The Monstrumologist (The Monstrumologist #1)(67)

“Yes, very good. Go on, Will Henry. Or-what?” asked Kearns.

“Or someone did know.” I looked to the floor. The doctor’s glare was particularly discomforting.

“Precisely.” Kearns nodded. “And that someone knew because he arranged their passage, from Africa to New England.”

“What are you suggesting, Kearns?” demanded Warthrop, forgetting himself as the course of the conversation veered toward treacherous waters.

“ Kearns?” asked Morgan. “I thought his name was Cory.”

“ Kearns is my middle name,” offered the retired surgeon smoothly. “From the maternal side of the family.”

“It’s as absurd as you claim my theory to be,” insisted Warthrop. “To suggest that someone brought them here, with no one being the wiser for it, housed somehow and fed… how? And by whom?”

“Again, my dear Warthrop, questions the answers to which are obvious. Don’t you agree, Will Henry? So obvious it’s comical. I understand your myopia in the matter, Pellinore. It must be quite painful for you to accept, so you have worried and twisted the facts, chewed and gnawed upon the evidence, until up is down, black is white, square is round.”

“You offend me, John,” growled Warthrop.

“John? But your given name is Richard,” objected Morgan.

“A nickname, after John Brown, the agitator. My mother was an American, you see, and quite the abolitionist.”

“I am a scientist,” insisted Warthrop. “I go where the facts lead me.”

“Until your heartstrings tug you back. Come now, Pellinore, do you honestly believe in this claptrap theory of yours? They wander ashore, undetected, and for the next twenty-four years manage to feed off the local populace and make little Anthro-poppies, leaving behind no direct evidence, no survivors, no eyewitnesses, until they miraculously arrive at the doorstep of the very person who requested the pleasure of their company? You’re like the priests in the temple: You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel!”

“It’s possible; the facts do fit,” insisted the doctor.

“How?”

“Adaptation, natural selection, and some luck, I’ll admit that. It’s conceivable-”

“Oh, Pellinore,” said Kearns. “Really. It’s conceivable the moon is made of blue cheese.”

“I can’t conceive of that,” Morgan argued.

“You can’t prove it isn’t,” retorted Kearns. He laid a hand on the doctor’s shoulder, a hand the doctor promptly shrugged off. “When did he die? Four, five years ago? Look at your circles there. You drew them yourself; look at them, Pellinore! Look at the dates. See how they cluster there and there? See the gap in time between this circle twelve miles away and this one but a half mile from the cemetery? These here, within this ten-mile radius, beginning in late ’83 to the present-these represent true attacks, perhaps; the rest is wishful thinking. They were pulled off that ship, transported here, and kept safe and sound until their keeper could no longer provide them their victuals.”

Warthrop slapped him hard across the cheek. The sound of flesh striking flesh was very loud, and no one spoke for a long moment. Kearns ’s expression hardly changed; he wore the same small, ironic smile he had worn from the moment he’d stepped inside 425 Harrington Lane. Morgan busied himself with his pipe. I fiddled with a teacup. The tea had long since gone cold.

“It’s right before your eyes,” said Kearns softly. “If you would but open them.”

“This John Richard Kearns Cory does have a point, Pellinore,” Morgan said.

“Or Dick,” interjected Kearns. “Some people call me Dick for Richard. Or Jack for John.”

“He would never do such a thing,” said Warthrop. “Not the man I knew.”

“Then he wasn’t the man you knew,” Kearns said.

“I mean the reference to opening eyes,” corrected the constable. “In terms of what is right before ours. How they got here is not why we are here. We must decide, and decide quickly, how to exterminate them.”

“I thought that had been decided already,” Kearns said. “Or was there some other reason I was invited?”

“In the morning I am contacting the governor’s office to request the mobilization of the state militia,” pronounced Morgan. “And I am ordering a complete evacuation of the town-of the women and children, at least.”

“Completely unnecessary,” Kearns said with a wave of his hand. “How many did you say there were, Pellinore? Thirty to thirty-five? An average pod?”

Warthrop nodded. He still seemed shaken by Kearns ’s argument. “Yes,” he muttered weakly.

“I would say no more than five or six of your best marksmen, Morgan. Men who can be trusted to keep their mouths shut, preferably men with a military background, and best if two or three are handy with a hammer and saw. I’ve made a list of materials to be discreetly acquired; the rest I’ve brought with me. We can set to it at first light and be done by nightfall.”

“Five or six men, you say?” cried Morgan incredulously. “Have you seen what these creatures are capable of?”

“Yes,” said Kearns simply. “I have.”

“John has hunted them extensively in Africa,” Warthrop allowed with a sigh.