The Courtesy Arch rang its twenty-four-minute bell exactly at twelve-forty.
Imran Bell stepped through onto the flat stone slabs carrying a long light metal case containing six camel-hair sample brushes, a magnifying check visor, and a pair of soft rubber metal tongs used in Harrowby for handling fragile lepidoptera.
“Twenty-four minutes,” Imran said, checking his clockwork wristwatch with a crisp, skilled glance. “I’ve got three egg cases to move before my work boss wonders why I’m taking my tea in the garage. Let’s get underground.”
Ten minutes later, Imran was lying flat on his stomach in the four-foot relief throat, his navy council overalls smeared with yellow mud, his magnifying visor flipped down over his glasses. Behind him, Pella held the dark-lantern. That kept the beam angled against the rock wall so the direct glare wouldn’t agitate the emerald swarm.
The heat in the water chute was intense, baking against their forearms. But Imran showed no sign of hurry. He uncapped the bottle of elderberry extract, dipped a fine horsehair brush into the dark liquid. Then he began painting a nonstop, six-inch ring around the outer margin of the beetle nest.
“Watch their antennae, Pella,” Imran instructed in a calm, level murmur. “When they detect the tannin, the scape segment will flare outward ninety degrees. That’s the escape stance.”
