One piece of the Skin Map has been found. Now the race to unravel the future of the future turns deadly.

Kit Livingstone met his great grandfather Cosimo in a rainy alley inLondon where he discovered the reality of alternate realities.

Now he's on the run-and on a quest-trying to understand the impossible mission he inherited from Cosimo: to restore a map that charts the hidden dimensions of the multiverse. Survival depends on staying one step ahead of the savage Burley Men.

The key is the Skin Map-but where it leads and what it means, Kit has no idea. The pieces have been scattered throughout this universe and beyond.

Mina, from her outpost in seventeenth-century Prague, is quickly gaining both the experience and the means to succeed in the quest. Yet so are those with evil intent who, from the shadows, are manipulating great minds of history for their own malign purposes.

Those who know how to use ley lines have left their own world behind to travel across time and space-down avenues of Egyptian sphinxes, to an Etruscan tufa tomb, a Bohemian coffee shop, and a Stone Age landscape where universes collide-in this, the second quest to unlock the mystery of The Bone House.

THE BONE HOUSE

By STEPHEN R. LAWHEAD

Thomas Nelson

Copyright © 2011 Stephen Lawhead
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-59554-805-4

Contents

Important People in the Bright Empires series..........................xiPreviously in the Bright Empires series................................1The Bone House.........................................................5Essay: "Quantum Physics and Me" by Stephen Lawhead.....................381

Chapter One

In Which Some Things
Are Best Forgotten

From a snug in the corner of the Museum Tavern, DouglasFlinders-Petrie dipped a sop of bread into the gravy of his steakand kidney pudding and watched the entrance to the British Museumacross the street. The great edifice was dark, the building closed tothe public for over three hours. The employees had gone home, thecharwomen had finished their cleaning, and the high iron gates werelocked behind them. The courtyard was empty and, outside the gates,there were fewer people on the street now than an hour ago. He felt nosense of urgency: only keen anticipation, which he savoured as he tookanother draught of London Pride. He had spent most of the afternoonin the museum, once more marking the doors and exits, the blindspots, the rooms where a person might hide and remain unseen by thenight watchmen, of which there were but three to cover the entire acreageof the sprawling institution.

Douglas knew from his researches that at eleven each night thehead watchman retired to his office on the ground floor to make tea.He would be duly joined by his two underling guards, and the threewould enter their observations in the logbook and then spend anenjoyable thirty minutes drinking their tea, eating pies, and exchanginggossip.

While they were thus occupied, he would strike.

The pub was quiet tonight, even for a damp Thursday in lateNovember. There were only five other patrons in the place: three at therail and two at tables. He would have preferred more people—if onlyso his own presence would not be so noticeable—but he doubted itwould make much difference. In any event, there was nothing he coulddo about it.

"Everything all right, sir?"

Douglas turned from the window and looked up. The landlord,having little to do this evening, was making the rounds and chattingwith his customers.

"Never better," replied Douglas in a tone he hoped would dismissfurther intrusion. But the man remained hovering over the table.

"Mr. Flinders-Petrie, is it not, sir?"

"Indeed so." He offered a bland smile to cover his annoyanceat being recognised on this night of all nights. "I fear you have meat a disadvantage. I was not aware that my name would be commonknowledge."

The landlord chuckled. "No, I suppose not. But do you not recogniseme, sir?"

Douglas looked more closely at him. There was a vague familiarityabout the fellow, but ... no, he could not place him.

"Cumberbatch, sir," the landlord volunteered. "I worked for yourfather, I did. Oh, quite a few years ago." At Douglas' dubious expression,he said, "I was his footman—Silas."

"Silas! Certainly, I remember you," Douglas lied. "Do forgive me.Yes, of course, now that you remind me."

"'Course, I was younger then, and you were away at school anduniversity and whatnot." The landlord wiped his hands on the towelaround his waist and smoothed it out as if this put the matter to rest."Happy days they were."

"Yes, yes," agreed Douglas amiably. He was aware that the otherpatrons were watching them, and actually relieved now that the placewas not more crowded. "Happy times, indeed."

"Pardon my asking, sir," said Cumberbatch, leaning nearer thetable. He lowered his voice. "If you don't mind, there's somethingthat I've always wanted to know. I'd be most obliged."

"I'd be happy to help if I can, Silas. What is it?"

"Did they ever find the man who killed your father?"

To buy himself a little space to think, Douglas took a drink ofhis ale, then, placing the glass carefully on the table, said, "I am sorryto say they never did."

"Oh dear, oh dear." Cumberbatch shook his head. "That's a rightpity. Did they never have a suspicion, then?"

"Suspicions, yes," replied Douglas, "but nothing more. The coroner'sverdict at the time of the inquest reads 'unlawful killing byperson or persons unknown.' At this late date, I fear it is likely toremain a mystery."

"Ah, dear me," sighed Cumberbatch. "That is a shame, that is.He was a good man, your father—a very decent chap, if you don'tmind my saying. A solid and upright fellow—always treated me well,and that's a fact, that is."

"Yes, well, as you say it was all a long time ago. Perhaps it is bestforgotten."

"No doubt, sir. I'm with you there." Cumberbatch brightenedonce more. "But it is good to see you, Mr. Flinders-Petrie. Here, now,can I get you another pint?"

"Thank you, but no, I—"

"On the house, sir—for old time's sake. It would please me no end."

"Very well, then. Thank you, Silas. I would enjoy that."

"Coming right up, sir."

The landlord beetled off to pull the pint. Douglas drew his pocket-watchfrom his waistcoat and flipped it open. It was half past nine.In another hour he would make his move. Until then, he had a warmplace to wait and watch. The landlord returned with his pint and,after another brief exchange, he was left alone to finish it and hismeal in peace.

It was after ten thirty when he finally rose and, promising to returnfor another visit next time he was in the neighbourhood, retrieved hisblack cape from the coatrack and went out into the mist and drizzle.The weather was perfect for his purposes—a miserable night meantfewer folk around to notice any peculiar comings and goings. Thegas lamps hissed and fluttered, pale orbs that did little to cut the all-pervading fog. Perfect.

He smiled to himself as he walked to the corner of Montague Street,turned, and proceeded along the side of the museum to where the servicealley joined the street at the rear of the building. There he pausedto observe the street one last time; a lone hansom cab rattled away inthe opposite direction, and two men in top hats staggered along—onein the gutter, the other on the pavement—oblivious of their surroundings,singing their way home from an evening's celebration.

Satisfied, he ducked into the alleyway and hurried quickly andunerringly in the dark to the back of a town house opposite the rear ofthe museum. There, lying in the lane beside the house, was the woodenladder. With swift efficiency, he placed it against the high iron railing,climbed to the top of the fence, balanced on the upper bar while hepulled over the ladder, then climbed down. Once on the ground, hehurried to a window near the corner of the enormous building whereeven the lowest windows were eight feet off the ground. Positioningthe ladder, he climbed up and rapped on the glass, counted to ten, andthen rapped again.

As he finished the second tap, the window slid open from insideand a pale face, round like a solemn little moon, appeared in the darknessof the opening.

"Well done, Snipe," said Douglas. "Hand me in."

The stocky boy reached out and, with strong arms, pulled hismaster through the open window.

"Now then," said Douglas, drawing a small tin from his pocket.He flipped open the lid and shook out a few congreves, selected one,and swiped the head against the roughened top of the tin. The slenderstick of soft pine erupted with a pop and spluttering red flame."The lantern, Snipe."

The youth held up a...