The Alchemist

Tatuidris tatusia

The kuria had been staring at a colony of armadillo ants for a while—not that she could see much of it, it was darker than night!

Tatuidris tatusia. Or something like it.

The ants were — allegedly — inside this glass cylinder. She has seen something akin to it in Europe, though they never claimed it contained ants.

Nik was also staring at her — arguably with more rapt attention than she gave creatures she can’t see — as though he was learning something from her.

“What was their name again?”

“Tatuidris tatusia.”

“A bit slower?”

“Tatuidris tatusia.”

“Tatuidris tatusia?”

“Yes,” Nik cleared his throat and looked away. “That is correct.”

The kuria nodded and returned her attention to the cylinder. Why on Earth am I staring at it, she wondered.

“They’re found all over south America. It's currently the only extant species in its genus, Tatuidris, which already makes it taxonomically significant. It belongs to the subfamily Agroecomyrmecinae—a lineage that, for a long time, was known exclusively from fossil records. Which means that its discovery in the modern Neotropics was, from a phylogenetic standpoint, mildly shocking—” he suddenly stopped.

The kuria assented. Awkward.

She sensed he wanted to talk to her, but she only had energy for exactly what she came here to say. And she didn’t know what to talk about.

“What’s inside the cylinder?” she ventured for reasons she didn’t want to think about.

“Soil, leaves, dead matter from their original habitat…” he said slowly, then trailed off. He turned towards the entrance with anticipation — that could’ve just been trepidation.

Ludmijla barged in with a metal tray. Though there wasn’t a door to barge through. Or was this not reserved to closed doors? Anyways.

“Alright, Nik! Here’s your special tea. Nik aren’t you thinking about a light in here or a window—oh! There is a window in here.” She went to open it.

Before she could crush his ferns with the tray she was about to set on the bench with unnecessary might — and open the windows — Nik hurried to stop her.

“Thank you, Mila. Don’t enter the room.” He said, and pried the tray from her hands. Ludmijla tightened her grip, thankfully not at the right instant.

Looks like it runs in the family, the kuria mused.

“You never do anything solely for kindness, do you?” she asked—affectionately. She gave Nik a forceful kiss he clearly didn’t like.

“Thank you, Ludmijla,” the kuria said. She locked the door behind her. It was true she couldn’t see the ants — but she saw a lot more in that room and she wanted to protect it.

“Oh, it’s my greatest pleasure to make you tea, kuria. But Nik likes to boil these grasses, and they smell just horrendous, so I made you really nice raspberry tea—”

“First, raspberry tea is not tea. Second, they are not grasses. Third—”

“How about we all go sit?” the kuria suggested.

Nik looked at her and scrunched his nose. Old grouch.

“Wisdom,” he said. And gestured for her to pass first.

“At least when you’re courting such a young lady, be more obvious about it,” Ludmijla whispered as they made their way to the sitting area.

Nik stiffened.

“I’m not courting her. And that’s for older ladies, it’s an older attitude,” he replied with a confidence he most certainly did not have. On a completely different matter.

“Oh… Right,” Ludmijla realized. She scratched her head in confusion.