“Oh, do sit down, you stupid little man.”

Petronio felt a surge of anger. Nobody called his father stupid and got away with it! Businessmen who stood in the High Councillor’s way had a habit of vanishing over the edge in sad but unforeseen accidents.

The woman continued, “In our country, the amount of wood in this room alone would make one a billionaire! This island will be a farm unlike any other, and your people will make excellent workers! Of course, once we have cleared sufficient trees and revived our economy with controlled stocks of precious timber, we shall be able to tap your huge reserves of underground natural gas … and clearly, you will of course be wanting a handsome cut!” Petronio smiled. Whoever she was, she had certainly got the measure of his father.

Grasp’s tone became wheedling. “Well, my lady … a small pecuniary deposit will simply help to smooth the machinery of change. And … I do believe you mentioned the job of President of Arborium for someone who stays, ah, loyal to the end?”

“You want more, and yet more again. I think we understand each other well, Councillor. Our plans are progressing, but time is short. In seven days, I believe you hold a quaint celebration called the Harvest Festival.”

“Yes. What about it?”

“This shall be the moment we act!”

Petronio’s mind darted off. What was his father up to? President? Petronio tried the phrase out in his head: My father, President of Arborium. It sounded good — more than good. His duty was to report traitors, but duty be hanged! And what did she mean about the festival held on the first full moon of autumn? It was a waste of time, a bunch of poor plebs cluttering the capital with their stupid lanterns, gossiping about the weather! What was she on about?

His musings were interrupted by a sneeze. Petronio was startled. How could he have forgotten the presence of the plumber? More to the point, he now knew he wasn’t the only witness to the high treason unfolding below.

“What was that?” came the woman’s voice, sharp and alert.

There was a short, shocked silence. Petronio could almost hear the conspirators thinking.

When Grasp spoke, his voice was flustered. “The house creaks and groans. It is the nature of wood, unlike your … er … cities of glass and steel.”

“Are you as stupid as you look, Councillor?” hissed the woman. “Ceilings … don’t … sneeze!”

Petronio could hear the tension in her voice.

“Yes … of course. I think … it’s possible … a spy!” deduced Grasp.

“Do you have any idea what that means? Do something about it. Now!”

Somewhere in the house, a bell immediately sounded, summoning security.