Conversation · Morell, the Cryptozoologist

"Oh, hello, officer." He covers his mouth, struggling to suppress a coughing fit.

"There, there, dear." She gently touches her husband's arm. "Don't talk too much. And have some more tea."

Develop an alternative theory about the missing locusts.

There's no mystery here. You've seen the Locust City and its spiralling mud towers. All that's left is to confront the city father himself...

"I'm pretty sure it was Cuno who took the locusts. He's built a whole city for them in his shack."

"What the devil is a Cuno? And why would he be making a city of bugs?"

A shadow of worry passes over the woman's face. "Oh, my dear Morell. You've been an old man for too long. Kids love to torment insects, almost as much as they love to torment old folks..."

"I'll look around and see if the kids in Martinaise know anything."

"Delinquents -- my favourite." It doesn't sound like it's really his favourite.

"Oh, you've been such a dear to us. Please, let us know whatever you turn up. I have a feeling we're getting so close!"

"Well, I see you've got all the help you need." The man turns to his companions. "I'll see you tonight at my place -- let's play 'Suzerainty' -- but no more field trips for me."

This is a slippery one -- he may respect the law, but mostly wants to pass under the radar. You won't get a chance to talk after you walk out of here.

He hasn't been particularly forthcoming before. He may well still be hiding something. After he's left it's too late.

"Really, Gary?" The woman's voice is a little shaky suddenly. "We're getting somewhere here. I'd love to play 'Suzerainty', but..."

"Lena, I'm sorry, but you're not getting anywhere, it was some kids. I know the little mutants around here -- leave anything out in the open and they'll steal it. Even if it's bugs." He looks at his tea.

"Morell, it's been fun, really. But I need a bath and I have deliveries to handle. When this tea is done, I gotta run."

"No-no. No need to apologize, Gary. You've been more than helpful. We'll have to take a rain check on that game of 'Suzerainty' today though -- we're gonna follow this through."

He keeps the language unemotional but it's in there -- disappointment.

The first man to break formation is always a blow to leadership. This is bigger than he lets on.

After this is your last chance to talk to Gary.

Consider the way the empty trap was disturbed, as though shaken. Most likely the hands of a young person -- hands small enough to fit inside the trap too.

You should ask the redheaded boy. Cuno.

"I have a feeling some local kids may have stolen the locusts."

"Kids? What would a child want with bugs?"

But whose?

You look down at your hands, but they don't have anything to tell you.

"Maybe it was a different cryptid who took the bugs?"

"A different cryptid?" The cryptozoologist furrows his heavy brow.

"Oh, sweetie. Maybe you should stick to human detective work?"

"Here's an idea. Maybe the locusts ate themselves?"

"Autocannibalistic locusts? I appreciate your unconventional thinking, officer, but really, cryptids aren't your area of expertise."

"It's okay, dear. Most hypotheses turn out to be false."

"Okay. I've been thinking and I'm just not sure that it was the phasmid that took the locusts."

"Really, officer, we can take it from here." The cryptozoologist furrows his heavy brow.

"Yes, sweetie, we've already taken too much of your time."

You have your suspicions, but nothing you can form into a viable explanation.

"I'm looking for a suspect. Have you seen anyone who appeared to be on the run?"

"I'm afraid not, officer. I've been busy digging around in the reeds for days, looking for signs of insect activity -- I'm less interested in mammalian concerns, to be perfectly honest."

The lieutenant takes a short note in his notebook, then gestures for you to proceed.

"Tell me about this phasmid you're looking for."

"Hmm! Well, first of all it's damn difficult to find -- which is why we've been knee-deep in the reeds laying traps for it."

"What sorts of specialized techniques is the phasmid using to hide itself?"

"It's my hypothesis that it has evolved certain electro-chemical defences that allow it to interfere with animal perception -- impeding pattern recognition, confusing the visual cortex."

"But I cannot describe how these defences work -- much less how they evolved -- without studying a live specimen."

Yes, it makes perfect sense. You're beginning to suspect there's something para-natural about this phasmid.

A ghost insect, he said? These people are looking for a ghost.

"Why are you so interested in this stick bug? Aren't there more sensational animals out there?"

"Typical rookie assumption." He flashes you a sideways smile. "Insects are much more sophisticated creatures than those unversed in zoology give them credit for."

"Even simply catching a glimpse of the Insulindian phasmid would be the apex of my -- of any -- cryptozoologist's career. But to study it and its defences, find out how it's stayed hidden so long..." He shakes his head.

...would be glory itself.

"What have you discovered about it so far?" (Continue.)

"Very little, I'm sorry to say. No one's ever captured a specimen, so all our information is based on first- and third-hand accounts."

"So no one's ever found one?"

"Not yet" He holds up an index finger. "That's what makes it a cryptid.

"Khm..." The lieutenant interjects. "Just out of curiosity -- if there's no proof of its existence, how do you know it's real?"

"I know it's real," the cryptozoologist says, brusquely enough that even he seems taken aback by it...

It's clear that his obsession with the phasmid is driven by something more than the pure pursuit of scientific advancement.

"By which I mean," he says, gathering himself, "I've heard enough first-hand accounts to believe quite firmly that the Insulindian phasmid is more than mere superstition."

What would it be like to grasp and hold onto something you think is next to you -- or just behind you -- like a trace of vapour you exhaled one spring morning as a child? This is what he's searching for. A spectre.

"What makes you think the phasmid is here in Martinaise?"