19 March 2026
Thursday. The camp is a few doors along from the Perth study, under the same mall, which is not where I expected to find the desert, but then neither was Manly.
The first party arrived this morning. Some had been through the Doctor’s study before; some had never heard of him, which stung, but I let it pass. It made no difference down here. This is not the Doctor’s story, or not only his. Anyone may start here and go to the study after, or the other way about.
We walked into the camp together: the tents, the trays, everything where it was left. Then the sandstorm came up, as the letter warned it might, and there was nothing to do but go inside the old structure and keep our heads.
I will not write what we found. Partly because I promised the management, and partly because I do not want to think about it before bed. I will say that the walls are sandstone, the carvings are older than anything the Doctor ever drew, and there is a great deal more at stake than one missing archaeologist.
The nineteenth of March. I have written the date in red ink, which I keep for occasions and for correcting the Doctor’s spelling.
— H. Plumb (Miss), Expedition Secretary
