Whoever it was who’d just entered didn’t seem to notice the smoky scent. The intruder was humming a tune, badly. The hum came to a stop, followed by a moment’s silence and then clanking noises accompanied by an interesting variety of muttered swear words.

A disgusting and all too familiar smell of sewage slowly filled the room. There was more muttering followed by a sigh and “Gotcha!”

Of course! Petronio’s father had been complaining about the drains for weeks. Being rich made no difference — plumbers were always booked up. However, it appeared that one of their species had finally bothered to turn up. Bad timing, nothing more. Petronio thought about stepping out and startling the worker. It would serve him right for spoiling his smoke. But he wondered what a lowly plumber would make of the High Councillor’s son lurking in the utility room. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

He leaned back and nearly collapsed against the boxes when the unmistakable voice of his father suddenly echoed around the room. What the holly was his father doing in the utility room, talking to someone up to their elbows in the brown and nasty?

“We must move cautiously. Quercus is old, but not stupid.” The voice sounded muffled and slightly distorted.

Petronio was confused. Only one person had come into the utility room.

Another voice, sharper and more feminine, answered. “We? Do not presume to speak of us, Councillor!”

“Naturally, my lady. A slip of the tongue. I beg you, accept my apologies….”

Petronio forced himself to breathe slowly as he twigged the truth. No wonder the speakers sounded odd: They were distant. The plumber must have opened up one of the air-conditioning pipes and the voices were being carried up from the vent in the drawing room downstairs.

The woman continued as if his father hadn’t even spoken. Petronio could detect a strange accent, her pronunciation of the Dendran language sounding stilted and formal.

“We pay you for information. As I have explained, the Empire of Maw is running out of space and raw materials. It is amazing to us that your puny little forest kingdom has managed to deflect all inquiry and communication for thousands of years: Arborium is truly the last potential frontier. The gas your trees exude to deter unwanted visitors was a clever evolutionary trick.”

“Yes,” mused Grasp’s voice. “Nature is rather ingenious. However, as you are standing here, I presume that your empire’s science has afforded you some protection?”

There was no answer. Petronio wondered if the woman was nodding or ignoring his father. And who the bark was she?

Councillor Grasp filled the silence. “We keep ourselves to ourselves. But I fervently believe that the time will soon be right for our little country to serve a greater need. My lady, I stand at your service.”

The sound of a chair being scraped back along the floor rose up the air shaft.