The Unnatural Inquirer

Another group of figures showed a pack of ghouls, teaching a human changeling child how to feed as they did. The Museum of U

There were a fair number of people around, but the place wasn’t what you’d call crowded, despite all the wonders and treasures on display. People don’t tend to come to the Nightside for such intellectual pleasures. And tourism’s been right down since the recent wars. The Museum is said to be heavily subsidised, but I couldn’t tell you who by. Most of the exhibits are donated; the Museum certainly didn’t have the budget to buy them.

The uniformed Neanderthal finally brought us to the Museum’s current pride and joy, the Tyra

But it was all dominated by the tyrant king himself, Tyra

“How the hell did they get hold of a T. rex?” said Bettie, her voice unconsciously hushed.

“You should read your own paper more often,” I said. “There was a sudden invasion of dinosaurs through a Timeslip, earlier this year. Some fifty assorted beasts got through, before Walker sent in an emergency squad to shut down the Timeslip. Most of the creatures were killed pretty quickly; the members of the Nightside Gun Club couldn’t believe their luck. They came ru

“How did they get it here?” said Bettie, standing very close to me. “I mean, look at it; that is big. Seriously big. There can’t be that many tranquilliser darts in the world.”

“Walker had one of his pet sorcerers put the thing in stasis while the Museum got its accommodations ready. Then the sorcerer transported it right into its cage. The Japanese have been pouring in to have their photographs taken with it ever since.”

While we were watching the T. rex, and it was watching us, the uniformed Neanderthal had gone off and found the Museum’s Director. He turned out to be one Percival Smythe-Herriot, a tall spindly figure in a shiny suit, with some of his breakfast still staining his waistcoat. He stamped to a halt before me and gave both Bettie and me a brief, professional, and utterly meaningless smile. He didn’t offer to shake hands. He had a lean and hungry look, as though he was always ready to add a new exhibit to his beloved Museum and was already wondering how I would look stuffed, mounted, and put on display.

“John Taylor,” he said, in a voice like someone trying to decide whether snail or octopus would make the least distressing starter. “Oh, yes; I know you. Or of you. Trouble-maker. Or at the very least, someone trouble follows around like a devoted pet. Tell me what it is you want here, so I can help you find it, then escort you quickly to the nearest exit. Before something goes horribly and destructively wrong in my nice and carefully laid-out Museum.”

“Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” said Bettie.

“Yes,” I said. “I find his honesty and grasp of reality quite refreshing.” I gave Percival my own professional smile and was quietly pleased to see him wince a little. “Walker sent me. I need to talk to the Collector.”

“Oh, him. Yes…I’d never have let him in here, but Walker insisted. Part of the price tag for his help in acquiring the T. rex. Beware civil servants bearing gifts…I mean, giving the Collector free access to a museum is like letting a fox with a chain-saw into a hen-house. Thief! Grave-robber! Amateur! All the great historical treasures he’s supposed to have, kept locked away so he can gloat over them in private, when by rights they should be on open display in my Museum! It doesn’t bear thinking about. My doctor told me not to think about it; he said it was bad for my blood pressure. I have to take these little pink pills, and I’m always ru

“Where is the Collector?” I said patiently.

For the first time, Percival gave me a real smile. It wasn’t at all a nice smile, but I had no doubt he meant it.

“Through there,” he said, pointing at the T. rex’s cage. “There’s a door, right in the middle of our artificial jungle. You’ll find the Collector in his lair, on the other side of the door.”

“Oh, joy,” I said.

“Deep joy,” said Bettie, staring in horrified fascination at the jungle in the cage. “The Collector really doesn’t want visitors, does he? Why couldn’t he have settled for a BEWARE OF THE DOG sign like anyone else?”

I looked at Percival. “I don’t suppose…”

“My position is purely administrative,” he said, still smiling his nasty smile. “You’re on your own, Mr. Taylor.”

He turned his back on us and strode away, snapping his fingers for the Neanderthal to follow him. I gave the cage my full attention. I wasn’t sure if I really needed to see the Collector that badly. I moved slowly forward, going right up to the bars of the cage for a better look. Bettie stuck really close beside me. With my face next to the bars, I could feel the savage heat of the jungle. My bare skin smarted just from the feel of it.

The T. rex surged forward, exploding out of its cover, throwing broken vegetation in all directions. It crossed the intervening space in a few seconds, driven forward by its massive legs, and its slavering mouth slammed against the other side of the bars while I was still reacting to its first movement. The bars held, and the T. rex smashed its great head against them again and again, determined to reach me. I stumbled back, Bettie clinging desperately to my arm. The T. rex howled, a deafening roar of hate and frustration. The smell of rotting meat from its mouth was almost overpowering. I backed away some more, and Bettie turned and buried her face in my chest. I put my arms around her and held her. Both of us were shaking.