77 Ashan 721
...continued from here
The trial was well into the afternoon when Oram saw Professor Seams riding out of the Scalvoris gate. Seams rode a small horse, not much bigger than a pony. Wigs would have known what the breed was called. The professor, Oram guessed, was probably used to keeping an accurate schedule by the clock. Oram was not, and tended by contrast to mark the breaks by feel more than measurement. Nonetheless, the two arrived had arrived at their meeting place not long apart; Oram had arrived earlier, but he reckoned that the Sev’ryn had not kept him waiting more than ten bits.
The professor had brought a book with him, which he pulled out of his saddlebag immediately after dismounting, before even greeting Oram; when the traveler saw it he felt a trill of worry that Seams was going to shove pages of text inside it under his nose and expect him to read it, for he had not brought the reading glasses Saoire had given him. Instead, Seams opened the book to a section containing several illustrations, which he pointed out to the hunter, explained, and read the captions to. What the professor most wanted to show was a diagram that showed what looked to be a lamppost standing in the middle of a circular pool.
”It’s that water trap I had mentioned earlier in the meeting,” Seams explained, his nimble finger moving over the various details in the illustration as he spoke. You light a lantern around dusk and just wait for the bugs to come. They get attracted, fly in circles around it, then eventually tire and land in the water.”[/b]
Oram peered at the drawing. ”Why is the lamp so low on the post?” he asked. It looked to be mounted only about a third-way up the pole. In response, Seams’ finger shifted over to a bit of text. ”So the bugs are more likely to end up in the water, apparently. There’s a tradeoff, I suppose, between mounting it high enough to be seen a ways away, and low enough that he bugs get drowned.” He shut the book and looked up at Oram. ”You said you had suggested your chicken idea to a farmer last night. Shall we talk to him and see if he got any results?”
Oram shook his head. ”I talked to Daltrik this morning,” he corrected. ”So I don’t think he’ll know anything yet.” He thought a bit longer. ”Though he might be interested in this trap idea you just showed me. He could try that, too. And who knows, maybe glowing chickens are bright enough to attract the locust in the daytime.”
It was the professor’s turn to shake his head in answer. ”When the sun’s out, bugs aren’t easily distracted by other light sources, so I wouldn’t count on,” he said. ”But I do agree that we should talk to this…Daltrik did you say?, and then go see as much as we can in the countryside while there’s still light out."
It was a little under a break’s ride to Daltrik’s farm from the city gate, although Seams and Oram went more slowly than usual because the swarming locusts forced them to keep their heads down. Both men word straw hats and drew neckerchiefs over mouth and nose. The locusts were not aggressive, but the shear numbers of them in the air made regular collisions inevitable. Oram’s hat brim *plipped* once or twice a bit as they rode. Mule’s ears and tail flicked constantly, and he frequently snorted and pitched his head as he went. Seams, being preoccupied with controling his horse in the swarm, did not immediately notice when Oram turned off the road onto the path leading to Daltriks’ farmhouse, nor did Oram notice right away that Seams' horse had kept going. The hunter had to shout to the professor loudly to get him to turn around, once he realized what had happened.
Daltrik did not keep them long waiting on his porch. As the door shut behind them, the farmer said: ”Hold on! You got a couple on you.” There was a locust on Seams’ hat, as well as on his back. The farmer brushed them onto the floor and then crushed them before they could take flight again.
”You’re going to clean those up yourself, you know,” called a woman’s voice from a nearby corner. Daltrik’s wife was sitting there, mending some sort of net. The farmer grimaced but nodded. ”Of course, dear. You remember Oram, don’t you? And this is…?” The professor, still examining his hat curiously as if to see if he’d overlooked any more locusts there, responded: ”Jasper Seams, Professor at the Viden Acaedmy. Zoology. Oram and I are working together to find answers to this locust crisis.”
Daltrik’s wife -Thera, Oram recalled- worked her face into a suitably-impressed expression while continuing to work on her net. Daltrik himself grinned. ”Why don’t you gentlemen sit down? Do you need to cool off? I have some tea. It’s cold. You can either have it that way, or I can heat it up, if you prefer.”
”Cold is fine,” answered the professor, and Oram nodded his own agreement. Seams sat down, and to his relief, Oram saw that he sat down with his butt in the actual seat this time, as a normal person would.
