SHE passed a compartment strewn with pots, each full of carefully sorted shards of human bone. The dark beyond smelled powerfully of glue. She raised her lantern. Light fell across something the size of a boulder, jigsawed together from curved pieces of bone. It was a tremendous human skull, half-made, unfinished from the jaw down except for two mounds of glue where a lower jaw might hinge. Hundreds of teeth grinned in a white arc, incisors and canines and molars grouped together, tribes of allied bite. “I hate this fucking place,” she said. But she was lying.
