The Cabinet of Curiosities

“Yes, yes, Shottum’s.” He resumed his shuffling down the row of boxes, binders, and books.

“How did the Museum acquire these cabinets?” she asked.

“Once the Museum opened, with free admission, it put most of them out of business. Of course, a lot of the stuff the old cabinets displayed were fakes, you know. But some of it held real scientific value. As the cabinets went bankrupt, McFadden, an early curator here, bought them up for the Museum.”

“Fakes, you said?”

Puck nodded portentously. “Sewing two heads onto a calf. Taking a whale bone and dying it brown, saying it came from a dinosaur. We have some of those.”

As he moved on to the next row, Nora hastened to keep up, wondering how to guide this flood of information in the direction she wanted.

“Cabinets were all the rage. Even P. T. Barnum once owned a cabinet known as Scudder’s American Museum. He added live exhibits. And that, young lady, was the begi

“Live exhibits?”

“He displayed Joice Heth, a wizened old black woman who Barnum claimed was George Washington’s 161-year-old nurse. Exposed as a fraud by the father of our own Tinbury McFadden.”

“Tinbury McFadden?” Nora was starting to panic. Would she ever get out of here?

“Tinbury McFadden. A curator here back in the late ninteenth century. He had a particular interest in cabinets of curiosities. Queer fellow. Just up and disappeared one day.”

“I’m interested in Shottum’s Cabinet. John Canaday Shottum.”

“We’re getting there, young lady,” said Puck, with the slightest touch of irritation. “We don’t have much from Shottum’s. It burned in 1881.”

“Most of the stuff was collected by a man named Marysas. Alexander Marysas,” Nora said, hoping to keep his mind on the subject at hand.

“Now, there was an odd fellow. Marysas came from a rich New York family, died in Madagascar. I believe the chief made an umbrella out of his skin to protect his baby grandson from the sun . . .”

They followed a labyrinthine path between shelves groaning with papers, boxes, and bizarre artifacts. Puck snapped more ivory switches; more lights went on ahead of them, while others winked out behind, leaving them in an island of light surrounded by a vast ocean of darkness. They came to an open area in the shelves where some large specimens stood on oak platforms—a woolly mammoth, shriveled but still huge; a white elephant; a giraffe missing its head. Nora’s heart sank when Puck stopped.

“Those old cabinets would do anything to draw the paying public. Take a look at this baby mammoth. Found freeze-dried in Alaska.” He reached underneath it and pressed something; there was a soft click and a trapdoor flopped open in the belly.

“This was part of a sideshow routine. A label said the mammoth had been frozen for 100,000 years and that a scientist was going to thaw it out and try to revive it. Before the sideshow opened, a small man would climb in through that trapdoor. When the place had filled with spectators, another man posing as a scientist would come out and give a lecture and start warming the thing with a brazier. Then the man inside would start moving the trunk and making noises. Cleared the place out in seconds.” Puck chuckled. “People were a lot more i

“Yes, yes,” said Nora. “This is very interesting, Mr. Puck, and I appreciate the tour. But I’m pressed for time, and I really would like to see the Shottum material now.”

“We’re here.” Puck rolled a metal ladder into place, climbed up into the gloom, and descended with a small box.

“O terque quaterque beati! Here’s your Mr. Shottum. It wasn’t the most interesting cabinet, I’m afraid. And since it burned, we don’t have much from it—just these few papers.” Puck opened the box, peered inside. “Great heavens, what a mess,” he clucked disapprovingly. “I don’t understand, considering . . . Ah, well, when you’re done with these, I can show you the Delacourte papers. Much more comprehensive.”

“I’m afraid there won’t be time, at least not today.”

Puck grunted with dissatisfaction. Nora glanced at him, felt a stab of pity for the lonely old man.

“Ah, here’s a letter from Tinbury McFadden,” Puck said, plucking a faded paper from the box. “Helped Shottum classify his mammals and birds. He advised a lot of the cabinet owners. Hired himself out.” He rummaged some more. “He was a close friend of Shottum’s.”

Nora thought for a moment. “Can I check out this box?”

“Have to look at it in the Research Room. Can’t let it leave the Archives.”

“I see.” Nora paused, thinking. “You said Tinbury McFadden was a close friend of Shottum’s? Are his papers in here, too?”

“Are they here? Good heaven, we’ve got mountains of his papers. And his collections. He had quite a cabinet himself, only he never displayed it. Left it to the Museum, but none of the stuff had any provenience and was full of fakes, so they stuck it down here. For historical purposes. No scientific value, they said.” Puck sniffed. “Not worthy of the main collection.”

“May I see it?”

“Of course, of course!” And Puck was shuffling off again in a new direction. “Right around the corner.”

They stopped at last before two shelves. The upper was full of more papers and boxes. On top of one box was a promissory note, with a faded inventory of items transferred from J. C. Shottum to T. F. McFadden, as payment for Services Rendered and Promised. The lower shelf was stuffed with a variety of curious objects. Glancing over them, Nora saw stuffed animals wrapped in wax paper and twine, dubious-looking fossils, a double-headed pig floating in a glass jeroboam, a dried anaconda curled into a giant five-foot knot, a stuffed chicken with six legs and four wings, and a bizarre box made out of an elephant’s foot.

Puck blew his nose like a trumpet, wiped his eyes. “Poor Tinbury would turn over in his grave if he knew that his precious collection ended up down here. He thought it had priceless scientific value. Of course, that was at a time when many of the Museum’s curators were amateurs with poor scientific credentials.”

Nora pointed to the promissory note. “This seems to indicate Shottum gave McFadden specimens in exchange for his work.”

“A standard practice.”

“So some of these things came from Shottum’s Cabinet?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Could I examine these specimens, too?”

Puck beamed. “I’ll move all of it to the Research Room and set it up on tables. When it’s ready, I’ll let you know.”

“How long will that take?”

“A day.” His face reddened with the pleasure of being of use.

“Don’t you need help moving these things?”

“Oh, yes. My assistant, Oscar, will do it.”

Nora looked around. “Oscar?”

“Oscar Gibbs. He usually works up in Osteology. We don’t get many visitors down here. I call him down for special work like this.”

“This is very kind of you, Mr. Puck.”

“Kind? The pleasure’s all mine, I assure you, my dear girl!”

“I’ll be bringing a colleague.”

An uncertain look clouded Puck’s face. “A colleague? There are rules about that, what with the new security and all . . .” He hesitated, almost embarrassed.

“Rules?”

“Only Museum staff allowed. The Archives used to be open to everybody, but now we’ve been restricted to Museum staff. And trustees.”

“Special Agent Pendergast is, ah, co