His pursuer paused, wiping rain from his eyes, taking careful aim for another shot. The escaping boy’s drenched clothes, from the brown leather skullcap and grotty tanned jerkin to the tight britches and worn stockings, showed him up to be just a sewer worker. In fact, his prey resembled one big turdy stain on the treescape. The guard tried to keep up, straining his eyes through the downpour. The boy streaked ahead in his rubber-soled creepers, standard wear this high up. No one wanted to slip off the edge, especially in this weather. As for killing a fourteen-year-old? It wasn’t a problem but the solution.

Straight ahead, the highway ran toward a huge, hollow tree trunk. Ark bolted into the center and hesitated, catching his breath. A bird shrieked in the distance, and a rustling sound echoed around the wood, causing Ark to glance up into the shadows above. The dead tree was a crossroads. Its massive trunk supported the junction with branch lines leading off in three directions through carved archways. He looked toward each in turn. In a dark corner, ancient moss-covered steps led down into the hollow depths. He was desperate, but going earthward? He shuddered even to think of it. Which way?

Ark’s head replayed the day. Just another clogged drain, his boss had said, not wanting to dirty his clean white hands. You can sort it out, Arktorious Malikum. It’s a job. In fact, it’s a “big” job! And, let’s face it, you’re brown already — so sticking your hand in a great fat pile of it won’t make much difference! The man laughed at his own joke. He always did. But this was no laughing matter.

Right in front of him, a red squirrel squatted on the woodway, nibbling at a hazelnut. It stared at Ark briefly before diving down the stairs.

“This way …”

Ark looked around. The voice was so soft he wondered if he was imagining things. Talking squirrels? He was going nutty! Without thinking, Ark followed the animal, darting into the archway to be swallowed by the enveloping blackness. For a moment, he could catch his breath out of sight of the guards. He had to make the most of it.

A snorting sound ahead startled him. Moving slowly toward him out of the gloom was a laundry cart piled high with clean clothing, being pulled by a small mottled brown pony. As the cart passed him, its wooden wheels hit a knot in the deeply carved ruts and the brass harness jangled, sending strange harmonies into the leaves. It meant move out of the way, as these unaccompanied pack ponies didn’t change their pace for anyone.