'And the pope and the Aztec emperor popped right up. But who the hel is Dasakumaracarita? Or Abd al-Latif? Or Hamatsa?' He pronounced the names sylable by sylable. 'At least I can say "Sawney Beane" or "John Gregg."'

He ran a hand through his hair and it did its rooster thing.

'I figured an anthropologist might recognize some obscure goddess or something.'

I was staring at one name, my nerve cels tingling. Hamatsa.

Moctezuma. The Aztecs.

Saturn devouring his children.

'Is there somewhere we can talk in private?' My voice sounded high and shaky.

McMahon gave me an odd look, then led me into an adjacent cubicle.

I took a moment to colect my thoughts.

'What I'm about to say is going to sound ludicrous, but I'd like you to hear me out.'

He leaned back and laced his fingers across his paunch.

'Among the Kwakiutl of the Pacific Northwest, the Hamatsa were a society of tribal elite. Young men who hoped to become Hamatsa went through a lengthy period of isolation.'

'Like fraternity pledges.'

'Yes. During their time in the forest the initiates would periodicaly appear on the outskirts of the vilage, demented and screaming, charge in, bite flesh from the arms and chests of those unfortunate enough to be present, then disappear back into the woods.'

McMahon's eyes were on his hands.

'Shortly before the end of his exile, each initiate was brought a mummy that had been soaked in salt water, cleaned, and split open. The initiate was expected to smoke-cure the corpse for the final ritual.

I swalowed.

'During that ritual the aspirant and senior members of the brotherhood devoured portions of the corpse.'

McMahon did not look at me.

'Are you familiar with the Aztecs?'

'Yes.'

'They appeased their gods through the ritual eating of human beings.'

'Cannibalism?'

McMahon's eyes finaly met mine.

'On a grand scale. When Cortes and his men entered Moctezuma's capital, Tenochtitlán, they found mounds of human skuls in the city square, others impaled on spikes.

Their estimate was over one hundred thousand.'

Silence. Then, 'Saturn ate his children.'

'Polyphemus captured Ulysses and dined on his crew.'

'Why the pope?'

'I'm not sure.'

McMahon disappeared, returned in a moment.

'Rayner's looking him up.'

He looked at a note, scratched a clump of hair.

'Rayner found the Géricault painting. It's based on the 1816 wreck of a French frigate, La Méduse. According to the story, survivors ate the dead while stranded at sea.'

I was about to show McMahon my own findings when Rayner appeared in the doorway. We listened as he read from scribbled notes.