciting as the time I spend with Anne, and which is less exciting still than the time I spend with my friend Etty. He did his best not to show his dissatisfaction near his grandmother. This was family day, a term that felt almost alien to him, but he would still rather not soil it by giving his grandmother more reason to chastise him.

“Was she pretty, Lawrence?”

“Mama,” John cut in. “Please don't encourage this kind of behavior.”

“She was handsome, I suppose.”

“Tell more, Lawrence,” his grandmother continued. “Tell me about how things are between you and Ada.”

The mention of Lawrence's friend Ada Lovelace got him excited, though he tried not to show it. “She has recently developed a new language. When she shows me what she has been working on, I see a sea of numbers. However, we are working on how to animate some of the charcoal drawings I've made.”

“Good grief,” his father moaned.

“Is something wrong, father?”

“Why would you waste your time on art?”

“I should be allowed some time to express myself.”

“Indeed, you should be,” said his grandmother.

“Mother,” John snapped at her, “please don't encourage him.”

“Do not speak to me in such a manner, John. I would love to know more about this new language Ada has been working on. When may I see it?”

“Wednesday evening,” Lawrence responded matter-of-factually. “It'll be just after Charlie gives his presentation on his latest book to The Linnean Society.” He was trying to hide his enthusiasm. The Linnean Society were a group of individuals into studies of animals and of life in general it seemed.

“Charlie...?” his grandmother asked, and then her face expression changed subtly. It was a look Lawrence had come to understand as her way of silently expressing what she meant. “You're referring to Mr. Darwin.”

“Indeed I am.”

“I see. So, he's finally going public. Interesting, very interesting.”

“Mama,” said John, “do you know what that man is about?”

“Of course, John. I don't live under a rock.”

“What have you heard?” Lawrence asked before he knew why.

“Oh, I do sometimes chat with his wife, Emma, dear woman. Now,” and she reached for the pot at her elbow, “remind me when your next recital is?”

“Mama,” said John as she poured herself a cup, “he plays violin. What else do you need to know?”

“How many times must I remind you, John, not to speak to me so?” John looked down his nose at her in response.

“More importantly,” she continued, “how do you explain your son's attire?” Even Lawrence had to admit he felt odd wearing pants meant for someone taller, and a jacket looking just outgrown. Even so, her comments at times were hard to agree with.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Peregrine,” using her name in this manner was how she had controlled him to call her, “sometimes a cleric must make sacrifices.”

She merely sipped her tea, and loud enough Lawrence could hear.

The rest of the afternoon progressed in similar fashion, though Lawrence felt the day's pacing had slowed considerably. He found himself itching to leave and find a decent meal, if the baker was still operating at the late hour. Lawrence prided himself on having something of an internal clock. With the constant gray outside, it was hard to tell when twilight had descended.

Chapter 5: A Young Cleric's First Lesson:

When the two of them finally did leave, Lawrence's father held him firmly by the arm and made him walk at a brisk pace.

“Father, what are you doing?”

“Be silent,” his father said sternly. “I'll have no more of your nonsense.”

Not an hour later, they arrived just outside the office of the dean of the Oxford Dons. The man who greeted them was someone Lawrence did not expect. Instead of the dean, Lawrence was looking at a burly man in sloppy attire. His hair looked unkempt, matted in places, which made it difficult at first for Lawrence to recognize the man who had been to his latest violin recital. Lawrence had never seen someone who looked egregiously obese. His clothes were in a worse state than Lawrence's. Not only were his pants too short, but his jacket also looked too big, and that was saying something given this man's size. His clothes looked stained. Lawrence's first thought was, “How did this man get here?”

“Sigmund?” cried John. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hmph,” was the fat, burly man's response.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” John asked .

“Pleasure, indeed,” Sigmund grumbled. “This school is lacking a nice young lady hired to please a big man.”

“What school would possibly have a woman of such--?” Lawrence tried to say, but he was silenced, again, by his father.

“Ain't no school that shouldn't have a nice-looking young lady for a big guy to get cozy with, and I'll wrap your lips around your head if you think to tell me otherwise, boy.”

“I am no child,” Lawrence responded coldly.

“Well, you ain't no man yet, young cleric.” At those words, Lawrence was as much stunned as put off.

“What brings you here today, Sigmund?” John tried to return to the original subject.

“I was taking a nap.”

Odd place for a nap, Lawrence thought.

“I see what you're thinking, young cleric.” That was the second time Lawrence heard himself referred to that way from this burly man, and it made less sense that this man would call him “young cleric”. “Still confused? I've actually come to enroll.”

It is a bit late to enroll, Lawrence again thought, not wanting to be punished again.

“Wonderful news, Sigmund.” Lawrence couldn't tell if his father was pretending. “However, I believe classes are already in session.”

“I meant to enroll this young cleric here in my course,” and Sigmund's eyes met Lawrence's while he said this. Lawrence straightened up at this news and even tried to back away, but his father's grip tightened even more.

“I didn't realize you lectured, Siggy,” said John

“I don't lecture, Peregrine,” Sigmund retorted, “I instruct. I demonstrate. That's common knowledge.” He then made his way past the two of them, making John let go of Lawrence as his huge frame separated them, pretending to ignore the gap he'd made and how he almost knocked them both over.”

Lawrence was about to call back and demand an apology for the rude behavior when Sigmund turned to directly address him. There was, after all, a lot of space for the man to move without requiring Lawrence and his father to be shoved aside. “Meet me at the pub in the evening for your lessons.”

Etty left the Oxford Public Library and made her way to the bakery. She found Anne Augusta there selecting bread.

“The glazed crescents are most popular lately,” said Etty. Anne spun around, glad to see her friend, and the two embraced.

“I thought I'd find you here,” Anne cried after she let go.

Etty smiled in reply. “I have my duties to the bakery.”

“Dear Etty, take some time off. The horses miss you!”

“I simply cannot. For one, I'm still at a loss for any information on my father's whereabouts?”

“You won't find answers under these tables!” Anne referred to the areas of the bakery that didn't bring them as much business.

“Mr. Adams keeps me busy,” Etty responded.

“You can't become a woman of incredible reasoning ability from busing tables.”

Michael made his way toward the two of them. Etty only just saw him behind Anne.

“People come by often, and I ask questions when I can.”

“Why are you the only member of your family looking into your father's whereabouts?”

“I've asked her that very question myself miss--” Anne started and turned on her heel to address the baker.

“My name is Anne King.”

“Miss King, do forgive me, but your sister is running late for her shift. And believe me when I tell you, I have already asked her about her father's whereabouts.”

“We are not--” just as Anne was about to explain their friendship, Etty placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. “He means well,” and she proceeded behind the counter.

“Etty, don't let yourself be shut down! Don't turn away from something important! When my mother hears of this--”

“Hears of what, Miss King?” Michael raised his voice.

“I don't want my friend to lose momentum,” Anne tried to explain.

“And how is her helping me run my bakery causing her any setbacks?”

Etty returned from behind the counter wearing an apron and carrying a tray loaded with freshly backed loaves and Danish pastries.

“Will that be one loaf of wry, or two?” Etty asked Anne. Anne was courteous enough to select a loaf of rye and a pastry. She reached into her bag to select the appropriate payment as Michael proceeded to get her order ready. Anne was about to leave the bakery when Michael stopped her.

“There is someone I happen to know who will be very interested to help your friend,” he said from behind the counter.

Lawrence carried a photograph of Etty and Charlie because Emma had agreed to let him borrow it from time to time. He convinced her it would help during his scribe duties. He was near the pub when he saw Sigmund at a table reading a copy of the Bible, or so it seemed. He walked into the pub and sat down at the table where he found Sigmund, no longer engaged in his read.

“Your taste in literature, young cleric, is perfect.”

“Thank you,” said Lawrence, not clear to what Sigmund was referring.

“If you like a book, no one should read it, and if you don't like a book, everyone should read it.” Lawrence was a bit stung by this remark. “Is this your way of entertaining me tonight?” he asked.

Sigmund belched in his face. It was all Lawrence could do not to leave the pub then and there.

“You're drunk,” said Lawrence. Upon careful examination, Sigmund wasn't as aloof as he pretended.

“Here,” said Sigmund placing a coin on the table.

“What's this?”

“What does it look like?”

“I'm not interested in drinking tonight.”

“Who said anything about drinking?”

“You're drunk,” Lawrence commented again.

“There's a brothel just around the corner,” said Sigmund, his thumb pointing to his right. “They don't charge much for a decent young lady.”

“No,” Lawrence responded.

“No what?”

“No brothels.”

“This is the other lesson I promised you earlier.”

“No brothels.”

“You're not going to make love to Etty with your clothes on. Just take the shilling and pay the nice young lady who's going to give you your best lesson.”

Lawrence stood up to leave, but he left the coin on the table.

“You'll regret it, young cleric,” Sigmund scolded him.

Two evenings later, Lawrence had been with Etty, from whom he received a letter from Emma, and then with Ada. To his shock, Etty's mother and Ada had more or less told him the same thing. To continue to talk to Sigmund. Lawrence met Sigmund at a pub, where Sigmund was busy pleasing himself with a young woman. Sigmund managed to embarrass Lawrence and the young woman simultaneously as he was able to have the young woman stand with her upper-half exposed before Lawrence. Some of the surrounding attendants in the pub whistled. Some hooted.

“A shilling your Etty can't do that,” Sigmund teased the young cleric.

Both Lawrence and the young woman blushed. Lawrence turned angrily toward him and all but screamed, “How dare you?” as Sigmund laughed long and loud.

“When Ada hears about this--” Lawrence tried to challenge.

“Ooh, Ada scares me so,” Sigmund sneered at him.

“You should be.”

“And you're wasting good opportunities on the wrong people.”

“I'm thinking of her,” Lawrence pointed at the woman in from of him.

“Oh, sure you are,” Sigmund mocked him. “You don't mind,” Sigmund inquired of the young women, “do you sweetheart?”

The woman placed her hand on Lawrence's chest and said, “It's okay.” Lawrence looked at her carefully blushing ever more.

“What's your name?” he inquired.

“Lisa.”

“Lisa,” said Lawrence, “you don't have to put up with this, this addict.”

“I said it's okay.”

“You see, young cleric?” said Sigmund. “Now stob being a stick in the mud and led her teach you what it is to be a real man.”

“A real man like you?” Lawrence asked Sigmund with bated breath. “I wouldn't dream of it!”

“Real men don't dream,” said Sigmund, and then he stood up, and as he did, Lawrence was stunned to see Sigmund without his peg leg. Sigmund made his way to Lawrence in a few strides, using the table to hold himself up. He pushed Lisa aside and grabbed Lawrence by the collar. Lawrence could smell he'd been drinking heavily.

“You're drunk,” he said.

“When someone obens the door fah you, don' thing or feel, jus' walk,” said Sigmund. He was hard to understand.

“What?” asked Lawrence.

“Oben yer eye, young cleric.” Sigmund spat in his face, and then he collapsed in a chair near Lawrence, a dazed look on his face.

“I's dust a wittle wabbit in dee sunsine,” Sigmund hummed to himself. “I's dust a wittle wabbit in duh wain.” Lawrence watched in bewilderment as Sigmund held up an empty mug that had been left on the table in front of him for another round.

Lawrence left the pub, but not before paying Lisa her wages, or covering Sigmund's tab. A rather pretty penny it was, making Lawrence more disgruntled still.

Chapter 6: A Package From No One:

It was six in the evening, two months before he was to give his speech on animals changing over time, when Charlie arrived home at Downe House with an unusual item: a package the baker had insisted was perfect for him. He had stepped inside the house to find his four eldest, William, Anne, Mary, and Etty working with their mother to get the house ready for family dinner night. He also found Oxford Dean Richard Williams. The smells of the food greeted him and made his mouth water. He nearly forgot about the package in his hands.

As he stepped into the dining room he was greeted by his son Will.

“Welcome home father,” said Will, who proceeded to take his coat. “Did you bring us a present?”

“I don't know,” Charlie responded warmly. “This is something the baker insisted was perfect for me.”

“It's family dinner night,” said Charlie's son George. “It's also a night before Papa is to give his presentation, and already Will is thinking of gifts?”

Etty had just set the table cloth when her father set the package down. She stepped aside quickly to fetch silverware as her mother came to Charlie's side. Charlie was just greeting Richard who happened to be nursing a glass of white whine when Emma opened the box. Will briefly saw the contents of the box. He was too late in closing the box before Etty got a glimpse. Charlie's brother, Erasmus, came into the dining room to join the festivities and found everything had come to a halt. The attitude had changed as though a switch had been flipped. The younger siblings were looking at their parents and older siblings with concern. Charlie and Emma had turned white as a sheet, looking at the contents of the opened box as though they were looking at a ghost. Erasmus took a daring look at the box's contents while Charlie fell into a seat nearby, and then Erasmus too began to look pale.

Turning away, the children in the room were practically begging everyone what it was that was causing such strong reactions.

“Perhaps,” said Erasmus, “it is better that you not know.”

“That's not fair,” Horace complained. “Why do Will and Etty get to see?”

Erasmus simply shook his head before saying, “With luck, they shall be the last.”

“What children have we raised, Emma?” Charlie asked mockingly.

“How about some music?” Richard suggested. He almost sounded aloof to what had just transpired.

“Will, how can you be thinking of entertainment right now?” asked George.

“I think some music is a wonderful idea, Mr. Williams,” Will encouraged. He then gestured to his younger brother. “Horace, let's play that piece we all love.”

“My dear George, I care for my brother's children,” Uncle Ras continued, “almost as much as much as he does.” He addressed his nephew with a small grin, hoping to change the subject, “I am looking forward to going over my brother's latest edition of his writing your sister has so kindly edited.” And then he addressed them all: “And you have all prepared a marvelous feast I'm most excited to eat, and I'd rather our appetites not be ruined.”

“What are we going to do about the box then?” asked Anne.

“Nothing at the moment,” said Etty and Charlie simultaneously, who had finally collected himself. He stood up from his chair and moved toward the box. Etty and George moved to cut off their father and get a quick peak, but Erasmus stopped them with a sharp word. They responded angrily by stamping their heels sharply on the floor and giving him an irritated look. Charlie closed the lid to the box and brought it over to his brother.

“Put it somewhere out of sight,” Charlie instructed his brother.

“We can't just leave it,” Anne tried to reason.

“Is it something we can hang on the wall?” Horace suggested.

“Horace,” Etty complained, “that's disgusting.”

“I don't hear anyone with any alternatives.”

“Your solution, however, is no solution,” Uncle Ras pointed out.

“Shall we have some music?” Asked Emma.

Erasmus turned toward her, looked at with a raised eyebrow. “First Will, and then you. I admire some creativity, but how would that be of any help at this moment?”

Emma merely sighed, but smiled. “It would be a tremendous help. Will, you and Horace play for us that piece we all appreciate. You know the one I'm referring to.”

“But, mama, what of the box?” Horace implored.

“Perhaps someone is trying to scare Charlie off?” Richard offered.

Emma quickly spoke again to attempt change the subject. “Etty, dear, when will you ever marry?”

There was a pregnant pause in the room. Etty at last spoke. “Mama, how many times must I tell you, I'm more interested in being a woman of incredible reasoning ability?”

“That's okay, Etty, we still love you,” Will teased her.

She shot him a look. “Not funny, Will.”

“What about the young man Lawrence Peregrine?” Emma asked.

“Mama,” Horace tried to change the subject again, “the box!”

“Or what about that young clergyman, Adam Scantway?”

“Please mama!” Etty all but screamed.

“What of the box?” Before another word could be spoken she took the box from Charlie and brought it to Erasmus and Etty. “Discard of the box and do so quickly.” He then looked directly to his sons. “Will, Horace, please play for us now.”

The objections began to fly.

“Now wait a minute,” said Horace.

“That's not fair,” said George.

“No one agreed to that,” said Anne.

It was Charlie who spoke next. “Children, please.”

“Papa,” Horace moaned, “how can you take her side?”

“No one is taking sides,” he said. “I think your mother has a point.”

“But, Papa,” Horace objected, “this isn't fair.”

“Horace, my dear, it's time you learned life isn't always fair. Please do as your mother has instructed.”

Will and Horace provided music as instructed, a particular famous piece by Johann Sebastian Bach. The food was served as the family and guest made ready for their meal.

Erasmus and Etty, however, had to make their way deep into the woods with the box that had caused such a stir. The dim light outside, and Erasmus's pace being a bit quick for Etty, it was hard for her to see inside the box. She did just manage to see a bit of hair, and gave a small shriek.

“Now do you understand, my woman of incredible reasoning ability?” Erasmus asked.

“Uncle Ras, I am no small child,” she proteseted.

“It was out of common decency to you and your siblings.”

“Uncle Ras, crime is common logic is rare. Who would do such a thing to behead someone?” She asked.

A quarter of an hour later they found a place within a circle of trees. It was Erasmus who did the work of digging a hole deep enough to hide the box.

Etty spoke into her uncle's ear as she said, “you do realize how dangerous this is?”

“Putting away something as disgusting as that package?”

“I'm not talking about this box,” she challenged. “I'm referring to how you and my father are trying to hide information from us.”

“Our interest is the protection of yourself and your siblings,” Erasmus reasoned. “One day, Etty, you will understand.” Despite how cold and dark it was Erasmus still had to wipe his brow.

“Uncle Ras, you and my father are simply contributing to the dangers of limiting scientific inquiry.”

Her uncle stopped digging for a moment and looked carefully at her. A slight smile crossed his face.

“Your mama and papa have taught you well. Let this be a lesson to you, Etty. There are moments when scientific inquiry is necessary and moments when it is simply not.”

He at last finished digging and then climbed up to take the box from her. They replaced the dirt to cover the box.

“You know burying that head won't resolve anything,” said Etty.

“Of course, it won't,” said Ras.

“Someone may even die if it isn't addressed soon.”

There was life in an area not far from the church, even as the flowers withered. Adam Scantway grabbed his wheel barrow and continued tending to what remained of his garden. He was dressed in layers as though he was hiding something, though the chilly London air, and the overcast, usually threatening, but never promising, precipitation, may have had something to do with it. There was also a constant odor to the air, flies hovered over a spot. Adam's thoughts were more on Etty. Making her make love to him would not be so hard. It was a matter of when.

“Lovely day to tend a garden, eh?”

Adam stopped what he was doing and jerked his head about, looking for the source of the sound, when he saw a burly man in sloppy attire sitting on the bench near him. Adam sneered at the man.

“Good day to you, sir,” said Adam. “God save you.”

The man just laughed. “Ah, the formalities.” Adam resumed pushing his wheelbarrow as he asked, “might I inquire why it is you have trespassed on my garden?”

“Adam, I would like to better understand you because I am considering offering you the grand opportunity to be a potential partner, but you seem quite ungrateful and bristly.”

“Come again ?” Adam set his wheelbarrow down. Taking a closer look at the imposing man, he noted he had a peg leg. He smelled quite vile and wore clothes he could have taken from a homeless man. He was probably trying to make a quick buck or make trouble. At worse, he was a vagrant. “Unless you tell me how you know my name, I demand you leave my property immediately.”

“This is how you treat your guests? Most often gracious hosts offer visitors some tea and a scone. But I will pardon you since you are working in this plot of land with nothing but withered flowers and an overabundance of weeds.”

“This is the garden of God,” Adam shot back. “God punishes those who intrude on other's property.”

“Oh really?” the man retorted. “Where was He a moment ago when I first 'intruded'? And where is He now?”

“I am not bluffing! How do you know me?”

“Mr. Adam Scantway, you are but a scribe, and I am not intimidated by your threats, not with the knowledge I possess about some of your deeds. I thought you might find it interesting to be my assistant.”

“And how is it I could assist you?” Adam had nearly made it out of the garden, but he stopped near the gate. “Surely it has nothing to do with my garden?”

“Several things, as well as people, have gone missing, and I am curious.”

“I have done more than most and I have planned carefully what needs to be done to carry out my will and that of God's,” Adam boasted.

“Where was God when you took the life of the young cleric's athletic friend?”

“Oh, David? He was taking a position away from other hopeful clerics for the sole reason he could play cricket. He was not paying tuition; he had an athletic scholarship. He was a drain on society. Funny, he could barely play the game. God will accept him into Heaven, I'm sure, just as He will accept me for doing the public a great service. I performed a far better service than Peregrine did for what he tried to rewrite, but that Lawrence Peregrine always mixes with the wrong crowd.”

“You're already providing me assistance, Adam. I have another niggling question you might shed some light on.”

Adam was more irritated still. However, he saw an opportunity. Adam thought the man was as harmless and as irritating as a mosquito, London's official bird.

The “intruder” continued pressing Adam.

“So, do you happen to know where God was when you took the letter belonging to Alfred Wallace?”

Adam was becoming suspicious of the accurate knowledge Sigmund possessed. To protect himself spiritually, he whipped out his cross, it's chain flailing as he pulled it over his head and brought his cross up to Sigmund's nose.

“Wallace deserved what he got. I have done a marvelous job--” the intruder grabbed Adam's hand. His hand was in a tight grasp that only grew in intensity like that of a boa constrictor.

“Where do you think your dear and fluffy lord will be when I hand you over to the Linnean Society?”

“Oh, but they cannot do anything to me,” said Adam. As the intruder’s grip tightened, he further clenched his teeth. Adam hardly made a sound while the man gripped his hand so hard it drew blood.

“Interesting, but exactly where will your lord be when I hand you over to the queen?”

Adam straightened and held his chin high. “Fortunately, the good and gracious queen had gave me carte blanche to commit the deed in the way I found fitting.”

With Adam's admission, the man seemed jostled, and he was at a loss for words. Adam scoffed at him and jabbed his finger in the direction of the garden gate.

“The exit is that way; hurry up and take your leave. I'm running short on manners.”

“Then we share something in common.” The man was indeed having fun poking the young lad.

“You lost my interest moments ago. You know a great deal.”

“Do I?” asked the man with a look of satisfaction.

“You do indeed. I have no quarrel with you, except your refusal to leave my property. It would be horrible for you to come upon some form of misfortune,” Adam declared with defiance. Blood dropped from his hands as he pointed his finger in the direction of the gate.

The man howled with laughter, turned away from Adam and as he exited the gate he called over, “I'll have you know, Adam, it's far too late for your veiled threats. Threaten me once more with your fluffy lord,” he challenged. “By all means, I'm still waiting for your dear, fluffy lord to wrap my legs with barbs and have my back slashed for the evil I've done here. After all, I'm guilty of a terrible crime.”

“I have committed no offenses,” declared Adam. “In the mean time, what shall I call you since we have not yet exchanged names?”

“I would have thought that your lord would have whispered it in your ears.”

Frustrated, Adam said, “He doesn't always speak in words but instead in riddles. You are not permitted to exit this garden unless you tell me how you know my identity.”

“The crime for which I'm guilty, Adam, is offering you a partnership. However, my offer still stands, Mr. Scantway.”

Suddenly, the gate slammed in Adam's face. When he opened it, Sigmund had disappeared. Instead he saw a dog. Just big enough to carry, its ears drooping to the side, while its extended snout it kept low until it got close to Adam. It's small eyes glistening with curiosity. It had been some time since he'd seen this prying animal. The nosy thing was making its way to the patch of garden where the flies hovered. He kicked the dog.

Chapter 7: Etty Eavesdrops:

A couple of hours after their meal and the discussion of the package, a few of the Darwin children had left to return to their own dwellings. Emma waited until things quieted down in her home before stepping out. Closer to her home she acted as though the night air was reason enough to enjoy leaving the house. Her pace quickened as she stepped further away from her abode. She found Sigmund not far from the entrance to the hall where the Linnean Society held their lectures, waiting for her in the shadows.

“I am impressed,” said Sigmund.

“Is this where you beheaded that boy?” she asked, sounding infuriated. There was a hint of a sob.

“And if it were?”

“Just tell me the truth, Sigmund,” she demanded in an accusatory tone.

“That's 'Siggy' to you, Emma.”

“My name is Mrs. Darwin.”

“For how much longer?” He had a sly smile.

“Husband or no, I'm still Emma Darwin, and you will do well to remember it.”

Sigmund burst into laughter.

“Was killing that boy amusing to you?” She asked. “Do you find killing amusing?” a sudden tremor in her voice, as though she were about to cry.

“So what?” asked Sigmund.

“I hate it,” she sounded as though she tried to yell, but she instead became choked up.

“Do you think your fluffy lord will save me a seat just outside his golden kingdom just because I killed a young man to warn your dear Charlie?” His sarcasm was not appreciated.

“Sinners don't go to Heaven Sigmund.”

“I told you to call me Siggy.”

“Sinners don't deserve flattery.” She turned and began walking away. “I can't believe you showed me Adam's letter from Mr. Wallace...” She paused. “If that letter from Mr. Wallace contained any instructions to behead that boy--” She began to weep.

“Even if it had, Mrs. Darwin, I don't need instructions to act. Alfred Wallace was too concerned with his studies to give time for committing a proper murder. How long do you think until that young cleric figures learns who's behind all this?”

Emma stopped but did not turn around. After a moment's pause she finally said, “not soon enough. You are a sinner for taking life, and I have sinned for hiding the truth from Lawrence, and from my family.”

“Relax, Emma.”

She spun around and shot him an angry look. “How dare you?”

“By the time this case is over you will no longer have to consider yourself a stranger to your family.”

“And you will have disappeared from my life?”

“No promises there.”

“And then there's the matter of--”

“Save your sob stories,” Sigmund interrupted.

“How can you be this way?”

“The church would have found out sooner or later.”

Etty had waited until her mother had left before stepping out of bed. Following as closely and as quietly as she could, staying a safe enough distance from the two of them until now.

Letter from Alfred? she thought. She pondered the details of the conversation she'd just been listening to, not fully aware of the distance she'd traversed when she got wind of voices not far from Downe House. It was dark and overcast, so she listened to all natural sounds with great care. A pair of voices was all she heard for a moment, until she recognized one of them belonging to Thom Huxley and one of them belonging to a man she thought she had heard before.

“I don't like it,” said Thom. “I don't like it at all.” The sounds of their voices came to her from a nearby open window.

“I didn't ask your opinion,” said the other man.

“Philip, you are asking me to betray my friend,” Thom argued.

“Is that Mr. Blacks?” Etty thought. She moved to get nearer.

“I am encouraging you to stay silent,” said Philip.

“And why should I?” challenged Thom.

“Because you and I are in a similar position,” Philip responded. “We are both good, honest men, but we are overworked and underpaid.”

“There is nothing good or honest about what you are asking.”

“25,000 euros?” He sounded firm. His voice suggested he was trying hard not to holler. “Not even the Darwins are so privileged.”

“This is worse than bribery.”

“Mr. Huxley,” Philip demanded, “you don't have to do anything except take this money and stay silent.”

“This goes against everything I stand for.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Am I?” He shouted.

“Will you be quiet?” Philip scolded him through gritted teeth.

“I cannot be,” Thom all but screamed. And then Etty heard what sounded like roughhousing, based on her memories of hearing her brothers play outside.

“Quiet the scene in there,” the man behind her made her jump. She then had a fit of coughing that she tried hard to stifle as she got a look of the obese man in sloppy attire, his figure mostly shadow, but his eyes like mirrors of what little light the night offered.

“I'm not interrupting, am I?”

“Sigmund?” Etty managed to ask.

“Good of you, young lady, to mind your manners,” he replied. They both focused as much on each other as on what the two men were quarreling about. “I wonder what they're talking about?” Sigmund finally cut the silence.

“How did you--?”

“How did I know you were here?” Sigmund finished her sentence. “The question you should be asking is 'how did I know you were spying on me?'” He seemed to leer at her in the dark, making her more uncomfortable.

“That was my question,” she said. “I don't appreciate what you're doing.”

“You don't appreciate how I help you?”

“I don't appreciate you following me in the dark,” she explained. “You're disgusting.”

“If you could go for the disgusting, I could go for you,” he sneered.

“It wasn't meant as a challenge, Sigmund.”

He approached her.

“Take one more step,” she all but screamed.

“Women get so emotional lately.” He continued his advance, but stopped a few feet from her and pointed at his ear. They waited in the dark in silence. It took her a moment to understand what he was doing. She could hear little beyond her own heartbeat, and that's when she noticed what he was indicating. The roughhousing, the arguing, the shouting, all of which was rather alien to her, had ceased.

“Thom?” she whispered, and then started to move in the direction of her friend, when a beefy hand immobilized her.

“Let go,” she cried, and she tried to hit Sigmund's arm as he held her captive, but Sigmund held her fast as he covered her mouth.

“Silence,” he spoke softly. Taking his hand off her face, he then indicated with his right index finger for her to be quiet.

“I must see to my friend,” she tried to reason.

“Stay with me if you want to live,” he responded. He relaxed his grip but kept a firm hand as he led her toward the house where Thom and Adam had had their argument.

He came first along the side of the house before he reached the front. He didn't knock on the door, but stormed in, shoulder first, Etty still in his grasp. The front room looked unbothered. Sigmund continued to move while holding onto Etty, the lower half of her face feeling warm in his palm while she tried to break free. They entered the dining room and a small kitchen before coming into a small hallway. All of which appeared as they should with little to suggest there had been any kind of a disturbance, apart from just how untidy everything looked. There was one thing she did notice. Her friend Thom was a slob. They at last come to a stop. Her heart beat very fast.

“Sigmund please,” she insisted. “If my mother finds out--”

He chuckled. “By now, young lady, what your mother says should be the least of your concerns.” He pulled her forward and made it difficult for her to keep her footing. She didn’t remember falling. She froze, awaiting a horrible fate to befall her. Nothing happened. The next thing she remembered was Sigmund sitting in a low chair examining the evidence before him. When she made eye contact, he looked away, and for the first time she thought she saw a hint of fear in his eyes.

“This, young lady, is where I leave you,” he said. “Make sense of what you see here in this room, and we may be able to save your friend.”

He was as good as his word and left her bewildered on the carpet. A rough, rumpled carpet that seemed as though it had been thrown down without much care. The staff at Down House would have a thing or two to say about the state of things in Thom's room, and that's when she realized what Sigmund had meant.

Chapter 8: Before the Impromptu Meeting:

Lawrence had been busy much of the afternoon organizing the books for the priest. His tasks included tallying up the bishop's stock, adding calligraphy to a copy of the bible he was most eager to share with his friend, and even making note on an interesting pile of letters with the intriguing title that included mention of an origin before he finished. At last, he was nearly done crunching numbers, making sure the books were placed in order, the order the priest preferred at least. By a quarter to five he finished up and made ready to see a friend.

Ada Lovelace sometimes went by Ada Byron. She was old enough to be Lawrence's mother, and, in fact, she was almost old enough to be his grandmother. Her studio being close enough his dorm, Lawrence found himself visiting her twice a month, if not once a week. He often provided his charcoal drawings, which he claimed were easy to make, something Ada took advantage of with her experimentation. She got to work demonstrating for him what she'd been working on. He watched as she pulled out a projector and showed him the series of images that had been programmed to display by her machine. The animation was black from the charcoal Lawrence used in the images, it displayed as follows:

The silhouette of a man who resembled a power figure stood before a crowd, preaching from a book. They all looked up to him, imitating his gestures, clapping their hands together and looking to the sky. Once the crowd left, the man who had been preaching was embraced by another who then showed him a work held in binding. The two engaged in a discussion, then shook hands. They walked out of the picture to return with a third man who was put to his knees and then executed. As he fell, so did another beside him.

The picture changed to black.

The picture filled again, this time with the preacher from before as he sat near a burning pile of pages, smoke trailing from the charred remains of the book, smoke that filled the picture before it changed to black again.

Once the animation was over, Ada and Lawrence slowly turned their heads and exchanged an unpleasant look.

“And I thought I was in a bad mood today,” said Lawrence.

Ada cleared her throat. She looked pale. “I started work on this machine days ago to be as much a source of entertainment as enlightenment, something to delight, as well as to hopefully predict. I suppose my machine could use a few adjustments.”

Lawrence was back at work writing for the bishop. As he carried on with his work on rewriting the bible word for word, a close friend of Father Rodrigo Bertulocci's found the manuscript near Lawrence and proceeded to inform Bertolucci of heresy done by a cleric.

Pope Giovanni Maria Mastai Ferretti was neither rich nor poor. He got up each day to count his blessings and was especially thankful to those who supported him as he worked to maintain his house and himself. Counting his blessings he did every day before setting off for his destination. His day began with praising the lord before joining the rest of his family for observation of the sun passing over the good God’s earth. He did not, however, dress his usual by donning his cap and robes and cross. Instead, he wore clothes that would not distinguish himself from the common man.

London was usually cold and rainy. People here called it “a fine day” when the sun was out. On this particular day, February 12th, 1851, the air had a bite to it. It neither rained, nor did the sun shine. Perhaps that was the explanation for Giovanni’s unusual mood. He was accustomed to seeing his friends perform for members of the Linnean Society, yet his mind wandered. He thought of his home in Rome and longed for his friends at the Vatican. There was a reason he was here, in London. Passersby often took no notice of him, but those who did greeted him in their own somewhat private and gracious way. To their greetings he replied with a smile and a wave. It was at the corner of the street leading to the church where he found the man he came to see: John Lubbock.

“Good morning, Father,” said John.

“Good morning, John,” Ferretti graciously returned. “How are you today?”

“I'm well,” John replied. “It's a wonderful day in London. You’re looking well.”

Giovanni returned the compliment.

“How has your journey been?” John asked. “I hope your stay in London has been pleasant?”

“Thus far, no complaints,” Giovanni replied. “I am a blessed man. London has treated me well indeed.” He then leaned closer and got right to the point. “I wish to know the reason I’ve been summoned to London.”

“But of course,” John replied. The two men made their first stop at a small stable. John had rented a horse and buggy to take them along the road to a small neighboring town. They then made not for the church, but for a small gathering in an auditorium. Riding was bumpy at best, and Giovanni had to hold himself as though expecting bits of him to fall off onto the very bumps that jostled his ride. After what seemed hours, they at last arrived just outside the city. The paved roads were a welcome relief from the uneven, dirt roads. There were a few people out at this hour, so John and Giovanni made their way to the lecture hall drawing little to no attention. They had come closer still to the lecture hall when John dismounted and tethered the horse, and then rushed over to aid Giovanni out of the carriage. If Giovanni had any trouble at all with getting out, he showed little of it. The first thing to capture his attention upon dismounting wasn’t the city itself but an aroma.

“Is something wrong father, Father?” asked John.

“Are we near a bakery?”

“The bread-baker’s shop is but a couple of blocks ahead,” said John. “Would you care for some?”

“That may quiet my appetite, John, thank you.” They didn’t stay long at the bakery before making their way back to the Tulane lecture hall. Hung above the lecture hall was a difficult series of words, “On the tendencies of varieties to depart indefinitely from the original type.” It advertised a lecture on the origin of species. It showed an Englishman walking alongside an ape.

“You’ve brought me to hear a lecture on animals?” asked Giovanni. As he looked closer, he also saw the time the lecture would be held later in the day. John turned around and noticed his Giovanni had lingered. “Is everything alright Father?”

“I would like some explanation, John.”

“And you shall have it,” John pointed to the entrance, “in there.”

They entered the lecture hall, which was devoid of people except for one man: Samuel Wilberforce. He stood at the front of the room, not dressed as though for a sermon, but for a private occasion. It seemed as if he was waiting for them.

“John,” said the cardinal, “you’re right on time.”

“Good morning,” said John.

“Good morning, Father,” said Samuel.

“Good morning,” said Giovanni. He let some of his sour mood show.

“Are you well, Father?” Samuel inquired.

“There had better be a good reason for why I am here at this hour,” said Giovanni.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Samuel drew from his jacket a pile of papers, bound by thread, words about “Species” scribbled on the front. Giovanni looked at the man.

“Are you showing me your personal journal?”

“This is not my doing,” said Samuel. His hand was outstretched, still holding the pages in front of Giovanni.

“Open it,” said John. Giovanni took the pages from the cardinal, and began to turn page after page. John and Samuel waited for his response.

None came.

They waited, but his expression changed from confusion to a lack of any expression.

“Are you lost, Father?” asked John.

Giovanni looked innocently at them. “I’m afraid I don’t understand a word of this,” he said.

John gave Samuel a look. Samuel proceeded to pull from his sleeve a folded piece of parchment. He handed it to Giovanni.

“This may make things clearer.”

Giovanni took the parchment and proceeded to read, but now his expression changed to a look of confusion, which Samuel and John took as a look of disgust.

“We thought you might react this way,” said John.

“Who would believe this fairy tale nonsense?” asked Giovanni.

“A scribe might,” suggested the Cardinal.

“A scribe?” asked Giovanni.

“I’m not talking about just any scribe.”

“To whom do you refer?”

“I’ve been informed of a young cleric doing extra work at his desk.” Giovanni now gave Samuel a blank stare. Samuel continued to explain. “I've been informed a young cleric has been doing work outside of the daily rewrite of our lord’s treasured tome.”

“This person sounds like he and I speak the same language,” said John flatteringly.

“Mind your tongue, Mr. Lubbock. The person I speak of is in considerable danger.”

“What are these documents trying to say?” Giovanni asked in a rather demanding tone. “I feel as though I’m reading heretic hogwash.”

“Dear Father,” said John, “you are reading what one of your scribes has tried to rewrite to brainwash your children, and your children’s children.”

“They are all my children,” Giovanni responded quickly. “As are you.”

“Forgive me, Father, I meant no disrespect. I only mean to say you are holding something that, it seems, is meant to deliberately confuse and mislead your faithful sons and daughters.”

“If that be the case, what would a scribe be doing with it?”

“That much does not yet become known.”

They stood in silence.

Giovanni turned toward to John. “I want no one else to know of this document.”

“Yes, Father.”

“This letter must also remain known to very few.”

“Very good, Father.”

Samuel extended his hand toward Giovanni, to which the Pope responded with a hard look. “I’ll be taking those.”

Giovanni returned the documents.

“You’re lucky you brought me to the baker first this morning, John.” The two of them stood outside the lecture hall. “My mood would have much worse.”

“I understand why you’re upset, Father, but what we showed you today was important.”

Giovanni looked again at the advertisement hanging outside the hall.

“I want something done about this.”

“Of course.”

Giovanni jabbed his fat finger toward the picture of the Englishman. “And I want something done about this man.”

“It shall be done.”

They strode to the carriage where John helped Giovanni to his seat before he returned to the entrance of the lecture hall.

“Does the Linnean Society really expect people to believe this fairy tale rubbish?” Samuel asked his friend.

“The two men who generated these documents seem intent on going outside the law.”

Samuel shook his head. “I’m concerned it they have already done so.”

“This may give us the right to carry out God’s will.”

“John, I bestow upon you the right to do as you see fit.” He crossed the air before John. “For the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

“For the blood of Christ, the Foundation of the church,” said John.

“John,” Giovanni nearly hollered. “This is no time to dawdle.”

“Forgive me, Father, I am on my way.”

Just as John encouraged the horse to pull the carriage, the bell tolled ten times. They passed again by the bakery as a burly man in sloppy attire began to quicken his pace out of the bakery and made his way toward the lecture hall. Sigmund Olaf Voluntiir was a man of multiple talents, which was why, even if he couldn’t hear everything said at the door to the lecture hall, he could read lips. The door to the lecture hall was closed when he arrived. He found his way in and proceeded down the steps. He expected the place to be all but empty, but, he did not expect to be followed. Samuel Wilberforce came up behind him.

“Excuse me, my son?” Wilberforce inquired. Sigmund remained still.

“Excuse me, my son?” Wilberforce repeated.

“I heard you the first time,” said Sigmund, and as he looked around, he saw little out of the ordinary but some pages resting on the podium at the center of the lecture hall. He made his way over.

“If you please, my son,” Wilberforce tried again to get through to Sigmund. Even with weight and saggy attire, Sigmund carried himself with astonishing ease to the lecture hall’s center.

“I’m afraid you’re not permitted there!” Wilberforce all but cried. Sigmund stopped just a few paces from the podium, his eye on the top page before spinning around to give Wilberforce a hard look. The look on Wilberforce’s face was not one of fear, but his face had turned pale. Sigmund continued to give him a hard look as he proceeded to make his way from the center of the lecture hall, but as he tried to shove past Wilberforce, the priest got in his way.

“And where is it you think you’re going?” Wilberforce asked.

“Away from your less than pleasant face,” said Sigmund, who managed with his second attempt to shove past the priest.

“I cannot permit you to leave,” Wilberforce tried to threaten, but Sigmund just kept on moving. “God cannot permit you to leave.” Still Sigmund ignored him. “God knows where you live.” Again, this was met with no response. “We can bring harm and fear to your family.” At this, Sigmund finally stopped.

“If your church really cared as much as you claim, something would have been done long ago about my family,” Sigmund retorted, and then he proceeded out of the lecture hall.

Wilberforce found him outside, not far from the entrance.

“If you will not heed my warnings,” Wilberforce begged, “then help me to locate a friend, who will be considerable danger unless you do something.”

Sigmund tread a few more paces before stopping and turning his head in the direction of the priest. “What makes me care?” was his snide response.

“He’s responsible for the book you just looked at.”

“So?”

“Go any further, and you bring doom to yourself and others.”

Sigmund just laughed and kept on walking, not looking back at the lecture hall.

Chapter 9: Doom:

Etty was beyond relieved when she discovered the way out of the room in which Adam and Thom had had their brief exchange was not barred. She was not locked in the house by any means. She tread carefully and quickly out of Thom's house.

Three weeks prior to the night Etty escaped Thom's house, friends Thomas Henry Huxley, Erasmus Darwin, and John Lubbock met in the late morning. Sigmund belched, upsetting women on a nearby park bench. “What’d you say?” he asked.

Lubbock gave Sigmund a look and then put his hand to his head in disbelief. “Your petulance, Siggy,” said Mr. Lubbock, “has never ceased to amaze me.”

“I didn’t know your friend was a drunkard,” said Thom to Erasmus.

“Hey, I drink a little. Does that make me a drunk?” Sigmund asked.

“I can smell it on you,” said Huxley.

“And a man isn’t allowed to smell?”

“A man’s scent is one thing,” said Huxley. “A man’s odor is another.”

“Come now, Thom,” said Lubbock.

“If it’s alright with you,” Huxley tried to defend himself, “I’d rather not be offended at our get-togethers.”

“Poor, pampered sir,” Sigmund retorted. “And here I thought I was actually doing you all a favor. I only have crucial information of utmost importance.”

“Well, Sigmund,” said Lubbock, “what do you have for us?”

Sigmund paused before continuing with, “I’m telling you that man must not be allowed to present.”

“He has something to say,” said Erasmus, “so let him say it. Even if he cannot perform, who are you to judge him?”

“It is not his competence as a presenter that worries me, if he has any. It is what he has to say.”

“Too radical for you?” asked Lubbock.

“I couldn’t care less about some man’s loony idea on animals,” Sigmund spat back. He then jabbed a finger at Erasmus. “If you brother is permitted to go in front of the Linnean Society as he plans, it will lead to serious trouble.”

Huxley scowled at the man.

“Something wrong, Thom?” Erasmus asked.

“This scene is problematic. You, the brother of an accomplished scientist, having to listen to this addict predict for your brother's ill fate.”

“Mr. Doom and Gloom here,” Sigmund retorted. “Is that how you talk when you put Emma Darwin to bed?” John and Erasmus gave Thom a look.

“Excuse me?” Thom nearly hollered. “Emma and I are only friends!”

“Sure you are,” Sigmund said dismissively.

“How dare you? There is nothing going on between us.”

“Then what were you two in Adam Scantway's garden?” John and Erasmus raised their eyebrows at Thom.

“Gathering vegetable specimens? What else?”

Sigmund merely shrugged. “Odd place for that kind of homework.”

“Leave him alone, Siggy,” said John finally.

“Stay out it, John,” Thom snapped at him.

“I'm only trying to help.”

“I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me,” said Thom.

“Oh really?” Sigmund challenged.

“Don't you have anything better to do?” Thom challenged back.

“Nope,” said Sigmund, “And that's just the way I like it.” And then his tone changed to mock Thom's voice as he continued to speak to Thom. “Don't have to anything, don't want to do anything, so I'm not going to do anything, but harass you.”

Thom and John both rolled their eyes.

“Whatever, Sigmund,” Thom challenged him again.

Lawrence Peregrine sat at his small desk in the auditorium of the church, going over student submissions before calling it a day. Since he had plans. A task such as looking at submissions would normally frustrate anyone with the tedium of reviewing first year submissions on the changes in rock patterns. However, months, if not years, of rewriting the bible word for word for Father Wilberforce—that’s who Samuel was to Lawrence—had honed his discipline for scrutiny of texts. No matter the hand they were written in. A photograph of Charlie and Etty close at hand was as much a good motivator as it was for momentary relief.

He was just making some final marks on the final pages of the rewrite when the door to the auditorium opened and in walked John Lubbock and Sigmund Olaf Voluntiir. He made his final mark as footsteps got closer.

“Mr. Peregrine?” asked John.

“Is that the voice of Mr. Lubbock?” Lawrence asked.

“Indeed,” John responded.

“Wonderful to hear your voice, Mr. Lubbock,” said Lawrence warmly, “and just as I’m finishing the final rewrite on this piece on the changes in rock patterns.”

“You’ve been busy, Mr. Peregrine.”

Lawrence packed up and then stood. When he turned, he met the eyes of Sigmund, who stared back at him blankly.

“So seldom does this place get a visit from someone as esteemed as yourself, Mr. Lubbock, or with such caliber,” said Lawrence.

John tried to hide his smile. “I’m flattered,” he said, “but that will unfortunately provide you with little aid.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me there,” Lawrence replied. “While it is always a pleasure, I must insist I take my leave.”

“By all means young cleric,” said Sigmund, “just not without us.”

Lawrence remained where he was. “Excuse me, I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“Playing dim are we?” asked Sigmund. “Well, I’m bored with drawing things out for too long.”

“I beg your pardon--” Lawrence tried to reason with him, but John stopped him.

“Please, Mr. Peregrine, simply come quietly.”

Chapter 10: The Egg on the Face:

It was February 12th when Ada Byron and Lubbock briefly stood outside the Tulane lecture hall. Anne King waited for her friend Etty at the Oxford public library. Lawrence was not to be found at Oxford. Anne heard footsteps, a couple of which belonged to Etty, and Anne's mother's heavy breathing as she came running alone around the corner.

“Anne! Lawrence is in trouble!” Ada cried. Anne and Etty both looked at Ada stunned and bewildered.

“He's in trouble at the lecture hall! Come quick!” Etty burst into the fastest run and was followed closely by Anne and Ada.

They indeed found Lawrence at the lecture, detained by three men, two of whom appeared to be police, one of whom was Lawrence's father. This struck Etty as a trifle odd. Among those present in the hall were Samuel Wilberforce, John Lubbock, and two additional men: Adam Scantway, who was not much older than Lawrence and distinguished by his light red hair, and Sigmund, who was busy with a tablet and pencil. Adam had with him a rod that burned bright red at the end.

“May I ask why I’m brought here, Father Wilberforce?” Lawrence inquired with an astonishingly calm voice.

“To answer for this,” said Samuel, holding a pile of pages with scribbles on them, but his hand shook as he jabbed the pile at Lawrence as though he had been insulted. It took Etty a moment to recognize the document.

Anne whispered in Etty’s ear, “Doesn't the Linnean Society have a say in this?”

Etty just shook her head. “I'm not sure,” was her response.

Thom Huxley hollered at them from a block away. “Stop!” Everyone turned to look in his direction.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Samuel.

“This is a lynching!” cried Huxley.

“Denied,” Samuel responded flatly.

Thomas stormed down the street, ignoring the carriage that had to halt. “This lynching must not be permitted!” Thomas continued, but his voice could only carry so far, and his protests were ignored. Ada tried to say something to embolden Thomas’s objection, but Sigmund quickly put his hand over her lips.

“I said denied,” said Samuel. He then instructed John to hold Thomas back. John did as he was instructed, but Thomas exchanged a look with him as though they knew each other.

“This is a place for science,” Thomas tried to reason with his friend.

The attention returned to the conflict currently between Mr. Wilberforce and Lawrence. Samuel now seemed intent that the people in the room bear witness to what was about to transpire. He held out his hand for the rod in Adam’s hand, and Adam placed it in his hand. Etty’s eyes moved with fear to Lawrence who remained detained but astonishingly calm for someone about to be harmed. The policemen and Lawrence's father held their hold firmly. They acted as though he were some wild creature capable of unspeakable horror, struggling to break free. One of them held Lawrence’s hair tightly in a steadfast grip.

Samuel, with rod in hand, stepped nearer to Lawrence, deliberately showing Lawrence the hot iron, and getting close enough to him that their faces were but inches from each other. Lawrence heard Etty shriek.

“What do you have to say for yourself, son?” asked Samuel.

“I did nothing wrong.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” Samuel said, and it almost sounded like he meant it, from the solemnity in his voice. He hesitated no longer. Stepping back, Samuel raised the hot iron. Anne and Etty shielded each other's eyes, just as Samuel pressed the hot iron against Lawrence’s forehead while the man in the police uniform held Lawrence’s head steadfast.

Despite the pain received, Lawrence showed no tremendous emotional response. Samuel instructed the men holding Lawrence to release him. He fell to his knees just before passing out and falling limply. Etty, Ada, Anne, and Thomas rushed to his aide, but they were held back by Samuel’s conspirators, the three men dressed as police. Samuel shook his head in dismay and then turned to face the observers. Etty and Ada both looked at the man with disgust. His face was hard to read.

“For the record, my children, what I have done I have not done with pleasure.”

“Then why did you proceed?” Etty cried out.

“It was necessary.”

“You call this necessary?” Thomas yelled.

“A cruel necessity,” Samuel explained. “What that young cleric was up to was crueler still.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Anne challenged him.

“I beg your pardon, my dear child. It has already taken place.”

Samuel then instructed the men who appeared as police to escort Lawrence away. Etty and Anne went running after him, but Adam got in their way.

After a few had left, Etty, Anne, Ada, and Thomas stood staring at Sigmund and the Tulane lecture hall, finding themselves at a loss for words.

Anne, however, did ask, “Why would the bishop have him marked?”

John Lubbock came from around the corner.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” said John. They all turned, except for Sigmund, to look in his direction. “Frankly, I expected this to happen.”

“You knew this would happen?” Anne asked.

“Young lady, I am not clairvoyant. With events unfolding as they have these past couple of days, I suspected things today would play out as they did.” John addressed the burly man. “Sigmund.”

“That’s my name.”

“We have an interesting case on our hands.”

“One you could have prevented,” Thom nearly screamed.

Sigmund just raised an eyebrow at Thom.

“Thom,” said John, “it was not my place.”

“Pride of the Linnean Society you are,” said Sigmund to John.

“There isn’t much choice in the matter.”

“But Lawrence?” Etty demanded.

“The boy’s fate is regrettable,” said John, “but I fear something far worse will befall you, young lady, unless you leave soon.”

“Very few people speak to me that way,” she responded angrily.

“I imagine your employer does, which reminds me,” and he made a visible gesture toward the bakery, “shouldn't you be somewhere soon?”

“What about Lawrence?”

“I'm sure he will live.” John again addressed Sigmund. “We have to do something about this.” He indicated Etty and Anne.

Sigmund placed a fat hand firmly on each of their shoulders. “Remember your places,” he said, and then patted them firmly on their backsides, forcing them to walk away from the lecture hall.

Chapter 11: Hitting a Ceiling:

Etty and Anne returned to Oxford. Etty looked angry, scared, and even helpless. Anne looked angered as well, but also determined. They didn't realize they had nearly run into Lawrence's athletic buddies.

“So,” they were greeted, “how'd it go?” It was Seamus McCullough, and he with a curious expression.

Etty was the first to speak. “Horrible,” she groaned.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think we mean?” Anne scolded in response.

“If you'll forgive me, you two look like you've just witnessed a murder.”

“It wasn't that bad,” was Etty's melancholy response.

“Someone must have thrown one of your notebooks in a pond,” said another of Lawrence's athletic buddies. Etty shot him a look. They were all in the hallway outside the dean's office, not far from the courtyard. Seamus wore attire for a marathon, a bead of sweat glistened on his brow.

“Do you have business with the dean, too?”

“That we do, Mr. McCullough,” said Anne sternly.

“Anne, don't be like that. Where's Lawrence?”

“That's Miss King, to you, Mr. McCullough.”

“Bad things can come from extracurricular activities,” said the dean. They all quickly turned their heads in his direction. He looked his usual reserved self, dressed from neck to foot so the only flesh visible was that of his face. His hair had been combed and patted down, and even seemed to have a bit of product applied to make it gleam a bit. He stared down his nose at all of them, his hands held behind his back as he stood ramrod straight.

“Richard,” Seamus tried to say warmly.

“That's Mr. Williams, to you.” His tone didn't sound warm or welcoming at all. His gaze past all of them and toward the door of his office.

“I guess people are not in the best mood today,” said Seamus.

Richard unjustly assessed them. “The mood would be improved if you didn't stand before my door like a beggar,” he responded coldly.

“I don't mean to beg,” said Seamus. “None of us do, right gents?”

“Of course, not. We were just curious about the sports schedule. We wanted to get some practice in for the--”

Mr. Williams cut him off. “I am not privy to such information at this time,” and then he began to walk past them. “If you please, young men, I have business to attend to.” He ignored Etty and Anne.

“Wait, Mr. Williams,” Etty tried to get his attention. He continued as though he hadn't heard her, moving to open the door to his office.

“We need to talk to you about Lawrence,” she tried again.

“I have nothing to say about Mr. Peregrine,” he stepped into his office. As the door closed, they barely heard him say, “Good day.” The door shut a bit loudly. Etty came fast to the door and began to knock hard on it. At first, there was no response. Then the door opened so quickly that Etty almost hit the dean. He now looked at her with disdain.

“It is considered rude to disturb a man when he has made it clear he cannot be bothered.”

“We need to talk to you about Lawrence. Now.”

“As I have already said--”

“But we do have something to say,” Anne cut him off.

“Miss King, is it?”

“Indeed.”

“Is there a reason you have chosen to be on this campus?”

“It's about Lawrence.”

Richard deliberately rolled his eyes so they could all see how his patience was growing thin on the subject of Lawrence.

“Well, then, get on with it.”

“He's hurt, and alone.”

Richard scowled. “This is what you've chosen to waste my time with?”

“If the matter weren't pressing--” Anne insisted.

Richard cut her off. “I assure all of you, there is nothing pressing about Mr. Peregrine at this time. Now, if you'll please excuse me, or I shall see that you are all suspended. Good day.” And this time he deliberately slammed the door in their faces.

They were near a park, and near the bakery.

“Well, mates,” said Lawrence's athletic buddy Scott. “How do you like that?”

“Etty?” Seamus asked again. “What did happen to Lawrence?”

“He was held by men who looked like armed guards while Mr. Wilberforce put a hot iron to his forehead.”

“Mr. Wilberforce?” Scott cried. “As in Samuel Wilberforce, the priest?”

“That Wilberforce,” responded Etty, somberly nodding her head.

“Good heavens.” He put his face in his hands. “How brutal! I had no idea.”

“I don't know about you all,” said another buddy, “but I could use some lunch.”

“How can you be thinking of food right now?” asked Seamus.

“After all that's happened today, I definitely have an appetite. Let's see what's happening with the baker.” That reminded Etty of work. “Or perhaps over at the bar, they may have something.”

Three weeks earlier, two men stood before John Peregrine in his home study. They had been introduced as members of the National Institute of Health and of the University of Edinburgh. Hearing the University of Edinburgh reminded John of lecturer and physician Joseph Bell. Thinking there was some connection he chose to ask.

“How is Dr. Bell?” Peregrine inquired warmly.

“I know not of whom you speak,” said the man to his left.

Changing the subject, the man on Peregrine's left pulled out from the inner pocket of his coat a book the size of a large journal.

“For you.” He directed the book at Peregrine, spine facing the door.

“And this is?”

“A series of notes we wish to present to members of the Linnean Society,” said the man. “If only they were in a state for presentation.” The man to Peregrine's right frowned a little at that remark.

“You wish me to be your editor?”

“Is that unsuitable?”

“I would be honored,” said Peregrine. He reached for the book held out in front of him, and as he made ready to grab it, he felt a sharp prick along the spine that cut him. Instinctively, he pulled back, crying out.

“Is there something wrong?” the man to Peregrine's left asked.

Peregrine looked at his hand and was surprised he saw no trace of the wound he'd been given. From all he could tell, the knuckle where his middle finger met his palm seemed unscathed.

“Mr. Peregrine?”

“I apologize,” he said.

“Then,” the man on his left replied, nudging the book ever closer to Peregrine. Feeling more curious than afraid, Peregrine grabbed the book from the spine in almost exactly the same place where he'd tried to grab it before, but the pain he'd felt a moment ago was no longer there. Taking the book in both hands, he offered the men in his room some refreshments.

“Oh, that's quite all right,” the man to his right snapped. “We thank you for your hospitality but are in a bit of a rush. Good day.”

Once they left Peregrine's apartment, Adam grabbed hold of his friend Philip and pulled him hard by the arm down an alley half a black away.

“What were you thinking, telling him we're from the Linnean Society?”

Philip pulled himself free from Adam's grasp and nudged his friend away.

“It was just a cover story.”

“You nearly gave us away.”

“Come now, Adam. He didn't suspect a thing, and if he does, he won't be able to do much about it, anyway. Now, can we please get out of these disgusting urban clothes?”

“If John finds out--” Adam tried to counter.

“Mr. Lubbock won't be able to learn much from this encounter, nor will any of the members from the Linnean Society.”

“Did you happen to inject Mr. Peregrine with something to lock his jaw?”

“We gave him something that will make him ineffective at communication. Adam, lets not stall any longer, I'd very much like to get out of these clothes.”

Chapter 12: Muck-Raking:

The day Lawrence's torment began, it was at the bakery where Anne found Sigmund, and where she approached him with a question regarding the condition of her friend.

Sigmund, not being one for manners, acted as though she did not exist.

“Good day, Sigmund.” Still, he refused to acknowledge her. “I've come to ask about Lawrence,” she continued.

“Do I look like I have an answer?” he finally responded.

“There must be a reason you're so distant.”

“Are you implying I had a hand in the harm of your friend?”

“Everyone is suspect, Siggy.” He came at her fast when she used that name, making her eyes widen, but she remained in place.

“There aren't many who get to call me by that name,” he growled. “You're lucky I tolerate it from you, but only just. You're right to suspect me. It means you're not completely stupid. Now quit bothering me.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Leave me alone.” He pushed her away while he marched past her, carrying his immense weight.

“Where are you going?”

“To the pub.”

“At this hour?”

“You ask too many questions, and I told you to leave me alone.” Still, she followed him, indiscreetly, but he seemed to take no notice whatsoever. At the pub, Sigmund approached the bartender where he was greeted as a reliable customer, as well as a friend.

“Your usual, Sigmund?”

“That is what I came for, isn't it?”

“So how goes the hunt for the missing Charlie Darwin?” asked the bartender as he poured a draft of port.

“Who cares?” was Sigmund's response. Not far from them, Anne moved to the back of the pub, where tables and chairs were arranged, meant to serve as a kind of restaurant.

“It seems to be the talk of the town lately, and I thought this case had absorbed your interest?”

“Hardly.”

“Now, Sigmund, it was just the other day when you couldn't stop talking about the man who thought of how animals change over time.”

“Are you going to gibber all day, or are you at last going to give me what I came here for?”

The bartender set the draft of port on the counter and pushed it toward Sigmund and then took to polishing another, smaller glass. Anne was greeted by the waitress who inquired if she would care for anything.

“Not today, thank you,” said Anne.

As Sigmund gulped down the port, the bartender raised another issue.

“And what about that young cleric?” Sigmund continued to drink. “What was his name?” the bartender inquired. “Lawrence? Ah yes, Lawrence Peregrine I think it was.” As Anne continued listening, Sigmund just continued to drink, not distracted in the least by the mention of Lawrence.

“There aren't many in this town who are remembered so easily, especially after another cleric gives him away to the bishop.” Sigmund brought his mug down hard, apparently finished with the port. He sat back and asked for another. The bartender responded by preparing another mug of port.

“Lawrence had the misfortune of getting himself involved with the wrong crowd,” Sigmund finally said. “The boy's fate is regrettable, but so is his decision to pursue religion.”

“Be careful,” the bartender warned, pausing the flow of port into the mug. “There are those close by, Sigmund, who take their faith seriously, and I don't like turning away business.”

“Just finish pouring the drink, bartender,” Sigmund demanded.

The bartender poured. Before setting it on the counter, he said, “Sigmund, I have told you before to call me by my name.” Sigmund grabbed the mug and proceeded to finish his drink. When he at last finished, he said, “As I stated earlier, who cares?”

“There is someone here who does.”

“Aside from you,” Sigmund retorted, “who could that be?”

“She's sitting right there.” Sigmund spun around and saw Anne sitting at the dining table, staring at both him and the bartender with much interest. Sigmund just put his hand to his head, shaking his head in disbelief. He put his mug down and asked the bartender for one more.

“I think you've had enough for today.”

“I want another.”

“Sigmund, you've had enough.”

“Who do you think you are? I said I want another, now do your job.”

“So you keep saying, but ask me again and I'll have one of the waitresses shoo you out.”

Sigmund slammed his mug down on the counter hard, making an embarrassment of himself before he made his way out of the pub. Anne came up to the bartender.

“Can I help you miss...?”

“Augusta, Anne Augusta.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Augusta?”

“What do you know about Lawrence?”

“Only what I hear.”

“What have you heard?”

“Not much more than what you already know. I recommend you talk more with your friend.”

“My friend?”

“Of course, he's only just left the pub.”

“That man is not my friend.”

“My mistake. I must excuse myself.”

Anne lingered at the bar until the waitress shooed her away. She left and momentarily meandered outside the bar before her eye caught Sigmund just down the road. She followed him discreetly, at first, before she found a carriage with a driver to aide her in her pursuit. They followed Sigmund outside of town to a place in the country near Downe where she saw something she thought she'd never see, least of all in the manner she did.

Two and a half weeks earlier, Sigmund looked at his friend, Peregrine, as he lay in bed ill.

“I warned you,” said Sigmund.

“Are you going to stand there and gloat, Siggy?”

“That is not me, Peregrine, despite what you may think.”

“Then why rub the situation in my--” he couldn't complete the sentence.

“Stop talking,” said Sigmund. “Save your strength for another time. Is that boy of yours still in school?”

Peregrine lightly nodded his head. “In his final year, but what do you...?” His face became paler. “You're not thinking...”

“It may be necessary.”

“But this is not something a man of his age should be taking on.”

“The young cleric is more ready than you think. Like it or not, he is taking on this case.”

“You're sending him to his doom, Siggy.”

“We are sending him down his career path.”

Chapter 13: Almost Famous:

When Lawrence regained consciousness, he found himself in a different place than where he had been branded. It took some effort to come to terms with where he was. His head throbbed and his throat was sore, not evident to him until he groaned while he tried to get up.

“At last,” spoken by a voice he recognized, though he could not yet place it. “you’re awake.”

He looked around, but the source of this somewhat familiar voice eluded him.

“I almost wish you would have cried out from the pain so I could silence you.”

Lawrence was still too delirious to make out the direction of the voice, though he could still construct a sentence.

“Where am I?” Lawrence responded.

“Would you care for some tea?” was the response from the voice.

“To be honest,” croaked Lawrence, and then he stopped, the smell in the room to remind him of when he was younger, when his father had accidentally burned his hand attempting to serve Lawrence’s favorite beverage.

“Am I to take that as a yes?” said the voice.

Lawrence growled his reply, “Forgive me, dear sir, but I am not myself at present.”

A hand touched his shoulder. “Can you stand?”

“I can try.”

Slowly and steadily, Lawrence got to his feet and faced the man who provided him with tea. The face he almost recognized. “Adam?”

“In the flesh, Peregrine.” Adam gave him tea while giving Lawrence an intriguing look, though also not exactly comfortable. Adam took a sip of his tea, but Lawrence took in more of the drink than he expected. Adam waited until Lawrence had finished his drink before asking, “Does something disturb you?”

“I prefer to be called Lawrence, if it’s all the same to you.”

“As you wish, Lawrence.”

“Would you mind informing me how I arrived here?”

“The good lord provides, of course, and Jolly Saint Nick was kind enough to deliver.”

“Forgive me if I’m not as quick at this moment.”

“It’s quite alright, Lawrence. After all, the best humor is the kind I read first.”

Lawrence found himself staring at the bottom of the cup. Adam extended his hand to take the cup. Lawrence opened his mouth, but Adam responded before he could say another word. “It’s quite alright.” He took Lawrence’s cup and went to get more tea rather quickly for just a host. Lawrence's stomach grumbled.

“I don’t mean to trouble you, but--” Lawrence began to ask.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Adam was quick to say. He returned Lawrence his cup, now refilled.

“How did you--?” He couldn't complete the sentence.

“I've grown accustomed to knowing my guests' needs. What would you prefer?”

“Something hot,” was all Lawrence could bring himself to say after taking another sip.

Adam gestured to a corner of the room. “Right this way please.”

Whether out of good habit or because he was quite hungry, he found himself moving quickly toward where Adam indicated. A table had been prepared with what looked like a satisfying, yet simple, meal. Cups of soup were waiting for both of them and thick slices of glazed bread.

“Thank God you know how to treat a guest.”

“Well, Father Bertolucci had something to do with this little feast as well.”

Lawrence gulped a spoonful before asking, “And how is Father Bertoluccci?”

“He’ll soon return to Florence. It’ll soon be that time of year again.”

Lawrence nodded in agreement as he swallowed another spoonful. “Of course, the dear Father likes festivities,” he said. On the table where the soups were served he saw a picture of what he thought were Charlie and Etty. There was writing on the bottom of the picture, but just before he read it, Adam quickly pulled the picture away. and then, as though suddenly remembering something very important, he moved to stand and take his leave.

“Is something wrong, Lawrence?”

As though suddenly remembering something very important, Lawrence moved to stand take his leave. “If you’ll excuse me, I suddenly feel as though I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Why the rush? Was the food not to your liking?” The food had reminded Lawrence of what he found at the bakery.

“Oh, I have very much enjoyed our little meal here.” That statement wasn’t entirely true. He found the soup to be somewhat flavorless, even bitter, and being around Adam was making him more and more uncomfortable. “All I can give away is I'm compelled to leave.” Adam’s body language, the look in his eye, the expression he wore, though Lawrence could tell the man was trying to be hospitable, simultaneously made Adam look as though he was hiding something. “I’m compelled to resolve a matter elsewhere.”

Adam smirked. “Do tell.”

“Would if I could. However, articulation is not in my power at present. Thank you very much for your hospitality, Adam. You are too kind.” Lawrence made his way toward the door, or tried to since he couldn't find it.

“The door is the other way.”

The night Etty was left alone by Sigmund, she met with little resistance as she made her way outside, much to her relief. What bothered her a little was how few people she came across. There was no sign of Sigmund, nor Thom, nor Adam. Getting to Lawrence and sharing with him what she'd learned as soon as she could was of considerable concern. She made it past the porch and out into the moonlight. It was near the lowest step she saw a picture of her and her father when they were both younger. The words “property of Adam Scantway” written just below the photograph. She gathered her strength again to run away quick as she could, not daring to look back. Minutes later, when she saw her house within reach, she stopped and started to imagine why she had found that picture near Thom's porch. She hadn't loaned it to him. This realization made her colder and more vulnerable than any dreary night.

Lawrence didn’t fear what others might feel or say about the mark now branded on him. He feared something he considered more dangerous yet. He didn’t want to become obsolete in the eyes of those in his field of study, nor did he want to become obsolete to Christ. He was taking a long look at some choice bread when, nearby, Sigmund suddenly asked him, “Are you expecting to see Jesus Christ in that bread?”

Lawrence nearly jumped. Turning on his heel, he saw Sigmund in his usual sloppy attire looking at him.

“Excuse me?” Lawrence asked.

“I was asking if you’re expecting to see Christ in that bread you keep staring at,” said Sigmund.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lawrence tried to sound entirely lost by Sigmund’s rude comment.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Sigmund said. “And believe me when I tell you, what you’re searching for isn’t in the bread you see there.” He took a few steps toward Lawrence, swaying from left to right as he did so.

Trying to change the subject, Lawrence extended his hand and said, “I say, where are my manners? Would you care for--”

Sigmund ignored his gesture. “I have no interest in any of your humbug,” he said.

“If you’ll forgive me,” said Lawrence, “picking a selection here can be a challenge.”

Sigmund just stared at him, a sneer on his face as he leaned closer. “What a fool,” he said to Lawrence’s face.

Lawrence was taken aback at this. In an attempt to maintain composure, he tried to leave the conversation. “I must depart,” he said. “I was just in the middle of--”

“Nothing important, I’m sure,” Sigmund interrupted him.

“Good day.” And with that Lawrence tried to get away.

“Leave now and you’ll miss something very important,” Sigmund hollered.

“I think not,” Lawrence responded hastily and took several steps toward the street. What did he mean? thought Lawrence, but his curiosity was brief as he very much wanted to get away from that burly man as soon as possible. He still felt compelled to discover why he came to the bakery.

“Can I help you?” the baker asked.

“More than he knows,” Sigmund addressed the baker before Lawrence had the chance. Lawrence pretended he hadn't been interrupted. “Was there a pile of pages left here the other day?”

“Indeed, there was,” replied the baker. “Unfortunately, they have since been claimed.”

“By whom?”

“It is not for me to say. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Lawrence looked the man hard in the eye, not wanting to change the subject. However, he proceeded with an order. “A loaf of wry with cinnamon, please.”

“You might want to make that ten loaves of wry,” said Sigmund, shocking both Lawrence and the baker.

“A scrawny kid like this,” Sigmund gestured at Lawrence, “he could use some fattening up.” And then he left the bakery. A look crossed Lawrence's face.

“Don't mind him,” said the baker. “For someone in your condition, you actually look reasonably well.”

“You're very kind,” said Lawrence.

“Lawrence!” Hearing Etty's voice made him turn. She came running to him from behind the counter and they embraced.

“How are you?” she nearly squealed. “I've been so worried.”

“Much better now,” he replied with a smile.

The baker simply smiled. “You're nearly all she's talked about,” he said. “Even with all that's happened. People so much as pass by and make mere mention of your name and she forgets herself. Sometimes I'm doing her work for her.”

Lawrence gave her a look, but not of scorn. “Etty, have you not been keeping up with your tasks?” She looked hurt at his remark. “Of course I have,” she cried out, “Am I not allowed to worry about a dear friend?”

“As I've just informed you, I'm better now.” He reached for a baguette that he held in between them. “Will you not treat your friend?”

“Just a moment there, Peregrine--”

Etty cut the baker off. “Can't you let this one slide?”

“If you care about your job, Miss Darwin--”

“I care about your customers,” she countered. And then she pulled off her apron before pulling Lawrence away. It was all Lawrence could do to wave to the baker and say thank you.

They were near a park bench just down the road and around a corner from the bakery. The constant gray was ever pervasive, though Etty's smile brightened the day.

“Where shall we eat?” Etty asked in a manner that almost sounded salacious.

“Any place that improves your costumer etiquette.”

Etty gave him a bit of a playful glare.

Lawrence pretended not to notice. “I was thinking we visit Ada Byron,” he suggested.

Her mood changed, and her smile faded a bit. “Must we?”

“What do you have against Ada?”

“She likes to nag sometimes.”

“There must be a reason you pulled me away from the bakery as quickly as you did. I also wanted to show you her charcoal drawings.”

Etty's smile faded even more. “So melancholy, and during this time of year?” She moaned.

“I find them very interesting.”

“I suppose working at a desk day after day, rewriting something like the bible would give you that opinion.”

“My dear Etty, I thought you liked the draft of the Bible I rewrote for you.”

“You have a beautiful hand, Lory, but not even that can make that book any more interesting.” Lawrence looked crestfallen at this remark.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm glad you liked what I did with that book, but how can you have overlooked such an earth-shattering triumph of work?”

Etty just rolled her eyes at that statement. “Oh, Lory... if it's what matters to you.”

“But it should also matter to you.”

“You matter to me more.”

They spent some time in a nearby garden admiring the vegetation and enjoying their snack. While they examined one of Etty's favorite plants, Lawrence asked, “How is your father?”

Etty suddenly looked crestfallen. “I don't see much of Papa, lately.”

“That's a shame. How come?”

“I'd rather not talk about it.”

“That, too, is a shame.”

“Can we not discuss it right now?”

Lawrence sighed. “If that be your prerogative.”

They walked in a somewhat awkward silence before at last arriving at Ada's residence.

Chapter 14: Prophecy, and Clues:

Ada was more mentor than hostess, so they were a little disappointed how little there was to be found of tea and snacks. Lawrence, especially, was a bit irritated, as some of the smells in the house increased his appetite.

“Lawrence, are you not well?” Ada inquired.

“I'm fine,” Lawrence responded a bit impatiently. “It's simply a matter of appetite.”

“Etty,” Ada gave her a quizzical look, “do you not work at a bakery?”

Etty simply shrugged with one shoulder before saying, “My dear Lory seems to be hungry often lately.”

“Am I not allowed to be hungry? Etty pulled me away from the bakery before I had the chance to order something,” and then he looked at Ada, “and I suggested we come here because I thought you had snacks.”

Ada looked at the two of them as though she expected more from them.

“He said he wanted to show me your charcoal drawings,” Etty added.

“I can show you those any time,” Ada responded. “Am I mistaken that at this moment, Etty, you carry something precious.”

“What do you mean?” Etty and Lawrence asked together.

She extended her hand, a gesture that startled Etty. After a pregnant pause, Etty relented and handed over a pile of notes she'd been carrying with a letter attached.

Ada pulled the notes and letter toward her as soon as she could and flipped through the pages in reverse order.

“It wasn't meant to be read--” Etty tried to explain, but Ada shot her a look.

“I'm something of a letter fanatic.” She set down the pile of pages and proceeded to present a large, box-like machine. Lawrence and Etty just stared at her in bewilderment.

The box-like machine proceeded to animate a sequence in charcoal depicting a church very similar to the one where Lawrence worked as a scribe. The scene changed as a crowd gathered outside the church. The scene changed again as they stood before a performer, a caricature of someone with power. The scene changed again to a subject more macabre depicting a pair of heads. Again, the scene changed, this time depicting three men, one on his knees, another on a chair, and the third with a sword at the ready standing over the man on his knees. The man with the sword swiped at the man on his knees and the animation showed the man on his knees falling to the floor, revealing a fourth man, whom the man with the sword also swiped at. The fourth man also fell to the floor.

The animation finished, and before anyone could do or say anything further, Etty dashed out of the room and away from the house, forgetting the pile of pages Ada had set aside.

“Etty?” Lawrence called after her, but his words were lost in the wind.

Etty found a horse drawn carriage and a driver. She spared no time giving him direction.

“I charge coins for a ride, miss.”

“Just drive!”

Not wanting confrontation, the driver did as he was told and took her out of the city. They were near Downe when Etty ordered him to stop. Wasting no time, she leapt from the carriage, oblivious to the driver's calling after her to pay for the ride. She ran for at least a few kilometers before finally arriving at the spot in the earth she had suspected held what she feared was true.

Lawrence came back some hours later and found, to his relief, Sigmund was nowhere to be seen at the bakery. He wasn't even standing, or sitting, idly in the streets. Based on how Sigmund dressed and smelled he must have spent more time outside on the street than he did bathing.

He was further relieved at the presence of his friend Anne, selecting her choice bread. As he approached her, he noticed her clothing, which was made up of vibrant colors, which excited him. He tried not to let this idealogy take over his ideology, or his practice of faith. He tried the gentlemenly approach.

“Good day, Ms. Augusta,” he said formerly.

She looked up from the loaf of rye she had made ready to put in her basket. “Hello Lawrence,” she replied. “How are you?”

“My day gets more interesting with every passing moment,” he responded. “I simply came for some bread. But how wonderful that I should find you here as well.”

She gave him a little smile. Taking note of the mark on his forehead she then stated, “you seem to have made a quick recovery.”

“How kind of you to notice,” he said.

“Not every day you encounter a man marked by mishap.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

“Well, then, perhaps I should point it out as you have so wonderfully done for me.” She stepped closer and pressed her right index and middle finger to his forehead along the outline of the upside down, bent, broken cross.

Instinctively, he grabbed her fingers, not because his scar pained him, but her pressing her fingers to his forehead gave more arousal than even he expected. She gasped. “I'm sorry.” She tried to pull away. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“You didn't,” he assured her, smiling through his beard. This made clearer all the discomfort she imagined he was experiencing. “Whatever pain you conceive I have received is little more than fabrication,” he added.

“You must be very brave then.” She spoke with a tone of admiration, or at least Lawrence thought.

“That's very kind of you, Ms. Augusta,” said Lawrence, “but I have to remind myself daily that physical pain is but a trifle when compared with the loss of being unable to make a lasting contribution to my field of study.”

“Do you rehearse these words?”

Noticing her level of fascination, he offered they walk together.

“What about your bread?”

“It's freshest when from the oven,” the baker said. Lawrence turned his face toward the man. “My usual, my good sir,” he said. The baker responded in kind and brought Lawrence his order, for which Lawrence paid what he owed.

Lawrence and Anne made their way toward a nearby field.

“So rarely do I share my ambitions,” said Lawrence. “What I tell you today few are privileged to hear.”

“A mystery man,” she hummed.

“I would be more content were I seen in the eyes of our lord as a man who has made significant inroads in what I do.”

“You are full of surprises lately.”

“Wonderful surprises, I hope.” Lawrence heard the athletes in the distance. “Shall we participate together?”

She merely smiled. “You are too hasty.”

“It wasn't meant that way,” he said. “Listen.” he placed his hands behind his ear, cupping them to catch the noise of the ball hitting the paddle. It took Anne a bit longer.

“Cricket,” she said after a moment. “You play?”

“When chance arises.”

They found the athletes some paces away, four of them, including Lawrence's good friend Seamus, playing near a hedge.

Seamus accidentally came close to hitting his teammate. “Watch where you're throwing, mate!”

“Sorry,” said Seamus. “At least I try.”

“Like how Lawrence tried.”

“He's better at this game than you.”

“I never said he wasn't.”

Lawrence approached them, making his way toward the game. He did his best to pretend he was a casual observer and tried to remain inconspicuous.

“Well mates, look who it is,” said one of the athletes. They all looked about until they saw Lawrence and the young woman with him.

“Good day, mates,” he said with a warm smile. “God save you all.”

“Good day yourself, Lawrence,” said Seamus, making his way over to his friend.

“Is there room for one more in this round?”

“There's always room for more, though you stand out a bit much with that mark on you,” said Seamus.

Lawrence tried not to be offended. “This,” he pointed at his scar, “is not my fault.”

“No one here implied as much, mate.”

“Not according to Father Wilberforce,” said the athlete Seamus had thrown to.

“Why do you call him that? He's not your father. What do you say, Lawrence? Are you in? Or are you out?”

“I'm in.”

“I hate to be the one to object--”

“Put a sock in it.”

“We can't have an omen in the game.”

“Rubbish.”

“I am no omen,” said Lawrence. “Marked or unmarked.” He sighed and turned to make his way away from his playmates. “And here I thought you all may be different.”

“Different in what way, Lawrence?” asked Seamus.

“Perhaps he's right,” Anne butted in. “A quarrel such as this should be left alone.”

“Look at this, mates,” said one of the athletes. “The young lady thinks she knows her place.”

“Keep your tongue behind your teeth,” said his team member.

“Is that a challenge?”

“I challenge you daily. Even you’re too dim to see it.”

Lawrence stepped forward at those word.

“What's the matter, Lawrence?” Seamus asked.

“I don't want trouble.”

“Don't worry about that lot,” Seamus said, trying to calm his friend. “They quarrel often, but they usually come to terms, which you would know if you were more present.”

“I said I don't want trouble,” Lawrence repeated himself.

“Then perhaps you should leave.”

“Why?”

This time Seamus stepped closer, provoking Anne to step nearer between them. Seamus waited until he was close enough to whisper.

“Our teammate has been agitated since he heard you got hurt.”

“But--” Lawrence retorted, but he was interrupted.

“We've been trying to keep things calm around here since we learned of your incident with the church, so until they do, remain a stranger.”

And then Seamus stepped away, giving Lawrence a very serious look. “It's for your own good.”

Chapter 15: Outcast:

Anne followed Lawrence back to Oxford. Staring at the brick building, his expression was noticeably different. He looked dejected.

“Something the matter?” She asked.

“The people here used to be people of reason, intellect. Now it seems they've adopted suspicion, fear, and hatred, all because of this,” he pointed at his mark.

“I thought you weren't bothered by what others thought of your mark?” She asked.

“I'm not made of stone, Ms. Augusta,” he sighed. “I'm not bothered by what people think of this mark on my head. I long for the good days, the lectures I gave, the attendance.”

“There must be someone in there who could vouch for you.”

“The staff isn't listening to what their students tell them,” he said. The school dean favors the church too much. Who can blame him?”

“I can,” she said. She stormed away. Lawrence was about to call after her to stop her, but the manner in which she left him fascinated him. Moments later he caught himself staring in her direction.

He now had no particular direction to go, and without the book about animals changing over time he had little to nothing to occupy himself with. Very little of anything to occupy himself with, but a scramble of ideas on how to change his circumstances. Not wanting to remain idle for much longer, he preceded in the only direction that made any logical sense. Placing one foot in front of the other, he proceeded toward his dorm. There was a quiet on campus, but it was a kind of quiet he was used to. He moved as though it were any other day at school.

He reached the third level of the building few people wanted to live in because of its location just beyond the majority of the campus and right above the most industrial part of Oxford. By now, some people in that building had grown used to the noise, even if it was early in the morning. He found his friend, Seamus McCullough, right outside their dorm. Lawrence continued his walk, smiling warmly, as his friend turned.

“Good day, Seamus.”

Seamus merely smiled back. “I'm glad to see you are all right, Lawrence.”

“And I you,” Lawrence replied. “How are you?”

“Running a bit late, so if you'll pardon my not staying to catch up.” Seamus quickly turned the lock as he saw Lawrence getting closer to their room.

“What's all this?” Lawrence asked.

“Nothing personal,” Seamus explained in a quick tone. “However, there are some who'd prefer--”

“Who?”

“I cannot say,” Seamus said quickly.

“And why not may I ask?”

“It's difficult to explain, Lawrence.”

“Try me.”

“You have been banned from our dorm. A scribe was here earlier and forbade me grant you entry.” said Seamus.

“What scribe?”

“He would not give his name.” They heard a rustle in the trees. Seamus then spun around and made sure only Lawrence would catch his words. The Train passed by.

“Between you and me, I'm aware of your innocence, but I'd rather not get myself mixed up.”

“You won't need to worry about that. If you know I'm innocent--”

Seamus placed his hand over Lawrence's mouth to silence him.

“I think your friend, Ms. King, is visiting the Dean to talk about giving you leniency. Until your name has been cleared, my hands are tied. I don't come from a wealthy family. I had to work hard to get here, and I'll have to do what I can to maintain a good reputation.”

He released his hand.

“I'll make this right, my friend,” said Lawrence.

“I know you will,” sighed Seamus, and then he turned away and hastened his step.

They didn't notice how they'd been observed. Not that Philip intended to spy on either Lawrence or Seamus. Philip was passing by that part of the campus and saw the look on the faces of the two Oxford Dons. It wouldn't be long before his little tale of what he'd seen spread to his friend Adam, and from Adam to Richard, and then to members of the Linnean Society.

Chapter 16: Dirty Work:

“I'm telling you, he knows a lot!” Adam exclaimed.

“Who knows a lot?” asked his friend, Philip Blacks.

“I cannot name him, for he never introduced himself.”

Philip just looked at him oddly, one eyebrow raised. A look that got Adam's attention.

“Please do not look at me that way,” Adam warned. “I'm not making this up. Not even in my wildest dreams could I make this up.”

They were in Adam's garden as Adam continued to tender the vegetation, segregating the dead, or soon-to-be dead, from the living. Philip Blacks had some of the dead material in his hands, placing it in Adam's wheelbarrow as they discussed Adam's encounter with the burly man in sloppy attire he could not name.

“I'm not saying I don't believe you,” Philip responded. “It is, however, odd that a man you cannot name just happens to show up in your garden, without notice, and threatens to black mail you while pretending he knows about a murder you were involved--”

“He wasn't pretending!” Adam nearly screamed, shaking the wheelbarrow as Philip placed a sizable pile of dead plants in it.

“Don't get so excited,” Philip said calmly, though his expression looked serious. “Have you not heard the phrase, 'me think you doth protest too much?'”

“Forgive me, my friend,” said Adam, trying to regain composure.

“Nothing to forgive. I have always had some taste for good drama.”

“This is real, Phillippo,” Adam said, using Philip's Italian alternative. “I know what I saw.”

“I'm sure you think you do.”

“Philip, he was this close to me.” Adam had to remove his gloves to show with his bare hands inches from each other the distance between his and the burly man's face. “God forgive me for being so close to another man.” Adam crossed his arms.

“Be assured, Adam, God has already forgiven you. You have committed not one, but two excellent deeds. So what if this phantom of yours claims to know something? Not even the devil could know of our great plan. If however this man or the devil do know of our plan, even they could not know where you have buried Darwin's head or Wallace's letter.”

“The man I saw is aware of the murder. I don't know how he knows, but he does.”

“What did he say?”

“'Where was God when you took the life of Charles Darwin?'”

They reached the compost. Philip waved his hand as though to swat a fly. “It's a charade,” he said.

“This man was no charade, Phillippo. How can you maintain such a poker face?”

“I don't believe it for a moment.”

They walked away from the compost. “What can I do to convince you of this genuine encounter? Can't you tell how scared I am?”

“I recognize your feelings at this moment are indeed strong,” said Philip. “So, please, do us both a favor and calm down.” Adam set down the wheelbarrow and they continued walking. “Sometimes, Adam, you can be quite irritating.”

They sat down for tea.

“And how often do I irritate? Haven't I provided sufficient reason?”

“Does this man know where you buried it?”

“No...” Adam paused.

“No?” Philip took a sip.

“I don't know,” Adam replied.

Philip nearly dropped his cup. “As I have been trying to tell you, my friend, you are far too excited about this, whatever it was that happened to you.” He resumed his drinking, but Adam did not.

“You and I have spent considerable time with others,” said Adam. He took another drink.

“I'll have you know I saw that Peregrine at the college today.”

Adam had to clear his throat when he heard this. “How did he look?”

“He and his friend Seamus did not appear to be in good spirits. They each had a look about them like two expelled dorm mates. However, that young cleric did look determined.”

Adam frowned. “If this gets out, what will society think?” He asked Philip. “What will our brothers think?”

Philip took another sip. “Need I remind you it was you who convinced me of our moral obligation?”

“I am aware of our moral obligation,” Adam said firmly. “What bothers me is the man I met does not. He could confuse others.”

“Surely, my friend, you know how to handle such a thing.”

Adam took a sip of his tea. “I'd rather it not come to that.”

“'Stop the spread before it gets worse.' Those were your words to me.”

“Very well. But in the meantime, let’s do what we can to keep our clan and friends alive, lest more blood be spilt.”

They both set their beverages down. Philip looked his friend in the eye carefully. “I could not agree more.”

Chapter 17: In Her Majesty's Garden:

Thom had been looking at a small shed in the garden of Adam, but his intense gaze implied he had more than just casual interest. A crunch of leaves nearby made him leave the garden in deliberate fashion. It was Anne he ran into.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Not at all Miss King,” said Thom. “Might I ask what brings you here?”

“I was about to you something similar.” They answers they provided each other were not what either of them expected.

“Who else knows?” asked Thom.

One month before Lawrence was marked by the priest, Adam had been granted an audience with queen Victoria and Prince Albert. They sat in a lobby of the palace for noon tea, where an air of formality mingled with a room for lounging. Adam would not take any tea or snacks for himself.

“Is something bothering you, Mr. Scantway?” she asked.

“Not a thing, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Scantway,” said Prince Albert. “The tea is not poisoned.”

Adam smirked, but replied with, “It pleases me to hear you say so. Some other time, perhaps, for I come here with a proposition that may interest you.”

“Speak,” commanded the prince.

“I’ve learned that Charles Darwin intends to present to the Linnean Society his and Alfred Wallace’s discovery.”

The prince sat straighter and brought himself closer to the edge of his cushion. “Charlie Darwin presenting to the Linnean Society?” he said with much excitement. “This is wonderful! What is your proposition?”

Adam looked at him carefully before he continued. “To end him.”

The prince nearly dropped his cup. “You cannot be serious?” he struggled to ask.

“Very much so. I wish to end Darwin before he can make his discovery public.”

“If I may offer a suggestion,” said the prince. “I’m sure we can find a way to discredit him and remove him from the public eye--”

“That is not what I mean,” said Adam.

Prince Albert put his cup and saucer back on the table. Adam looked to the queen.

“I don’t care for what he talks about,” she responded. “That said, I care less for what you propose.”

“I see no alternative,” said Adam.

“That,” the prince nearly hollered, “is ridiculous.”

“Calm yourself, Albert,” she said.

“Forgive me, mama.” He picked up his cup and saucer from the table and they resumed their drink.

“Surely, there are alternatives?” she inquired.

“Not from where I sit,” said Adam. “I see how the Darwins live, and I also see the stir Darwin’s work will cause for the public.”

“Should we not let the public decide how they will respond?” the queen asked.

“I’m afraid it may be too late.” Adam tried to make her see reason. “If people find out what Darwin proposes, it could lead to hysteria.”

“Bollocks,” the prince objected.

“Albert, please. Calm yourself,” she said. “I will not have foul language in this room.”

“Charlie is a good man, mama,” the prince spoke fast, as though his explanation suddenly required effort, “and he surrounds himself with folk of genuine good will.”

“Tell it to Mr. Huxley,” Adam pointed out.

“Thomas Henry Huxley?” the prince asked.

“Indeed.”

“What of him?” the queen asked.

“While the Darwins live well off, their family continues to grow.” Now Adam was trying hard not to grind his teeth as he spoke. “While Mr. Darwin himself is privileged enough to stay at home playing with and caring for his family, writing one successful paper after another and contributing to his field of study, Mr. Huxley is overworked, underpaid, and exhausted.”

No one spoke for a moment.

“And what of you, Mr. Scantway?” asked the queen. “Are your affairs in such constraints you feel it necessary to be his executioner?”

“It will not be me who commits the act, Your Majesty.”

“Then who do you propose?”

“The daughter of Mr. Darwin is good friends with a talented and accomplished equestrienne.”

The prince frowned at this. “Are you suggesting we have Charlie trampled?”

“I am not.”

“Then what is your solution?”

“Anne will be given the task of beheading.” At this, both the queen and the prince nearly dropped both cups and saucers.

“Has anyone else agreed to this?” she asked.

“I’m discussing the matter with Father Wilberforce, and with Oxford dean Richard Williams.”

“What a shame,” the prince muttered to himself.

“Care to explain?” Adam asked.

“For the Oxford dean.”

“Hardly,” Adam retorted.

“It is a shame the Oxford Dean would agree to such measures. I thought I knew him.”

“Albert,” asked the queen, “is there something you haven't been telling me?”

“It's as much news to me as it is to you that the dean Williams would think to involve himself in murder, let alone a murder of Charlie.”

“The deed will be carried out faithfully performed.”

The prince nearly choked. They finished their tea. Albert helped the queen to her feet as she grabbed her cane. Adam got to his feet.

“Shall we take a walk?” The queen offered.

“Your garden is well attended to.” Adam commented on the vegetation, the arrangement of the garden, and stone. It was a vast area, expanse upon expanse and so on, and he couldn't help but feel where they walked in particular was one of the few places that didn't smell dirty or polluted under the constant gray that always threatened but never promised rain, snow, sleet, or hail, let alone giving way to sunshine. “Whom might I have the privilege of engaging with to so improve the vegetation in my yard?”

“You're a gardener, Mr. Scantway?” asked the queen.

“Very much so,” Adam responded. “It is one of my past times, one of the few ways, if not the only way, to calm my mood.”

Had Adam been looking more carefully at the prince, he might have noticed Albert give a slight sneer. They continued walking before Adam finally asked, “and how is it you know of Mr. Williams?”

“We, at one point, employed his services,” the prince responded a bit sharply.

“Was he not fit for the job?”

“He felt his talents were needed elsewhere,” the queen pointed out. At these words, Adam had flashbacks to an encounter with the dean the day he discovered Lawrence rewriting Charlie's book “On The Origin of Species”. As the three of them walked they received a surprise. A carrier who delivered a letter to the queen. Albert stepped in at first to receive his mother's letter.

“And who is it who must speak with my mama so urgently?”

“Forgive me Your Majesty. The sender would not provide his name.”

“In the future we'll have to be more careful who is sending messages. We'll have to double down on security.”

“Darling,” said the queen. “I can receive my own mail.”

The queen graciously accepted the letter. After some moments, she continued, “It seems Mr. Hooker has caused something of an uproar with a Mr. Bertolucci.”

Adam went rigid at these words, and before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he found himself craning his neck over the queen's shoulder. His scrupulous nature didn't go unnoticed. The queen turned away from him and the prince. With a small frown, the prince said to Adam, “You know these men?”

“I do,” said Adam. “Father Bertolucci is a good friend, and Mr. Hooker is associated with Mr. Darwin.” The queen folded the letter.

“From whom is the letter sent?” Adam asked. The queen sighed.

“Mr. Scantway, that is quite enough,” the prince interjected. The prince and Adam stood up straight, looking each other hard in the eye.

“I meant no disrespect, Your Highness.”

“You are very fortunate that none was taken,” said the queen, “However, it would be in everyone's interest that the sender of this letter remain anonymous to you.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Adam. “I do take comfort in being informed.”

“And what more in this letter could you possibly need to know?”

“The sooner Charles Darwin is removed from the face of the earth, the better off we will all be. His ideas are simply too radical; his words are poison that will deter too many from the voice of reason. They've already done harm to Etty.”

“'Etty'?” The queen responded with a quick, if hushed breath. She spun around and frowned at Adam. “You know Etty Darwin?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“Mama?” asked the prince. “What is the matter?”

“The young Miss Darwin may be a bit reclusive at times, but she has done a great deal of work for her father. She also once performed a beautiful piece in this castle.”

Adam smiled at those words. “She is indeed talented,” he said. “All the more reason why it's imperative we save her from her father's misguided ideals, and why I feel it is important I learn who it is who sent you that letter.”

“At this moment, Mr. Scantway, I feel no obligation to share such details,” the queen snapped at him. “While I would love to learn how you are aware of the young Miss Darwin's talent, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave.”

“If that is what the queen wishes, I see no reason to challenge it.”

“...I only wished to share with others something wonderful I discovered when I was young,” he struggled to say. His heart caught in his throat as he tried to rationalize this scenario, as well as reason with Wilberforce.

“And if you had found the mark of the devil, would you have shared that as well?” Samuel challenged him. “If you had seen the son of the devil roll up to you in a wheelchair, would you have delivered him to the world as the holy Son himself?”

Charlie couldn't respond, for he knew not what to say.

“I see things much clearer now, Mr. Darwin, and I will act swiftly.” Samuel stood up from his chair and motioned to a man at the end of the room.

What happened next didn't take long, but to Charlie the last few moments of his life seemed to stretch beyond eternity, and all senses became duller. His body became numb. Things close-by sounded as though they were from far away. The man at the end of the room went to the door, and a moment later three more men entered, one of whom sounded as though he was being dragged by the other two. Had Charlie followed the source of the sound he might have recognized who then stood to his left. Large wooden bricks were placed in front of them. The men were forced to fall, Charlie's chair pulled out from under him, and they were kicked hard behind the knees, their heads pushed forward over the bricks.

Nine men were in the room, the ninth wielding an elegant blade, he raised it above his head and brought it down swift as he could. His hands trembled, whether form nerves or from drink, or both.

Chapter 18: Kidnapped:

It had grown dark. Lawrence was on his way to meet Ada near his campus. It just so happened he was also passing by the church when he was pulled aside and thrust against a wall in a dimly lit alley by someone whose face was in shadow.

Held against the wall, Lawrence was visited by another person in shadow whose figure he struggled to place.

“I know what you're doing, and I know why.”

Lawrence recognized the voice of Adam.

“For your safety and the safety of others, cease the inspection.”

“I am not afraid of God's wrath.”

“Don't make this any harder than it is.”

Before Lawrence was let go, he noticed something odd about Adam's attire: an unusual bulge at the midriff that was barely discernible in the low light.

“Do you know something about this naturalist I'm looking for?”

The man holding Lawrence scoffed. “The boy's an idiot.”

This man must be Philip Blacks, Lawrence thought, based on his tone.

“I'm going to pretend you did not just ask me that,” Adam retorted.

“Why feign ignorance, Adam? Why act as though we are in the dark about this naturalist's disappearance?”

Lawrence was slapped across the face.

“I would rather not repeat myself, Peregrine.”

“You can help me, Adam, but not by telling me to give up. If I give up on the inspection, I give up my duty to our Lord in Heaven.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“An admirable statement, Peregrine. However, sometimes you really can be irritating. Always trying to do well under the grace of God and yet managing to be a favorite among the wrong people. But it doesn't have to be this way, as long as you cease the inspection. God doesn't want me to tell you that he loves you, for his love will only blossom the more after you've ceased the inspection.”

“Isn't it my duty as a cleric to seek the truth?”

Lawrence was slapped again.

“Peregrine,” Adam said sternly, and it almost sounded as though he was gritting his teeth. “You already know the truth!”

Lawrence's vision became hazy, and with those last words in his head, Lawrence found it hard to remain conscious. Footsteps were heard in the distance, followed by a sudden splash of ice-cold water drenching him until his clothes were soaked. Lawrence coughed and spluttered, getting over his disorientation. He hadn't completely oriented himself before he received a slap across his face. He barely recognized the floor of his dorm. Opening his eyes a little more he thought he saw Sigmund glaring at him.

“Well, that was adorable,” said Sigmund in a mocking tone.

“Excuse me?” Lawrence rubbed his face to wake himself up.

“'If I give up on the inspection, I give up on my duty to our Lord,'” Sigmund tone was childish.

“How did you get here?”

Sigmund continued speaking with a derisive tone. “That was quite the performance you gave, young cleric.”

“You mock me?”

“What are you, a disciple or some sick kid's guardian angel?”

“Don't you have something better to do?”

“Nay.”

“Well, I do, and I'd prefer if you'd let me get on with my job.”

“Your job right now, young cleric, is to listen to me abuse you.”

Lawrence flushed, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Nay! I won't have it!”

“Hogwash,” said Sigmund.

“I refuse to believe it is my place to be bullied by you.”

“You have some bite after all, even if it is a brat's bite. I have to admit, you're an interesting source of entertainment tonight, young cleric.” He threw a pile of what seemed like ashes in Lawrence's direction.

“What is this?”

“What does it look like?”

“I wish to leave.”

“No, you don't.”

“You break into my room, make a mess, and bully me. I tell you I won't stand for it.”

“As I continue to remind you, young cleric, you don't have a choice. Look more carefully at that disgusting pile.”

Lawrence forced himself to do as he was told and examined the pile of burnt pages more closely. It looked bigger up-close, but it also looked less like just a pile of ashes and more like burnt paper.

What is this? The question formed in his mind before he had the chance to say it.

“Hah!” Sigmund guffawed. “Looking familiar yet?”

“How did you know I--?”

“It's all over your face!” Lawrence could not piece together what he meant, for he was too bewildered and recovering from being under the influence of intoxication.

“Still not looking familiar?” Sigmund asked.

“Not in the least.”

“My, you are dense lately!” He pointed out the page with the biggest writing on it. “How can you not read ...The Origin of...?” 'The Origin of' what is why Lawrence was so confused. The pile was so badly burned and the letters faded that making out any details at all was borderline impossible. However, the words Sigmund had pointed out were visible enough to the naked eye. If Lawrence had noticed anything, even what Sigmund had just pointed out, he did his best not to show it. He was too annoyed with Sigmund to give the man anything, let some emotional reward.

“Whatever it is you want me to see, Sigmund, your efforts are fruitless.”

“Nonsense,” Sigmund spat back. “Even a blind man can see.” With no warning, Sigmund grabbed Lawrence by the arm and hauled him out of his dorm, allowing the burned pile to fall in a heap on the floor in his room.

If anyone would have seen the two of them, they would have been odd-looking indeed. A burly, older man would look out of place dragging the taller, leaner, half-drugged young man along the halls of Oxford, but at this hour Lawrence doubted anyone was awake. Lawrence tried to shake Sigmund off, but Sigmund's grasp held. “Where are you taking me?” Sigmund remained silent as he pulled Lawrence along. “I am capable of walking,” Lawrence tried to reason. He tried to pull free, but his efforts only resulted in Sigmund tightening his grip. They walked mostly in darkness, and whether because of the hour or because he was still to a degree intoxicated, much of the world was in shadow. It was all Lawrence could do to maintain pace with his captor. His arm was held so tight, he felt sure he had lost circulation and had a pinched nerve.

They arrived at the cathedral, but Sigmund maintained his pace as he pulled Lawrence up the steps.

“I know this place,” said Lawrence.

“Everyone knows this place.”

“Sigmund, I must insist you release me. I can no longer feel my arm.” They were just inside the front door when Sigmund at last released him but continued walking. Lawrence remained where he was while Sigmund marched ahead through another door. As Lawrence massaged his arm, he thought he heard multiple people. Why he heard them remained unclear. The door ahead remained barely open. Lawrence stepped through to find dim light in the cathedral.

Why are the candles not put out? was his first thought.

“Over here, young cleric.” Sigmund's voice carried from the altar. It took Lawrence a moment to realize the oratorial quality of the man's voice. He found Sigmund standing before the statue of Jesus Christ, looking down at him. Lawrence didn't want to meet his gaze, so his eyes fell to the floor. Even in the dim light the space between Sigmund's one foot and peg leg was detectable. As to why Sigmund stood before the statue of Jesus Christ remained unclear. And then Sigmund moved, walking with a more leisurely pace than he had only minutes prior. He made his way past Lawrence to the pew, where he sat and looked back past Lawrence to the altar.

“Have you figured it out yet?” Sigmund asked.

“You've brought me here to observe the statue of Jesus Christ.”

“Look beyond the statue.”

There wasn't much to see beyond what he already knew he'd find. He'd not usually been this close before. He saw the altar and the wall beyond; he saw the place near the wall where the choir gave their performances; he saw the organ; he saw the large bowl of water Father Wilberforce often used to cleanse himself and the members of the church. Lawrence couldn't see much more. The dim light didn't help. Lawrence turned on his heel, but Sigmund still looked past him.

“There's nothing here I don't already know to be here.” Sigmund still looked past him. Lawrence turned again. Though the statue of Christ gave him some comfort, he still felt uneasy. His vision cleared, and he began to see more details on the carpet on the altar. Ruffles in the fabric near where Sigmund had been. Highlighted was a slight dent in the fabric as though someone had attempted to fill a spot in the floor. None of it struck him as anything out of place. He heard footsteps again and turned around to find Adam out of Sigmund's field of vision.

“This is not what it looks like,” Lawrence hastily tried to explain.

“First I catch you working on the book that spoke of unlawful carnal knowledge, now I catch you defiling the lord's name,” Adam challenged.

“I am not here by choice.”

“I told you to cease the inspection,” Adam scolded.

“Come to pray to your dear fluffy Lord, Adam?” Sigmund teased.

“I'd prefer you not refer to me by my first name, Mr. Voluntiir.”

“Mass isn't for some hours.”

“In your case, it may never be.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I don't waste time threatening slobs or peasants.”

Sigmund guffawed at this.

Lawrence looked at him in awe as Adam drew nearer. “You're mad,” said Lawrence.

“Adam, best leave the less than civil comments to the one who can dish it out and take it.”

Adam turned on his heel. “I'm warning you, Mr. Voluntiir, not to use my name,” he said as though something were in his mouth.

“You both still know so little. You should have taken my offer, Adam, to be partners.”

Lawrence was stunned. “What?” He hoped for explanation before the door closing echoed through the interior. His friend Etty was now in the cathedral.

“Etty,” he nearly cried. “What are you doing here?”

Sigmund responded before Etty could. “Come to pray to your dear and fluffy lord, Etty?”

“I've come to aid a friend,” said Etty.

“If you've come to help him pray, I'm afraid you're both a bit early.”

Etty moved quickly past the pews. Approaching the altar, she extended her hand for Lawrence to follow. He felt torn now, wanting more explanation from Sigmund, but simultaneously relieved his friend had arrived. Adam eyed Etty's hand with a predatory stare. Lawrence's hesitation didn't go unnoticed. There was movement at the altar. Adam advanced toward Etty, Sigmund intercepted him, and Lawrence quickly approached his friend. He didn't need much encouragement to take her hand before the two of them quickly made their way out of the cathedral.

“Remember what you saw here tonight, young cleric,” Sigmund called after him, and then he said something Lawrence didn't catch as he and Etty left the cathedral.

Chapter 19: A Man of Incredible Reasoning Ability:

They were not far from Ada's. Some of the lamps to light the street had been put out, and Lawrence was bewildered.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“The flour from the floor of the bakery is still on the soul of your shoe.” This made him pause briefly. “I saw it in places where it had rubbed off, showing that you were either dragged or pulled.”

“I've been unconscious earlier this evening.”

“That much was evident.”

Lawrence noticed where they were and paused outside the bakery.

“Etty...” he said. She turned to look at him.

“We can't return to my room.”

“Why ever not?”

Lawrence recalled Seamus locking the door to their dorm. “I've been banned.”

“By whom?”

“I have not yet learned.”

“Well, that's ridiculous.”

“It is very odd indeed. I can't fathom what would motivate someone to--”

“I'm not talking about that,” she reprimanded him.

Lawrence was a bit stunned.

“I find it odd how little you know.”

Now Lawrence was a bit irritated. He frowned at her. “You're the second person tonight to treat me as though I'm a bit dim.”

“Lory, as someone who seeks to know the truth, as someone who wants to become a man of incredible reasoning--”

“That wasn't my ambition, Etty.”

Now it was her turn. She gave him a surprised look.

“I have wanted to learn the truth for a long time,” he began to explain. “It's part of why I rewrite the Bible word for word, and it's part of why I tried rewriting Charlie's work. But becoming a man of incredible reasoning ability is something I can't see myself doing. My sincerest apologies for misleading you.”

“And why would you not want that?”

“What good would it do me in the long run?”

“It would help you with getting back what's yours.”

“Nothing can take away faith.”

“That's not what I refer to.”

“It is what I refer to. I pledged my life to God. Not even Mr. Voluntiir can take

that from me.”

“You amaze me sometimes, Lory.” She began walking away from him.

“You're both right,” said Thom, startling Lawrence and Etty. They hadn't noticed they walked near the fountain in the commons.

“How long have you--” Etty began to ask.

“Long enough, Etty,” Thom replied.

“And just what is it we're right about?”

“It is good of you Lawrence to be invested in pursing the truth,” Thom explained. “You must also consider why being a man of incredible reasoning ability is in your best interest. Your faith gives you motivation, but don't let bias get in the way of your overall goal. You'll cancel out what truths you overlook.”

“I do not overlook truths,” Lawrence spat back, stunned by his own retort.

“Now dear young cleric, don't be so stubborn.”

“It seems tonight is not his night,” said Etty. She turned and walk away. Lawrence caught up with her and they power-walked to Ada's room. Ada Byron had been up late reviewing mathematics, or so it looked to Lawrence. A few lamps were lit, a few dishes placed on small tables that showed Lawrence she had recently had a snack. The room looked like it was meant more for productivity than socializing, considering the level of ambiance to the room. Most of the especially brilliant light focused on her daughter Anne studying. Anne was nowhere to be seen.

“Ada,” Etty and Lawrence said together.

“Good evening, Mr. Peregrine,” Ada responded.

“Might I inquire as to why you're up at this hour?”

“A woman of incredible reasoning ability gets to be up late if a project requires her attention.”

“You people and your need for people with reasoning abilities.”

Ada gave him a look. “And why should you not also need it?”

“Why are people asking me these questions lately?”

“Mr. Peregrine, one of these days you will learn that the best way to live is not near a statue of your favorite deity, but staying hungry and foolish.”

Lawrence raised his voice at her. “All night people have been accusing me of being dim, and now you're telling me foolishness is the key to life?”

“You misunderstand me, Mr. Peregrine, just as it seems you misunderstand Sigmund.”

“What can I learn from that bully?”

“If that is all you seem him as, then you overlook what he is doing for you.”

“He takes me to a bar to watch him embarrass himself and others, insults me at every possible turn, finds fault with me, treats me like an infant, physically harasses me, and seems to take pleasure in doing so.”

“It is out of love, Mr. Peregrine.”

“My name is Lawrence, Ada, and last I checked, that man seems to have no interest whatsoever in love, at least not of the kind for commitment.”

“You again have overlooked an important detail in his relationship with you.”

“What will I find there that I haven't discovered already.”

“That's for a man of incredible reasoning ability to learn.”

Lawrence turned his gaze to Etty, giving her a look as if to say, what do you think? It wasn't an accusation. She put up her hands.

“Mr. Voluntiir is short on manners. There is no denying that. But wouldn't you honestly rather not be with a crowd either that puts you through serious harm?”

“I don't care what this means to the other clerics.” He pointed at his scar.

“As admirable as that is, Mr. Peregrine, you must not let your ego blind you from the task before you.”

“Earlier tonight people treated me as something of an idiot. I don't like it, nor shall I stand for it.”

“Don't be so stubborn.” They suddenly heard a pot boiling, and Ada immediately stood up to fetch cups and saucers. A minute later she handed each of them their tea.

“A stimulant?” Lawrence looked curiously at the tea offered. “At this hour?”

“Just drink,” said Ada. Lawrence tried to join them as they as all sipped their tea, but his mouth hurt.

Lawrence was willing to give Ada the benefit of the doubt. “Apparently you forget I'm temperature sensitive,” he groaned.

“Better down your throat than on your shirt,” Ada warned. Etty brought over a couple of jelly drops. The tea was a bit sweeter than Lawrence cared for. That was something he had forgotten about Ada. Her taste for sweets was considerable. She claimed she had appreciated sweets since she was a little girl, but Lawrence was starting to believe her appreciation for them had since grown. In fact, he thought her taste for sweets had become borderline obsessive. Etty noticed the look on his face as he tried to drink and began to giggle.

“I still have yet to hear what brought you here,” he said to her.

“A stimulant at this hour is exactly what we needed,” Etty responded matter-of-factly, “and I couldn't bring myself to bother Michael.”

The baker... Lawrence thought. He pondered Michael for a moment before an idea came to him. Not wasting a moment, he placed the cup and saucer near the kettle and grabbed Etty by the hand.

“Lawrence!” she exclaimed.

“Let's go.”

“But where are we--”

“Where we become people of incredible reasoning ability.”

Lawrence and Etty were on the side of a creek near Downe at half-passed seven, or so Lawrence guessed. He was also a little disoriented. “It was here, or nearby,” he tried to explain as he led the two of them toward his estimated destination. He didn't notice the tracks left in the ground by multiple pairs of feet, illustrating a few people making their way toward a patch of earth not far from where he and Etty stood. Etty frowned at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Care to explain how you knew?”

“Knew of what, Etty?”

A house of blue jays was stationed a handful of miles north of them, the birds put there under the direction of Samuel Wilberforce. On this morning, his instructions were more direct. It was a man's hand that began to prod and harass the birds, encouraging an underfed cat the man had collected to get a closer look at the blue jays. He was careful to not let the birds have their way with the cat. A telescope had been set up, and today it was aimed to spy near where Lawrence and Etty stood. A few minutes passed as the birds shrieked and clawed, more and more irritated by the minute while the cat pawed their cages. A window was cracked open as each cage open so that each cage could be in turn opened close to the window. The birds were let out a cluster at a time, albeit in quick succession. The cat hissed as the man pulled it away from a cage of especially irritated birds, biting the man with its feline teeth. He reacted by shoving it away.

Overhead, the sky darkened. Lawrence was aware of the change in light, but not why until it was almost too late. The blue jays came at them with speed rarely seen.

“Etty, run!” He hollered.

He pulled Etty's arm, but her less athletic body prevented her from making more than a few steps before she tripped.

“Lawrence!” she cried. He had to act fast as he scooped her up. The blue jays pecked at his hair and narrowly missed his eyes and scar as he ran hard and fast, trying to shake off their strange attackers. The birds were persistent, but Etty and Lawrence were more so as she assisted with knocking them aside any moment they came within a few inches of her and Lawrence. Her hands and wrists showed signs of being scratched at.

Chapter 20: A Proposal:

Wind whipped past his face under the dank, cloudy sky as Lawrence and Anne rode horse back. Lawrence had little trouble getting his horse to gallop, but he marveled how Anne could still gain the lead at times, even as they both rode with both their legs saddling the animals. He saw himself taking the lead just as Anne gave her horse the order to break into a full gallop. Surprised only a little, Lawrence followed suit. They had gone little more than a mile when his horse suddenly reared and Lawrence was nearly thrown off. He did his best to control the animal. Hearing the horse complain, Anne directed her horse to come to a stop before dismounting. Lawrence had just gotten the animal under control when Anne grabbed the reins. Her body language informed him he didn't have much choice but to dismount as well. Dead leaves from months prior crunched underfoot.

“I can't explain what happened,” was his only response.

“I'm not looking for an explanation,” she said flatly. “Horses are known to be frightened

easily. At least you weren't injured.”

“Let's have something to eat,” he suggested.

“I don't have much of an appetite.”

“As you wish.” He reached into his saddle bag while she waited and retrieved rations and a sandwich. What he saw worried him.

“You look troubled,” he remarked.

“I cannot believe you were almost eaten alive, and by blue jays nonetheless.”

“Now that's an exaggeration.”

“Even if it were, it doesn't change how odd and disturbing this is becoming.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, Lory, don't be dim,” she also referred to him this way. “This whole thing about our friend Charlie missing, that mark on your head, and now someone sends birds to harass you. One can't help but wonder if you should cease the inspection.”

“Oh, Anne, you know I cannot.” She looked at him wide-eyed, her expression firm.

“Don't look at me that way,” he said, still eating his sandwich. “You'd have the same mindset if you'd been with Sigmund for half a night.” She looked away disapprovingly. “I'm not saying I like the man, far from it. Nor did I ask for him to stay around for as long as he has.”

“That's not what concerns me, Lory. I'm much more concerned about you getting hurt.”

He smiled apologetically. “Look at me,” he said, allowing himself to get closer. She turned to see him smile. “No matter what physical damage they do to me, they cannot truly hurt me.”

She gave a very faint smile in return. “You're either very brave or very foolish to think you're not bound by physical laws.”

He burst into laughter. “I'm well aware of my physical limitations, dear friend.”

“Then live by those limitations.”

“I proudly serve life and love by my limitations. I thought you knew that. And I've no greater an influence on how I serve myself, life, and love than Renee Descartes.”

She gave him another interesting look. “You think philosophy will save you from the horrors you face?”

“In my right pocket is my personal copy of the Word of God. In my left are the writings by my favorite philosopher.” She rolled her eyes. “Don't be dismissive,” he said.

From his back pocket he pulled out a small, black box. Anne stared at it for moment, and then she clapped her hands to her face. Lawrence opened it, revealing the ring.

“Do you think Etty will like it,” he asked sincerely.

She dropped her hands and looked at him blankly. “You should ask her.”

“I will soon.”

Anne closed the box and gently pushed Lawrence's hand away. “You know I care deeply for both you and Etty, and as happy as I am for the both of you, I'm not sure this is the best time.”

“I don’t expect an immediate answer,” he continued.” And besides, what’s the harm in her simply wearing it?”

“You’re maligned,” she answered.

Lawrence shrugged. “She can wear it anonymously.”

She roughly pat him on the shoulder. “What good would that do either of you?”

His horse bayed. She turned her attention to their horses while he finished his snack.

“After I've cleared my name, things won't be so hard.”

“How do you intend to do that when you have nothing to help you clear your name? You have no letters and no bodies. You don't even have a copy of Charlie's book. When was the last time you were on campus? When was the last time you were at your dorm?”

“The last time I was at my dorm was when Sigmund put me there. Don't ask me how.”

He looked into the sky to see birds. She followed his gaze.

“What a sight,” she said.

“At least they aren't blue jays,” he commented.

They were both at the bakery an hour later. A different person was running the bakery and the restaurant.

“Good day, Mr. Peregrine, what brings you to the bakery today?” Isaac asked.

“I figured it would be a good time to select some bread and some sweets,” said Lawrence.

Isaac extended his arms, palm up, gesturing at the volume before their eyes. The selection was not as wide nor as variable as it was earlier in the day.

“Excuse me, sir. Is Etty staffing the bakery today?” Anne asked.

“I have not seen her. She could very well be at the house of Adam Scantway.”

“Mr. Scantway?” Anne alarmed.

“Adam?” Lawrence asked shocked.

If Isaac was stunned by their response, he didn't show it. “That's correct.”

“Why would she be there?” Anne inquired.

“She mentioned something about a letter and a book.”

“A letter?”

“It was addressed to her father from a man by the name of Wallace. Adam had it.”

“Do you know him?” Lawrence asked.

“Not personally. I told her last I heard, these items had been left with her father. Seems he was in possession of the letter the night he disappeared.”

They both turned on their heels and ran back for their horses.

Chapter 21: A Young Cleric’s Fifth Lesson:

Anne and Lawrence dismounted and hustled as they parked their horses. Anne pulled Lawrence by the hand as she led him to a garden one city block away from where they left their horses. Much of the life looked well maintained, but there was no sign of Etty. The insects buzzing about were to be expected, the flies were a source of curiosity, but Anne continued pulling as though something had her on edge.

“I am capable of walking,” said Lawrence with some effort.

“We're here,” she said. He was astonished by the level of calm in her voice. He at first wanted to ask where they were. What was “here”? The flies buzzing about were in fact a swarm. It was to a small shed he was lead, barely big enough for two people. He was as intrigued as he was disturbed. How did she know to come here?

“You mind sharing how it is you knew to come here?”

“I don't mind, but there's a more pressing matter at hand, Lory.”

“But of course,” he responded a little surprised because it seemed obvious what the most pressing matter was. “This garden has life, but I see no sign of Etty.”

What could be more pressing? He wondered. “The places you go in your space time, Anne,” he said.

“This wasn't discovered on a pleasure-walk,” she retorted.

He first noticed the vegetation was colored different. He examined the door a moment longer. “What's in here?”

“As a man of incredible reasoning ability, I thought you could tell me.”

“That's not funny, Anne,” he nearly hollered at her.

“This isn't funny at all, Mr. Peregrine.”

What does she mean by “man of incredible reasoning ability”? he thought. He stepped closer to get a better look and stooped before the shed. Not a moment longer he leaped back as though he'd been stung. An uneasy feeling took hold of him. A few grubs could be seen just outside the door.

“We might understand this situation a little better if we examined the interior more closely,” she advised. He reached for the door. Before he had so much as touched the door knob, she patted him on the shoulder.

“Most men of incredible reasoning ability leave behind not a trace of their own presence,” said Anne. She patted him on the shoulder, holding out a handkerchief for him. The handkerchief he used to open the door. The smell of death filled his nostrils, and instinctively he put the handkerchief to his face. He could just see the shoulders of a man's body. A lump where the neck ended had already attracted maggots. She handed him a pen. He used the pen to pull away the jacket. In the breast pocket was a watch that hung from a chain. He took this and opened it to find a name.

“Making any sense of it?” she asked.

“I'm afraid not,” Lawrence replied.

“Why are you missing so much this morning?” Anne scolded him. Lawrence turned to look at her hard.

“I wouldn't miss as much if things were made clearer,” he said more fiercely than he meant to.

“This is why you need incredible reasoning ability,” she said. “What is that phrase you like to use? ‘God save you all?’ Is that more than just words?”

He spun around. “Are we in immediate danger?” he asked. He quickly stepped away, genuinely curious, and handed her back her pen, but she didn't take it.

“Where was God when this man needed him?” She asked.

“If this man were a true believer he would--”

“Lory, a man stands dead here, and you often like to preach how others can be saved by faith,” she snapped at him.

They heard footsteps in the gravel. He was startled to see it was Etty who approached. “Etty!” he said. His uneasy feeling only grew more intense.

“Lory,” came her voice, just above a whisper.

“We'd thought we'd find you here,” said Lawrence and Anne.

“I didn't mean to be here at this garden, but when I saw the horses, I felt I had to tell you.” said Etty.

“Tell who?” asked Anne.

“Tell me what?” asked Lawrence.

“I came to tell you, Lawrence, to cease the inspection.”

His agitation grew. “You're serious?” He nearly grit his teeth as he spoke.

“Very much so.”

“Why does everyone want me to stop caring about the mysterious disappearance of you father?”

“Lory, I know what it if you're doing, and I know why.” He was puzzled by this.

“What I am doing is getting to the bottom of your father's whereabouts,” he hollered. A look of guilt crossed his face when he saw her reaction.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“It's not that simple, Lory.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, aghast.

In her mind she flashed back to the night her father brought home the package that spooked the family for the night, but all Lawrence could see were the mixed emotions crossing her face.

“Etty?” He lifted her face so their eyes could meet. “A shadow crosses your face my dear.”

She looked at the scar on his forehead. “I care as much about my father as I do about this.” She lightly touched the upside down, broken cross he was branded with.

His uneasy feeling only grew more intense as they marched away from the gravel and grit and back toward their horses. They rode in silence. Lawrence and Etty walked from a stable toward his dorm. As annoyed as he was, Lawrence couldn't help admiring Anne as she walked away. He called to them both as they walked away.

“I'm not afraid of this means to others,” he said.

They turned to face him and practically said in unison, “Goodnight, Lory.”

Chapter 22: Arrested:

The hour grew late as Ada made her way home down an alley between two dimly lit buildings. She moved quickly past brick walls, ready for almost anything but the hand that grabbed her from behind and covered her face. A strong arm threw her against a wall, nearly knocking the wind out of her. She struggled as best she could, but the hand over her mouth held her fast as her attacker brought his blade up and between her ribs. Her squirms lessened as her body went limp, but the hand remained on her face covering her mouth and nose. With her body in a more fragile state, she slid softly to the ground.

She lay in the shadows.

Sigmund placed a pile of burnt pages behind a counter at the bakery not far from the church then played with a very curious if hesitant dog. It behaved as though someone had harmed it recently. Though Sigmund didn't know it then, this was the dock Adam kicked.

“A lovely day for being thrown in Jail,” Thom commented from a corner of the bar near Sigmund.

“Well that is the plan,” Sigmund responded.

“Remind me again why?”

“The thugs have stories, the cops have ears, and this is the opportunity to help the young cleric.”

“There are other ways, Siggy,” Thom tried to reason, he even held a glass of port, which Sigmund looked at with interest. He placed his hand over the glass but did not grab it.

“You just make sure the queen sees what I'm about to do, I'll worry about the young cleric's fate,” said Sigmund.

“And your own, no doubt.”

“My fate was decided years ago.”

“If you're referring to what happened to your family—”

“Don't bring up my child!” Sigmund spat back. “Don't you have homework to get to?”

“This is part of my homework.” Sigmund scoffed at that. “Just be careful Sigmund.”

“Don't talk to me as though I don't know what I'm doing.”

“What makes you think I'll have any effect on the queen?”

“You were Charlie's bulldog.”

It had become dark an hour before Sigmund stepped into church. There was no evening mass. Sigmund approached the altar. It appeared as such, steps leading to the furniture, art, and design that showed the virgin birth and the message the priest preached to his crowd. If someone could have seen Sigmund as he was, they would have seen him sneering. He did his best to ignore the scene before him, the incense filling his nostrils, as he used his peg leg to tap the floor. He was almost talented enough to disguise his tapping on the floor as merely a walk. As he moved, he detected nothing out of the ordinary. Just before the crucified Christ, Sigmund found what he was looking for. The floor was just loose enough before the statue that Sigmund wobbled a bit as he walked.

He reached down to lift the loose board, which was not an easy task. It did at last lift away from the altar. In the shadows he saw a glimmer of what he'd suspected.

“What are you doing?” A voice behind him sounded accusatory. He turned around. It was someone he didn't suspect, for he had not known who had addressed him.

“I merely went for a walk along the altar,” Sigmund replied. “I guess I consider myself lucky to find this loose board here.”

The man remained silent, his silhouette unchanged, which was a sign to Sigmund the man wasn't accepting his story.

“I thought by chance the Pope kept his favorite Bible at the base of this statue,” Sigmund continued. “I had every intention of putting it back.”

“So, you took it upon yourself to snoop,” the man replied coldly, “instead of asking permission?” The man's tone was malicious, and for a moment, Sigmund thought he heard a hint of regret.

“As I am trying to explain, the intention was meant for the best.”

“God will punish you.”

“Isn't it also said that God only helps those who help themselves?”

Before he could respond, Prince Albert arrived with guards. Sigmund could hear few others to his left and behind the altar.

“Enough,” said Albert. Sigmund turned slowly to see the party that greeted them. Among the silhouettes, he could just make out the faces of Prince Albert, the priest Samuel Wilberforce, John Inglis, Philip Blacks, a couple of armed guards, and queen Victoria. His fate was all but sealed, and yet he wasn't worried.

“This is quite the run-out,” said Sigmund. “Maybe God really does want to punish me, but it's too late for that now.”

Wilberforce and Blacks both saw the floor of the altar. “What's the meaning of this?” they exclaimed simultaneously.

“Perhaps this gentleman can provide some explanation,” said the queen.

Sigmund yawned. “Would if I felt like it,” he said after a considerable stretch of his lower jaw.

“You owe us,” said Prince Albert.

“Oh no,” Sigmund replied. “I'm quite sure the explanation is not to be given from me.”

“Who are you?” the queen asked, her voice rushed and intense. “How did you find this?” She gestured toward the hole in the floor.

“I'm surprised, Vicky,” said Sigmund. He watched her eyes widen. “You fail to recognize one of your own?”

“Mr. Voluntiir?”

“Mama,” said Prince Albert, “who is this?”

“Al,” said Sigmund, “you are looking at someone who worked closely with your ma. Thank you, Vicky, for leading everyone present to this spot.”

“But how did you know?” she asked.

“Would someone please fill me in?” asked the man who first accused Sigmund.

“Yes, please,” said Wilberforce. “I'm completely lost, and my head is starting to spin.”

“Oh, it is now only starting to spin?” Sigmund challenged him. “Why you haven't had nights of vomiting, fainting spells, and days of shock is beyond me.”

“To what do you refer?” asked Wilberforce.

“You can't be making an allusion to Dante?” said Prince Albert.

“I understand that by behaving as a pig in public, I bring shame upon myself,” said Sigmund, “but what you have done goes well beyond that.”

“Mr. Voluntiir,” said the man who first addressed Sigmund, “I'm still waiting for an explanation as to what you are doing here, and I grow tired of asking.”

“Oh, piss off,” Sigmund retorted. “Why should I tell you? I haven't yet learned who you are, not that it matters.” He could see the man's face getting redder by the moment.

Prince Albert walked toward Sigmund as he said, “Mr. Voluntiir, if you'd be so kind--”

“Where is it you think you're going?” Sigmund snapped at him.

“Where I please. I am your prince.”

“Bah,” Sigmund spat back. “As if any prince of mine would allow for such atrocities as this.”

“Enough with the banter,” said the queen.

“Whatever for? The fun is only just beginning.” Sigmund countered.

“Mr. Voluntiir,” she said, “your childish behavior in this house is most unbecoming. Continue in this way and we will be forced to have you silenced.”

“Vicky, you must understand, you can't threaten me. I'm far from afraid of the words of some old woman. Not even royalty can stop what's coming.”

“You should be afraid. That's my mama you are speaking to.” Prince Albert raised his voice as he said this.

“Albert,” said the queen, “summon for the guards.” Albert did as he was instructed and directed the guards toward Sigmund.

“You can avoid your punishment, Mr. Voluntiir, if you tell us what you know.”

“But it should be obvious by now,” he said. “Are you so dull?”

“But how did you find the head of Charles Darwin?”

Albert instructed the guards to seize Sigmund. “To the jailhouse,” Albert told them. They seized Sigmund hard just above the elbow.

“This won't be enough,” Sigmund said, and he was escorted out. Albert tentatively approached the loose floorboards and quickly slammed them back into place.

“Carefully, Albert,” the queen cautioned.

“I'm sorry, mama.”

“Who was that?” asked Rodrigo Bertolucci, the man who had accused Sigmund.

“Does it matter?” asked Wilberforce.

“I wish that it did not,” said Bertolucci, “I wish very much that it did not.”

“Then why does it?”

“His name,” said the queen, “is Sigmund Voluntiir. He has served me before.”

“He knows too much,” said Bertolucci. “We cannot just leave him behind bars.”

“Then what do we do with him?” asked Wilberforce.

“Perhaps re-employ him,” Albert suggested.

“Albert?”

“The suggestion surprises even me,” he said. “But he may yet be of some use to us.”

“Does anyone else know the whereabouts of Charles Darwin?”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Bertolucci. “Let's try to keep it that way.”

“Agreed,” said Albert.

The queen, on the other hand, stood over the hole in the floor where Sigmund had been looking.

“So that's what he's been up to?” she asked.

“Mama?” said Albert.

“Sigmund must have been following Mr. Darwin more closely than I was aware, Albert. He was excellent as he served under me, and to my knowledge, I was his second employer.”

Albert placed a hand on her shoulder. “I am truly sorry that man has bothered you so,” he said.

“Don't feel in any way responsible for how this evening has transpired,” she said and then turned to look at everyone in the room.

“For the time being, we must continue to do what we can to keep this quiet, but I fear the silence will not last,” she said to all present. She then proceeded to the back entrance. As she passed by the men in the room she instructed, “Everyone please follow me.”

They did so. They went to the back of the church and from there to the Tulane Freeman auditorium, and from there to the staff room at Oxford, hoping to find the dean. From there they went to Lawrence’s dorm.

Chapter 23: Twenty-Four Hours:

The sky continued to be overcast, threatening but never promising precipitation, which only made the already bitter morning gloomier. Emma Darwin attended church late. Going to mass with her children was not a habit she practiced. A few of her sons were already in the cathedral, gathered where she had requested so that they be present not only for mass, but also because Emma felt she needed the emotional support.

“Good morning, Mrs. Darwin,” was the Pope's warm greeting to her.

She did her best to put on a good face when she said, “Good morning, Father.”

“You are looking well today,” said the Pope. “I do hope your family is doing well.”

“We are. Thank you.” She made her way to a seat a few pews from the statue of Jesus Christ. It was there she grieved over the loss of her husband with her sons. On the other side of the pews she spotted John Lubbock and at least one other member of the Linnean Society. They were a group she'd grown more aware of because of her husband's work and pursuits. It did not strike her as odd to find them here. While their visits weren't as frequent as her's, they weren't strangers here.

“You're looking lovely this morning, mama,” said Will.

She took his hand in hers. “Thank you, darling,” she said.

“What a strange thing to say--” George began, but Will quickly put a finger to his lips, instructing his younger brother not to finish that sentence.

The pain the Darwins felt at the loss of Charlie was only heightened by the scene that followed.

The crowd had just assembled in the church, awaiting the pope to stand before them on the altar to the left of the statue, when Lawrence burst into the church, crowded as it was, and stormed toward the Pope. Lawrence all but hollered, “You murdered Charlie!”, his right index finger extended and shaking.

“You're confused, my son.” The Pope spoke calmly. “We all know who is responsible for the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Darwin. Mr. Hooker has been apprehended, and he is currently in the custody of the force.”

“You're lying!” Lawrence was practically shouting now. The pope made eye contact with a few people in the room and, with a wave of his hand, directed them to take the young man away. “I know what you did,” Lawrence continued, “and you're not going to get away with it!”

“Until now, my son, you have been welcomed in the house of God.”

Lawrence was seized by the arms on either side.

“Gentlemen,” said the pope, “show him to the door.” Lawrence was then dragged across the floor passed the pews and anyone who cared to look at him.

“People, please listen to me,” Lawrence cried out. “The Pope murdered Charles Darwin! You are all being deceived!” His voice carried through the cathedral as he was taken outside.

“What a shame,” the pope said loud enough others could hear. “He was a good scribe. He had made a wonderful cleric.” This statement was surprise to some in the room. The fact the Pope said this turned the heads of Adam, Philip, Samuel, Charles Lyell, John Lubbock, Richard, and some of Lawrence's athlete buddies in his direction.

Outside, Lawrence remained on his feet while the few men who appeared as hosts simply looked at him before lowering their eyes. “Be off with you,” one of them said.

“You both know me,” Lawrence tried to reason. “I've been a cleric for this church for some time now.”

“Which is why we offer you the chance to walk away with dignity,” the man who first addressed him responded. “Don't make things any worse.”

Not wanting to escalate things any further, Lawrence backed away but did not turn around until his feet reached the steps. He was out in the street when he saw Anne.

“Ms. Augusta,” Lawrence acknowledged her.

“I remind you again, Lory, that's Anne to you,” she said from near the side of the church.

“I'm sorry you had to see that, Anne.”

“I won't lie, it was entertaining.”

“You found that amusing?”

“Not in the least. What were you thinking?”

Lawrence didn't respond right away. “I can't just stand by idly while my friends are the subject of harassment and torment.”

“When I showed you that body this morning, I didn't intend for you to burst into mass and accuse Father Pius.”

“I had to do something.”

“Says who?” Anne demanded.

“Charlie is dead.”

“That doesn't excuse what you just did.”

“I didn't realize you could be so cold, Anne.”

“I am not callous. You just did something foolish.”

“If I had done nothing--”

“You would have avoided making a scene.” Anne was now standing in front of him, close enough they nearly shared a silhouette. Emotions rose in their eyes; Lawrence could almost see his level of embarrassment and anger reflected in her gaze.

“I can't be ineffective while a crime has been committed,” Lawrence tried to reason.

“We don't have enough substantial evidence, Lory.” She took out a letter. “Not even this suffices.”

“You're showing me a letter?”

“Not just a letter, Lory.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Would if I knew what the contents referred to.” She took his hand in hers and pulled him along and away from the church.

“Now where are you taking me?”

He had his answer when they arrived at the bakery. Michael and Etty were both present helping customers. They hardly noticed Anne and Lawrence. Anne reached over the counter, quickly and agile enough that Michael didn't immediately turn around. When Anne turned, she took Lawrence outside by the hand and handed him the burnt pile of pages Sigmund had thrown at him the other night.

“Dare I ask how this got here?” Lawrence asked.

She looked him in the eye as she placed the pile against his chest.

“We have a meeting to get to.”

His hand touched the burnt pile. “What meeting?” he asked.

A quickly-assembled meeting of a few members of the Linnean Society and a few members of the church was called at the Tulane Lecture Hall for a declaration of the one guilty of murder. At the behest of Thom Huxley, Michael, and Anne numerous individuals were present including Charlie's friend Charles Lyell, Richard, Mr. Lubbock, Philip, Rodrigo Bertolucci, Mr. Williams, Mr. Wilberforce, and the pope.

“Guilty of murder?” asked Emma, her expression firm but curious.

“Did I stutter?” Lawrence responded.

“You have made some bold claims, young man,” Lubbock challenged.

“For which I intend to provide evidence.”

“Yes,” said another member of the Linnean Society, Charles Lyell. “Please, support these accusations of yours.”

“You mock me,” said Lawrence, his voice calm, though his expression was accusatory.

“Remind me who you are,” said Mr. Lyell.

“Well I thought you knew, but if it please you, I am--”

“He's the young man who is working on the case of the disappearance of our esteemed friend, Charlie,” Thom interrupted him off with an informative, if harsh tone. “What more do you need to know?”

“Which Charlie are we talking about?” asked the pope. This earned him a few looks, though Lawrence wished all those present were less respectful toward the pope anyway. Lawrence tempered himself a bit when he said, “Charles Darwin is the man who sailed to the Galapagos, and is the man responsible for a tome called On the Origin of Species.”

“But we are already aware of that origin,” the pope countered.

“Indeed,” Thom cut him off. “We are aware of the origin you believe in, the origin the church believes in, the origin you like to preach.”

“Is there any other?

“We aren't here to debate beliefs,” said Lawrence. “That is not why you were summoned.”

“And here I thought we were summoned to listen to the explanation on Charlie,” yelled Mr. Lubbock, “but instead we have come to be an audience to your petulance.” Then he directed everyone but Lawrence and Anne out of the hall.

Lawrence, Thom, and Anne moved to intercept them. “Do you think so little of me, now?” Lawrence countered while raising his voice and his hands, palms forward. He addressed everyone present. “Do all of you consider me so childish and inexperienced to believe my purpose here is to entertain you all with an irritating display? You think too little of me.”

“Tell us something we don't know,” said Mr. Lubbock through grit teeth.

“I’m telling you I am not solving the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Darwin,” Lawrence spoke confidently, and his face then softening. “I have solved it.”

“But it wasn't murder,” demanded Mr. Lyell.

Lawrence looked each of them in the eye. “It was.” The men in the room broke into discussion and began demanding more of Lawrence.

“You cannot know that,” said Mr. Lyell.

“He was murdered,” said Lawrence. “We have evidence.”

“He lies!” cried Mr. Wilberforce.

“Why would I lie? After all, my attempting to rewrite On the Origin of Species only made me curious how Charlie died, not to mention who actually did it.” He was now asked more questions, which inspired more raised voices and shouting matches yet.

“Where is this evidence?” demanded John Lubbock.

“Was it not you, Mr. Lubbock, who gave me that book?” All attention now to turned to John.

“So that's what's happened to the book I gave you,” Mr. Lyell said to John.

“I would never have imagined this young cleric would have understood it,” Mr. Lubbock replied. “I certainly never imagined things would have come to this.”

“Are you referring to my scar?” John simply looked at Lawrence sympathetically. “You need not worry about my scar. If this be my reward for aiding another man, so be it.”

“How can you find this acceptable?” objected John.

“I am not humiliated by it, as I am not humiliated by assisting Mr. Darwin,” Lawrence explained.

“Most noble of you, young cleric,” said Mr. Lyell. “And how has it assisted you in locating Darwin, or in locating Darwin's keeper?”

“It doesn't work like that,” Lawrence replied, receiving looks from the men, which varied from doubtful to surprised to irritated. “It cannot assist me if I do not assist myself first.”

“Bold words for someone who is not yet a true man of incredible reasoning ability,” John criticized.

“Indeed,” said Mr. Lyell. He approached Lawrence as he added, “I say we give this young man a deadline.” There men in the room agreed as Lawrence turned to face Lyell, who was barely tall enough to reach his collar bone. In Lawrence's periphery he saw heads nodding.

“I beg your pardon?” Lawrence asked.

“You have the next twenty-four hours,” Mr. Lyell responded. “If you have not found hard facts to support your claims by then, then you must drop the case.”

“A worthy challenge, but you're hardly the first person to tell me this,” Lawrence countered. This comment received an interesting look from Mr. Lyell.

“Explain please,” Mr. Lubbock encouraged.

“I have already been warned by certain individuals, including Adam Scantway, and Prince Albert himself. It will take more than peace-offerings of a high member of the Linnean Society to encourage me in finding the murderer of Mr. Darwin.”

“Then consider this,” Mr. Lyell cautioned. “You have already been banned from the Church. Your fellow dons at Oxford no longer see you as one of them. And last I heard, you have been forced out of your current residence.”

Thom was gobsmacked. “Mr. Peregrine, is this true?” he said as he turned to face Lawrence.

“The ground beneath your feet is giving way,” John cautioned. “Unless you have found evidence to back your claims in the next twenty-four hours, you will lose everything including your reputation. You will be left scarred and marked.”

“At least I’ll be left with something.”

“Mr. Peregrine,” Thom implored, “please consider the gravity of this situation.” Lawrence did not remove his gaze from Mr. Lyell. “You're giving me twenty-four hours to prove Mr. Darwin has been murdered? So be it. As I've stated, I accept.”

“And to prove who it was who murdered him,” Mr. Lyell added.

“Within the next twenty-four hours I shall present the answers we seek,” said Lawrence.

Chapter 24: Clues:

The constant gray outside made the window of Hooker's cell look like a dull painting. Marks on the wall of his cell were how he knew what day it was, but not what time of year. Sigmund sneezed in a cell a few doors down.

“Nearly spring,” Sigmund said matter-of-factly. He sneezed again.

They both had already learned something of each other, taking opportunities to speak softly through bars and across the walkway.

A guard appeared outside Hooker's cell accompanied by Lawrence and Etty.

“Mr. Peregrine, and Ms. Darwin,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lawrence showed him a bottle of whiskey. Mr. Hooker took the bottle and opened it. Lawrence sat down, took out three shot glasses, and placed them on the floor. Hooker poured a glass each of them, and the three of them drank in silence for a moment. After Hooker had swallowed, he asked, “Now, what is it you are here for really?”

“What did you really know about Charlie's book?” Lawrence responded, and Hooker appeared to suddenly sober up and focus more on him. “That book you showed the baker,” said Lawrence, who's words caused Hooker to get closer to the bars. “I was working on rewriting it.”

“And you knew to ask me?” Hooker asked. His expression brightened. “Clever boy.”

“I understood what Charlie was saying, if it was indeed he who wrote it.”

“Clever boy indeed,” Hooker murmured.

“Be careful, Joe,” said Sigmund, which made Lawrence and Etty nearly jump to their feet.

“And why is that, Sigmund?” inquired Joe.

“We shouldn't encourage the boy, for he usually doesn't connect the dots,” Sigmund muttered.

“By your standards maybe,” Lawrence called back.

Sigmund laughed darkly at this. “My standards,” he chortled.

“What's so funny?” Etty inquired.

“Don't try to defend yourself, young cleric.” They ignored him.

“You knew I showed the baker?” asked Hooker.

“Not until just now, but we had our suspicions,” said Etty.

“I guess my outburst outside the auditorium did do some good.”

“Or, the young cleric really is starting to take a hint,” said Sigmund.

“Is there anything more you can tell us about the manuscript you left with the baker? About Charlie?” Lawrence asked Mr. Hooker.

“Young cleric, you should cease the inspection,” Sigmund advised.

“I'm afraid I have to agree with Sigmund,” said Hooker, who hadn't taken his eyes off Lawrence and Etty.

Lawrence responded by inclining his head and locking eyes with Mr. Hooker. “I will also tell you this,” said Mr. Hooker. “John Lubbock is in part responsible for the death of Charlie.”

Lawrence hadn't taken his eyes off Mr. Hooker, but he looked confused and determined. “There is also Adam Scantway,” Mr. Hooker continued.

Lawrence seemed to grow more resolute now. “What about him?” But just as he asked this, they heard the guard at the end of the corridor.

“If you haven't tried yet, I would find him, and speak with him,” said Mr. Hooker.

“And if we're unsuccessful?” asked Lawrence.

“Don't forget the person who actually took Charlie's life is in this room with us,” Sigmund added.

Hooker moved to his cot and pulled out a pile of loose pages. He held up a clipping of The Times for Lawrence and Etty.

Lawrence pressed with more questions. “Is there anything more you can tell me about it?” He asked. “About Charlie?”

Hooker continued to smile at Lawrence as he placed the copy of The Times against the bars. An article articulated the scandal of Lawrence. “I know what it is you're doing, and I can hardly understand why.”

This shocked Lawrence a bit.

“You aren't doing yourself any favors,” Hooker continued. “The deeper you dig, the uglier things will get for you, and, I fear, for others.” He glanced at Etty.

“Thing is, Uncle Joe,” Etty responded. “Stopping for us now is simply not an option.”

Mr. Hooker gave her a raised eyebrow.

“The situation is more pressing, and more concerning for us, than you know,” Lawrence began. He continued on, telling him about everything that had happened to him recently, starting with getting his mark. He pointed to the scar on his forehead. “All I can do now is press forward with finding evidence to support Charlie's death. If I stop now, much will be lost. At this point, there is no turning back.”

They heard the guard arriving. Mr. Hooker turned the page of The Times. He pointed out an article on Lawrence and the Linnean Society.

“A good friend of mine has reached a tragic end,” said Joe, “and now another person I care about seems to be heading for a troubling end of his own.” The guard reached Joe's cell.

They were led away. Before the door closed, another being came through. Sigmund heard footsteps before a woman came to a stop outside his cell. He didn't take notice of who she was.

“And I thought there would be no one to please me while I remain in here.”

“That's not what I'm here for,” said Anne. Sigmund remained as he was.

“What are you doing here?” Sigmund asked.

“I'm getting an explanation.”

“You won't find much in this cell,” Sigmund responded flatly, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“You're lying,” said Anne, raising her voice.

“And what if I were?” Sigmund said, just as flat as he was before.

“You know about my mama and where I can find her.”

Sigmund looked up to make eye contact. Her gaze fixed on him, a determined look in her eyes.

“So, she has gone missing,” he said, though his tone didn’t change much. His speech was the same pace, lacking any effort.

“And now I stand here asking for clues to where to start looking for her.” Anne was talking fast now and holding onto the bars of his cell, clutching folded paper.

“I know no more than you do,” he told her.

“If you don't know, then who does?”

“Consult Adam Scantway.”

“And what of this letter?” She held the bars fast, her knuckles nearly white.

“It should tell you what's on the young cleric's person.”

“Anything else?”

Then Sigmund stood up. “What else do you need to know?” He asked.

“What did it say about my mama?” She nearly screamed.

“Haven't you read it?”

“I tried reading that book,” Anne confessed, “but the answers I searched for seemed to be missing.”

Sigmund turned his head toward the jail door. “You will have better luck consulting Adam,” he said.

Chapter 25: A Revelation:

It was Charlie's birthday. The sun had just set. Samuel sat in a chair opposite Charlie and close enough that Charlie could smell alcohol on his breath. Samuel reached into his back pocket and showed Charlie a piece of Charlie's work, On the Origin of Species.

“Where did you get that?” Charlie demanded.

“It was handed to me by Joseph Hooker.”

Charlie was gobsmacked. “I don't believe you,” he all but whispered.

“Yes, you seem to believe in something else,” said Samuel. “An idea that speaks of unlawful karma knowledge.”

“...I only wished to share with others something wonderful I discovered when I was young,” he struggled to say, his heart caught in his throat as he tried to rationalize this scenario, and reason with Wilberforce.

“And if you had found the mark of the devil, would you have shared that as well?” Samuel challenged him. “If you had seen the son of the devil roll up to you in a wheelchair, would you have delivered him to the world as the holy Son himself?”

Charlie couldn't respond, for he knew not what to say.

“I see things much clearer now, Mr. Darwin, and I will act swiftly.” Samuel stood up from his chair and motioned to a man at the end of the room.

What happened next didn't take long, but to Charlie the last few moments of his life seemed to stretch beyond eternity, and all senses became duller. His body became numb. Things close-by sounded far away. The man at the end of the room went to the door and a moment later three more men entered, one of whom sounded as though he was being dragged by the other two. A chair was placed to Charlie's left on the floor, and put in the chair, was a man Charlie might have recognized had he looked. Large wooden bricks were placed in front of them. The men were forced to fall when the chairs they'd been sitting on were pulled out from under them. They were kicked hard behind the knees, their heads pushed forward over the bricks.

Nine men were in the room. The ninth wielding an elegant blade, he raised above his head and brought it down swift as he could. His hands trembled, whether form nerves or from drink, or both. As instructed by a clergyman it took three cuts to free Charlie's head from his body and three cuts another to free the head of the man to Charlie's left.

Samuel lit a cigar and smoked pleasurably as he entertained himself with lighting all four corners of Charlie's manuscript and letting the content smolder away. The light from the burning pile was comforting to Samuel and framed his empty goblet beautifully.

The two headless bodies were now staked to the door at the back of the house of the clergyman, Adam Scantway, with a note that read, “The bodies of the naturalists, as requested. You'll know where to find their heads.”

Five weeks later, Anne had found Lawrence and Etty nearly a block away and beckoned him to make haste back to the jailhouse. Joe peered at Lawrence and Anne from behind bars. Specs of light danced and flickered in the jailhouse, making their faces come alive in an eerie way. They both looked stunned after he finished his tale on how Charlie was murdered. Anne covered her mouth.

“How do you know this?” Lawrence asked Joe, his face pale.

“Care to share yet, Sigmund?” asked Joe.

Sigmund sniffed loudly from his cell. “Spring doesn't get me in a very tale-telling mood.”

Lawrence found that hard to believe. “You've shared an awful lot with Joe,” said Lawrence.

“Didn't have much else to do in here, young cleric,” said Sigmund, trying to sound as though his head were congested.

“We could have the guard get you to talk,” Anne challenged.

“Or make me remain silent,” Sigmund retorted. Anne whipped out her letter again.

“All you're doing with that, young lady, is demonstrating you can read with the naked eye.”

Anne and Lawrence both rolled their eyes.

“Please, Sigmund,” Joe implored. “For the sake of Lawrence. Besides, The Times simply doesn't have this story yet.”

“That's because some journalist working there doesn't yet have their hands on Mr. Bertolucci's notes.”

“Which is why we must share while our friends are still alive.”

“Please elaborate,” Anne encouraged.

“Mr. Bertolucci blabbed about having Charlie murdered in his personal notes,” said Sigmund. “The man's Latin isn't very good, but is good enough to be translatable.”

“Personal notes?” Lawrence nearly hollered.

“They are the things you write about in--”

Lawrence cut him off. “I know what personal note are, Sigmund. How did you get your hands on them?”

“You still have much to learn, young cleric. I went and spoke to the bishop personally.”

“You what?”

“Yes, the man is more open to talking than people might realize, especially on matters such as the deaths of Charles Darwin and Alfred Wallace.”

They were shocked. Lawrence couldn't believe it. He stuttered.

“That's right, young cleric,” said Sigmund matter-of-factly. “Charles Darwin and his friend Al have been dead for some time.” He had practically raised his voice to the point of hollering.

“Why in the world would Father Bertolucci talk with you?” asked Lawrence.

“The question you should be asking, young cleric, is how did I know they were already dead.”

“And if I were to ask?” asked Lawrence.

“Young cleric, Miss King, and Miss Darwin, I'm not sure you can handle the truth.”

“Sigmund,” Joe scold him, “that's hardly fair.”

Sigmund just rolled his head back and laughed. “You still have much to learn, young cleric.”

In dismay, Lawrence turned his face from Sigmund and covered his face with his hand. “Must I always be a young cleric?”

“If you wish to be more than just a young cleric, you must accept that the truth is not always what we want it to be. It is what is left when the impossible is eliminated.”

“What could possibly have been eliminated?”

“That is for a man of incredible reasoning ability to figure out.”

“Or woman,” Anne pointed out.

Sigmund just sneered at her. “There are no cases for any women of incredible reasoning ability because none exist.”

“That doesn't mean I can't try,” Anne came back.

“Pshaw,” he spat back, waving his hand dismissively.

“I have to try Sigmund,” Anne countered. “My mama remains missing.”

“Your mama, Miss King, was only part of a the bigger picture, and the reality is I had to commit the deed.”

Etty spoke next. “Sigmund, are you trying to tell us...?” She asked.

“I'm not trying to tell you anything,” Sigmund gave her a sympathetic look, “least of all on how your dear old papa was actually murdered.”

“So it wasn't Adam.”

Sigmund was quiet, and looked away. No one said a word. A moment later, Lawrence, Anne, and Etty were shocked. Etty and Anne both covered their mouths. Lawrence was gobsmacked. He stepped back and nearly into the bars of Joe's cell.

“How could you?” Etty practically screamed.

“Miss Darwin, it wasn't my decision, but the alternative was more grim than you realize.”

“H-how is that possible?” Lawrence stammered.

“I could tell you,” and then he pointed past Lawrence, away from his cell, and beyond the jailhouse, or so Lawrence assumed. “Or you could consult Adam Scantway.”

“You know more than you're letting on,” said Joe coldly.

“Maybe,” Sigmund replied, “but it wasn't I who put the letter from Mr. Wallace in Lawrence's possession.”

“I don't have--”

“Still not using the computer in between your ears, eh, young cleric?”

At first Lawrence was agitated by this remark, and then he began to figure out what Sigmund was referring to. His expression changed to looking as though he just made a revelation. He looked at the pocket of his jacket and tentatively reached for its contents.

“Hah!” Sigmund guffawed. “Go on and reach for that letter! It won't bite you.”

Lawrence placed his hand in his pocket and a moment later withdrew an envelope. His expression changed. Carefully, tentatively, as though, expecting the letter to somehow burn him while he held it, he pulled out the folded piece of paper and began to take in the contents. He looked enlightened, and then it changed again. He looked confused, and then he looked hurt, personally hurt. When he looked at Joe, Joe's face seemed to show a mixture of regret and understanding.

“What have you done?” Lawrence’s voice sounded broken.

“I have recently found out,” he said somberly.

“You kept me in the dark,” Lawrence accused Joe. “I was framed, and you kept me in the dark.”

“We did tell you to cease the inspection,” said Joe apologetically.

“And what of this letter?” Asked Anne, still holding the folded paper. “I still have no clue as to the whereabouts of my mama.”

“That is something I will be less helpful with,” Sigmund admitted. “Perhaps this young cleric here can help you,” he gestured vaguely at Lawrence. “Or perhaps Adam.”

“Why must we talk to Adam?” asked Etty, her face pale.

“If you want to get to the bottom of things, you'll do what you must,” Sigmund answered

Chapter 26: Heat:

Etty examined the vegetation in Adam's garden. Some things looked alive, but there wasn't as much diversity to his garden as there was to her father's. The liveliest part of his garden was the flies that swarmed near a patch of dirt and gravel. Few, if any, bothered her. She was just making mental note of a rather curious specimen, when she heard footsteps. She half expected to be greeted by Lawrence and Anne, but there was only one set of footsteps. When she turned, she saw to her dismay that it was Adam Scantway who greeted her. She pretended not to notice.

“Miss Darwin,” Adam said warmly, giving her a well-practiced, charming smile. It had little effect. “Why this cold response?” He spoke as though they were good friends.

“Your vegetation is not so inviting,” she lied.

“You seem interested in this specimen,” he stepped closer, which made her step a few paces back.

“Come now, Etty,” he started to say.

“My name is Miss Darwin,” she retorted.

“Miss Darwin, excuse me. Might I ask why you recoil?”

“It seemed good manners.”

He laughed at this statement. “Guests in my house usually knock before entering.”

“Do all your guests feel welcome?”

Adam's smile morphed into a sneer. “To what do I owe this visit?” he asked.

“You will see,” said a voice she recognized immediately, “in here.” She turned to see Sigmund wearing a hat and clothing slightly less worn than the last time she'd seen him.

“Mr. Voluntiir?”

“Don't you know how to say hello by now, Etty?” He stepped aside as two more men, John Lubbock and Prince Albert, made their way into the garden and toward Adam.

“Mr. Lubbock,” said Adam, trying to sound calm and as though he were hosting. “Might I ask why you have trespassed onto my property?”

“There has been no trespassing,” Prince Albert returned flatly. “Many answers will be provided inside. If you'd be so good to join us.”

When Adam hesitated Albert continued, “the alternative will be worse.”

Adam moved at a brisk pace. Etty, however, remained where she was before the prince extended his hand.

“My lady, I believe you will find what's about to happen most intriguing,” he offered. She accepted the invitation and was lead inside.

In Adam's house, Etty found herself in the company of seven men, Anne, Etty's mother, and queen Victoria. The seven men were Thom Huxley, Philip, Lawrence, a man she recognized as John Lubbock, Charles Lyell, and Prince Albert. They were all congregated at the dining room table, surrounding a pile of what appeared to be burnt pages, a letter, and the box she recognized as the very box she and her Uncle Ras had buried the other night. When she approached the table, no one stirred.

“Mama?” said Etty.

Emma looked up. “Etty,” she said tentatively.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Darwin,” said John.

“Good afternoon,” she responded. “To what do I owe your greeting?”

“That's very good of you to mind your manners,” said Philip.

“Leave her alone,” Thom told Philip.

“Who are you to tell me--”

“This is no time for civilities Philip,” said Thom.

“You forget who paid you.”

“I never accepted your money.”

Both men raised their voices to the point of shouting.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Voluntiir nearly shouted, startling Etty. “This is no time for raised voices. They give me a headache.”

“I don't care about your stupid head,” Thom shot back. “With your legs in the condition they are,” he was referring to the knees of the man he thought was Sigmund, “you shouldn't even be walking right now.”

“I am not,” Mr. Voluntiir said from a low chair.

“If we can get down to business,” said John.

“What's this about?” asked Etty. “This isn't about Papa, is it?”

“Oh, Etty,” said her mother, and then she burst into sobs. Thom immediately came over to console her, but she would not have him. She nudged him aside while she ran for the kitchen to get a hand towel.

“If this is about my father,” asked Etty, “then what is that?” She pointed at the pile of burnt pages sitting on the table.

“Didn't daddy tell you it's rude to point?” Mr. Voluntiir bluntly reminded her.

“Leave her alone,” Thom scold him, nearly gritting his teeth.

“It's much too late for that, Thommy boy,” Mr. Voluntiir spat.

“Excuse me?”

Etty looked to her friends Anne and Lawrence, neither of whom looked as confused as she felt. If anything, they looked determined. This gave Etty some confidence.

Emma returned to the dining room, her face still somber, but she had regained some control of herself.

“Do not make me ask you again to keep your voice down,” Mr. Voluntiir said, raising his voice at Thom to the point of hollering and proceeding with an exaggerated act of rubbing his temples. “I won't be able to explain the situation we are all faced with if you make my head hurt. Etty,” Mr. Voluntiir continued. She turned to give him a look. “You are in the company of the man responsible for your father's murder.”

“By your own admission--”

“It was not I who orchestrated your father's murder, nor was it I who started the very reason we are all in this room.” She turned to look at each of them in turn, from Prince Albert to John Lubbock, to Thom, to Charles Lyell, to Philip, to Adam.

“Any guesses yet?” He encouraged. This statement surprised her.

“Why do you--” she began to ask.

“The answer isn't on my forehead,” he continued.

They sat in silence for a brief moment. Adam was the only one who couldn't look her in the eye.

“Mr. Scantway?” she asked.

Mr. Voluntiir roared with laughter. “For a bulldog, Thommy boy, you've been awfully squeamish lately. However, Adam here put that muzzle on you. He has bigger balls than I.”

“You find humor in the most annoying places, Mr. Voluntir,” said Thom. “How dare you laugh at her?”

“All I can do is laugh,” Mr. Voluntiir retorted. “Here we are trying hard as ever to keep things quiet, well I have news for you people. The cat is all but out of the bag.”

Thom stood up at that remark and shook his fist angrily at Mr. Voluntiir. “Would if I could put a muzzle on you,” he said through grit teeth.

“How is Mr. Scantway responsible for my father's murder?” asked Etty.

“Because I arranged for it,” Adam finally responded, sounding not the least bit ashamed. In fact, he fact he sounded confident, though the look on his face was difficult to read.

Etty turned to look more carefully at him. She scowled at him, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. “Please tell me you're not serious.”

“This is no lie, Etty,” said Adam flatly.

“We even have these two members of The Linnean Society here as evidence,” said Mr. Voluntiir, as he pointed directly at Charles Lyell and Philip Blacks. “There are men in this room who have poisoned a friend of mine, and brought our good Charlie to a tragic end. Indulge us with the details if you please?”

Mr. Lubbock and Philip stood up at that remark, Philip moving so fast his chair scraped loudly along the floor.

“Mr. Voluntiir,” said John, “I'll ask you once more to please never accuse the Linnean Society of having brought harm to anyone. Not to your friend, nor, least of all, to Charlie.”

“Oh well, excuse me.”

“Would if we could,” Thom said under his breath, a remark that didn't escape notice of others in the room, least of all Mr. Lubbock's who shifted his gaze to Thom. Etty was the only person who didn't notice. Her eyes had shifted from the men in the room to the pile of burnt pages that remained untouched. They looked more familiar, and as she pondered further, she found herself leaning closer for a more thorough examination. Mr. Voluntiir chortled at this. John shifted his gaze from Thom to Etty and found her leaning on the edge of the table, staring intently at the pile of charred pages in front of her.

“Miss Darwin,” said John, “do you recognize these pages?” As she continued to stare, she noticed the top page read On the Origin of Species, but what few other words remained were so badly burned, they were barely readable. She pulled away quickly from the damaged pages and covered her mouth, making others in the room lean close to her, for it sounded as though she had stifled a small sob. Her mother had just stood up to come support her when Etty let out an audible sigh and said, “All that hard work”.

Thom, being the first to respond, said, “Etty, sweet young Etty--” but she cut him off.

“I'm fine.” She responded so quickly her tone almost said otherwise.

“It's okay to feel sad,” Thom tried to console her from his spot at the other end of the table.

“I think I understand how you feel,” said Adam, trying to sound polite.

“You understand?” Thom nearly cried out. “How can you possibly understand?”

“Because she and I share an experience.”

“We are nothing alike,” Etty struggled to say.

“Of course we are!” Adam snapped back.

“Etty and I share an experience,” Anne stated, though her comment seemed to get few responses.

“Why should we have to work hard night and day, only to see small returns and few rewards for our endeavors while you,” he jabbed his left finger at Etty, “and your family live well off?” Adam tried to explain.

“We are not royalty,” Etty tried to say.

“Etty and I are closer than you are, Mr. Scantway,” Anne continued.

“That much is only too clear,” Adam shot back. “And it torments me all the more when I consider what Etty and I could have in common. We share similar beliefs, are after the same thing, the pursuit of truth, and can offer each other support few would dream of. In, and out bed.”

Etty blushed and didn't know it.

“So you chose to arrange for Charlie's murder?” Mr. Voluntiir butt in. “Couldn't interrupt the poor fellow's work more politely?”

“We,” he gestured to himself, Philip, and Mr. Lubbock, “harbor no ill will for the human race,” said Adam. “We love life, love our family. We only sought to protect the public from evil. This book spoke of manifestations few would have believed in. It was fairy tale rubbish.”

“And instead of letting the Linnean Society,” Mr. Voluntiir challenged, “or, more to the point, the public, devise for themselves how to respond to Darwin's work, you thought it your right to act on your own and take life?”

Adam stood fully erect with his nose upturned. “I walk with the will of God. That is all the right I need.”

There were mixed looks from those around him.

Anne just rolled her eyes. “You had a right to kidnap my mama?” she challenged Adam.

Mr. Voluntiir lowered his gaze at Adam, placing his hands on his hips. “Pride of the Linnean Society, you are,” he spat in Adam's face.

“How does this help?” Etty asked.

“It's enough to hold the appropriate men responsible,” said John. No one in the room noticed Philip clenching his fists under the table.

“Let's not forget about the head buried in the garden outside,” said Mr. Voluntiir, “nor about the head that was hidden below the altar, near the feat of the statue of Christ.” Philip's hands clenched more firmly.

“Must we go into such specifics on the past?” asked the queen in dismay.

“I still have yet to hear anyone mention the letter that happened to find its way to my inner pocket,” Lawrence pointed out.

Philip finally stood up from his seat so fast he nearly knocked it over, making Lawrence, Prince Albert, and John Lubbock rush to his side of the table. Philip merely put up his hands, but his expression remained unchanged.

“Ah,” said Mr. Voluntiir. “The letter from Alfred Wallace, Alfred, whose work on zebras in Africa is in part responsible for all of this.”

“Would you care to tell us more, Mr. Voluntiir?” asked the queen.

“It must have been placed in my pocket while I remained unconscious on Mr. Scantway's floor,” Lawrence explained.

“Well done, young cleric,” Mr. Voluntiir boomed. “Finally starting to use them little brain cells.”

“Does that explain this package?” Etty asked, pointing at the box as though it were about to explode.

“That package contains a piece of a college lad who shall for now remain unnamed,” Mr. Voluntiir explained.

“And what of Lawrence?” asked Etty.

“We can use Adam's confession for members of the church and of Oxford,” Anne butt in again. “My concern is who will have the most open ears?”

“I believe Thommy here can help us there,” said Mr. Voluntiir, ignoring Anne.

“For once, Mr. Voluntiir, I agree with you,” Thom replied. “I may be able to use Mr. Scantway's confession to get a couple of people out of jail.”

“And what of my father?” Etty pleaded.

“Etty,” and before Mr. Voluntiir continued, he stood up to speak with her on a more personal level. “Soon, your father's name will be spoken of by more than a mere handful of people. And you will prove more than helpful, I'm sure.” He turned to look past her at Thom. “I believe you have an errand to run.”

“What do you take me for, Sigmund?”

“I thought you'd be excited to get your friend out from behind bars.”

Thom stood up and pushed the chair behind him, wood scraping loudly against wood. “Thank you all for you time. Good day.” He turned to Emma. “I can make my way out, Emma.”

“We will see each other again soon, I'm sure.”

Etty looked at John and Charles.

“I am sorry for your loss, Miss Darwin,” said John.

Etty practically screamed when she said, “There is nothing to be done about it now, but I'm shocked why you responded so late.”

John opened his mouth to respond, but he was silenced by Mr. Voluntiir. “That explanation, Etty, will have to wait. I'm sure the folks at Oxford and at the church will be equally interested to hear how things have played out.”

Chapter 27: On The Origin of Species:

The door to the cell opened and closed. Mr. Hooker was accustomed to people coming and going, so he didn't expect to see his friend Thom on the other side of the bars. That is, if he could see Thom.

“Look what they've done to you,” said Thom.

Mr. Hooker's eyes squinted for a moment before he saw the figure and the apparel of Thomas Henry Huxley.

“Thom?” asked Mr. Hooker. “How did you find me?”

“A little bird told me.”

“That's not funny, Thom,” said Mr. Hooker, before lowering his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We're friends, Joe. Is that not reason enough?”

“And yet you've waited all this time,” Mr. Hooker snapped at him, irritated, sounding harsher than he meant to.

“It was necessary.”

“'Necessary'?” Mr. Hooker spat back. “To keep me jailed like a caged bird?” Joe was getting angrier by the moment. The guard approached the cell door, but Thom held up his hand.

“I can't imagine what you've gone through while here, my friend,” Thom said apologetically. “But today it comes to an end.” Joe's temper softened at these words.

“Am I being released?”

“In just a moment,” said Thom. A moment later, the bars were pulled back, and Mr. Hooker stepped out. His posture was erect, not slumped, even if his steps were uneven as he approached Thom. Joe's gaunt physique inspired Thom to sling one arm over his shoulder as they both walked out of jail. Sigmund was not far behind.

Minutes later, they were outside. Mr. Hooker was now struggling to find his voice again. “How can I repay you?” he asked Thom, barely trying to hide how hoarse he sounded.

“By helping those who sought to assist our good friend.”

“You're talking about Charlie. Thom, I had nothing to do with his death.”

“I didn't come here to accuse you. A young cleric is at this moment mounting evidence to clear his name, and yours with it.”

“Are you referring to--?”

“I am indeed. He'll soon be presenting himself and his evidence for the murder to a judge, members of the Linnean Society, and those of the Catholic church.”

“If he tries that, Samuel Wilberforce will do worse than jail him.”

“Mr. Wilberforce will try to silence the trial, which is why we need your help.”

“What can I do?” His question sounded more doubtful than determined.

“We need you, Miss King, and Miss Darwin to gather the police stop Mr. Wilberforce before he reaches the church.”

They reached a horse-drawn carriage where Thom helped his friend inside before patting him on the hand.

“After you wash up, of course,” said Thom.

As the police prepared, one of the rookies said, “This is so exciting”.

One of the police came up to him as they left to say, “Wipe that smile off your face. This isn't what the Yanks would call 'Cowboys and Indians'.”

Samuel was just leaving his home. Most of his days started with him counting his blessings, rehearsing the day's plan, and having a quick chat with the woman in his house, who was usually his mother. He did this to the point where it was second nature. He exited his front door. He had taken at most six steps from his home when he heard the marching of footsteps and then found himself surrounded by several men, all of them armed.

Trying to maintain composure, he opted to look at each of them in turn with a grin and say to all of them, “Good morning, gentlemen. God save you all.”

“Father Wilberforce,” said one of the police, “you are under arrest for the murder of Charles Darwin. If you'll come with us please.”

Chapter 28: Case Not Yet Closed:

Anne and Etty found Lawrence in the park later that evening, playing something on his violin that sounded somehow joyful, angry, and fearful. They liked what they heard.

“He's becoming quite proficient,” Etty commented.

“His music is a bit difficult to listen to, I'll be honest,” remarked Anne. “I think I hear what he's feeling.”

“Shall we get closer?”

“Do you see Sigmund nearby?”

Etty gave her friend a queer look, an expression that could be read as, “Oh, Anne.”

“Have you noticed him nearby?”

“No,” Anne responded.

“Then I don't see why not.”

She moved to get closer to him, followed closely by her friend. They stopped not far from Lawrence to watch him play with gusto. He played a for a moment longer before stopping.

“Why do you stop?” asked Anne.

“I play often,” Lawrence responded. “You of all people should know that by now.”

“Why do you stop playing?” she asked.

“I'm not out here to give a concert.”

“What's bothering you?” asked Etty. “You've solved the case, uncovered the murder, found irrefutable evidence that will hold Father Bertolucci, Father Wilberforce, Mr. Scantway, and Mr. Blacks responsible, and can now present what you've learned to the community.”

“You still call him 'Father,'” Lawrence said.

“You know who I mean.”

Lawrence stood up and faced her. “Do I?” he asked. She didn't speak. “He's no longer our father.”

“Think about what you've learned, Lory,” said Anne.

“I've learned nothing,” said Lawrence. “They aren't going to listen to us.”

“As a man of incredible reasoning ability, you must learn how to present before others,” Anne pointed out.

“Wasn't it you who told me you weren't afraid of what your mark means to others?” Etty asked.

“I don't fear reaction to this,” Lawrence pointed at his scar. “I'm more concerned with clearing the names of Darwin and Wallace.”

“We have hard evidence of the atrocities committed by the murderers,” Anne pointed out. “Isn't that enough?”

“And we have the manuscript you have been writing for others to read,” said Etty.

“But who would believe that it's not a hoax?” Lawrence asked of his friends. “We have magicians in the area carrying out all manner of outrageous acts.”

Anne and Etty exchanged a look. “Lory, sweety,” said Etty.

“This is not something magicians could convincingly pull off,” said Anne. “They aren't that clever.” Lawrence just sighed, and then said as much to himself as to his friend, “The day is still young.” Doubt lingered in his words.

Anne and Sigmund attended the court case the following morning, and they were joined by John and Mr. Lyell, the queen, and the prince.

“What are you doing?” Sigmund asked Anne.

“Coming along for this case.”

“It's too dangerous.”

Anne just laughed. “How dangerous can it be?”

“You are a young woman,” Sigmund responded, “and you'll be in the presence of four dangerous men.”

She picked up her pace at that comment and held her nose high. “I know Darwin meant more to me than he did to you,” she shot back at Sigmund.

Lawrence stood before all who attended, including members of the Linnean Society. A pile of ash and a pile of parchment were placed on a table before him.

“So, the young Cain thinks he can redeem himself with a pile of ash,” said Richard.

“This is the work of the late Charles Darwin,” Lawrence began to explain, pointing at the pile of ash. Whispers could be heard in the audience. Someone could be heard saying, “Didn't he sail to another world?”

“That is correct,” said Lawrence. More whispers could be heard.

“What happened to him?”

“He was murdered,” Lawrence began to say. “By none other than Adam Scantway.” Gasps and murmuring were heard among the people watching him.

“He's lying,” Lawrence heard Father Bertolucci cry out, but at that moment, the door to the cathedral burst open and in stormed Etty, Seamus, and two more of Lawrence's athletic buddies. Wheels squeaked, and people turned to watch as the young adults came in pushing what appeared to be floating lumps, which they directed to the middle isle of the cathedral.

Anne moved at a quick pace to catch up with her friend and waited until the athletes had brought the lumps to a halt. She quickly removed the covers as people watched. People gasped, cried, and whispered profusely as they took in the sight of the two headless men lying on tables on wheels. The many voices echoed off the walls.

“I told you he was lying,” Father Bertolucci cried out again. Conversations were now heard throughout the cathedral, voices mingling with each other and generating more echoes.

“Everyone,” Lawrence raised his voice for others to hear.

“Quite the scene we've given people today,” said one of the athletes.

“Aye,” said Seamus.

“We should do this more often,” said the athlete.

“Everyone,” Lawrence called out again. “This is not my handy work,” he told the crowd. “This!” He gestured at the pile of parchment that remained untouched. “This is my handy work!”

“He lies!”

Lawrence drew their attention to the body of Darwin. He directed their attention to the stump of a neck where the head was once connected.

“Look carefully everyone,” he implored of them, “at the manner in which this man's head was removed.” Few were willing. The crowd began to disperse and Anne moved quickly to have Lawrence's athletic buddies guide peoples' attention back toward the atrocity in the room.

“The angle at which his head was removed,” Lawrence continued, “demonstrates the murder weapon was applied not once, nor twice, but thrice.” Gasps could be heard in the room. “Furthermore, these cuts are indicative of a particular blade not normally used to butcher people.”

Coughs and dry heaves could be heard. Lawrence was all but certain he even heard someone gag. Perhaps it was one of his athletic buddies. Seamus, however, showed no reaction.

“Is the murder weapon within this room?” It was the voice of John Lubbock he heard ask this question. Lawrence looked to Anne for support, and she pointed toward his feet. Without hesitation, Lawrence bent down and reached for the cloth he saw below the table. Underneath was a sword, a scimitar usually wielded by the people of the Arabian peninsula. He drew both above his head for the crowd to see.

“You all may be asking how this is the body of Darwin,” Lawrence continued. “Here too is substantial evidence.” He reached for the photograph on the table and raised it for all to see. They quickly gathered around, the shock of the headless man before them subsiding quickly as the picture was passed from person to person. The details in the photograph made it clear there was indeed a match, as Lawrence and Anne saw based on the reactions of people who looked multiple times from the picture to the body.

“If you all wouldn't mind not being too tenacious,” Anne implored. “Everyone will get a chance to see. We would, of course, like to have the photograph back.”

Epilogue: Legacy:

Botanist monk, Gregor Mendel, tended his garden, carefully examining the vegetation and its variety. He liked observing the beans almost as much as he enjoyed trimming them and watching the variety grow and change. He admired how they changed, especially seeing the change happen as he trimmed them. He did this without fail on the days when he wasn't serving as a monk. Though he didn't know it at the time, he had just discovered the way plants breed and how they naturally selected over time.

Thom was at the lecture hall. He was looking at a fossil of an intriguing creature. He wasn't alone. It was a room full of ladies and gentlemen, and Etty and Anne were as intrigued by this scene as anyone in the room. Etty was perhaps the only one shivering. Uncle Joe took note of this.

“Is something wrong dear?” he asked her.

“What a monster,” she said.

“Sometimes, Etty,” said Anne, “you need to have some imagination.”

“How are you not frightened by a feathered lizard?”

Thom looked at her, and then gave her a smile. Singling her out from the crowd, he said, “Etty, I believe you have helped me make a most intriguing discovery.”

They all leaned closer still. “Birds evolved from dinosaurs.”

This is a work of fiction. If you're interested in Darwin's actual work, here's a chapter from his journal:

Galapagos Archipelago:

September 15th, 1835 by Charles Darwin. This archipelago consists of ten principal islands, of which five exceed the others in size. They are situated under the Equator, and between five and six hundred miles westward of the coast of America. They are all formed of volcanic rocks; a few fragments of granite curiously glazed and altered by the heat, can hardly be considered as an exception. Some of the craters, surmounting the larger islands, are of immense size, and they rise to a height of between three and four thousand feet. Their flanks are studded by innumerable smaller orifice. I scarcely hesitate to affirm, that there must be in the whole archipelago at least two thousand craters. These consist either of lava or scorice, or of finely-stratified, sandstone-like stuff. Most of the latter are beautifully symmetrical; they owe their origin to eruptions of volcanic mud without any lava: it is remarkable circumstance that everyone of the twenty-eight tuff-craters which were examined, had their southern sides wither much lower than the other sides, or quite broken down and removed. As all these craters apparently have been formed when standing in the sea, and as the waves from the trade wind and the swell from the open Pacific here unite their forces on the southern coasts of all the islands, this singular uniformity in the broken state of the craters, composed of the soft and yielding tuff, is easily explained. Considering that these islands are placed directly under the equator, the climate is far from being excessively hot; this seems chiefly cased by the singularly low temperature of the surrounding water, brought here by the great southern Polar Current. Excepting during one short season, very little rain falls, and even then it is irregular; but the clouds generally hand low. Hence, whilst the lower parts of the islands are very sterile, the upper parts, at a height of a thousand feet and upwards, possess a damp climate and a tolerably luxuriant vegetation. This is especially the case on the windward sides of the island, which first receive and condense the moisture from the atmosphere.

In the morning (17th) we landed on Chatham Island, which, like the others, rises with a tame and rounded outline, broken here and there by scattered hillocks, the remains of former craters. Nothing could less inviting than the first appearance. A broken field of black basaltic lava, thrown into the most rugged waves, and crossed by great fissures, is everywhere covered by stunted, sunburnt brushwood, which shows little signs of life. The dry and parched surface, being heated by the non-day sun, gave to the air a close and sultry feeling, like that from a stove: we fancied even that the bushes smelt unpleasantly. Although I diligently tried to collect as many plants as possible, I succeeded in getting very few; and such wretched-looking little weeds would have better become an arctic than equatorial Flora. The brushwood appears, from a short distance, as leafless as our trees during winter; and it was sometime before I discovered that not only almost every plant was now in full leaf, but that the greater number were in flower. The commonest bush is one of the Euphorbiacece: an acacia and a great odd-looking cactus are the only trees which afford any shade. After the season of heavy rains, the islands are said to appear for a short time partially green. The colcanic island of Fernando Noronha, placed in many respects under nearly similar conditions, is the only other country where I have seen a vegetation at all like this of the Galapagos Islands.

The Beagle sailed round Chatham Island, and anchored in several bays. One night I slept on shore on a part of the island where black truncated cones were extraordinarily numerous: from one small eminence I counted sixty of them, all surmounted by craters more or less perfect. The greater number consisted merely of a ring of red scorice or slags, cemented together: and their height above the plain of lava was not more than from fifty to a hundred feet; none had been very lately active. The entire surface of this part of the island seems to have been permeated, like a sieve by the subterranean vapors: here and there the lava, whilst soft, has been blown into great bubbles; and in other parts, the tops of caverns similarly formed have fallen in, leaving circular pits with steep sides. From the regular form of the many craters, they gave to the country an artificial appearance, which vividly reminded me of those parts of Staffordshire, where the great iron-foundries are most numerous. The day was glowing hot, and the scrambling over the rough surface and through the intricate thickets, was very fatiguing but I was well repaid by the strange Cyclopean scene. As a I was walking along I met two large tortoises, each of which must have weighed at least two hundred pounds: one was eating a piece of cactus, and a as I approached, it stared at me and slowly walked away; the other gave a deep hiss and drew in its head. These huge reptiles, surrounded by the black lava, the leafless shrubs, and large cati, seemed to my fancy like some antediluvian animals. The few dull-colored birds cared no more for me than they did for the great tortoises.

23rd. The Beagle proceeded to Charles Island. This archipelago has long been frequented, first by the bucaniers, and latterly by whalers, bit is only within the last six years, that a small colony has been established here. The Inhabitants are between two and three hundred in number; they are nearly all people of color, who have been banished for political crimes from the Republic of the Equator, of which Quito is the capital. The settlement is placed about four and a half miles inland, and a height probably of a thousand feet. In the first part of the road we passed through leafless thickets, as in Chatham Island. Higher up, the woods gradually became greener; and as soon as we crossed the ridge of the island, we were cooled by the fine southerly breeze, and our sight refreshed b y a green and thriving vegetation. In this upper region coarse grasses and ferns abound but there are no tree-ferns: I saw nowhere nay member of the palm family, which is the more singular, as 360 miles northward, Cocos Islands takes its name from the number of coconuts. The houses are irregularly scattered over a flat space space of ground, which is cultivated with sweet potatoes and bananas. It will not easily be imagined how pleasant the sight of black mud was to us, after having been so long accustomed to the parched soil of Peru and northern Chile. The inhabitants, although complaining of poverty, obtain without much trouble, the means of subsistence. In the woods there are many wild pigs and goats; but the staple article of animal food is supplied by the tortoises. Their numbers have of course been greatly reduced in this island, but the people yet count on two days’ hunting giving food for the rest of the week. It is said that formerly single vessels have taken away as many as seven hundred, and that the ship’s company of a frigate some years since brought down in one day two hundred tortoises to the beach.

September 29th. We doubled the south-west extremity of Albemarle Island, and the next day were nearly becalmed between it and Narborough Island. Both are covered with immense deluges of black naked lava, which have flowed either over the rims of the great caldrons, like pitch over the rim of a pot in which it has been boiled, or have burst forth from smaller orifices on the flanks; in their descent they have spread over miles of the seacoast. On both of these islands, eriptions are known to have taken place; and in Albemarle, we saw a small jet of smoke curling from the summit of one of great craters. In the evening we anchored in Bank’s Cove, in Albemarle Island. The next morning I went out walking. To the south of the broken tuff-crater, in which the Beagle was anchored, there was another beautifully symmetrical one of an elliptic form; its longer axis was a little less than a mile, and its depth about 500 feet. At its bottom there was a shallow lake, in the middle of which a tiny crater formed an islet. The day was overpoweringly hot, and the lake looked clear and blue: I hurried down the cindery slope, and, choked with dust, eagerly tasted the water—but, to my sorrow, I found it taste as brine.

The rocks on the coast abounded with great black lizards, between three and four feet long; and on the hills, an ugly yellowish-brown species was equally common. We saw many of this latter kind, some clumsily running out of the way, and others shuffling into their burrows. I shall presently describe in more detail the habits of both these reptiles. The whole of this northern part of Albemarle Island is miserably sterile.

October 8th states that the only two land-birds, a thrush and a bunting, were “so tame as to suffer themselves to be caught with a hand-net.” From these several facts we may, I think, conclude, first, that the wildness of birds with regard to man, is a particular instinct directed against him, and not dependent upon any general degree of caution arising from other sources of danger; secondly, that it is not acquired by individual birds in a short time, even when much persecuted; but that in the course of successive generations it becomes hereditary. With domesticated animals we are accustomed to see new mental habits or instincts acquired or rendered hereditary; but with animals in a state of nature, it must always be most difficult to discover instances of acquired hereditary knowledge. In regard to the wildness of birds, towards man, there is no way of accounting for it, except as an inherited habit: comparatively few young birds, in anyone year, have been injured by man in England, yet almost all, even nestlings, are afraid of him; many individuals, on the other hand, both at the Galapagos and at the Falklands, have been pursued and injured by man, yet have not learned a salutary dread of him. We may infer from these facts, what havoc the introduction of any new beast of prey must cause in a country, before the instincts of the indigenous inhabitants have become adapted to the stranger’s craft or power. I may add that, according to Du Bois, all the birds at Bourbon in 1571-72, with the exception of the flamingoes and geese, were so extremely tame, that they could be caught b the hand, or killed in any number with a stick. Again, at Trstan d’Acunha in the Atlantis, Carmichael In the time of Pernety (1763), all the birds there appear to have been much tamer than at present; he states that the Opetiorhynchus would almost perch on his finger; and that with a wand he killed ten in half an hour. At that period the birds must have been about as tame as they now are at the Galapagos. They appear to have learnt caution more slowly at these latter islands than at the Falklands, where they have had proportionate means of experience; for besides frequent visits from vessels, those islands have been at intervals colonized during the entire period. Even formerly, when all the birds were so tame, it was impossible by Pernety’s account to kill the black-necked swan—a bird of passage, which probably brought with it the wisdom learnt in foreign countries. The Falklands Islands offer a second instance of birds with a similar disposition. The extraordinary tameness of the little Opetiorhynchyus has been remarked by Pernety, Lesson, and other voyagers. It is not, however, peculiar to that bird: the Polyborus, snipe, upland and lowland goose, thrush, bunting, and even some true hawks, are all more or less tame. As the birds are so tame there, where foxes, hawks, and owls, occur, we may infer that the obsence of all rapacious animals at the Galapagos, is not the cause of their tameness here. The upland geese at the Falklands show, by the precaution they take in building on the islets, that they are aware of their danger form the foxes; but they are not by this rendered wild towards man. This tameness of the birds, especially of the waterfowl, is strongly contrasted with the habits of the same species in Tierra del Fuego, where for ages past they have been persecuted by the wild inhabitants. In the Falklands, the sportsman may sometimes kill more of the upland geese in one day than he can carry home; whereas in Tierra del Fuego it is nearly as difficult to kill one, as it is in England to shoot the common wild goose. I will conclude my description of the natural history of these islands, by giving an account of the extreme tameness of the birds. This disposition is common to all the terrestrial species, namely, to the mocking-thrushes, the finches, wrens, tyrant-flycatchers, the dove, and carrion-buzzard. All of them are often approached sufficiently near to be killed with a swithc, and sometimes, as I myself tried, with a cap or hat. A gun is here almost superfluous; for with the muzzle I pushed a hawk off the branch of a tree. One day, whilst lying down, a mocking-thrush alighted on the edge of a pitcher, made of the shell of a tortoise, which I held in my hand, and began very quietly to sip the water; it allowed me to lift it from the ground whilst seated on the vessel: I often tried, and very nearly succeeded, in catching these birds by their legs. Formerly the birds appear to have been even tamer than at present. Cowley (in the year 1684) says that the “Turtledoves were so tame, that they would often alight on our hats and arms, so as that we could take them alive; they not fearing man, until such time as some of our company did fire at them, whereby they were render more shy.” Dampier also, in the same year, says that a man in a morning’s walk might kill six or seven dozen of these doves. At present, although certainly very tame, they do not alight on people’s arms, nor do they suffer themselves to be killed in such large numbers. It is surprising that they have not become wilder; for these islands during the last hundred and fifty years have been frequently visited by bucaniers and whalers; and the sailors wandering through the wood in search of tortoises, always take cruel delight in knocking down the little birds. These birds, although now still more persecuted, do not readily become wild. In Charles Island, which had then been colonized about six years, I saw a boy sitting by a well with a switch in his hand, with which he killed the doves and finches as they came to drink. He had already procured a little heap of them for his dinner; and he said that he had constantly been in the habit of waiting by this well for the same purpose. It would appear that the birds of this archipelago, not having as yet learnt that man is a more dangerous animals than tortoise and the Amblyrhynchus, disregard the cows and horses grazing in our fields. The only light which I can throw on this remarkable difference in the inhabitants of the different islands, is, that very strong currents of the sea running in a westerly and W.N.W. direction must separate, as far as transportal by the sea is concerned , the southern islands form the northern ones; and between these northern islands a strong N.W. current was observed, which must effectually separate James and Albemarle Islands. As the archipelago is free to a most remarkable degree from gales of wind, neither the birds, insects, nor lighter seeds, would be blown from island to island. And lastly, the profound depth of the ocean between the islands, and their apparently recent (in a geological sense) volcanic origin, render it highly unlikely that they were ever united; and this, probably is a far more important consideration than any other, with respect to the geographical distribution of their inhabitants. Reviewing the facts here given, one is astonished at the amount of creative force, if such an expression may be used, displayed on these small, barren, and rocky islands; and still more so, at its diverse yet analogous action on points so near each other. I have said that the Galapagos Archipelago might be called a satellite attached to America, but it should rather be called a group of satellites, physically similar, organically distinct, yet intimately related to each other, and all related in a marked, though much lesser degree, to the great American continent. The distribution of the tenants of this archipelago would not be nearly so wonderful, if, for instance, one island had a mocking-thrush, and a second island some other quite distinct genus; if one island had its genus of lizard, and a second island another distinct genus, or none whatever; or if the different islands were inhabited, not by representative species of the same genera of plants, but by totally different genera, as does to a certain extent hold good: for, to give one instance, a large berry-bearing tree at James Island has no representative species in Charles Island. But it is the circumstance, that several of the islands possess their own species of the tortoise, mocking-thrush, finches, and numerous plants, these species having the same general habits, occupying analogous situations, and obviously filling the same place in the natural economy of this archipelago, that strikes me with wonder. It may be suspected that some of these representative species, at least in the case of the tortoise and of some of the birds, may hereafter prove to be only well-marked races; but this would be of equally great interest to the philosophical naturalist. I have said that most of the islands are in sight of each other: I may specify that Charles Island is fifty miles from the nearest part of Chatham Island, and thirty-three miles from the nearest part of the Albemarle Island. Chatham Island is sixty miles from the nearest part of James Island, but there are two intermediate islands between them which were not visited by me. James Island is only ten miles from the nearest part of Albemarle Island, but the two points where the collections were made are thirty-two miles apart. I must repeat, that neither the nature of the soil, nor height of the land, nor the climate, nor the general character of the associated beings, and therefore their action one on another, can differ much in the different islands. If there be any sensible difference in their climates, it must be between the Windward group (namely, Charles and Chatham islands), and that to leeward; but there seems to be no corresponding difference in the productions of these two halves of the archipelago.Hence we have the truly wonderful fact, that in James Island, of the thirty-eight Galapageian plants, or those found in no other part of the world, thirty are exclusively confined to this one island; and in Albemarle Island, of the twenty-six aboriginal Galapageian plants, twenty-two are confined to this one island, that is, only four are at present known to grow in the other islands of the archipelago; and so on, as shown in the above table, with the plants from Chatham and Charles Islands. This fact will, perhaps, be rendered even more striking, by giving a few illustrations: thus, Scalesia, a remarkable arborescent genus of the Compositae, is confined to the archipelago: it has six species: one from Chatham, one from Albemarle, one form Charles Island, two from James Island, and the sixth from one of the three latter islands, but it is not known from which: not one of these six species grows on any two islands. Again, Euphorbia, a mundane or widely distributed genus, has here eight species, of which seven are confined to the archipelago, and not one found on any two islands: Acalypha and Borreria, both mundane genera, have respectively sic and seven species, none of which have the same speceies on two islands, with the exception of one Borreria, which does occur on two islands. The species of the Compositae are particularly local; and Dr. Hooker has furnished me with several other most striking illustrations of the difference of the species on the different islands. He remarks that this law of distribution holds good both with those genera confined to the archipelago, and those distributed in other quarters of the world: in like manner we have seen that the different islands have their proper species of the mundane genus of tortoise, and of the widely distributed American genus of the mocking-thrush, as well as of two of the Galapageian sub-groups of finches, and almost certainly of the Galapageian genus Amblyrhunchus.picture / spreadsheet If we now turn to the Flora, we shall find the aboriginal plants of the different islands wonderfully different. I give all the following results on the high authority of my friend Dr. J. Hooker. I may premise that I indiscriminately collected everything in flower on the different islands, and fortunately kept my collections separate. Too much confidence, however, must not be placed in the proportional results, as the small collections brought home by some other naturalists, though in some respects confirming the results, plainly show that much remains to be done in the botany of this group: the Leguminosa, moreover, has as yet been only approximately worked out: those from Charles and form the near island to it, namely, Hood Island, as having their shells in front thick and turned up like a Spanish saddle, whilst the tortoises from James Island rounder, blacker, and have a better taste when cooked. M. Bibron, moreover, informs me that he has seen what he considers two distinct species of tortoise from the Galapagos, but he does not know from which islands. The specimens that I brought from three islands were young ones: and probably owing to this cause neither Mr. Gray nor myself could find in them any specific differences. I have remarked that the marine Amblyrhynchus was larger at Albemarle Island than elsewhere; and M. Bibron informs that he has seen two distinct aquatic species of this genus; so that the different islands probably have their representative species or races of the Amblyrhynchus, as well as of the tortoise. My attention was first thoroughly aroused, by comparing together the numerous specimens, shot by myself and several other parties on board, of the mocking thrushes, when, to my astonishment, I discovered that all those from Charles Island belonged to one species (Mimus trifasciatus); all from Albemarle Island to M. parvulus; and all from James and Chatham Islands (between which two other islands are situated, as connecting links) belonged to M. melanotis. These two latter species are closely allied, and would by some ornithologists be considered as only well-marked races or varieties; but the Mimus trifasciatus is very distinct. Unfortunately most of the specimens of the finch tribe were mingled together; but I have strong reason to suspect that some of the species of the sub-group Cactornis, and two of the Camarhynchus, were procured in the archipelago and of the numerous specimens of these two sub-groups shot by four collectors at James Island, all were found to belong to one species of each; whereas the numerous specimens shot either on Chatham or Charles Island (for the two sets were mingled together) all belonged to the other species: hence we may feel almost sure that these islands possess their respective species of these two sub-groups. In land-shells this law of distribution does not appear to hold hood. In my very small collection of insects, Mr. Waterhouse remarks, that of those which were ticketed with their locailty, not one was common to any two of the islands. The inhabitants, as I have said, state that they can distinguish the tortoises from the different islands; and that they are differ not only in size, but in other characters. Captain Porter has describedI have not as yet noticed by far the most remarkable feather in the natural history of this archipelago; it is, that the different islands to a considerable extent are inhabited by a different set of beings. My attention was first called to this fact by the Vice-Governor, Mr. Lawson, declaring that the tortoises differed from the different islands, and that he could with certainty tell from which island anyone was brought. I did not for sometime pay sufficient attention to this statement, and I had already partially mingled together the collections from two of the islands. I never dreamed that islands, about 50 or 60 miles apart, and most of them in sight of each other, formed of precisely the same rocks, placed under a quite similar climate, rising to a nearly equal height, would have been differently tenanted; but we shall soon see that this is the case. It is the fate of most voyagers, no sooner to discover what is most interesting in any locality, than they are hurried from it; but I ought, perhaps, to be thankful that I obtained sufficient materials to establish this mot remarkable fact in the distribution of organic beings. If this character were owing merely to immigrants from America, there would be little remarkable in it; but we see that a cast majority of all the land animals, and that more than half of the flowering plants, new birds, new reptiles, new shells, new insects, new plants, and yet by innumerable trifling details of structure, and even by the tones of voice and plumage of the birds, to have the temperate plains of Patagonia, or rather the hot dry deserts of Northern Chile, vividly within a late geological period must have been covered by the ocean, which are formed by basaltic lava, and therefore differ in geological character form the American continent, and which are placed under a peculiar climate, why were their aboriginal inhabitants, associated, I may add, in different proportions both in kind and number from those on the continent, and therefore acting on each other in a different manner—why were they created on American types of organization? It is probably that the islands of the Cape de Verd group resemble, in all their physical conditions, for mare closely the Galapagos Islands, than these latter physically resemble the coast of America, yet the aboriginal inhabitants of the two groups are totally unlike; those of the Cape de Verd Islands bearing the impress of America, as the inhabitants of the Galapagos Archipelago are stamped with that of America. The botany of this group is fully as interesting as the zoology. Dr. J. Hooker will soon publish in the Linnean Transactions a full account of the Flora, and I am much indebted to him for the following details. Of flowering plants there are, as far as at present is known, 185 species, and 40 cryptomgamic species, making altogether 225; of this number I was fortunate enough to bring home 193. Of the flowering plants, 100 are new species, and are probably confined to this archipelago. Dr. Hooker conceives that, of the plants no so confined, at least 10 species found near the culticated ground at Charles Island, have been imported. It is, I think, surprising that more American species have not been introduced naturally, considering that the distance is only between 500 and 600 miles from the continent; and that (according to Collnet, p. 58) driftwood, bamboos, canes, and the nuts of a palm, are often washed out on the south-eastern shores. The proportion of 100 flowering plants out of 185 (or 175 excluding the imported weeds) being new, is sufficient, I conceive, to make the Galapagos Archipelago a distinct botanical province; but this Flora is not nearly so peculiar as that of St. Helena, not, as I am informed by Dr. Hooker, of Juan Fernandez. The peculiarity of the Galapageian Flora is best shown in certain families; thus there are 21 species of Compositae, of which 20 are peculiar to this archipelago; these belong to twelve genera, and of these genera no less than ten are an undoubtedly Western American character; nor can he detect in it any affinity with that of the Pacific. If, therefore, we except the eighteen marine, the one freshwater, and one land-shell, which have apparently come here as colonists from the central islands of the Pacific, and likewise the one distinct Pacific species of the Galapageian group of finches, we see that this archipelago, though standing in the Pacific Ocean, is zoologically art of America. and account of the insects of this archipelago, and to whom I am indebted for the above details, informs me that here are several new genera: and that of the gernar not new, one or two are America, and the rest of mundane distribution. With the exception of a wood-feeding Apate, and of one or probably two water-beetles from the American continent, all the species appear to be new. I took great pains in collecting the insects, but excepting Tierra del Fuego, I never saw in this respect so poor a country. Even in the upper and damp region I procured very few, excepting some minute Diptera and Hymenoptera, mostly of common mundane forms. As before remarked, the insects, for a tropical region, are of very small size and dull colors. Of beetles I collected twenty-five species (excluding a Dermestes and Corynetes imported, where a ship touches); of those, two belong to the Harpalidae, two to the Hydrophilidae, nine to three families of the Heteromera, and the remaining twelve to as many different families. This circumstance of insects (and I may add plants), where few in number, belonging to many different families, is, I belive, very general. Mr. Waterhouse, who has published To finish with the zoology: the fifteen kings of sea-fish which I procured here are all new species; they belong to twelve genera, all widely distributed, with the exception of Prionotus, of which the previously known species live on the eastern side of America. Of land-shells I collected sixteen kinds (and two marked varieties), of which, with the exception of one Helix found at Tahiti, all are peculiar to this archipelago: a single freshwater shell (Paludina) is common to Tahiti and Van Diemen’s Land. Mr. Cuming, before our voyage, procured here ninety species of seashells, and this does not include several species not yet specifically examined, of Trochus, Turbo, Monodonta, and Nassa. He has been kind enough to give me the following interesting results: Of the ninety shells, no less than forty-seven are unknown elsewhere—a wonderful fact, considering how widely distributed seashells generally are. Of the forty-three shells found in other parts of the world, twenty-five inhabit the western coast of America, and of these eight are distinguishable as varieties; the remaining eighteen (including one variety) were found by Mr. Cuming in the Low Archipelago, and some of them also at the Philippines. This fact of shells from islands in the central parts of the Pacific occurring here, deserves notice, for not one single seashell is known to be common to the islands of that ocean and to the west coast of America. The space of open sea running north and south off the west coast, separates two quite distinct conchological provinces; but at the Galapagos Archipelago we have a halting-place, where many new forms have been created, and whither these two great conchological provinces have each sent up several colonists. The American province has also sent here representative species; for there is a Galapageian species of Monoceros, a genus only found on the west coast of America; and there are Galapageian species of Fissurella and Cacellaria, genera common on the west coast, but not found (as I am informed by Mr. Cuming) in the central islands of the Pacific. On the other hand, there are Galapageian species of Oniscia and Stylifer, genera common to the West Indies and to the Chinese and Indian seas, but not found either on the west coast of America or in the central Pacific. I may here add, that after the comparison by Messrs. Cuming and Hinds of about two thousand shells from the eastern western coasts of America, only one single shell was found in commong, namely, the Purpura patula, which inhabits the West Indies, the coast of Panama, and the Galapagos. We have, therefore, in this quarter of the world, three great conchological sea-provinces, quite distinct, though surprisingly near each other, being separate4d by long north and south spaces either of land or of open sea. These two species of Amblyrhynchus agree, as I have already state, in their general structure, and in may of their habits. Neither have that rapid movement, so characteristic of the genera Lacerta and Iguana. They are both herbivorous, although the kind vegetation on which they feed is so very different. Mr. Bell has given the name to the genus from the shortness of the snout: indeed, the form of the mouth may almost be compared to that of the tortoise: one has led to suppose that this is an adaptation to their herbivorous appetites. It is very interesting this to find a well-characterized genus, having its marine and terrestrial species, belonging to so confined a portion of the world. The aquatic species is lives on marine vegetable productions. As I at first observed, these islands are not so remarkable for the number of the species of reptiles, as for that of the individuals; when we remember the well-beaten paths made by the thousands of huge tortoises—the many turtles—the great warrens of the terrestrial Amblyrhynchus–and the groups of the marine species basking on the coast-roks of every island--we must admit that there is no other quarter of the world where this Order replaces the herbivorous mammalia in so extraordinary a manner. The geologist on hearing this will probably refer back in his mind to the Secondary epochs, when lizards, some herbivorous, some carnivorous, and of dimensions comparable only with our existing whales, swarmed on the land and in the sea. It is, therefore, worth of his observation, that this archipelago, instead of possessing a humid climate and rank vegetation, cannot be considered otherwise than extremely arid, and, for an equatorial region, remarkably temperate. Humboldt has remarked that in intertropical South America, all lizards which inhabit dry regions are esteemed delicacies for the table. The inhabitants state those those which inhabit the upper damp parts drink water, but that the others do not, like the tortoises, travel up for it from the lower sterile country. At the time of our visit, the females had within their bodies numerous, large, elongated eggs, which they lay in their burrows; the inhabitants seek them for food. I opened the stomachs of several, and found them full of vegetable fibers and leaves of different trees, especially of an acacia. In the upper region they live chiefly on the acid and astringent berries of the guayavita, under which trees I have seen these lizards and the huge tortoises feeding together. To obtain the acacia leaves they crawl up the low stunted trees; and it is not uncommon to see a pair quietly browsing, whilst seated on a branch several feet above the ground. These lizards, when cooked, yield a white meat, which is liked by those who stomachs soar above all prejudices. The individuals, and they are the greater number, which inhabit the lower country, can scarcely taste a drop of water throughout the year; but they consume much of the succulent cactus, the branches of which are occasionally broken off by the wind. I several times threw a piece to two or three of them when together; and it was amusing enough to see them trying to seize and carry it away in their mouths, like so many hungry dogs with a bone. They eat very deliberately, but do not chew their food. The little birds are aware how harmless these creatures are: I have seen one of the thick-billed finches picking at one end of a piece of cactus (which is much relished by all the animals of the lower region), whilst a lizard was eating at the other end; and afterwards the little bird with the utmost indifference hopped on the back of the reptile. They feed by day, and do nt wander far from their burrows; if frightened, they rush to them with a most awkward gait. Except when running down hill, they cannot move very fast, apparently from the lateral position of their legs. They are not at all timorous; when attentively watching anyone, they curl their tails, and, raising themselves on their front legs, nod their head vertically, with a quick movement, and try to look very fierce; but in reality they are not at all so: if one just stamps on the ground, down go their tails, and off they shuffle as quickly as they can. I have frequently observed small fly-eating lizards, when watching anything, nod their heads in precisely the same manner; but I do not at all know for what purpose. If this Amblyrhynchus is held and plagued with a stick, it will bit it very severely; but I caught many by the tail, and they never tried to bite me. If two are placed on the ground and held together, they will fight, and bite each other till blood is drawn. They inhabit burrows, which they sometimes make between fragments of lava, but more generally on level patches of the soft sandstone-like tuff. The holes do not appear to be very deep, and they enter the ground at a small angle; so that when walking over these lizard-warrens, the soil is constantly giving way, much to the annoyance of the tired walker. This animal, when making its burrow, works alternately the opposite sides of its body. One front leg for a short time scratches up the soil, and throws it towards the hind foot, which is well placed so as to heave it beyond the mouth of the hole. That side of the body being tired, the other takes up the task, and so on alternately. I watched one for a long time, till half its body was buried; I then walked up and pulled it by the tail; at this it was greatly astonished, and soon shuffled up to see what was the matter; and then stared me in the face, as much as to say, “What made you pull my tail?” We will now turn to the terrestrial species (A. Demarlii), with a round tail, and toes without webs. This lizard, instead of being found like the other on all the islands, is confined to the central part of the archipelago, namely to Albemarle, James, Barrington, and Indefatigable islands. To the southward, in Charles, Hood, and Chatham islands, and to the northward, in Towers, Bindloes, and Abingdon, I neither saw nor heard of any. It would appear as if it had been created in the center of the archipelago, and thence had been dispersed only to a certain distance. Some of these lizards inhabit the high damp parts of the islands, but they are much more numerous in the lower and sterile districts near the coast. I cannot give a more forcible proof of their numbers, than by stating that when we were left at James Island, we could not for sometime find a spot free from their burrows on which to pitch our single tent. Like their brother the sea-kind, they are ugly animals, of a yellowish orange beneath, and of a brownish red color above: from their low facial angle they have a singularly stupid appearance. They are, perhaps, of a rather less size than the marine species; but several of them weighed between ten and fifteen pounds. In their movements they are lazy and half torpid. When not frightened, they slowly crawl along with their tails and bellies dragging on the ground. They often stop, and doze for a minute or two with closed eyes and hind legs spread out on the parched soil. I opened the stomachs of several, and found them largely distended with minced seaweed (Ulvae), which grows in thin foliaceous expansions of a bright green or a dull red color. I do not recollect having observed this seaweed in any quantity on the tidal rocks; and I have reason to believe it grows at the bottom of the sea, at some little distance from the coast. If such be the case, the object of these animals occasionally going out to sea is explained. The stomach contained nothing but the seaweed. Mr. Baynow, however, found a piece of crab in one; but this might have got in accidentally, in the same manner as I have seen a caterpillar, in the midst of some lichen, in the paunch of a tortoise. The intestines were large, as in other herbivorous animals. The nature of this lizard’s food, as well as the structure of its tail and feet, and the fact of its having been seen voluntarily swimming out at sea, absolutely prove its aquatic habits; yet there is in this respect one strange anomaly, namely, that when frightened it will not enter the water. Hence it is easy to drive these lizards down to any little point overhanging the sea, where they will sooner allow a person to catch hold their tails than jump into the water. They do not seem to have any notion of biting; but when much frightened they squirt a drop of fluid from each nostril. I throw one several times as far as I could, into a deep pool left by the retiring tide; but it invariably returned in a direct line to the spot where I stood. It swam near the bottom, with a very graceful and rapid movement, and occasionally aided itself over the uneven ground with its feet. As soon as it arrived near the edge, but still being under water, it tried to conceal itself in the tufts of seaweed, or it entered some crevice. As soon as it thought the danger was past, it crawled out on the dry rocks, shuffled away as quickly as it could. I several times caught this same lizard, by driving driving it down to a point, and though possessed of such perfect power of diving and swimming, nothing would induce it to enter the water; and as often as I threw it in, it returned in the manner above described. Perhaps this singular piece of apparent stupidity may be accounted for by the circumstance, that this reptile has no enemy whatever on shore, whereas at sea it must often fall a prey to the numerous sharks. Hence, probably, urged by a fixed and hereditary instinct that the shore is its place of safety, whatever the emergency may be, it there takes refuge. During our visit (in October), I saw extremely few small individuals of this species, and none I should think under a year old. From this circumstance it seems probably that the breeding season had not then commenced. I asked several of the inhabitants if they know where it had its eggs: they said that they knew nothing of its propagation, although well acquainted with the eggs of the land kind—a fact, considering how very common this lizard is, not a little extraordinary.was first characterized by Mr. Bell, who well foresaw, from its short, broad head, and strong claws of equal length, that its habits of life would turn out very peculiar, and different from those of its nearest ally, the Iguana. It is extremely common on all the islands through the group, and lives exclusively on the rocky sea-beaches, being never found, at least I never saw one, even ten yard in-shore. It is a hideous-looking creature, of a dirty black color, stupid, and sluggish in its movements. The usual length of a full-grown one is about a yard, but there are some even four feet long; a large one weighed twenty pounds: on the island of Albemarle they seem to grow to a greater size than elsewhere. Their tails are flattened sideways, and all four feet partially webbed. They are occasionally seen some hundred yards from the shore, swimming about; and Captain Collnett, in his Voyage says, “They go to sea in herds a-fishing, and sun themselves on the rocks; and may be called alligators in miniature.” It must not, however, be supposed that they lice on fish. When in the water this lizard swims with perfect ease and quickness, by a serpentine movement of its body and flattened tail—the legs being motionless and closely collapsed on its sides. A seaman on board sank one, with a heavy weight attached to it, thinking thus to kill it directly; but when, an hour afterwards, he drew up the line, it was quite active. Their limbs and strong claws are admirably adapted for crawling over the rugged and fissure masses of lava, which everywhere form the coast. In such situation, a group of sic or seven of these hideous reptiles may oftentimes be seen on the black rocks, a few feet above the surf, basking in the sun with outstretched legs. picture / illustration The Amblyrhynchus, a remarkable genus of lizards, is confined to this archipelago; there are two species, resembling each other in general form., one being terrestrial and the other aquatic. This latter species (A. cristatus) There can be little doubt that this tortoise is an aboriginal inhabitant of the Galapagos; for it is found on all, or nearly all, the islands, even on some of the smaller ones where there is no water; had it been an imported species, this would hardly have been the case in a group which has been so little frequented. Moreover, the old Bucaniers found this tortoise in greater numbers even than at present: Wood and Rogers also, in 1708, say that it is the opinion of the Spaniards, that it is found nowhere else in this quarter of the world. It is now widely distributed; but it may be questioned whether it is in any other place an aboriginal. The bones of a tortoise at Mauritius, associate with those of the extinct Dodo, have generally been considered as belonging to this tortoise; if this had been so, undoutedly it must have been there indigenous; but M. Bibron informs me that he believes that it was distinct, as the species now living there certainly is. The inhabitants believe that these animals are absolutely deaf; certainly they do not overheard a person walking close behind them. I was always amused when overtaking one of these great monsters, as it was quietly pacing along, to see how suddenly, the instant I passed, it would draw in its head and legs, and uttering a deep hiss fall to the ground with a heavy sound, as if struck dead. I frequently got on their backs, and then giving a few raps on the hinder part of their shells, they would rise up and walk away; but I found it very difficult to keep my balance. The flesh of this animals is largely employed, both fresh and salted; and a beautifully clear oil is prepared from the fat. When a tortoiuse is caught, the man makes a slit in the skin near its tail, so as to see inside its body, whether the fat under the dorsal plate is thick. If it is not, the animal is liberated and it is said to rover soon from this strange operation. In order to secure the tortoise, it is not sufficient to turn them like turtle, for they are often able to get on their legs again. The tortoises, when purposely moving towards any point, travel by night and day, and arrive at their journey;s end much sooner than would be expected. The inhabitants, from observing marked individuals, consider that they travel a distance of about eight miles in two or three days. One large tortoise, which I watched, walked at the rate of sixty yards in ten minutes, that is 360 yards in the hour, or four miles a day, allowing a little time for it to eat on the road. During the breeding season, when the male and female are together, the male utters a hoarse roar or bellowing, which, it is said, can be heard at the distance of more than a hundred yards. The female never uses her voice, and the male only at these times, so that when the people hear this noise, they know that the two are together. They were at this time (October) laying their eggs. The female, where the soil is sand, deposits, them together, and covers them up with sand; but where the ground is rocky she drops them indiscriminately in any hole: Mr. Bynoe found seven placed in a fissure. The egg is white and spherical; one which I measured was seven inches and three-eighths in circumference, and therefore larger than a hen’s egg. The young tortoises, as soon as they are hatched, fall a prey in great numbers to the carrion-feeding buzzard. The old ones seem generally to die from accidents, as from falling down precipices: at last, several of the inhabitants told me, that they never found one dead without some evident cause. I believe it is well ascertained, that the bladder of the frog acts as a reservoir for the moisture necessary to its existence; such seems to be the case with the tortoise. For sometime after a visit to the springs, their urinary bladders are distended with fluid, which is said gradually to decrease in volume, and to become less pure. The inhabitants, when walking in the lower district, and overcome with thirst, often take advantage of this circumstance, and drink the contents of the bladder if full: in one I saw killed, the fluid was quite limpid, and had only a very slightly bitter taste. The inhabitants, however, always first drink the water in the pericardium, which is described as being best. The tortoise is very fond of water, drinking large quantities, and wallowing in the mud. The larger islands alone possess springs, and these are always situated towards the central parts, and at a considerable height. The tortoises, therefore, which frequent the lower districts, when thirst, are obliged to travel from a long distance. Hence broad and well-beaten paths brnch off in every direction from the wells down to the seacoast; and the Spaniards by following them up, first discovered the watering places. When I landed at Chatham Island, I could not imagine what animal traveled so methodically along well-chosen tracks. Near the springs it was a curious spectacle to behold many of these huge creatures, one set eagerly traveling onwards with outstretched necks, and another set returning, after having drunk their fill. When the tortoise arrives at the spring, quite regardless of any spectator, he buris his head in the water above his eyes, and greedily swallows great mouthfuls, at the rate of about ten in a minute. The inhabitants say each animal stays three or four days in the neighborhood of the water and then returns to the lower country; but they differed respecting the frequency of these visits. The animal probably regulates them according to the nature of the food on which it has lived. It is, however, certain, that tortoises can subsist even on these islands where there is no other water than what falls during a few rainy days in the year. I will first describe the habits of the tortoise (Testudo nigra, formerly called Indica), which has been so frequently alluded to. These animals are found, I believe, on all the islands of the archipelago; certainly on the greater number. They frequent in preference the high damp parts, but they likewise live in the lower and arid districts. I have already shown, from the numbers which have been caught in a single day, how very numerous they must be. Some grow to an immense size: Mr. Lawson, an Englishman, and vice-governor of the colony, told us that he had seen several so large, that it required six or eight men to lift them from the ground; and that some had afforded as much as two hundred pounds of meat. The old males are the largest, the females, rarely growing to so great a size: the male can readily be distinguished from the female by the greater length of its tail. The tortoises which live on those islands where there is no water, or in the lower and arid parts of the others, feed chiefly on the succulent cactus. Those which frequent the higher and damp regions, eat the leaves of carious trees, a kind of berry (called guayavita) which is acid and austere, and like-wise a pale green filamentous lichen (Usnera plicata) , that hangs from the boughs of the trees. , namely, that none of this family are found on any of the volcanic islands in the great oceans. As far as I can ascertain from various works, this seems to hold good throughout the pacific, and even in the large islands of the Sandwich archipelago. Mauritius offers an apparent exception, where I saw the Rana Mascariensis in abundance: this frog is said now to inhabit the Serchelles, Madagascar, and Bourbon; but on the other hand, Du Bois, in his voyage in 1669, states that there were no reptiles in Bourbon except tortoises; and the Officier du Roi asserts that before 1768 it had been attempted, without success, to introduce from into Mauritius—I presume for the purpose of eating: hence it may be well doubted whether this frog is an aboriginal of these islands. The absence of the frog family in the oceanic islands is the more remarkable, when contrasted with the case of lizards, which swarm on most of the smallest islands. May this difference not be caused, by the greater facility with which the eggs of lizards, protected b calcareous shells, might be transported through saltwater, than could the slimy spawn of frogs?. Of sea-turtle I believe there are more than one species; and of tortoises there are, as we shall presently show, two or three species or races. Of toads and frogs there are none: I was surprised at this, considering how well suited for them the temperate and damp upper woods appeared to be. It recalled to my mind the remark made by Bory St. VincetWe will now turn to the order of reptiles, which gives the most striking character to the zoology of these islands. The species are not numerous, but the numbers of individuals of each species are extraordinarily great. There is one small lizard belonging to a South American genus, and two species (and probably more) of the Amblyrhrnchus—a genus confined to the Galapagos Islands. There is one snake which is numerous; it is identical, as I am informed by M. Bubron, with the Psammophis Temminckii from Chile. The birds, plants and insects have a desert character, and are not more brilliantly colored than those from southern Patagonia; we may, therefore, conclude that the usual gaudy coloring of the inter-tropical productions, is not related either to the heat or light of those zones, but to some other cause, perhaps to the conditions of existence being generally favorable to life. Two of the waders are rather smaller than the same species brought from other places: the swallow is also smaller, though it is doubtful whether or not it is distinct form its analogue. The two owls, the two tyrants catchers (Pyrocephalus) and the dove, are also smaller than the analogous but distinct species, to which they are most nearly related; on the other hand, the gull is rather larger. The two owls, the swallow, all three species of mocking-thrush, the dove in its separate colors though not in its whole plumage, the Totanus, and the gull are likewise duskier colored than their analogous species; and in the case of the mocking-thrush and Totanus, than any other species of the two genera. With the exception of a wren with a fine yellow breast, and of a tyrant-flycather with a scarlet tuft and breast, none of the birds are brilliantly colored, as might have been expected in an equatorial district. Hence it would appear probably, that the same causes which here make the immigrants of some peculiar species smaller, make most of the peculiar Galapageian species also smaller, as well as bery generally more dusky colored. All the plants have a wretched weedy appearance, and I did not see one beautiful flower. The insects, again, are small-sized and dull-colored, and as Mr. Waterhouse informs me, there is nothing in their general appearance which would have led him to imagine that they had come from under the eqautor Of waders and water-birds I was able to get only eleven kinds, and of these only three (including a rail confined to the damp summits of the islands) are new species. Considering the wandering habits of the gulls, I was surprised to find that the species inhabiting these islands is peculiar, but allied to one form the southern parts of South America. The far greater peculiarity of the land-birds, namely, twenty-five out of twenty-six, being new species, or at least new races, compared with the waders and web-footed birds, is in accordance with the greater range which these latter orders have in all parts of the world. We shall hereafter see this law of aquatic forms, whether marine or freshwater, being less peculiar at any given point of the earth’s surface than the terrestrial forms of the same classes, strikingly illustrated in the shells, and in a lesser degree in the insects of this archipelago. , and generally frequents marshes. The other twenty-five birds consist, firstly, of a hawk, curiously intermediate in structure between a buzzard and the American group of carrion-feeding Polybori; and with these latter birds it agress most clowesly in every habit and even tone of voice. Secondly, there are two owls, representing the short-eared and white barn owls of Europe. Thirdly, a wren, three tyrant-flycatchers (two of them species of Pyrocephalus, one or both of which would be ranked by some ornithologists as only varieties), and a dove—all analogoes to, but distinct form, American species. Fourthly, a swallow, which though differing form the Progne purpurea of both America, only in being rather duller colored smaller, and slenderer, is considered by Mr. Gould as specifically distinct. Fifthly, there are three species of mocking thrush—a form highly characteristic of America. The remaining land-birds form a most singular group of finches, related to each other in the structure of their beaks, short tails, from of body and plumage: there are thirteen species, which Mr. Gould had divided into four sub-groups. All these species are peculiar to this archipelago; and so is the whole group, with the exception of one species of the sub-group Cactornis, lately brought form Bow Island in the Low Archipelago. Of Coctornis, the two species may be often seen climbing about the flowers of the great cactus trees; but all the other species of this group of finches, mingled together in flocks, feed on the dry and sterile ground of the lower districts. The males of all, or certainly of the greater number, are jet black; and the females (with perhaps one or two exceptions) are brown. The most curious fact is the perfect gradation in the size of the beaks in the different species of Geospiza, from one as large as that of hawfinch to that of a chaffinch, and (if Mr. Gould is right in including his sub-group, Certhidea, in the main group, even that that of a warbler. The largest beak in the genus Geospiza is shown in Fig. 1, and the smallest in Fig. 3; but instead of there being only one intermediate species, with a beak of the size shown in Fig. 2, there are no less than six species with insensibly graduated beaks. The beak of the sub-group Certhidea, is shown in Fig. 4. The beak of Cactornis is somewhat like that of a starling; and that of the fourth sub-group, Camarhynchus, is slightly parrot-shaped. Seeing this gradation and diversity of structure in one small, intimately related group of birds, one might really fancy that from an original paucity of birds in this archipelago, one species had been taken and modified for different ends. In a like manner it might be fancied that a bird originally a buzzard, had been induced here to undertake the office of the carrion-feeding Polybori of the American continent. Of land-birds I obtained twenty-six kinds, all peculiar to the group and found nowhere else, with the exception of one lark-like finch from North America (Dolichonyx oryzivorus), which ranges on that continent as far north as 54 Of terrestrial mammals, there is only one which must be considered as indigenous, namely, a mouse (Mus Galapagoensis), and this is confined, as far as I could ascertain, to Chatham Island, the most easterly island of the group. It belongs, as I am informed by Mr. Waterhouse, to a division of the family of mice characteristic of America. At James Island, there is a rat sufficiently distinct from the common kind to have been named and described by Mr. Waterhouse; but as it belongs to the old-world division of the family, and as this island has been frequented by ships for the last hundred and fifty years, I can hardly doubt that this rat is merely a variety produced by the new and peculiar climate, food, and soil, to which it has been subjected. Although, no one has a right to speculate without distinct fact, yet even with respect to the Chatham Island mouse, it should be borne in mind, that it may possibly be an American species imported here; for I have seen, in a most unfrequented part of the Pampas, a native mouse living in the roof of a newly built hovel, and therefore its transportation in a vessel is not improbable: analogous facts have been observed by Dr. Richardson in North America. The natural history of these islands is eminently curious, and well deserves attention. Most of the organic productions are aboriginal creations, found nowhere else; there is even a difference between the inhabitants of the different islands; yet all show a marked relationship with those of America, though separated from that continent by an open space of ocean, between 500 and 600 miles in width. The archipelago is a little world within itself, or rather a satellite attached to America, whence it has derived a few stray colonists, and has received the general character of its indigenous productions. Considering the small size of the islands, we feel the more astonished at the number of their aboriginal beings, and at their confined range. Seeing every height crowned with its crater, and the boundaries of most of the lava-streams still distinct, we are led to believe that within a period geologically recent the unbroken ocean was here spread out. Hence, both in space and time, we seem to be brought somewhat near to that great fact—that mystery of mysteries—the first appearance of new beings on this earth., and how much above that it would have risen, I do not know for it was not graduated any higher. The black sand felt much hotter, so that even in thick boots it was quite disagreeable to walk over it.. The sand was extremely hot; the thermometer placed in some of a brown color immediately rose to 137; but in the open air, in the wind and sun, at only 85 During the greater part of our stay of a week, the sky was cloudless, and if the trade win failed for an hour, the heat became very oppressive. On two days, the thermometer within the tent stood for some hours at 93 One day we accompanied a party of the Spaniards in their whale-boat to a salina, or lake from which salt is procured. After landing, we had a very rough walk over a rugged field of recent lava, which has almost surrounded a tuff-crater, at the bottom of which the salt-lake lies. The water is only three or four inches deep, and rests on a layer of beautifully crystallized, white salt. The lake is quite circular, and is fringed with a border of bright green succulent plants; the almost precipitous walls of the crater are clothed with wood, so that the scene was altogether both picturesque and curious. A few years since, the sailors belonging to a sealing-vessel murdered their captain in this quiet spot; and we saw his skull lying among the bushes. . We arrived at James Island: this island, as well as Charles Island, were long since thus named after our kings of the Stuart line. Mr. Bynoe, myself, and our servants wer left here for a week, with provisions and a tent, whilst the Beagle went for water. We found here a part of Spaniards, who had been sent from Charles Island to dry fish, and to salt tortoise-meat. About six miles inland, and at the height of nearly 2000 feet, a hovel had been built in which two men lived, who were employed in catching tortoises, whilst the others were fishing on the coast. I paid this party two visits, and slept there one night. As in the other islands, the lower region was covered by nearly leafless bushes, but the trees were here of a larger growth than elsewhere, several being two feet and some even two feet nine inches in diameter. The upper region being kept damp by the clouds, supports a green and flourishing vegetation. So damp was the ground, that there were large beds of a coarse cyperus, in which great numbers of a very small water-rail lived and bred. While staing in this upper region, we lived entirely upon tortoise-meat: the breast-plate roasted (as the Gauchos do carne con cuero), with the flesh on it, is very good; and the young tortoises make excellent soup; but otherwise the meat to my taste is indifferent.

About ANTONIO TAMBORNINO

I have been a resident of the bay area for over 20 years. I fell in love with animation and drawing after watching My Neighbor Totorro, The Lion King, and Toy Story, all of which I’d seen by the time I was 6. 

    As an idea guy I like to draw and design, but my true skill is in content creating and content providing.

    I write almost every day. 

    You can follow me on Twitter @DragonsinSpace, on Art Amino as antoniotambornino, on DeviantArt as DrakeAT, on Facebook, Pinterest, and YouTube as Antonio Tambornino. You can also find my blog, simply called Dragons in space.

 SKILLS 

Proficient with Adobe Photoshop and Illustrator, web design applications including: 

• iWeb 
• HyperEdit 
• Dreamweaver
• HTML 

I am highly creative and adaptable to all working environments and formats. Enjoys working with digital as well as traditional tools. Also savvy with Mac and Windows operating systems and office software, such as: 

• Word 
• Excel 
• Powerpoint 
• Pages 
• Numbers
• Keynote.

Author of sci-fi / fantasy, action-adventure novel The Black Sky Chronicles: The Dragon on Peacock Mountain.

Available in Kindle format on Amazon for $4.99. Hard copy releases in April. 

EXPERIENCE

SANTA ROSA CUSTOM PACKAGING, INTERN                         SANTA ROSA, CA  

JUN 2010 - SEP 2010

Designed company’s first website.

CENTURY THEATRES, USHER                    WALNUT CREEK, CA

NOV 2016 - PRESENT

Attention to detail, customer relations, client facing, multitasking, maintaining house aesthetic, team player.

RADIOSHACK , SALES ASSOCIATE                       WALNUT CREEEK, CA

DEC 2013 - NOV 2014

Working in teams, client facing, inventory management, selling electronics, assisting customers over the counter, over the phone.

SIGNS THAT SELL, ENTRY LEVEL                    CONCORD, CA

MAY 2013 - SEP 2013

Client facing, team player, delivering designs in a timely manner, inventory management, data entry.

ALLSTAR MEDICAL SUPPLY, DATA ENTRY                      WALNUT CREEK, CA

FEB 2013 - PRESENT

Attention to detail, multitasking, inventory management, delivery guy, file filer, data entry

THE STUDIO, HOUSE KEEPER                                 DANVILLE, CA

JAN 2011 - FEB 2013

Site and inventory management; house keeping; customer relations.

EDUCATION

California State University East Bay, Hayward, California                Graduate 2017

Bachelor’s in Art Digital Media, Multimedia

Diablo Valley College, Pleasant Hill, California                         Graduated 2014

Associate in Arts Degree: Character Animation, Digital Imaging: Foundation

Acalanes High School, Lafayette, California                             Graduated, 2010

REFERRALS AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST