A clink, a clack. Under the striplights the stuffed bodies shed hard shadows. Billy heard another tiny noise. It came from the dark by the wall, deep in the specimen undergrowth.

Billy stepped off the path. He pressed through unyielding antique bodies, shouldering deeper into the little forest of animal remains. He glanced up as if at birds and pressed toward the whitewashed walls. He did not hear another of the sounds, only his own efforts and the brush of his clothes on dry skins. He rounded a stack of hippo parts, and came abruptly up against something of which he could for moments not make sense.

Glass, an old glass container as large as any he had seen. A chest-high lidded cylinder with scalloped base, full of pee-coloured preserver, and a specimen at which he stared. Something rather too big for the container, shoved crudely inside. Part-peeled, with eyes and paws up against the glass and ragged skin suspended like open wings, but even as he thought that he shook his head no no.

Billy saw that what he had thought pelt was a ruined shirt, what he had thought peeled was hairlessness and bloat, that oh my Jesus fucking Christ oh my Jesus fucking Christ what stared deadly at him in broken pose pressed up and misshaped against the bottle's inside was a man. what stared deadly at him in broken pose pressed up and misshaped against the bottle's inside was a man.

BILLY STAYED OUT OF THE POLICE'S WAY. IT WAS NOT EVEN HIM WHO called them. In those initial terrified moments, when he had torn upstairs unable to breathe, he had not thought to make the call. He had instead run to the two officers guarding the Darwin Centre and screamed, "Quick! Quick!" called them. In those initial terrified moments, when he had torn upstairs unable to breathe, he had not thought to make the call. He had instead run to the two officers guarding the Darwin Centre and screamed, "Quick! Quick!"

Their colleagues came quickly in numbers, cordoning off more of the museum, declaring the basement out of bounds. They took Billy's prints. Gave him hot chocolate for shock.

No one questioned him. They put him in a conference room and told him not to leave, but no one asked how he had found what he had found. Billy waited by an overhead projector, a TV on a rolling base. He listened to the museum being cleared, the consternation of the crowds.

He wanted solitude more than he wanted fresh air. He wanted his body to stop the last of its panicked shaking, so he sat and waited, as he had been told to, his glasses steaming when he sipped, until the door opened and Baron peered in.

"Mr. Harrow," Baron said, and shook his head. "Mister Hah- Hah-row ...

"Mr. Harrow, Billy, Billy Harrow. What have have you been up to?" you been up to?"

Chapter Five

BARON SAT NEXT TO B BILLY AND SHRUGGED AT HIM SYMPATHETICALLY.

"Bit of a shock," he said.

"What the hell?" hell?" Billy said. "What the hell, how did they get that ...? What even happened?" Billy said. "What the hell, how did they get that ...? What even happened?"

"Gives a whole new meaning to 'Someone getting bottled,' doesn't it? I apologise, I apologise," Baron said. "Morgue humour. Defence mechanism. You've had a horrible shock, I do know. Believe me."

"What's going on?" Billy said. Baron said nothing. "I saw Dane," Billy said.

"Is that right?" Baron said slowly. "Really now?"

"I was coming home. Last night. On a bus. He was on there. He must've been following me. Unless he could've just ... no. He must've been there deliberately. It wouldn't be hard for him to find out where I live ..."

"Alright. Alright, now, listen ..."

"I feel like I'm going mad," Billy said. "Even before that ... Before what's in the basement. I've been feeling like I'm being followed. I didn't say anything because, it's stupid, you know ..." The wind shook the windows abruptly. "I tell you I'm losing it ... What happened downstairs? Did Dane do that?" that?"

"Let me think for a second, Mr. Harrow," Baron said.

"When I was in with you, why was there a psychology professor there? Vardy. That's what he does. I looked him up. Come on, Baron, don't look like that-all it took was a bit of an online poke about. I could tell he wasn't a cop."

"Is that so? You can ask him yourself in a bit."

"Was he there because ... Is it that you think I'm mad, Baron?" There was another silence. "Is that what you think's going on with me? Because, Jesus ..." Billy breathed out shakily. "Right at the moment, I think you have a point."

"No," said Baron. "None of us think you're losing it. Rather the opposite." He glanced at his watch. This time, when he arrived, Vardy shook Billy's hand. He had one of those unpleasant too-hard grips. He was carrying a briefcase.

"Did you have a look?" Baron said.

"It's pretty much as you'd expect," Vardy said.

"What?" Billy shouted. "What you'd Billy shouted. "What you'd expect? expect? What about it did you expect, exactly?" What about it did you expect, exactly?"

"We'll discuss that," Vardy said. "We'll discuss that, Billy. Now wait. I gather you saw Dane Parnell."

Billy ran his fingers through his hair. Vardy seemed too large for the chair he was in: he squeezed his shoulders together, as if to avoid spilling himself. He and Baron looked at each other, sharing another unspoken moment.

"Right then," said Baron. "Let's have another go. Patrick Vardy, Billy Harrow, curator. Billy Harrow, Patrick Vardy. Professor of psychology at Central London University. As I gather you know."

"Yeah, like I say," Billy muttered. "My Google-fu is strong."

"I owe you an apology, Mr. Harrow," Baron said. "I sort of assumed you'd be as half-arsed as most people. Wouldn't even occur to them to look up our names."

"So how much do you know about us?" Vardy said. "About me?"

"You're a psych." Billy shrugged. "You work with the cops. So I figure ... You're a profiler, aren't you? Like Cracker? Like Silence of the Lambs?" Silence of the Lambs?" Vardy smiled, a bit. "That poor sod shoved into the bottle, downstairs," Billy said. "He's not the first. Is that it? That's it, isn't it. You're looking for someone ... You're looking for Dane. Dane's some kind of serial killer. You're here to work out what his thing is. And, oh Christ, he wants me, doesn't he? He's following Vardy smiled, a bit. "That poor sod shoved into the bottle, downstairs," Billy said. "He's not the first. Is that it? That's it, isn't it. You're looking for someone ... You're looking for Dane. Dane's some kind of serial killer. You're here to work out what his thing is. And, oh Christ, he wants me, doesn't he? He's following me me. And it's something to do with ..."

But he stopped. How did any of this make sense of the squid? Baron pursed his lips.

"Not exactly," said Baron. "It's not quite right." He chopped his hands through the air onto the tabletop, organising invisible thoughts.

"Look, Mr. Harrow," Baron said. "Here's the thing. Go back a step. Who'd want to steal a giant squid? Never mind how how just yet. That's not important. Right now, focus on why. It seems like you might be able to help us, and we might be able to help you. I'm not saying you're in danger, but I'm saying that-" just yet. That's not important. Right now, focus on why. It seems like you might be able to help us, and we might be able to help you. I'm not saying you're in danger, but I'm saying that-"

"Oh Christ ..."

"Billy Harrow, listen listen to me. You need to know what's going on. We've talked it over. We're going to tell you the full story. And this is in to me. You need to know what's going on. We've talked it over. We're going to tell you the full story. And this is in confidence confidence. Which this time please keep, thank you. Now, all this is not the sort of thing we normally lay out for people. We think it might help you to know, and to be perfectly frank we think it might help us too."

"Why does Dane want me?" Billy said.

"I wasn't on this case originally, as you know. There are certain flags that go up, you might say, under certain circumstances. Certain sorts of crime. The disappearance of your squid. Plus there are aspects of what's downstairs that are ... relevant. Like for example the fact that the diameter of that jar's opening isn't big enough to have got that gentleman inside."

"What?"

"But what really clinched our interest," Baron said, "what really rang my bell-and I mean that literally, there's a bell on my desk-is when you drew us that picture."

From his briefcase Vardy pulled a photocopy of the druggily exaggerated asterisk.

"I know what that is," said Billy. "Kubodera and Mori-"

"So," Baron said, "I head up a specialist unit."

"What unit?"

Vardy pushed another piece of paper across the table. It was the sign again, the ten-armed spread with two longer limbs. But not the one Billy had drawn. The angles, the lengths of the arms, were slightly different.

"That was drawn a little over a month ago," Baron said. "A bookshop got busted into one night and a bunch of stuff was taken. Bloke wearing this sign had come in a couple of days running beforehand, not buying anything, looking around. Nervous."

"If this were a question of a couple of kids both wearing Obey Giant Obey Giant T-shirts, we'd not be bothered," Vardy said, quickly, in his deep voice. "This is not a bloody meme. Though it may be going that way and thank you very much that'll complicate things very nicely." Billy blinked. "Are you a graffiti aficionado? It's started to crop up. Early days. It'll be on stickers on lampposts and student rucksacks soon. Turns out that this"-he flicked the paper-"is appropriate for the times." T-shirts, we'd not be bothered," Vardy said, quickly, in his deep voice. "This is not a bloody meme. Though it may be going that way and thank you very much that'll complicate things very nicely." Billy blinked. "Are you a graffiti aficionado? It's started to crop up. Early days. It'll be on stickers on lampposts and student rucksacks soon. Turns out that this"-he flicked the paper-"is appropriate for the times."

"It just fits," said Baron.

"But not quite yet," Vardy said. "So when it turns up twice, we sniff a pattern."

"The guy who was burgled," Baron said. "It's Charing Cross Road. He stocks a lot of junk and a little bit of proper antiquarian stuff. Six books nicked that night. Five had just come in. Maybe two, three hundred quids' worth. They were all on the desk up front, waiting to be sorted. At first he thought that was all that was gone.

"But where there are locked cabinets, the glass's broken and something's missing from a top shelf." He held up a finger. "One book. From a bunch of old academic journals. He worked out what it was was gone."

Baron looked down and read laboriously. "For-hand-linger ... ved de Skandinav "For-hand-linger ... ved de Skandinav-something," he said. "The 1857 volume."

"How's your Danish, Billy?" said Vardy. "Ring any bells?"

"Some villain wants to make it look like he's rushed in and snagged at random," Baron said. "So he grabs a load of books off the counter. But he then runs twenty feet down a corridor, to one specific specific locked bookshelf, breaks one specific pane of glass, takes one specific old book." Baron shook his head. "It was that one journal. locked bookshelf, breaks one specific pane of glass, takes one specific old book." Baron shook his head. "It was that one journal. That That's what this was all about."

"So we asked the Danish Royal Academy for the contents," Vardy said. "Too old to be on databases."

"To be honest, we didn't think much of it at the time," Baron said. "It wasn't a priority. It only got passed to us because we'd seen that symbol knocking around a bit. When the list came in from Copenhagen nothing stood out. But. When we heard the symbol'd turned up here, and just what'd happened, one of those articles nicked weeks ago came back sharpish."

"Pages one eighty-two to one eighty-five," Vardy said.

"I won't try the Scandiwegian," Baron said, reading. "It's an article about blaeksprutter blaeksprutter, so they say. Translation: Japetus Steenstrup. 'Several Particulars about the Giant Cuttlefish of the Atlantic.'"

"TO RECAP," BARON SAID. "WEEKS BEFORE YOUR SQUID WAS SNAFFLED, someone pinched an original copy of that article."

"You'll have heard of the author," Vardy said. Billy's mouth was open. He had. The giant squid was Architeuthis dux Architeuthis dux, but its genus was named for the man who had taxonomised it: Architeuthis Steenstrup Architeuthis Steenstrup.

"Now," Vardy said. "Two crimes united by a questionable necklace do not a conspiracy make. However. Two crimes-three, now, with the chap downstairs-united by such jewellery and and by giant squid, and our radar does indeed tend to ping." by giant squid, and our radar does indeed tend to ping."

"That is the sort of thing that gets us interested," Baron said.

"'Us'?" Billy said at last. "Who is is 'us'?" 'us'?"

"We," said Baron, "are the FSRC."

"The what?"

Baron folded his hands. "Do you remember that lot calling themselves New Rosicrucians?" he said. "Who kidnapped that girl in Walthamstow?" Baron thumbed in Vardy's direction. "Found them. And he was I suppose you'd call it consulting consulting during seven/seven, too. That sort of thing. It's an area of concern." during seven/seven, too. That sort of thing. It's an area of concern."

"What area?" area?"

"Alright, alright," Baron said. "You sound like you're about to cry." Vardy handed Billy a piece of paper. It was, oddly, his CV. His PhD was in psychology, but his master's was in theology. His first degree divinity. Billy pushed his glasses on and scanned the publications list, the Positions Currently Held.

"You're an editor of The Journal of Fundamentalism Studies?" The Journal of Fundamentalism Studies?" Billy said. This was a test. Billy said. This was a test.

Baron said, "The FSRC is the Fundamentalist and Sect-Related Crime Unit."

Billy stared at him, at Vardy, at the CV again. "You are are a profiler," he said. "You're a cult profiler." a profiler," he said. "You're a cult profiler."

Vardy even smiled.

"THERE'S ..." B ..." BARON COUNTED ON HIS FINGERS. "AUM S SHINRIKYO ... The Returner Sect ... Church of Christ Hunter ... Kratosians, close to home some of them ... Do you have any idea the increase in cult-related violence in the last ten years? Of course you don't, because unless it's, boo, Al Qaeda and the Al-Qaedalinos, it doesn't come close to the news. But they're the least of our worries. And part of the reason you haven't heard about this is because The Returner Sect ... Church of Christ Hunter ... Kratosians, close to home some of them ... Do you have any idea the increase in cult-related violence in the last ten years? Of course you don't, because unless it's, boo, Al Qaeda and the Al-Qaedalinos, it doesn't come close to the news. But they're the least of our worries. And part of the reason you haven't heard about this is because we we are good at our job. We've been keeping the streets safe. are good at our job. We've been keeping the streets safe.

"That's why you were encouraged to keep shtum. But you told someone something. Which A, you should not have done, and B, is not unimpressive. Collingswood's going to have to ask you again, a bit harder.

"It's not as if we're exactly secret," he said. "It's not so much 'plausible denial'-that's not the best strategy these days. It's more 'plausibly uninteresting.' Everyone'll be like, 'FSRC? Why on earth you asking about them? Silly nonsense, bit of an embarrassment ...'" He smiled. "You get the idea."

Billy could hear officers in the corridors outside. Phones were ringing.

"So," said Billy at last. "So you're cult people. So what's this got to do with that poor sod in the basement? And what's it got to do with me?" me?"

Vardy brought up a video file on his laptop and placed it where all three men could watch. An office, a tidy desk, books on the walls, a printer and PC. There was Vardy, sitting three-quarters toward the camera, another man with his back to the lens. All that could be seen of him was slicked-back thinning hair and a grey jacket. The colours were not very good.

"... so so." Billy heard the hidden-faced man say. "I done a stint with that bunch in Epping, bog-standard manickies they are I think, balance balance balance not very interesting, I wouldn't waste your time."

"What about this?" said video-Vardy, and held out what Billy could see was the symbol he himself had drawn. said video-Vardy, and held out what Billy could see was the symbol he himself had drawn.

The obscured man leaned in. "Oh right," he said. He spoke in a breathless conspiratorial drone. he said. He spoke in a breathless conspiratorial drone. "The tooths, the toothies," "The tooths, the toothies," he said. " he said. "Yeah no I don't know," he said. " he said. "The toothies they're new I think I hen't seen them much except they been drawing that leaving it about. A sign a sign. You been to Camden? Saw it and I thought You been to Camden? Saw it and I thought I'll have some of that I'll have some of that but they're odd ones, they sort of wave hello but then you can't find much of them. So. Are they secret?" but they're odd ones, they sort of wave hello but then you can't find much of them. So. Are they secret?"

"Are they?" said video-Vardy. said video-Vardy.

"Well you tell me you tell me. I can't get to them and you know me so it's, you know it's tantalising is what it is."

"Tenets?"

"Got me. What I hear," the man made gossip-talk movements with his fingers, " the man made gossip-talk movements with his fingers, "all I can tell you is they talk about the dark, the rise, the you know the reaching out. They love that the outreaching, hafay ..." ..."

"What?"

"Hafay hafay, where's your Greek professor? Alpha phi eta, hafe, hapsis if you like, touchy touchy, that's what they say-it's a haptic story, this one." hapsis if you like, touchy touchy, that's what they say-it's a haptic story, this one."

Vardy froze the picture. "He's sort of a freelance research assistant. A fan fan. He's a collector."

"Of what?" Billy said.

"Religions. Cults."

"How the hell do you collect a cult?"

"By joining it."