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Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  57. •   •   •
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
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  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
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  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

At first, there was some measure of disbelief, as if it simply were not possible that I was friendly with the mysterious scholar. But I stomped free of their proceedings, to their noisy dismay, and traipsed down to my office (still my office, yes) to retrieve the letter that had accompanied the package.

I produced it with a flourish, gave them adequate time to read it, and watched at least Greer go a bit green when he realized I was telling the truth. I think it surprised him, though I can’t imagine why. When have I ever misled him, or made claims greater than those I could support? He has me confused with someone else, or he’s been listening to the slanderous lies spread by students and faculty.

And that speaks volumes about his leadership, does it not? What kind of chancellor takes the concerns of his inferiors to heart, or uses them to guide his policy? If his underlings were of his own caliber, they would’ve matched his position by now. Since they are not, they ought to be disregarded until and unless they produce evidence that they are worthy of interest.

Such as myself.

But I gave them the letter, and there was a great chorus of hemming and hawing, and then I received permission that I should’ve never required: the permission to continue investigation and exploration into my own private property, with the blessing of the university, which would seek to profit from my discovery.

Damn the lot of them.

•   •   •

So here I sit, not in my office but in the laboratory where I first uncorked the specimen, the siphonophore, Physalia zollicoffris after all, my pet, my beloved, my savior and specimen. The other labs in this wing have complained about the odor, but I scarcely notice it anymore. If anything, it’s become a welcome scent—a friendly signal that all is right with the world, and that I have come home.

It’s funny, now that I think of it. I’ve scarcely been at my own home these last few days, or this last week—I’m not sure. What is there at home for me? Nothing, save a small gray cat who cares for me approximately as much as anyone else in the neighborhood who occasionally lets it come inside out of the cold. And I haven’t seen even the cat since the specimen appeared.

Now that I think about it.

At home I have food I don’t care to eat, and a bed that is no more comfortable than the cot at my office—where I’ve been more inclined to rest, these recent weeks.

Not that I rest too much, anymore. How can I rest, when greatness awaits? When my darling specimen calls my name, and upon it I shall build a career of wisdom and greatness?