The Stone Gryphon, Part 1: Oxfordshire 1942
Chapter 6, Night (and Day) at the Museum, Part 2

In which there is further instruction on birds, bees, and Macrotermes bellicosus but not so much about Castor fiber and we learn the reason for Mary's antipathy to King Kong.

As they worked their way to the second floor and beehive, Richard had been trying to determine what about beavers had made Peter seize up. There had to be some trigger.

"If you look through the window here, you have a nice view of the beehive. You should be able to get a glimpse of the queen over there, on the right. She'll be in a bit of a scrum."

Peter put his nose up to the glass, and watched the bees climb about the comb. He was silent for some time. He really takes joy in simple observation.

"They are amazing," Peter said in a voice full of admiration. "You look at the shape of the cells and you'd think the bees were all collectively mad. Wouldn't a circle or a triangle be easier? But, that six sided hexagon means that the cells all fit together, and no wasted wax to build them."

"Peter, I thought you said you were ignorant of this sort of thing. You've had good instruction somewhere if you know that much about hive construction."

He'd intended to deliver a compliment and to encourage Peter to share observations that were really quite solid, unexpectedly so. Instead, in that moment, Richard saw Peter's expression turn inward. As with the beaver, the conversation had somehow crossed into an area that signaled caution. He didn't understand. Peter wasn't the least bit deferential; he would share what he knew, would own up to his views. Beavers? Bees? Do cats also fall into this same strange category? It made no sense. Then, it dawned upon him.

Asking how Peter knew what he did somehow triggered the wariness. How did he know the way beavers stood? How did he know of bees' building skills? Counter to every instinct as a scientist, which valued the why and the how, for it was the process that would validate the conclusion, Richard vowed to let it go. If he didn't press for the how's, maybe he would learn more of the what's.

"I understand the cells are all built on a thirteen degree slope to keep the honey from running out, but you've probably heard about that before."

Peter nodded but didn't add anything else.

"Certainly bees put any human builder to shame. We could never build anything so precise without plans, rulers, cost over-runs and a decade's worth of delay."

Peter gave a huff of laughter and Richard saw his shoulders relax a fraction.

"Mr. Patel, the engineer I mentioned earlier, shares your appreciation. He told me that the hexagonal array also gives the comb more mechanical strength. I don't quite know why; I'm sure he could explain it better."

"Is Mr. Patel…" Peter made a full stop. "You know, I was going to ask some inane and polite question, but that seems rather pointless," he said, smiling to take away the bluntness. "Given Mrs. Kwong and Asim, I'm sure he has some fascinating history as well."

"Everyone has a fascinating history, Peter. But, yes, Mr. Patel, is a part of our household, like Asim, Kwong Lee and her husband, Lin Kun. He is, as they are, very much a byproduct of our colonial imperialism. It's his story of course and so, to hear it, you will have to speak to him."

Peter's look sharpened at that statement, again for no particular reason. Don't ask why, Richard now knew. Just press on. "He entered my story almost twenty years ago. I hired him in Bombay on the Indian subcontinent before Leakey and I went to Tendaguru. There weren't any roads or railways into the site, just five days on foot through the jungle to the nearest port. It was up to him to figure out how to get the tons of bones and plaster we dug up out. He and I have traveled together on and off ever since. So, Mr. Patel is to me, as Asim is to Mary. I'd say each is My Man Friday, but I like neither the servant connotation, nor the ethnic slur behind it."

"My brother Edmund has always been my logistics man. I think I understand exactly what you mean."

Did he even realize what a peculiar turn of phrase that was for a boy of sixteen, referring to a brother of thirteen?

"If it's not too much of telling another's story, how did Asim come into it? I know Edmund would be curious, to the extent you can say."

"The very short answer is that Asim saw Mary in a souq in Marrakech when she was still in grammar school and has followed her ever since. As to the reason, I refer you to them and to the discussion of Angels in the Qur'an."

"Should I have understood that last part, about the 'Qur'an'?" Peter hesitated over the unfamiliar word.

"The Qur'an is the Holy Book of Islam, like our Bible. Belief in Angels is one tenet of Islam. The Angel Gabriel, for instance, appeared to the Prophet Muhammad. However, Angels in Islam are intangible and have no free will, so I don't follow it either when applied to Mary and Asim. Perhaps it's an analogy. But where she goes, he usually follows."

Richard was going to suggest they move on, until Peter's excited exclamation.

"Oh! Richard, look, see that forager!" Peter pointed to a bee at the hive's entrance. "I think she's dancing."

Richard had to work very, very hard to keep his manner neutral. He wasn't sure where this was going, but with his new found understanding, he wanted to tread as carefully as Peter did. He did note that the boy had correctly identified the forager as a "she." "What do you mean?"

"Dancing. That peculiar, oh hang it, I don't remember what it's called. But, she's telling the other bees where to find food."

Richard knew of at least one animal behaviorist who was very interested in bees. Aristotle had even thought they communicated to one another. The idea wasn't that unique. But, dancing?

"Will she lead them to it?"

"I don't think so; I think she's telling them where to go. I don't quite remember how she does it. You don't remember, either?" He looked hopeful, and Richard shook his head.

"I'm not sure I ever knew it. Bee communication is a bit out of my field." Richard leaned in further to watch and, indeed, it did seem that the forager was moving back and forth very deliberately. Could it really be communication? Of directions as he says?

"It has something to do with the length of her dance and the direction of the sun. And, look! There they go!" Peter pointed, and in fact, several foragers launched themselves off the ledge.

"There are some flower gardens across the courtyard and the Botanical Garden isn't far off. Maybe that's where they are going. But, I should think they'd already know how to get there? Or, maybe bees don't have a memory like that?" A dozen more questions instantly popped into his head, about ever-changing flowering food sources, collective purposes in complex insect societies, and a honey bee's short life span.

Shrugging, Peter moved away from the hive to look out the broader view the window afforded. "I don't know." He had already dismissed the astonishing observation, when all Richard really wanted to do was sit down with a notebook, a pencil, take an hour's worth of notes and send them off to somebody for comment. Bee dancing to communicate food sources? It was so bizarre. Whether or not it was true, Peter had believed it. On second thought, this went beyond mere belief. Peter knew it, and knew it as certainly as he knew how beavers stand even though C. fiber had been extinct in Britain for 400 years. Had anyone gotten this far in bee research and he'd just missed it? Testing the hypothesis would be possible, he supposed. Difficult, but not impossible.

With an effort, Richard pushed the questions aside.

"Well, given your interest in the hive, beavers, and the Court downstairs, I've got something else I'd like to show you."

"Termites built this? Termites?"

Peter had repeated the word several times as he stared at the photographs in the entomology lab. He wasn't that interested in the bugs themselves. But, Richard could see that their construction abilities really did capture his imagination.

"Not just any termite. There are many species. This particular one is Macrotermes bellicosus, an African mound building termite."

"It's huge. I've seen swallows and martins build nests before from mud, but never anything like this."

Richard now knew better then to ask where Peter had observed those nests. The birds were native to Europe, after all. If he'd said "flamingo," that would be rather more curious.

"I believe that the mound is the largest ratio between size of creature and size of home in the animal kingdom. They are really fantastic creations and, again, I'll have to refer you to Mr. Patel, who has spent some time investigating them when we are in Africa. "

"It must be over ten feet tall! And it's permanent you say?"

"Most are smaller, but some are much larger. And yes, they'll last for years, even when the colony has left, for all that it's made of mud and spit. What's really amazing is the temperature regulation. Through tunnels and chambers, the termites are able to keep the temperature inside constant, to within a degree or two."

"By…" Peter muttered some oath that Richard didn't quite get but sounded a bit like "Byron." "Why can't we do that?"

So, cats, beavers, glass and iron, bees, termite mounds. Birds. Yes, I should like to know what Peter thinks about another great architect of the animal kingdom.

"Those are swifts, aren't they?" Peter was watching the small birds outside the window dive and dart about. "It looks like they're hunting. Are there nests nearby?"

"Those are the Oxford swifts. They roost here in the tower during the summer, in the ventilation shafts."

They were in the bird "wing" section of the museum. It had a nightmarish quality to it. Stuffed birds were set on shelves floor to ceiling, and smaller perching birds were carefully labeled and nestled in drawers of massive cabinets. There were thousands of birds in the museum's collection. A whole wall displayed nests from around the world. There were a few chairs and a desk for studying specimens, but otherwise it was filled with birds and their detritus. The place smelled faintly of guano. Not the sort of place to be if one were inclined toward ornithophobia.

But Peter wasn't.

"These nests are incredible."

"It's rather different from the insects, but yes, many of them are quite remarkable. I can't help thinking that I wouldn't do half as well if I had to construct something so intricate and important with just my mouth and feet."

Peter snorted. "I had another teacher tell me nearly the same thing. It was an excellent and forceful lesson in humility."

Richard let the intriguing statement pass, without commentary. Perhaps it was the same unnamed tutor who knew so much of hives and bee dancing? Peter was in an expansive mood and he was keen to see it continue.

Searching the shelves, he finally found what he was looking for. "Peter, look at this one. I donated it after a trip to Australia once the birds were done with it."

As Peter joined him, Richard took a pencil from his pocket and gently lifted the stray bits of grasses, feathers, ribbon, and twigs.

"Found of blue, are they?" Peter asked, studying the colorful display.

"Satin bower birds are. It's not actually a nest at all. It's a bower that the males build solely for courtship. He decorates it with bits of blue, anything he can find, like paper, flowers, feathers, and the like. The females come to visit his bower and the male does this elaborate dance. If the female is interested, she'll let him mate with her. Then, off she goes to build a separate nest and lay their eggs."

"I've watched them for hours, supplied bits of blue for them to use – I think for this one I purloined scraps from a tailor. But, after all that time with them I still can't figure out what is a successful strategy for the male. They build these incredible structures, dance, and strut, and maybe she'll stay, and maybe she'll fly off to the next bower. Some bowers have more blue, some have less, and sometimes, the bower doesn't seem to matter as much as the dance. I simply can't accept that it's arbitrary behavior."

"Oh, it's certainly not arbitrary," Peter commented, offhandedly. "I'm sure she knows exactly what she's looking for and he's just trying to meet that expectation."

"Yes, but what does she see that I can't?"

"Lots of things. Remember that her eyesight is a far bit better than ours. So perhaps there's some colour or a nuance to that colour in the bower or in his feathers that shows up in her vision but that you can't see. Or, maybe there's some proportion that is just right or isn't, or maybe his dancing is just too intense and it puts her off. She can certainly see the difference, even if you can't."

With that extraordinary statement, Peter wandered off to look at the stuffed raptors, leaving Richard dumbfounded. How? How? He fought the urge to hang Peter upside down and shake him until more interesting bits came out. He knows how a bird sees? Perceives? He knows how a bird thinks? How can he speak so authoritatively on this?

Peter voice pierced the exhausting flurry of questions. "What's that?" Richard asked, irritated at the interruption.

"You said the male might have several mates?"

"Yes, he's polygamous."

"What about the female, does she mate with other males, or just the one?"

Odd question, but not a bad one. "I shouldn't think so. Female promiscuity isn't that common. I didn't observe it."

"Oh, I was just wondering if they were more like songbirds."

Wait a damn minute? What? Female songbirds aren't promiscuous. They bond with a single male, like the raptors Peter was looking at. Only the males are polygamous. Aren't they?

Peter hadn't spoken as if this was opinion or theory. Like the bird's eyesight and the bees, he believed it as fact and, even more confounding, spoke as if these extraordinary statements were common knowledge.

Richard's mind, as jumbled as it was becoming, finally mutinied with this casually tossed off information. He had to return to habit. While Peter was still poking around the drawers, Richard eased himself into a chair, pulled out his field notebook to jot down his notes. He'd never had a particularly good hand, but it had always been clear enough that he could understand what he'd written weeks or months later. Now, seeing his hand quiver as it refused to obey what his mind told it to do, he knew his habits would be changing, and likely sooner than he would have wished.

He managed "Broke Ig. tail/beaver/kangaroo. Bee dance food? FE Songbird promisc? FE bower sense/percept & crtshp? Sight? Colour? Proportsh? 2 intense? UV/spectrum percept?"

In those notes, he saw a lifetime of work ahead. Several lifetimes. Prizes. Grants. Endowed chairs. Books, royalties, speaking tours. It was overwhelming, and exciting. He didn't think he'd been out of the mainstream of publication for that long. It simply didn't seem possible to have missed developments this significant, but he had to get to the library to confirm it. Then, he wanted to keep shaking this very strange tree and see what else dropped out.

"Peter, Mary and Asim should be catching up with us, so let's conclude for today." He tucked the book back into his pocket, thinking Peter probably shouldn't know about his observations just yet.

"Oh? Already?" The boy turned from the window where he'd been watching the swifts' aerial displays. Peter pulled another chair over and settled into it.

"First, I apologize, we never did make it to the beavers today. If you like, let's start looking for them on our next visit, and from there, I'm sure will find other things, probably with the mammals."

"I would like that. And maybe more of the birds as well?" He said this with a backward glance at a large barn owl perched on a shelf above them.

So understated it almost made him wince to say it, Richard managed calmly, "Certainly. We might want to take this into the field, as well." Feeling he really needed to amend that in light of Peter's enthusiastic nod, he added, "your time permitting, of course."

"I won't assign any additional work." The horrified look in Peter's face showed plainly that the thought had never occurred to him. "But I do want you to talk to Digory about how the bower bird behaviors might be explained both as a matter of natural selection and as a performance of their divinely allotted function."

"I'm not quite sure I follow that."

"Digory will. He's very interested in the parallels between evolution and the Franciscan view that all God's creatures glorify our mutual Creator by performing their natural behaviors. He'll be very interested in your perspective on the bower birds."

"Oh, well, alright. I was worried you'd be referring back to Duns Scotus."

It's all connected, don't you see that?

"Last," and he grasped the sleeve of Peter's jacket, wanting his full attention, "I want to congratulate you on some remarkable observations today. You surprised me and you have an excellent eye for this. You've got material for some good papers here. The simplest, just because of the resources available to you, would probably be on animal posture and how they use their tails to mount a critique of that Iguanodon."

For a moment, he saw Peter ignite with curiosity; as quickly it was gone. "Thank you, but I don't think so."

"I admit, it's a daunting task, but I could help you with the anatomical analysis. Mary would be an excellent resource and we'd be glad to work with you on it. It would also merge nicely with the work you're doing for Digory."

The boy blinked in surprise. "How?"

"Peter, really. Your tutor is the world's foremost expert on the Oxford Franciscans and they've been refining the scientific method since the 12th century."

"Oh." A shrug displaced Richard's hand from his arm. "Well, it doesn't really fit, you know."

Fit? Good Lord, we aren't talking about shoes!

"Fit what?"

"What I should be doing."

"But,"

"Forgive me for interrupting, Richard, but I really can't."

This time, Peter was very firm and Richard caught a bare glimpse of something odd he had observed before – the stature of a man to whom, as inexplicable as it was, even Digory Kirke deferred. There was a poise that far outstripped Peter's actual age. As quickly, it was gone, replaced by another of those weary, typically adolescent shrugs and sighs Richard knew so well from countless other students. In that single motion, Peter very effectively conveyed ennui, obstinacy, and more than anything else, the burden of very high expectations. That was a sense Richard recognized very well.

"Besides, really, what's the point? You see enough animals and you know they don't usually walk or stand the way that dinosaur is. It's just the way they are. Why would you write about something so obvious?"

The scientist and the holy man within him both rebelled. Are you so accustomed to miracles that you can afford to take them for granted?

However, as a man who had taught, and been taught, and still learned after over 50 years, Richard also saw that pushing Peter at this moment would fracture a blossoming rapport he wanted very much to see grow.

"Well, do think about it. Just remember, Peter, what you said to me about the bower birds. It may be obvious to you, but isn't necessarily obvious to others. That poor broken beast has been sitting like a beaver for decades. There are maybe a handful of people who could analyze it as well as you did; Mary and I are two of them. I've never heard her mention it and I didn't see it until you pointed it out. The comparative analysis could easily occupy you well into university."

"Richard!" he heard Mary shout. "Peter? Where the hell are you!"

"Oh, when Mary asks about the ichthyosaurs, just say, 'They are amazing and it's such a shame Mary Anning has not received the credit she deserves.'"

"You want me to lie?" Peter exclaimed, looking as horrified as when he had thought Richard might assign him a paper.

"To keep Mary from dragging us both down there for a three hour lecture I've heard at least 30 times before? Absolutely!"

It was Asim, though, who first turned the corner. Spying them, he stuck his head back into the hallway. "In the bird wing, Mary."

"It's about time!"

Mary swept past Asim, nearly running into the room, her glasses swinging wildly from her neck.

She was carrying a dragon.

Peter scrambled out of his seat, then offered his arm. I am tired, Richard realized, more grateful than annoyed at this point and accepted the assistance. This visit had been unexpectedly taxing – in a good way- but any such exertion now took its toll. He'd pay for it tomorrow and probably the next day as well.

"I found him!" Mary exulted bursting upon them. "Well, at least, I think it's a male, I don't think we know how to sex them yet."

"And so you did," Richard said. His wife was thrilled and he was very happy for her. At least it wasn't a new hat or some frippery. How many other men could enjoy their wife's triumphant location and identification of Varanus komodoensis?

"We'll engage in a bit of sexism, and call him 'he' for convenience. If that ends up bothering you, we'll just say he's capable of sequential hermaphroditism and has turned into a 'she.' Set him down so we can get a good look."

Mary gently placed the stuffed dragon down on the desk. "Isn't he fantastic!" she gushed and, lunging forward, threw her arms around him. Richard received an enthusiastic and sloppy kiss. Their glasses got tangled when she finally let go of his mouth. It would normally have gone on quite a bit longer, but she was too excited about the lizard.

"Hello, Peter. How do you like my dragon? Isn't he just magnificent?"

"He is not your dragon, Mary, and you can't keep him," Richard reminded her.

"Dr. Copeland would hunt you down with a dart gun if you removed that specimen," Asim added.

Peter had not quite found an adequate coping strategy with Mary. He seemed to have learned the bit about just stepping to the side when she had a full head of steam, but hadn't yet mastered how to humour her moods. In fact, well, Richard really couldn't read Peter's peculiar expression at all.

"He is indeed," Peter seemed to choke up a bit, "a splendid specimen." Recovering, he managed, "Is that a … well, it's not a dinosaur. Is it?"

"Of course not. Richard! Really, you've been here with Peter for hours with those outstanding specimens downstairs and you didn't explain the fundamentals of their hips?"

"Hips?" Peter asked, utterly mystified.

No! Not hips! Good Lord, he'd need a double Gin and Tonic to get through that. "We became far too distracted by the ichthyosaurs," Richard injected as quickly as he could.

"Couldn't you wait!" Mary pouted. "Peter, I must tell you that Richard really doesn't give them their due."

"They are amazing," Peter agreed, with great and very sincere feeling. "It is really an outrage that Mary Anning has not received the credit she deserves."

Richard speculated that Peter didn't like lying, and that might be one reason for his own great verbal care. But, he really did lie extraordinarily well. That was actually a point he'd want to make note of in his field diary.

"Mary?" Richard prompted, trying to keep her focused and, God forbid, off the subject of hips or, even worse, a digression on Great Women In Paleontology And The Men Who Hindered Them. "The dragon?"

"Oh, yes. This big boy is a Komodo dragon from Indonesia. Probably the largest lizard in the world. Isn't he just amazing? Richard, look at his claws! They are the apex predator there, which explains the giganticism, I suppose, at least according to what Burden reported. Although frequently island environments promote miniaturization, so I think that bears further investigation."

Into what would rapidly devolve into an ecstatic monologue (at least it wasn't about the ichthyosaurs), Richard managed to inject for Peter's sake, "Douglas Burden led an American team to Komodo to find and document the lizards. This is one of the dozen or so specimens they brought back. It's the only one in England, and may be the only one in Europe."

"I think they kept the biggest ones," Mary sniffed a little huffily. "They reported some over 10 feet long. They can swim too, and take down goats, deer, and boar. I do wonder if there isn't some sort of venom involved for prey that large; Burden reported the dragons do drool a lot."

'Humans could be on the menu too, if one was exceptionally unlucky," Richard added, fingering the long toe claws. "There's a lot of power in those legs and jaws, judging from the musculature on this specimen. More speed than a crocodylian as well, I should think. "

"Oh yes. Burden's party had a number of encounters. I guess they vomit some sort of foul substance and a really big one managed to claw its way out of a steel cage." She gently pushed her pencil tip into the dragon's open mouth. "Looks like about fifty teeth, maybe more. Sharp. Backward pointing." Mary began mumbling to herself as she peered in the lizard's mouth." She was cooing happily, like a mother over a newborn.

Peter edged carefully away from this alarming behavior. "Good to see you again, Asim."

"And you, Peter. As you can see, I am unarmed today."

"Yes," Peter agreed, "I can."

"Do tell me about that." Richard had heard the whole story from Mary, a more concise version from Asim, and still couldn't quite fathom it. He understood it even less so now, after spending the afternoon with Peter.

"There is nothing to tell," Asim said, infuriatingly mild.

It took more than the man's insufferable opacity to put him off though. "Satisfy my curiosity then. Peter, what would have happened if Asim had not surrendered his knives?"

"Oh, I think Asim knows very well what would have happened."

The lawn tennis back and forth was wearing on his nerves. "Will one of you damned inscrutable sphinxes answer the question?"

"Peter would have disarmed me, of course."

Richard looked to see what Peter's reaction was to this incredible assertion and was expecting to hear a denial. Oddly, it didn't come. Peter just crossed his arms across his chest and looked amused again, which while getting to be irritating, because he never bothered to let anyone in on what was obviously deeply humorous, was at least better than the adolescent shrugs and sighs.

Mary piped in, "Torch?" Richard reached into his pocket, but Asim had one waiting. "Thanks," she said absently, flicking it on and aiming the beam into the lizard's mouth. "Good for slicing and tearing hunks of flesh..."

"How long has she been like this?"

Asim sighed wearily. "Some hours. It's like when she found the flying dragons in the Philippines."

"Flying dragons?" Peter looked a trifle alarmed.

"A small lizard that glides from trees," Asim said before Richard could explain. "I know more of them than any man would wish to. We spent weeks there."

"It was only a few days, so stop whinging."

Mary straightened, flicked off the light and handed it back to Asim. "Thanks. Richard, did you notice his forked tongue? We'd need a skull to be sure, I suppose, but they probably have a Jacobson's organ."

"What did they report on its sensing ability?"

"Burden speculated they could sense prey from a mile or more away, which if confirmed would be, I think, unprecedented in reptiles. Something else for investigation. It caused all sorts of problems at the camp. Katherine Burden very narrowly escaped an attack."

"And speaking of!" With real vehemence, Mary spun about and poked Peter in the chest with her pencil.

Peter took a startled step backward, "Excuse me?"

Mary stalked forward and stabbed him again. "That," she spat out, flailing her arm in the direction of the lizard, "is the reason why I object so strongly to King Kong. It wasn't supposed to be a primate at all. It was supposed to be a huge Komodo dragon, for which, I'll have you know, there is fossil evidence to support. And all that silly Ann Darrow character did was scream, giving us blondes everywhere an even worse reputation for idiocy than we already have, although I suppose her erotic subtext with the ape was quite enthralling, if you enjoy that sort of activity. But I'll have you know that Katherine Burden is a sensible person and she did not scream when she encountered the real thing. Dragon, that is. There aren't any giant apes in Indonesia. Katherine knew she'd been stupid to forget her gun when she went out into the bush, but she didn't throw a hysterical tantrum, or she certainly would have been eaten."

"Of course," Peter replied, now firmly holding his ground in the face of Mary's advancing onslaught. Another step back would send him into the barn owl looming over his shoulder on the shelf. "I see now. How perfectly reasonable."

Richard really did have to admire Peter's composure. In truth, what more could any man say when confronted by a very animated woman with a magnificent, vomit spewing lizard?

The Burden expedition and Katherine Burden's near lethal encounter are documented in her own notes. Douglas Burden discussed the trip with Meridan Cooper, the producer for the original 1933 King Kong film, who then took the story from giant lizard to giant ape, and cool brunette to screaming blonde. Mary owes her own existence to Katherine Burden, Ann Darrow (with less screaming), and several Great Women of British of science, so this is a bit of a homage to those forebears. From there, the road inexorably led to the magnificent, vomit spewing, drooling lizards.

Chapter 7
Argentum
In which Lucy and Edmund ruminate on the properties of silvery things.