Questions Like These

Proust has a crude map which he has obtained from a website.

It seems that, what you do is, travel south from Constanta, to Mangalia, on the Black Sea coast, near the Bulgarian border.

South, says Gaius. That would be....hmmm..... now, where is the sun?

That way, says Arthur, pointing upwards.

Proust thinks Arthur is amusing. He laughs, in spite of his injuries.

The fact that he is laughing in spite of his injuries reminds him of the extent of his injuries and the attendant inconvenience of these injuries, (his ankle, the two holes in is sock, the puncture holes in his fingers, from his time as a clown). Not to mention the fact that he has his luggage to deal with.
Why has he not brought a backpack, like Gaius?

You lead, Marcel, says Gaius. You have the map.

Proust examines the map again, in detail. It doesn't take long. (There is no detail).

A thought strikes him.

What if we simply follow the coast?

They set off from Constanta in a southerly direction, following the coast, passing fields and small villages.

Proust is in front, with Arthur and Gaius behind him.

Gaius fixes his eye on the scarf  wrapped around Proust's bicycle saddle.

Gaius: He seems of a sensitive nature. I begin to wonder if he's suited for this expedition

Arthur: He's having trouble with his suitcase.

Gaius: So he is. Look at him, quite unsteady. I wonder what's in it?

Arthur: A mechanical arm. Boxes of tissues.

Gaius: Indeed? They may come in useful. I suspect we may have to gain illegal access.

Arthur: If we can find the entrance.

Gaius: Yes, his map isn't what I expected.

Arthur: At least it's a map.

Gaius: And this is the road. It seems quiet.

It does, but Arthur thinks he can hear something buzzing far away, behind them.

It is Rich Boden who has hired a scooter in Constanta, and is heading for the Mangalia Field Centre.

He is hoping to catch up with his colleague, Cristian Lascu.

As he putters, he thinks idly of the unidentified pseudoscorpion, and how good it would be to identify it.

He then turns his attention to the grass at the side of the road.

Each blade is bending in a similar direction, dictated by the breeze.

Until he passes, momentarily, and after which it bends backwards. What is it aware of?

He likes thinking of questions like these.

But now, in the distance, he sees two riders, no.....make that three riders.

One is bound to be Cristian.

He increases the speed of his scooter.

Varooooom!