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Fourteen year-old Ark has the squittiest job on Arborium: A poor plumber’s boy, he unblocks toilets in the city where he lives – a breath-taking, mile-high world carved out of the vast upper branches of a giant canopy of trees.

He believes his forest kingdom to be the dullest but safest place on earth. But while at work, he over hears a plot between a powerful councillor of the island and a secret envoy from Maw, a superpower of glass and steel, that intends robbing Arborium of its wood, a natural resource now more precious than gold.

Ark is plunged into danger and soon he finds himself on the run, fighting for his life. Together with new found friends, he must travel from the highest tree-tops to the darkest roots of Ravenwood to save his home and his people.

Ark’s head replayed the day. Just another blocked drain, his boss had said, not wanting to dirty his clean, white hands. You can sort it out Arktorious Malikum. It’s a job. In fact, it’s a ‘big’ job! And, let’s face it, you’re brown already – so sticking your hand in a great, fat pile of it won’t make much difference! The man laughed at his own joke. He always did. But this was no laughing matter.

Ark made a snap decision to take the left exit and darted through the archway. His plumbing belt was weighing him down. Spanners against crossbows? Forget it. But there was no time to get rid of it either. Another arrow whistled past and vanished harmlessly into the leafy, green depths. For a moment, he was out of sight of his pursuers. He had to make the most of it. A sharp, snorting sound startled him ahead. A piled laundry cart was moving slowly towards him, pulled by a small, mottled-brown Shetland pony. Its eyes were fitted with tight, leather blinkers and no doubt it plodded this same route day in, day out. The wooden wheels hit a knot in the deeply carved ruts and the brass harness jangled, sending strange harmonies into the leaves. It meant move out of the way, as these unaccompanied pack ponies didn’t change their pace for anyone.

            A gift horse! Ark smiled grimly and sprinted towards the cart and round the back. He scrambled up the tailgate and dived under the waterproof tarpaulin into the carefully sorted mounds. He wriggled right under, pulling clean petticoats behind him and crossed his fingers, praying to Diana for safety.

“Where’s the little sliver gone?”

“He was ‘ere a second ago…”

The voices were muffled as they drew closer.

“I reckon we nearly got ‘im!”

Ark held his breath, waiting for pressed shifts and undergarments to be stripped away. His mother had always warned him about going out alone in the woods, else the ravens could snatch his body and suck out his soul. This was far more dangerous.

“ ‘Ave a look from up there.” The cart shuddered as feet clambered to the top of the pile. The full, adult weight of a hulking guard crushed down on Ark, squeezing the remaining air in his lungs. They’d either hear his heart banging like a woodpecker’s beak or his ribs cracking.

Old words came into Ark’s head:

Hold the feather, grab the weather,

Woe betide me, Lady hide me!

It was a nonsense chant spouted by old crones. But he was happy to believe in anything at this moment.

“Buddy Holly!” the guard swore. “Can’t see ‘im anywhere! Maybe the slippery twig fooled us into thinking ‘e turned left.”

“Grasp’ll kill us if we don’t find the boy!” hissed the other one. “Let’s split. He can’t ‘ave got far…”

The voices faded. Had the chant worked? Ark counted to two hundred, even though his legs were itching to take off. Maybe he could stay in the cart and wait until it delivered its load?  He was almost lulled by the gentle rocking motion. No! He shook himself. He had heard too much. Grasp would put the word out. As of now, he was dead wood.

First, he had to put some distance between himself and the High Councillor’s thugs. He carefully pulled back a pair of hose stockings and several layers of leather codpieces to make a peep hole, trying not to think of where those items of clothing had nestled. He peered out. All clear. Ark slid backwards and slipped cautiously off the end of the cart, wishing he had an apple to offer the still steadily plodding pony. “Thanks old fellow!” he whispered. “I owe you one!” The cart moved on, leaving Ark alone on the high-way. A few passing businessmen pointedly ignored him. A sewage worker, even one making an unexpected appearance from a pile of laundry, was hardly someone you would tip your hat to.

He looked warily round at his world with new eyes. All that he’d taken for granted: no longer safe. A humid mist blurred the edges of the huge leaves - each one the size of a full-grown man. Above, below, behind and in front, branch-lines and high-ways were woven and cantilevered together with rope, scaffolding and a million iron nails.  The whole, sprawling tree-scape was punctuated by trunks of massive girth, large enough for the hundreds of houses, businesses and hostelries carved into the hollow depths. Ark had always believed that this vast island of Arborium was the safest place on earth, lifted up and spread out as it was throughout the canopy of trees, a mile above the dirty ground. Not any more.