Copyright J.B. Norman
“So, uh, I guess we’re professional babysitters now,” Lucia says. “First Roland —”
“Hey!” the muscular Alchemist exclaims.
Alda reaches up to gently pat her brother’s shoulder.
“— then Elise. And now this girl.”
“Ahem.”
The girl leading the group looks over her shoulder.
“This girl,” she says, “Is the Baroness-Regnant of Eastoren. And, by the way, is your current employer. Still, this girl would like to thank you for your assistance.
“You’re welcome, Baroness, um… Reginald,” Lucia mutters.
“Regnant,” Apolline says. “It just means she’s the ruling Baroness.”
As a noblewoman herself, the Aurorean sorceress is infinitely more familiar with the peerages of the various polities of Realmgard than her companions.
“My name is Reginleif,” the young Baroness says.
“I got the first part right,” Lucia notes.
“Now hush,” the young Baroness declares. “You’ll startle the insects.”
Lucia shivers. She does not like bugs. They’re gross, they sting you, they walk all over your sandwiches, and they eat your waterlemon crops.
Reginleif stops to sniff the air.
“I can smell them. They are quite close.”
“You can smell them?” Lucia mutters. “Gross.”
She sniffs the air again.
“This way,” she declares, pointing to the left. “I detect the unmistakable presence of the pheromone trail of the Grand Tarquinian Moth.”
“Gross.”
Reginleif leads Lucia, Apolline, Petra, Roland, and Alda through the trees.
“There!” she says in a whisper. “The Grand Tarquinian Moth!”
Sure enough, the moth is clinging to the trunk of an old tree.
“Oh,” Lucia says. “It’s big.”
The moth is one of the biggest bugs Lucia has ever seen. She hates it. Bugs should at least have the decency to be small enough to smoosh with your boot.
Its royal blue wings are as big as a bird’s and It looks big enough to fit over her face, a thought which makes her shudder with disgust. Two huge, furry feelers extend from its head.
“Its ears look like yours,” Petra notes, leaning in close to Lucia.
Lucia gasps in horror.
“Those are antennae. Not ears,” Reginleif says.
“It’s not dangerous, is it?” Lucia asks.
“Not unless you’re a mulberry. Or a sweater,” Reginleif answers. “Though, of course, the adults mostly feed on nectar.”
“Are we going to catch it?” Apolline asks.
“Yes,” Reinleif says. “The Middlesbrooke Lepidopterological Sanctuary needs a Grand Tarquinian Moth.”
“We’ll follow your lead,” Apolline says.
“Right. Everyone be very still and very quiet,” Reginleif instructs. “And do exactly as I say.”
As the group inches forward, the Grand Tarquinian Moth flutters away from the tree and takes flight.
The group watches at the vast blue moth flutters by. Though, for her part, Lucia cowers behind Petra.
“She’s getting away,” Reginleif groans.
The Grand Tarquinian Moth, however, does not go very far once it alights from the tree. With a few flaps of its vast, royal blue wings, it flutters upwards and settles comfortably on Roland’s head.
“Hey,” Roland says, grinning broadly. “I think he likes me.”
“Stay very still, Sir Roland,” Reginleif instructs, slowly reaching for her net.
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