Flint’s eyes were forced down, unable to hide their fascination. “If this is gold, it is in a currency I have never seen before!” Instead of the insignia of crown and leaf that stamped all of Arborium’s coins, these ingots each bore a set of engraved windows, one fitting inside another like acorns in a cup.

“There’s more. Much, much more.” There. Petronio had spoken.

Two responses were possible. An offer to bribe the commander of the armories was the highest treason. Either negotiations would begin or he, as traitor to Quercus, would be hanged like a crow from a branch.

Petronio waited for the answer.

16• FINDING YOUR ROOTS

“Help! I’m drowning … can’t breathe …” Ark was surrounded by utter darkness, closing in on him too fast. Even his voice was swallowed, reduced to a whispering croak.

“Hush now, boyo. No need to fuss. Yow’ve slept fer hours, but yow safe now!” The voice was rich, almost feminine, with a lilting accent he couldn’t quite place.

Hang on! That meant he was alive! Ark slowly surfaced from his dream. His sore hands, wrapped in a soft cloth, felt around him — rough surfaces, but comfortable. He opened his eyes. Both of them. Odd. The swelling in his right eye had almost vanished. “Where am I?” It felt warm and humid.

“More important, boyo, where did yow come from?” The man was sitting at the edge of what must have been a raised bed of moss and was, for now, Ark’s sanctuary. At least Ark thought it was a man, though with the strangest features he had ever seen. The man’s hairless skin was pale white, almost translucent, revealing a map of bluish veins running underneath. He wore a floppy white shift and loose linen britches, as if his skeletal frame had been wrapped in a sheet. His feet were bare and bony, whiter than any mushroom. The eyes, with magnified pupils that looked as though they were drawn by a child, stared back at Ark with concern.

“I was being chased.” Ark knew there was something more important than telling his story. He tried to think, then suddenly sat up in panic. “Mucum. My friend. Is he …?” He feared the worst.

“The big feller, with hair loike fire? Warghhh!” A grin cracked the man’s face in two. “He be snorin’ loike a good ’un! Let’s leave ’im be!” The man suddenly leaned forward as if he was an eager child ready to hear a story. “Go orn, then. Yow was speakin’?”