everything’s been moved to the new location.”
“The Science Museum! Are we going to the Science Museum? I’ve never been there. It’s got an IMAX, and a planetarium, and a machine that makes your hair stand on end. Glo was there last month on a date. She said it was awesome.”
“You get turned on by science?”
“I got second prize in the science fair when I was in third grade. I made a volcano.”
A half hour later, Diesel pulled in to the museum parking garage. He found a space next to the elevator, and Carl sat up.
“Eeep?”
“We’re at the Science Museum,” Diesel said to Carl. “You can’t go in. They don’t allow monkeys. You have to wait here.”
Carl gave him the finger.
Diesel and I got out, Diesel locked the SUV, and we crossed the short distance to the elevator. We got into the elevator and Carl scampered in after us.
“I thought you locked the car,” I said to Diesel.
“I did. He knows how to open the door.”
“Okay, how about if you put him in your backpack.”
Diesel jogged back to the SUV, got his backpack, and stuffed Carl in.
“You have to be quiet until we get into the museum,” I told Carl.
Carl nodded his head and made the sign of a zipper across his mouth.
“Are we sure he’s a monkey?” I asked Diesel.
“What else would he be?”
“I don’t know, but he’s not normal.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Boston Museum of Science isn’t huge in comparison to the Louvre, for example. It doesn’t take all day to see it. We covered the first floor and didn’t find anything with clue potential. We were about to go downstairs, and Carl started squirming in the backpack.
“He’s probably hot in there,” I said to Diesel. “Maybe we could take him out and disguise him as a kid. We’re next to the gift shop. I could buy him a shirt.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than a shirt,” Diesel said. “He’s hairy and bowlegged, and he has a tail.”
“Work with me,” I said. “Think positive. Not every kid is Opie Taylor.”
I slipped into the gift shop and found a toddler-size shirt with a dinosaur on it, overalls to match, and baby Uggs. I took Carl into the baby-changing room, got him dressed, and held him up to the mirror so he could see himself.
“Eep,” Carl said, pointing to the green dinosaur on his chest.
“Dinosaur,” I told him.
He looked at his feet in the Uggs.
“Shoes,” I said. “You have to wear shoes in the museum.”
I set him down. “You can walk, but you have to hold my hand.”
“Eep.”
I took him out and showed him to Diesel. “What do you think?”
“I need a drink.”
“I think he’s cute.”
“I bet you dressed your cat when you were little.”
“Everyone dresses their cat.”
We went to the lower level and looked at the dinosaur exhibit. There were several people milling around. One of them was Hatchet, in full Renaissance regalia. He was slowly moving through the room, touching everything, searching for hidden energy.
“Find anything?” I asked him.
He gave a gasp of surprise at seeing Diesel and me, and he looked down at Carl. “What brings thee to this place with your…”
“Monkey,” Diesel said, filling in the blank. “And he’s not from my side of the family.”
Hatchet was wearing a large Band-Aid on his neck, a green tunic, brown tights, his hives were gone, and his scabbard was empty.
“Where’s your sword?” I asked him.
“I was requested to check it upon entry. I fear my life as a minion in this century is complicated.”
Carl tugged at my hand. He wanted to keep moving. He had his eye on Triceratops.
“Did you dig up Peder Tichy?” I asked Hatchet.
“I did not. There was no need.”
“
“A beast without our unique talent.”
“Beast is a strong word,” I said.
“’Tis a beast. I know this as a certainty. And this beast doth destroy with pleasure.”
“Eeeeep,” Carl said, stomping his feet in his Uggs, pointing to the dinosaur.
“Hey!” I said to Carl. “Chill. I’m having a conversation.”
“Does the beast have a name?” I asked Hatchet.
“It does. My master has warned thee.”
“Anarchy,” Diesel guessed.
“I know nothing more than that,” Hatchet said. “Only that it is fearful.”
Hatchet moved on, continuing to leave his fingerprints on every surface.
“Do you think there really is a beast named Anarchy?” I asked Diesel.
“Do I think there’s a fire-breathing dragon named Anarchy? No. Do I think there’s a dangerous lunatic out there calling himself Anarchy? Good possibility.” Diesel took Carl over to Triceratops. “Personally, I think calling yourself Anarchy is overly dramatic.”
“This from a guy named Diesel.”
“I didn’t choose the name.”
“What name would you choose?”
“Gus.”
“Because it’s short?”
“Because it’s normal, and expectations would be normal. And that would give me an advantage,” Diesel said. “Since I’m not entirely normal.”
“Do you think Hatchet got the burn on his neck from Anarchy?”
“It’s possible. He got it from someone, and it wasn’t Wulf.”
“Here’s a thought. The handprint on Hatchet’s neck was small. So maybe it was a woman’s hand. Anarchy could be a woman. And if I wanted to stretch it farther, I might wonder if Reedy’s mystery date, Ann, is Anarchy.”
“I had the same thought,” Diesel said. “And she could have killed Reedy. I never got a good look at the handprint.”
“Most women aren’t that vicious or that strong,” I said.
“This wouldn’t be an ordinary woman.”
“It could be your aunt!”
“Wulf’s mother?” Diesel gave a bark of laughter. “I can’t see her worshipping anarchy. She’s like Wulf. She likes to keep things tidy and under her control.”
A docent was standing by a colorful, huge, two-story contraption that had balls rolling along tracks, banging into bells, dropping into whirligigs, being carried up on tiny escalators, and released for a clattering, dinging,
