and nodded at Nadia. “Doctor Yashina, perhaps you could reveal to Doctor King the results of your examination?”
Nadia shot him an apologetic look before indicating the human remains lying on the osteo-board in front of her.
“My analysis of the remains,” she began in her normal detached tone, her Russian accent rolling off her tongue, “has led me to the conclusion that what we are looking at here is a . . .” she hesitated for just a second. McKinney’s eyes gleamed triumphantly. “A Caucasian male, one hundred and sixty two centimetres in height, approximately forty to fifty years old at time of death.”
“Caucasian?” King repeated, his voice hollow.
“Continue,” McKinney ordered Nadia. The Russian frowned but nevertheless complied.
“Based on gas residue, the level of decay and erosion as well as the fragments of clothing found with him, I suspect he died at some point between 1700 and 1750 Common Era, although this is only an initial estimate and more detailed study is required.” She indicated the skull. “There are signs of damage to the subject’s skull, possibly the result of a sword or cutlass wound to the face, though I do not believe this is what killed him. There are a number of other injuries on the subject’s remains, suggesting a somewhat violent death. Also, I noted a deformity in the brain cavity, possibly caused by a growth or tumour-”
“Thank you Doctor,” McKinney cut her off, noticing King’s gaze becoming distant as his mind absorbed all the information he had just been fed. “I think Doctor King has heard all he needed to hear for the time being.”
King’s eyes shifted at the sound of her voice, locking angrily on her as she finished her conclusion.
“I think it is safe to say that this unfortunate gentleman was not an African pirate, least of all an entirely fictional one.”
King was silent for a moment. He had tuned out almost immediately, as soon as Nadia had declared the remains to be Caucasian, not African. His mind struggled to catch up, focussing on McKinney’s final, sarcastic comment. A flash of anger erupted somewhere deep inside. His hands gripped the pieces of tracing paper they held, scrunching them. His moment of triumph seemed to be slipping away.
“Fictional?” he snarled, glancing from Nadia to the human remains - as though the dead man himself had betrayed him - and then back to McKinney.
“You’re lying!” he accused her. “You told Nadia to say those things, to destroy any view that doesn’t fit in with the status quo of archaeology.”
“My words are my own, Ben,” Nadia said. “I give only the facts, though I confess that further study is needed.”
“The Moon Mask is real,” he told McKinney, ignoring the Russian. “Whether or not these are the remains of the Black Death, the mask I found today proves that the Moon Mask is real. And if the Moon Mask is real, it proves my father’s theories.”
“Oh, not again,” McKinney sighed, turning her back to him. “More King fantasies about little green men seeding civilisation or survivors from Atlantis? You’re supposed to be a scientist, Ben! As was your father. Look at where his outlandish ideas got him. Dead, in some godforsaken cess-pit in the middle of Africa!”
His anger erupted. King’s face twisted into a violent snarl and he stepped towards McKinney.
“Ben,” Nadia warned.
He forced his anger under control and thrust his tracings at her. “Part of the mask I found today matches perfectly with part of the Bouda’s mask as depicted on the cave paintings near to the Wassu Stone Circle in Gambia.”
McKinney snatched the tracings from his hand and casually glanced at them. “Cave paintings,” she scoffed. “If archaeology was to believe that everything drawn on the walls of caves and tombs were real events then we would live in a world full of dragons and sea monsters and giants. These prove nothing!” She threw the two sheets of paper back at him.
King
Nadia shot him an apologetic look before indicating the human remains lying on the osteo-board in front of her.
“My analysis of the remains,” she began in her normal detached tone, her Russian accent rolling off her tongue, “has led me to the conclusion that what we are looking at here is a . . .” she hesitated for just a second. McKinney’s eyes gleamed triumphantly. “A Caucasian male, one hundred and sixty two centimetres in height, approximately forty to fifty years old at time of death.”
“Caucasian?” King repeated, his voice hollow.
“Continue,” McKinney ordered Nadia. The Russian frowned but nevertheless complied.
“Based on gas residue, the level of decay and erosion as well as the fragments of clothing found with him, I suspect he died at some point between 1700 and 1750 Common Era, although this is only an initial estimate and more detailed study is required.” She indicated the skull. “There are signs of damage to the subject’s skull, possibly the result of a sword or cutlass wound to the face, though I do not believe this is what killed him. There are a number of other injuries on the subject’s remains, suggesting a somewhat violent death. Also, I noted a deformity in the brain cavity, possibly caused by a growth or tumour-”
“Thank you Doctor,” McKinney cut her off, noticing King’s gaze becoming distant as his mind absorbed all the information he had just been fed. “I think Doctor King has heard all he needed to hear for the time being.”
King’s eyes shifted at the sound of her voice, locking angrily on her as she finished her conclusion.
“I think it is safe to say that this unfortunate gentleman was not an African pirate, least of all an entirely fictional one.”
King was silent for a moment. He had tuned out almost immediately, as soon as Nadia had declared the remains to be Caucasian, not African. His mind struggled to catch up, focussing on McKinney’s final, sarcastic comment. A flash of anger erupted somewhere deep inside. His hands gripped the pieces of tracing paper they held, scrunching them. His moment of triumph seemed to be slipping away.
“Fictional?” he snarled, glancing from Nadia to the human remains - as though the dead man himself had betrayed him - and then back to McKinney.
“You’re lying!” he accused her. “You told Nadia to say those things, to destroy any view that doesn’t fit in with the status quo of archaeology.”
“My words are my own, Ben,” Nadia said. “I give only the facts, though I confess that further study is needed.”
“The Moon Mask is real,” he told McKinney, ignoring the Russian. “Whether or not these are the remains of the Black Death, the mask I found today proves that the Moon Mask is real. And if the Moon Mask is real, it proves my father’s theories.”
“Oh, not again,” McKinney sighed, turning her back to him. “More King fantasies about little green men seeding civilisation or survivors from Atlantis? You’re supposed to be a scientist, Ben! As was your father. Look at where his outlandish ideas got him. Dead, in some godforsaken cess-pit in the middle of Africa!”
His anger erupted. King’s face twisted into a violent snarl and he stepped towards McKinney.
“Ben,” Nadia warned.
He forced his anger under control and thrust his tracings at her. “Part of the mask I found today matches perfectly with part of the Bouda’s mask as depicted on the cave paintings near to the Wassu Stone Circle in Gambia.”
McKinney snatched the tracings from his hand and casually glanced at them. “Cave paintings,” she scoffed. “If archaeology was to believe that everything drawn on the walls of caves and tombs were real events then we would live in a world full of dragons and sea monsters and giants. These prove nothing!” She threw the two sheets of paper back at him.
King
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