“You think they’ve been tampered with?” Charlie asked.
“Horner had his hands all over this site before we arrived. It would not be the first time he intentionally sabotaged a dig site.”
Lamb’s own record was far from spotless, but he was not entirely wrong. From what I had read in the journals, Owen Horner might have been more likable, but he was no more scrupulous. “Professor, is it really as bad as all that between the two of you?”
“Worse,” Lamb said. “But it is not my fault! That brat hadn’t even finished his schooling when we met. He had assembled a sizable theropod as the focus of his thesis, but the amateur had obviously attached the head of one specimen to the body of another. Naturally, I was obliged to report his error, and the disgrace set back Horner’s thesis a year. His pride has been fueling this one-upmanship ever since. Whenever he can’t outdo me—which is most of the time—he settles for obstructing me. Why do you think he keeps appearing every time I take on a new project? I can think of nothing Horner would like more than to push me into putting wings on a flightless body, or giving a pterosaur the wrong legs. It is not the sort of oversight I tolerate, so you will understand my reluctance to rush.”
I did understand. Field research was exhausting enough without extra hurdles and misdirection, and Lamb’s story had the unfortunate ring of truth. “That’s fair,” I said.
“There are other facets of the excavation worthy of skepticism as well,” Lamb continued. “The site is notably shallow. Layers of ash in the soil suggest the area suffered a series of fires, which could potentially have affected plant growth and subsequent soil settlement. However, if one were to age the fossils purely on the visible strata, estimates would fall in the mere thousands of years.”
“That’s obviously wrong,” I said. “Even the most recent Cretaceous dinosaurs died off—”
“Exactly! What’s more, aside from the wings, this one appears most like an Allosaurus, which suggests Jurassic!”
“Pardon me, kids,” Nellie chimed in. “A little translation for those of us who don’t speak dino? You said it looks thousands of years old—how old should it look?”
“Somewhere in the area of one hundred fifty million,” I said. She whistled. I turned back to Lamb. “You really think Owen Horner parted with a complete, pristine specimen? Just to make you look foolish?”
“I can’t imagine that snake parting with so much as a toenail if he didn’t have to.” Lamb scowled. “But something about this dig is dodgy.”
We had reached the farmhouse. Horner was just coming out from the back of the building toward us. Murphy had made himself Horner’s shadow.
“I was just on my way to fetch you, Miss Rook,” Horner called as we neared. “You really ought to see the tracks your boss has been examining. Come on. I’ll show you around back.”
“I’m sure we can manage to find a big red barn without you,” Lamb said flatly.
“Oh, you’re good at finding things,” Horner said. “I’m just good at finding them first—like this dig site. I’m not sure Miss Rook has a week to wait for you to get there your way.”
“Gentlemen, please.” I shot them each an imploring look. Lamb rolled his eyes but bit his tongue, and Horner just chuckled and led the way.
The barn was a wide, red building, bordered with a chicken coop to one side and a collection of barrels and wheelbarrows to the other. On the path between the barn and the farmhouse, we found Jackaby and Hudson hunched over the dirt. Brisbee stood, watching. Jackaby held a disc of colored glass with symbols etched around the outer edge. He was peering through it intently, tilting his head this way and that as we approached.
“Sir?” I said.