The Long-Lost Secret Diary of the World's Worst Dinosaur Hunter Read online

  The Long-Lost Secret Diary of the World’s Worst Dinosaur Hunter © The Salariya Book Company Limited 2019. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Book design by David Salariya

  Illustrations by Sarah Horne

  Additional cover illustrations by Tanya Komedina

  Published in the United States by Jolly Fish Press, an imprint of North Star Editions, Inc.

  First US Edition

  First US Printing, 2018

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (pending)

  978-1-63163-196-2 (paperback)

  978-1-63163-195-5 (hardcover)

  Jolly Fish Press

  North Star Editions, Inc.

  2297 Waters Drive

  Mendota Heights, MN 55120

  www.jollyfishpress.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  -

  Fossil Hunter

  Monday, February 28th

  I found three fish lizard bones this morning, and I managed to get them to Father before the tourists arrived.

  Every afternoon he waits for the coach from Bath to pull up at the inn and watches as the new visitors arrive in our village.

  Then he races down to the lucky bone stall he keeps outside our house and writes his signs.

  If he hears one of the tourists sneezing, he’ll claim the bones can cure colds. If he sees one stooping, he’ll claim they can cure bad backs. He once spotted a short, bad-tempered man and scribbled a sign that claimed the bones could make you taller and more agreeable, but the man just kicked his stall over.

  Most of the time it works very well. Father’s good at engaging the visitors in friendly conversation, and they’re usually in high spirits at the start of their seaside holiday. By the time they realize the bones of my fish lizards are no more likely to cure their ailments than the bones they pick out of their Christmas goose, it’s too late. Surprisingly few return to the stall and threaten to assault Father with the bones.

  It’s all very frustrating for me, however, because I know the bones are special. They’re just not special in the way Father thinks.

  I’m convinced they belonged to ancient creatures that lived in the sea in the very distant past. Father bought me some books and journals on the subject, and I discovered that learned men believe all manner of strange beasts walked the earth, swam in the oceans, and flew in the air a very long time ago.

  Not many remains of these creatures have been found yet, but every month brings new discoveries.

  I believe my fish lizard bones belong to this new science. And I worry that my finds will end up on the mantelpieces of fickle tourists when they really ought to be studied by experts.

  Whenever I explain this to Father, he says we make a good living from the bones, so it doesn’t matter what they are.

  Tuesday, March 1st

  This proves I was right. Today Father sold some of my fish lizard bones for twenty pounds, which is a huge amount of money for us. And it wasn’t because the man who bought them thought they’d cure his eyesight or back. It was because he knew what they were.

  Father spotted a man with wild hair and a crumpled jacket stepping off the coach this afternoon. He rushed down to the stall and wrote a sign which made the unlikely claim that the fish lizard bones could cure untidiness. Surely carrying a dusty bone around would make someone look even more untidy?

  The scruffy man soon took a stroll down from the inn to the seashore. Our house is on the main route, and Father was waiting behind his stall.

  The man’s jaw dropped when he saw the fish lizard bones. Father started his usual sales speech, but he didn’t really need to. The man was turning the bones over in his hands one by one, and muttering in an excited fashion.

  After a while he asked Father how much he wanted for all the bones on the table. Father said he wouldn’t take a penny less than five pounds, but the man offered twenty.

  For once, Father was speechless. He prides himself on being good at haggling, but never before had he encountered a customer who offered to pay more, let alone four times the asking price. He sat frozen behind his stall as the man scooped up the bones and laid the money out.

  It was only when a breeze picked up and the money could have blown away that Father snapped out of his trance. He tucked the bills into his pocket and asked the man why he was so interested in the goods.

  The man said he was a keen collector of ancient fossils and believed the bones were of great scientific interest.

  Now maybe Father will listen to me when I tell him that the bones are worth more if we tell the truth about them.

  GET REAL

  The bones Ann has found belong to a large swimming reptile called Plesiosaur. It wasn’t a dinosaur, though it lived at the same time as some of them. It had a broad flat body with four flippers and a long neck. Many Plesiosaur skeletons were discovered in the early nineteenth century by the fossil hunter Mary Anning (see “Hall of Fame” section).

  Some people believe the legendary Loch Ness Monster is a Plesiosaur that survived extinction. But sadly for the Scottish tourist board, there is no evidence that such a creature exists.

  Wednesday, March 2nd

  Father made me wait at home today in case the mysterious buyer called again. He thought the man might purchase even more bones if I was here too.

  Sure enough, the man returned to our stall in the middle of the morning. Father ushered him in so I could tell him how I’d discovered the fossils.

  The man’s name is William Armstrong and he lives in London. He works as a surgeon, but his real passion is collecting bones. He said the remains I’d gathered were some of the finest he’d ever seen and he intended to show them at the next meeting of the Geological Society in London.

  It’s usually embarrassing when visitors come to our house. Every inch is filled with the bones I gather from the beach, and most people are put off. We once invited a priest from Bath inside for tea, and he fainted when a grinning fish lizard skull slid down into his lap. Father laid him on my collection of fossilized fish lizard poop to recover, but this only distressed him more.

  It was a different matter with Mr. Armstrong. Not only did he love my bone collection, but he was very impressed with the fossilized poop too. He said the Geological Society would love to hear about it.

  Mr. Armstrong questioned me about the bones at great length. Whenever I spoke, Father butted in to point out the excellent quality of the specimens, which wasn’t helpful. I was trying to have a serious conversation with a fellow scientist, and all he could do was interrupt with his sales talk.

  At one point, Mr. Armstrong stood up and clapped his hands together. He said he’d had a brilliant idea. He would pay for Father and I to come to London so I could present the findings to the Geological Society myself.

  I wanted to do this more than anything else in the world, but I found myself unable to speak. I could only stare at Mr. Armstrong and nod. I hope I manage to say more in
front of the society.

  Now Mr. Armstrong is making arrangements for Father and I to come to London with him. I can’t believe I’m going to such a huge city. I’ve never been further than Bath before, and even that seemed impossibly busy. London is many, many times bigger.

  Thursday, March 3rd

  I think my luck is changing at last. All my life I’ve wanted to be a great scientist, but I feel like I’ve been under a horrible curse. Whenever a chance of success has come along, fate has worked against me.

  A great scientist from London called William Pringles once stayed at the local inn. When I discovered he was there, I gathered a selection of my best bone fragments and went up to show him. I was sure he’d be so impressed he’d tell all the other scientists in London about them and I would finally get some recognition.

  I spotted him eating soup at one of the tables and hurried over. Unfortunately, I tripped as I approached and the bones fell right into his bowl. If they’d landed just a few inches to the side, I might still have been able to tell him about my fish lizards. As it was, he was so furious about the filthy scraps of bone in his onion and potato soup, he wouldn’t have cared if I’d discovered the secrets of alchemy. He refused to listen to my apologies and demanded I leave immediately.

  I’d come to accept that setbacks like this would always happen to me. Yet now I am just days away from sharing my finds with London’s finest experts. Maybe things are finally turning around.

  Friday, March 4th

  There was a huge storm last night, which always makes for excellent bone-harvesting. The waves lash against the cliffs, sending new rocks tumbling down to the beach. I tap them apart with my hammer and search for remains inside. When I find some, I set about the slow process of removing them without damaging them.

  I was so busy with my work I didn’t spot Mr. Armstrong approaching, and he gave me quite a fright when he nudged me on the shoulder.

  I advised him to return to the town. It can be very dangerous around the cliffs. The ground is slippery, rocks can crash down onto your head, and the tide sweeps in so quickly you could be stranded if you didn’t know exactly when to leave.

  But Mr. Armstrong insisted on staying. As I worked, he told me how the huge swimming lizards ended up buried in rocks. He said the whole area was covered in water many years ago, and when the fish lizards died they sunk to the bottom of the sea. Eventually, the climate changed and the bones were covered in mud and sand that hardened into rock.

  I’d worked much of this out from the journals, but I’d never had it explained so simply before. The scientists in the journals use very complicated words, and it’s hard to follow what they mean.

  As he watched me extract a rib, Mr. Armstrong said I was one of the best fossil hunters he’d ever seen, and that I should travel the country and search for other discoveries to go with my fish lizards.

  I told him I couldn’t afford it, but he said some of the men from the Geological Society are very rich and might sponsor me if they like my talk. They may be a little strange and stuffy, but if I got them on my side it might help my career.

  Hearing Mr. Armstrong talk about my “career” made me truly believe I had shaken off my bad luck at last. But what he said next went beyond even my ambitions.

  He clapped his hands together, and said he’d had a better idea. He pointed to the mist-covered ocean and said I should go there. At first I thought he was suggesting I hunt for fossils in the sea. I thought this was a terrible idea, as I would be unable to breathe.

  It turned out he was actually suggesting I cross the sea in a huge ship and visit the New World. He’s done a lot of research into the landscape of the Western United States of America, and he believes many ancient creatures are buried there.

  These would be the huge lizards that walked on the land, rather than the ones that swam in the sea. The men in the society call them dinosaurs, which means “terrible lizards.” Only a few have been found so far, but Mr. Armstrong thinks I could find a great deal more in America.

  He said he wants to do it himself, but he can’t take the time off work. He thinks some of the really wealthy members of the society might pay for Father and I to go if I impress them.

  I was already a little overwhelmed by the idea of visiting London. The thought of crossing the sea to the New World makes me feel dizzy. But Mr. Armstrong seems to think it’s not just possible, but probable.

  He has an odd talent for making you believe the most unlikely of things will happen. Out there on the beach, I really believed I could sail around the world and hunt dinosaurs.

  Now that I’m back in my room updating my journal, it all seems like a silly fantasy. I’ve only ever traveled a few miles from my front door before. I am not qualified to explore the globe, and if I ever tried, my bad luck would ensure the whole thing ended in disaster.

  Saturday, March 5th

  Mr. Armstrong went hiking along the coast today, so I was left alone on the beach. I searched around the rocks, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept putting my hammer down and staring at the sea.

  Could I really cross it? The more I thought about it, the more possible it seemed.

  If one of the rich men in the society wants to pay for me to go to America, why shouldn’t I?

  I imagined I could see the New World across the ocean, and that the huge lizards were standing on the shore and beckoning me.

  I’ve made my mind up. If one of the wealthy geologists wants to pay for me to travel to the New World, I’ll do it.

  GET REAL

  The term dinosaur was coined by the scientist Sir Richard Owen. It comes from Greek words meaning “terrible” and “lizard.” He meant “terrible” in the sense of

  “awe-inspiring” rather than “really scary” or “worthless.” Dinosaurs aren’t really lizards at all. And if they tried to pass themselves off as lizards they’d be terrible at it, so the name is really quite accurate if you think about it.

  Sunday, March 6th

  A few food barrels washed up on the beach this morning, so I hid them behind a rock and went up to tell Joss the innkeeper about them. He’s meant to report them to the local customs men, who seize them on behalf of the government, but what he really does is smash them open to share with the people of the village.

  Father and I are lucky. Between my bone-harvesting skills and his selling skills, we earn more than enough to live. But most people in the village are poor, and some go for days without food. So if a few barrels wash up on the shore from a wrecked ship, it only seems fair that I should let Joss know.

  The only drawback is that I have to tell him about the fish lizard bones every time, and he still seems very confused by them.

  “Still digging those dead lizards out of the rocks?” asked Joss as I led him to the seashore.

  “Yes,” I said. “And I’m going to London on Friday to talk to the Geological Society about them.”

  “Bad place, London,” he muttered.

  He stared up at the cliff as we approached.

  “If you ask me, those lizards shouldn’t have crawled up there in the first place,” he said. “It’s no wonder they died.”

  “I don’t think it happened like that,” I said. “I think they died first, then the rocks sort of built up on top of them.”

  Mr. Armstrong had made it all sound so simple, but Joss was screwing his face up in confusion now.

  “All this land used to be covered in water,” I said. “Even the cliffs.”

  “Nah,” said Joss. “Old Will has never mentioned anything about water on the rocks and he remembers everything.”

  “This is before even he was born,” I said. “A very long time before, in fact.”

  “I still say the lizards should have kept out of them rocks,” he said, shaking his head. “They were asking for trouble.”

  I hope I do a better
job of explaining myself to the society next week. But I expect it’s easier to discuss such things with learned men. Joss gets all his information from what the other villagers tell him, which is why he refuses to yawn in case his spirit escapes through his mouth and the devil jumps in.

  Chapter 2

  -

  Journey to London

  Monday, March 7th

  How will we fit on the coach with all these cases? I need all the bones and fossilized poop I can carry for my presentation, but there’s no need for Father to bring three full trunks too. He says he wants to bring plenty of fish lizard bones to sell to rich Londoners, but I think he ought to be careful.

  Joss isn’t correct about much, but he was right to say that London can be a dangerous place. The hardened locals might not be forgiving if Father singles them out for having bad skin or poor posture.

  Tuesday, March 8th

  Much as I suspected, we made ourselves very unpopular with the other passengers by lugging all our cases on. Father made things even worse by opening one of his and trying to sell a bone to the grumpy woman opposite on the grounds that it could cure her “sullen and pinched expression.” His silence would have been a better cure for her bad temper.

  We are now staying in a hotel near Bath railway station. I can see a huge plume of smoke rising into the air every time a train chugs past. It’s all very exciting, but I must try and sleep. I’ll be getting onto one of those things for the first time tomorrow, and I want to be well rested for it.

  Wednesday, March 9th

  When I woke up this morning, I thought my bad luck had returned. The cases of bones I’d left at the foot of the bed had gone, and Father was nowhere to be seen. My mind raced through all the cruel tricks fate could have played. I imagined that the bones had been stolen by local thieves, that Father had chased after them in vain, and that I would have to face the Geological Society with no evidence of my finds.