Her play succeeds: the wasp is caught, entangled in her vests and buzzing a furious chorus. Amalia pales as the creature thrashes, pulling fabric into her hands to defend against the sting. Now that the flush of bravery is fading, the foolishness of her plan is painfully apparent, and the nymph is left without a clue as to how she should proceed. One thing she knows: "It's not the last," she answers confidently, quiet contempt in her smoky voice. She wishes it were. The things are parasitic, a blight, a curse to librarians for years.
Still, she doesn't want to kill it- and without water, does not really know how. There is an old lantern on a shelf in the room she opened, and she doubles back to fetch it, her captive still clenched in its prison of furs. Gingerly she transfers the frantic insect from the clothing to the lantern, locking it within and setting it down on the empty table in the main room. "I'll take it to The Prince," she concludes, speaking aloud to nobody in particular. "It will be a good treat."
The monster dealt with, all that remains is cleaning. Amalia goes back into the room where the wasps came from, to make sure they haven't missed any larvae or young ones and try to head off another infestation.
Still, she doesn't want to kill it- and without water, does not really know how. There is an old lantern on a shelf in the room she opened, and she doubles back to fetch it, her captive still clenched in its prison of furs. Gingerly she transfers the frantic insect from the clothing to the lantern, locking it within and setting it down on the empty table in the main room. "I'll take it to The Prince," she concludes, speaking aloud to nobody in particular. "It will be a good treat."
The monster dealt with, all that remains is cleaning. Amalia goes back into the room where the wasps came from, to make sure they haven't missed any larvae or young ones and try to head off another infestation.
