His mind fell back to the night before: the satisfaction of seeing Ark’s terrified face as the claws plunged toward him. The whimpering scream as the boy was plucked from the branch like an insignificant weevil. But then came his father’s unenthusiastic response, and worse, Fenestra’s dismissal.

The sudden anger sharpened his mind. After the lecture, instead of joining the others, he decided to head for the woods. When he’d helped Fenestra with the injection that saved her life, there was one question that had remained unanswered. Where was she going? One way to find out. In his mind, he traced the path they had taken that afternoon and his feet quickly followed, soon leaving the crowds of Hellebore behind as he threaded the thinning byways. At last, he stood at a sign, which pompously read:

ROAD CLOSED DUE TO COUNCIL REPAIRS. FINDING NEW WAYS TO KEEP THE COUNTRY ON THE MOVE!

Arborium was full of spots like this, filled with rusted cables and rotting plankways. They were signs of the old empire when the whole forest was filled with Dendrans, before the ancient black plagues reduced the population to an echo of history. Occasionally, the plague came back like a curse to remind the tree dwellers that Arborium was not impregnable. Eleven years before, there’d been a small outbreak, taking out a few sewer workers and their families before fading away in the coldest winter for generations. Nowadays, nobody thought twice about it, though this was the main reason why many had upped sticks and headed for a new life in Hellebore.

These abandoned, rural woodways had no profit in them. As long as they stuck up a sign, the Council could pretend that a repair team would eventually deal with the problem.

Petronio wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He stepped over the sign and walked onto the spot where he’d first seen Fenestra in trouble. Luckily, the path beyond continued in one direction. He gingerly avoided the various holes in the road, trying not to look down at the mile drop below. If Fenestra had a hidey-hole, this was perfect. Other Dendrans wouldn’t take the risk down here.

Petronio paused. What was that? He was sure he heard a slight shuffling noise. Probably a squirrel. He wished he had his catapult. There was no greater satisfaction than seeing one of those nosy little creatures slammed off the branch and tumbling through the air. The surface grew worse as he walked. Parasite plants — ferns and nettles — had been allowed to take hold. The path turned into a jungle sucking out the lifeblood of the trees. He stopped to look more closely. Various nettle stalks were bent out of place. Footsteps had been here before him.