Chapter 27
Chapter
I stared at the small black bullet in his palm, my breath fluttering.
“We don’t have to tell them,” Henry said softly, jerking his chin toward the door, to the rest of the Society. “We don’t need to tell a soul. But at least we—you and I—we would know, Mary.”
I stepped back, away from the temptation of the fossil, and the answers it held.
“I don’t believe you. You want this because it supports your theories.
Whatever you promise now, I know you’d ultimately want to publish.
How could I trust you? You’d want to make your name, whatever the cost to mine. Or to my life.”
“Mary, please, listen.” Henry’s voice held something eager, almost desperate as he stroked a thumb across the belemnite.
“Yes, I care for my reputation, and my name. As you do, too. Don’t deny it.
But those are nothing—nothing—next to truth.
I’ve spent fifteen years thinking, wondering—dreaming, really—about that trilobite darting into the rock, straight from your hand.
If only I’d been faster, I’ve cursed myself.
Think of what I could have learned. The geomagical knowledge that could have been gained, if only I’d been quicker to catch that damn trilobite, before it slipped away. ”
He took my wrist and rolled it over. I didn’t resist. His words were like hypnosis. He tipped the belemnite into my palm.
“You told me you woke the ammonite,” he said, curling my fingers around the spiral, under his own. “When you could have taken that secret to the grave. But you told me the truth.”
He was right. I looked down, at our clasped hands, to avoid his eye.
We didn’t have to tell Buckland, Henry said. We didn’t have to tell anyone. We could do this, just us two. I could bring the fossils to life, and we could study them.
But could I trust Henry to keep his word? Or would he reveal my secret the moment it proved advantageous to his career?
I chewed my lip, weighing the risk of betrayal against my own desire.
Because it was desire. If Ajax was just the start? If I could bring other specimens back? Examine live samples? The idea of studying living fossils, even in secret, even with Henry, was…intoxicating.
“But I told you the truth.” I looked up, meeting those storm-cloud eyes.
Henry’s hand peeled off mine.
I nodded once, sharply, squared my shoulders, and then closed my eyes, trying to pay attention to the smooth texture, and the hairline cracks. That’s what I’d done with the egg, and the ammonite, wasn’t it?
Come to life? Please?
Even in my thoughts, it was hardly a confident declaration.
“There’s no rush,” Henry said, and I opened my eyes for a quick glare before shutting them tight again.
I tried to remember what I’d done with the ammonite, before the archbishop.
I searched my memory, searching through the rush of fear I’d felt in that room, my fate in their hands.
What had I been thinking of, when it woke?
Oh—I imagined it alive. My fingers tightened around the fossil as my heart jumped with excitement. Yes. That was it.
I imagined the little creature swimming through shallows.
I pictured its large, searching eyes, probably just below the rostrum, over long, thin tentacles that propelled it through the warm Jurassic waters as it hunted.
I saw the creature darting away from a predator and squirting a black cloud of ink to aid its escape as it raced away from outstretched jaws, and sharp, curved teeth, and—
The tentacles were slick and cold.
My eyes flew open and then my palm, as I thrust the belemnite toward Henry.
He gripped my shoulder, and we stared, in awe, in shock, and in joy, at the squid-like creature cradled in my hand.
“Oh, my—oh, good Lord.” My voice was a squeal. “It worked. It worked. But what—Henry, what do we do with it now?”
A moist, salmon-pink skin had formed over the bullet skeleton, with a spade-like flare of flesh at the head. Ten tentacles wiggled and flexed over my hand. The rolling black eyes showed clear distress.
“Water. Right?” Henry ran for the pitcher on his desk, water splashing as he held it out. The cephalopod tumbled off my hand and plopped into the water, just as Henry exclaimed, “Christ—wait, that’s fresh water.”
He gripped his reliq. “Maybe I can make it salt water? But how salinated?”
“I’ll just turn it back,” I said, then practically shouted, “Be—be still. Be stone!” Isn’t that what I’d commanded the ammonite?
But the belemnite showed no signs of fossilization; it darted furiously back and forth, and then the pitcher filled with a black cloud of ink.
I plunged my hand into the graying water and wrapped my fist around the squirming belemnite.
“Be still,” I said, desperately willing the cephalopod to return to its fossilized state. As I watched, the flesh and tentacles vanished, a sort of fading to nothingness that felt like double vision. And when I pulled my hand out of the water, I clutched only the hard bullet shape of the fossil.
My shoulders sagged with relief, and my fingers trembled as I held it out to Henry. Then, with the same motion, we looked down into the water, still dark with ink.
“Well,” Henry whispered, then cleared his throat. When he looked up at me, his eyes were shining. “I suppose we ought to send for some seawater from Lyme Regis.”
I’d hardly recovered my breath, let alone my wits, when Henry nodded firmly, as if something had been decided.
“You’ll need an office,” he said. “I don’t think that should be a problem, though. There are plenty of open rooms.”
“An office? At Palmanaeus?”
“Of course.” He ferried the pitcher over to his desk and poured a small sample of the inked water into a glass, raising it to the light. “All the other research assistants have offices.”
“Research assistant?” My jaw dropped. Oh, Buckland wouldn’t like that at all.
“It’s perfect,” he said cheerfully. “You and I can continue these experiments under the guise of traditional research. And, of course, being my assistant will give you a formal attachment to the Society.”
I chewed my lip. Henry made a very good point.
“You discovered Ajax, yes,” he continued. “But really, you’re still only Buckland’s houseguest. The other geomagicians will tolerate you—for a while—as a novelty. But you can’t join the Society. You have no training. No education. No official reason to be hanging about Palmanaeus.
“Eventually, the others will grumble, and then they will complain, and then you will be asked, politely but firmly, to remember your place.”
My stomach twisted. I couldn’t discount a word he said. It was true; I’d experienced just a taste of it this morning. It was too easy to recall the bitter flavor when Buckland led Conybeare and Davies away, without a thought to invite me, too.
I had hoped to convince the other geomagicians to support my nomination in June, but what if Henry was right? What if they tired of me—of my novelty—long before that opportunity came?
Ultimately, my real question had to be: Would it help my cause for membership, to be a formal research assistant to Henry Stanton? Or would it hurt my chances of Society election?
Buckland thought my case for nomination would be strongest with distance—he’d wanted me to stay in Lyme Regis altogether, I reminded myself. He would never approve of this course of action.
I almost asked Henry his opinion. It was a mark of how much had changed between us that it nearly slipped out: the deal I’d made with Buckland to put forth my nomination. But I pressed my lips tight at the last second. Don’t tell Stanton, Buckland said. And I’d promised.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t be your assistant. Buckland would be so disappointed.”
Henry scoffed. “By what right? He could have hired you himself. Why hasn’t he?”
My tongue was tied. I had no answer. Had Buckland considered and dismissed it? I pressed my hands to my thighs.
“I’ll tell you why,” Henry said, rolling his eyes, which then brushed over my chest. His cheeks reddened. “It is because you are a woman.”
He was probably right. The idea of a woman research assistant—even one as accomplished as me—might never have occurred to Buckland.
Buckland was always concerned with precedent.
With how a thing might look to others. Always concerned with how it would impact his own standing and reputation within the Society.
Whether it would hurt his case for the presidency.
“But not you?” I pressed. “You don’t mind that I am a woman?”
“You are not a regular woman.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You? You are Mary Anning.”
A warmth spread down my spine.
“Besides,” he said, “Roderick Murchison’s wife assists him. And Mantell’s wife was the one who found that damned iguanodon tooth of his in the first place. Even Davies’s wife likes to play at fossilist.”
“Yes, but those are their wives.”
Henry threw up his hands. “Mary, how can I put this gently? Those in power do not need to concern themselves with the opinions of those without. The professor’s influence here is waning.
Buckland knows this. You know it. Davies knows it, too—two months ago, he as good as promised me his personal endorsement for the presidency. ”
I caught my breath. There was no way Buckland knew that.
Or did he?
It certainly explained why he’d pushed so hard for the flood-hibernation theory. Strengthening the Society’s reputation and ties to the Church would buy a great deal of goodwill from Davies. Maybe enough to steal that endorsement from Henry.
“I am offering you a place, here. A place you deserve,” Henry said quietly. “Can the professor say the same?”
For just a moment, I let myself feel the sting of betrayal, of Buckland shaking Conybeare’s hand, then disappearing into the library and never looking back.
I’d already agreed to work with Henry. He was right; being his research assistant made perfect sense.
And so what if Buckland was disappointed? As Henry just pointed out—he could have asked at any time. But he hadn’t.
“All right.” I took a deep breath. “Yes. I will be your assistant.”