Twenty minutes later, and after several sets of trunk stairs, they stood before a single rickety door, which was framed with light and surrounded by a high, planked wall that stretched off in both directions.

Mucum bent over to study the lock. “Got a key?”

“No.”

“Thought not. I’ll have to use me other skills.”

“What? You’re going to pick it?” Mucum and delicate, bent wires somehow didn’t go together.

“No, stupid. Diana give me this body for a reason, right?” He turned around until his backside was up against the door and shoved, hard. The rusty lock was no match and the door burst open.

Ark looked around, wild-eyed. “You could get arrested for that!”

“What, having a butt that could shoot for Arborium? It’s the least of our troubles, mate!” If he didn’t make it home tonight, his dad would be up worrying. But what could he do? As Mucum pulled Ark through the doorway, they were finally free of the gloom of the undercanopy. Instead of wood underfoot, there was grass. Ark quickly closed the door behind him, then turned to take in the view. The clouds had also given up the ghost, drifting away to bother some other part of Arborium. He’d forgotten that the sun still shone above the treetops. At least the place was empty. They were safe, for now, but the closer they came to the castle, the more nervous Ark became.

“Bit of all right, this is!” Mucum walked away from the wall and slid down to rest his back against an apple tree bursting with ripe fruit. The orchard fringed the edge of a single huge scaffield, one of many that ringed the agricultural areas, their acres of crops suspended high above the earth. These enormous, walled-in platforms leaned at a slight angle to catch the sun, and were planted with wheat, barley, and corn. Ark always marveled at the stupendous engineering required to support the weight of the soil, piled at least ten feet deep on top of the platforms.

The harvest was already in, leaving a field of stubble like the beginning of a giant’s beard. In less than a week, Dendrans would gather by the palace to celebrate the year’s produce, the merriment of festival fireworks covering up the treachery growing deep down.

Mucum grabbed an apple and bit into it. “Can’t beat the taste of a Mary Pippins!”

“You shouldn’t steal.” Ark frowned disapprovingly.

“Oh, for Diana’s sake. You’re startin’ to sound like my mother. Give it a rest. Hey!” Mucum perked up. “The look on the old man’s face! Priceless!”

Ark crumbled some soil between his fingers. A few sheep dotted the grass. In the distance, golden heads of barley bowed to a light breeze. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s more than skiving off. All this is going to be chopped down, gone!”