Why couldn’t some of these commoners move out of Hellebore and reinhabit the old plague settlements out in the wilds? The disease had long gone, apart from the odd isolated outbreak, but Dendrans were a superstitious bunch. And in the capital, there was work to be had, so they congregated like flies. Petronio gritted his teeth and pushed on through. If his father took over as president of a new republic, perhaps he might begin with a bit of forced population reduction.

Petronio looked up to see how little light was filtering through the leaves. The clouds were thick and gray today, threatening a repeat of yesterday’s storm. Down here, several levels below the canopy, the lack of light turned the walkways and roads into a land of shadows that the hiss and flare of gas lamps did little to dispel.

The School For Surgeons was imposing in the distance. Vast windows shouted its importance and status. The wooden structure was six-sided, rearing up on an impressively engineered platform that was supported between four sturdy trunks. The operating theaters took over the top floor, skylights capturing the greater share of daylight. Trainees like him had to make do with the darker lecture halls on the ground floor. As he pulled open the outer door, the familiar smell of formaldehyde folded around him.

Inside, he nodded at a few faces as he took his place on the tiered seats rising in a semicircle around the main podium. If only he could tell his friends what he’d heard. They’d be more than impressed. But friends was really too strong a word. All the young men here were careful around Petronio, knowing full well his father’s reputation. He would never admit it publicly, but he liked the way his fellow students treated him. Fear was a useful weapon.

This morning was General Studies and the elderly bald eagle of a lecturer was wittering on about a bunch of stuff that Petronio knew backward.

“The evolution of the forest and the Dendran society that depends on it bears examination,” droned the lecturer in his dried-leaf voice. “We came from the trees and strangely, after many thousands of years, we have returned to them. For the explanation behind this new direction, we must thank our great philosopher Darewin.” The teacher tapped a picture on his corkboard of a man doing something dull in a library.

Petronio didn’t bother hiding his yawn.

“At that time, the earth was poisoned by those who went before. How could the trees and our ancestors live off water from rivers long dead and soil that was dirtied by cities? Desperate times bred both desperate measures and inspiration! Trees have always fought for their share of light. As Darewin put it, only the strongest triumph.”

Petronio nodded. The old fuddy-buddy was making sense at last.