Petronio noticed his father’s bloodshot eyes and unshaven face. He wondered briefly if the Councillor was losing the plot. How could Ark be alive? Salix and Alnus had seen him fly off the edge of the branch. No one had ever fallen off Arborium and lived to tell the tale. If it was a trick, then Petronio was almost impressed. Maybe the little runt did have a few brain cells after all.

Petronio was still bursting to tell his father about the Commander but reined himself in. “So, what next?”

“What’s next is that I’ve sent some of my men to protect the King and guard the sewers the boy seems so fond of. The last thing we need is him popping up and filling our monarch’s ears with unnecessary alarm. Meanwhile, I have put word out of a rather large pecuniary reward for any noble citizen who reports the whereabouts of this dangerous radical. Money is always a useful tool!”

Petronio agreed. Flint had been convinced partly by resentment against his exile up north, but mainly by the cold reality of cash.

Grasp put the broken pencil to one side and began leafing through some papers. “The matter is in hand, so you might as well go and do something useful, like homework, for instance. Leave us to deal with the consequence of your inaction.”

The put-down was a signal to leave.

Petronio felt his face go scarlet. He’d gone farther than he’d ever been in his life, faced down a gang of murderous treenagers, inveigled his way into the armories of Moss-side, and convinced one of the most ruthless soldiers in the country to take on their cause, and now he was being dismissed?

“Father, I —!”

Grasp did not even look up from his papers. “What? You wish to tell me you can find the boy and bring him to me? If so, then I shall be pleased. If not, you can go.”

Petronio turned toward the balcony doors, not wanting his father to see the burning in his cheeks. But someone else saw. There in the glass on the other side, a face, mixed with his own reflection.

The doors swung open. Grasp looked up, shocked, his hands instinctively reaching under the desk for the knife he had hidden in case of intruders.

“Do you consider me that dangerous, Councillor?” The voice, though quiet, was sharp enough in its intent.

Grasp removed his hand. “My lady, how did you …?”

“Oh. I didn’t want to trouble your guards, seeing as they are so tired from their labors. I thought I’d let myself in.”

The Councillor tried to recover himself. “You are always welcome.” The woman unnerved him.

“And you seem to have forgotten greater matters in your pursuit of a mere smidgen of sewage. Your son has traveled far and, if I’m not mistaken, succeeded in his mission. Am I right?”