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“The Duke’s fear remained vague until, one day, it wasn’t.

“In late summer of this year, only a few weeks ago, you realised that you were seeing the same word emerging in the Duke’s branches and roots, and it was a very specific word. WEST. The Duke was writing the word ‘west.’ This still gave you no clues as to the precise nature of the threat, but it did give you a direction. So—before anyone else had seen what the Duke was growing—you travelled west, to see what you could find.

“At first, there was nothing. The forest was the same as it always had been—familiar in all its ways. There were very few trees that you were not acquainted with, and you passed them by, looking for evidence of any kind of threat, or anything worrying at all. You came all the way to the very edge of the forest, and even there the trees seemed perfectly peaceable. There was nothing to perturb you. It was only when you looked farther west, in the distance beyond the forest, that you noticed anything at all. And even then—it was only you, out of all the village’s inhabitants, that would immediately understand what you were seeing.

“You slid down the shale slope, clattered across the rocks and stream, and came to a beech tree forest. The forest had no words in it, but that didn’t matter—what mattered was that you could see how this forest was spreading across the valley. How it would continue to spread in the decades and centuries to come. And you knew well, from your studies, the nature of beech tree forests. Because they are an invasive species. They grow where they please, and slowly leech the light from smaller trees, until their canopies cover the sky. By your estimation, the beech forest would reach Farleigh Forest in around a century, but you could imagine how even that timescale could alarm the Duke: a member of the Slow Kingdom, who experiences time in a very different way from you.

“You didn’t know how the Duke could possibly be aware of the beech forest to the west of Farleigh, but in a way it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were suddenly faced with a terrible dilemma.

“You saw before you a war between two forests. A war that would take more than a century to unfold, but a war nonetheless, which Farleigh Forest would lose. Its trees would simply be outgrown by the mighty beeches—they would consume all of Farleigh’s light. This was what the Duke was telling you. Only … if you told the Duchess, or anyone else in Farleigh, about this secret, slow war, then the village would get involved. And what would Farleigh do? Of course—it would intervene. It would burn the beech forest. Farleigh would not hesitate to raze a wordless forest on behalf of its own.

“This escalation terrified you, on three grounds.

“Your first fear was visceral. You had seen, firsthand, the ruthlessness of the British Empire. You had burned a forest at its behest, and the guilt still weighed heavily upon you. Growing up in Farleigh had taught you to value trees not as objects for exploitation, or ornaments, but as a people. You felt as if you had burned a people in Sevastopol, and you could not let the same thing happen here. Not to this beech forest.

“Your second fear was far more academic. The Duke was suggesting that the war was already over; that the beech trees would arrive and simply stifle Farleigh of light. But what if the Duke was wrong? What if the beech trees learned how to grow words from Farleigh Forest instead? What if there was potential for discourse and diplomacy between the two forests, instead of war?

“Your third fear was one of further escalation. A slow war between two forests, cut short by the intervention of an ally—where would it end? Would there be more forests in future? And who owned the beech forest? Would it provoke investigation by the outside world? Would some member of the gentry ride up on his horse, and ask pointed questions about his hunting grounds? War, you knew from experience, tended to worsen. By getting Farleigh involved, it could provoke discovery.

“There was recourse, however. The one thing you had on your side was time, and plenty of it: more than a century, in fact. A decision regarding Farleigh Forest’s war with the beech forest, and all the questions surrounding it, could be made with as much patience as every other decision in Farleigh. So long as you could avoid a desperate, reactive approach from the village. Perhaps, given a decade of careful thought and research, you might find a way to introduce the problem to them. But for now … right now … you had limited options. You knew that if the Duke’s new word—so specific!—were revealed, then it would be a matter of weeks, or perhaps days, until the threat of the beech forest was understood.

“In order to buy yourself and the beech forest time, you needed to take action.

“By this point, you were overwhelmed. You could feel the heat of the forest outside Sevastopol on your brow. Your old scars were itching. You could see a terrible future unfolding before you, and you were desperate. You considered climbing the Duke, and defacing his new words, but you thought it would not be enough: You would have to return every year and do the same, over and over again, to prevent disaster. You could only see one course of action that might buy you the years you thought you needed:

“You would have to fell the Duke.

“You didn’t have much time to plan. It would be mere days until the Duke started shedding his leaves for autumn, revealing his new words for all to see. It was enough time to manufacture the lie about tripping over a root, to make it seem as if you would not have the mobility for such a terrible act. It was enough time to steal the only axe in the village that you knew of, kept by Amake. And it was enough time to realise that you would have to do the deed at night, to give yourself as much of a chance to get away with it as possible. Luckily for you, the Duchess had her own mobility issues, and lived alone. After concocting your plan, you arrived early at Farleigh House for your next morning visit, and timed how long it took her to emerge from upstairs, to make certain you could get away.

“On the night that you felled the Duke, everything went to plan. You crept around the back of Farleigh House in the dead of night, axe in hand, and struck the tree, still filled with the terrible dread from your realisation mere days ago. Passionately, you struck, and it felt to you like murder. You felt, again, the flames of the burning forest that haunted your dreams. It was only your passion that kept you going, until, at last, the Duke groaned, and crashed straight through the conservatory.

“Quickly, you defaced the telltale words.

“It was the gleam of the Duchess’s lantern above that sent you running. You had underestimated, too, how much taking an axe to such a large tree would injure you. Your hands still shake today, and I wonder how much longer they will take to heal.

“In the forest, you waited until dawn, and then, affecting your limp, and brushing all the splinters from your clothes, you went inside, and found the Duchess. You pretended to have only just arrived for breakfast—and you pretended at shock to see the Duke so felled. You comforted her, and lied to her, all while your hands continued to shake—your arms in agony from the terrible deed you had committed mere hours ago. You are a fair actor, and she believed you. They all believed you. None would dare to imagine that you, of all people, would fell one of the mightiest trees in Farleigh Forest.”

At the conclusion of Havelock’s story, there was quiet. It had begun to rain, lending a gentle susurrus to the scene. The Ambassador was looking relieved, as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. He clenched and unclenched his shaking hands. Yet—nobody moved. All seemed to be deep in thought.

“How on earth did you deduce all of that?” asked Anker, sipping at his tea.

Havelock rested himself against the trunk of the Duke, beside Amake. “The real breakthrough came when I realised what it was that the Duke was telling us. I knew that his defaced word was very short, and very specific, and there were few things it could be—it relied, after all, on tree knowledge. One thing that trees are very good at is direction—they are clearly aware of the sun—and I surmised that it was possible that the Duke had given one. So, I consulted a variety of local maps, and, sure enough, saw evidence of another forest growing nearby that could warrant investigation. My botanical studies are far from extensive, but I know just enough about invasive species to recognise them. And there it was: a beech forest.” Havelock rubbed at his moustache.

“If you don’t mind,” continued Anker. “One last question: How did the tapestries of the Duke come to end up in my church’s graveyard?”

“I foolishly thought I might place suspicion elsewhere,” said the Ambassador. Then, widening his hands, “I am a poor criminal.”

Quiet once again regained its hold over the conservatory.

Mary finally looked up from her stitching. “What is to be done, then?”

“A very good question.” Havelock nodded. “Sebastian?”

All eyes turned to me.

I stepped forward, unstrapping my sword belt and placing my sabre upon the trunk of the Duke. Then, leaving it there, I went and stood beside Havelock. “Before we discuss what should be done about the Ambassador,” I said, “we must begin by discussing what should be done with Farleigh. We gathered each of you here because you have a vested interest in Farleigh’s future. Some of you would have Farleigh cut off from the world”—I nodded at Heather— “and others would have the forest openly revealed.” I nodded at Amake. “Havelock and I have discussed Farleigh’s future at length, and we believe that we can offer you something extremely valuable: a fresh perspective.

“Here is the truth of the matter, coming from two gentlemen who live in London: I can see a time at some point in the future, perhaps decades or centuries from now, when England and its Empire will be ready to receive what Farleigh Forest represents. But for now: The forest would be a sensation, a novelty, or perhaps even a miracle”—I nodded at Anker—“but it would not mean to the inhabitants of London what it means to you. We are convinced that Crown and country would not recognise Farleigh Forest as a people. The trees would be exploited as a resource, and ultimately destroyed. All that you have built here would be lost. As such, we would advocate for patience. A patience that Farleigh is well versed in. The forest must continue to be secret, and protected. Farleigh must continue to be overlooked until such a day arrives that it will be safe for it to be revealed.