“What’s got in to you Haye,” Flora said, sweeping past Haymarlen, seizing Hergewick and whisking him into an upright position. “He’s mine. Use lemon trousers for your bit of charity.”

“And he would really be able to apologize to you if he’s out-cold from a connection with Moonbole,” said Haymarlen.

“I’d let Moonbole spank him if it made him feel better,” said Flora, dragging Hergewick up to the tree. “Tell me, Fontarius, what did you identify this tree as being not long ago?”

“A—an acer, Madame,” Fontarius began, looking at the tree, then at Flora.

“…A what…?” Flora whispered.

“An Acer,” Fontarius gulped. “And a fine one too.”

“What species.”

“P–p–pseudoplatanus, Madame. The Sycamore.”

Haymarlen groaned, whilst Flora continued to gaze at Fontarius. “How did your crime-fighting deducements come to that conclusion?”

“Why the leaves, Madame,” Fontarius answered, frowning slightly. “Five radiating veins with a matching set of lobes. Almost like a hand, and similar to an astrantia.”

“But an astrantia is a flower,” Flora continued.

“Very true, Madame,” said Fontarius. “It and the Maples share this ‘palmate’ leaf shape.”

“Which also means that not every tree with palmate leaves may be an acer?”

“…possibly…”

“Just agree with her!” Haymarlen grated.

“Let him mull it over, Haye,” said Flora releasing Fontarius. “Look at the leaves, Fontarius, and the bark. Then make your answer. And let it be the right one for your sake.”

Two, no three droplets trickled down the side of Fontarius’s head, despite being out of the afternoon sun. He continued to look at the tree, but in his mind’s eye were the two ladies behind him; one of whom had thrown him like a tennis ball, and the other had stopped his flight as if she had been catching a running child.

“I’m waiting,” Flora hummed.

“I–I can’t think of any,” Fontarius said, turning around. “But I do agree with your hypothesis.”

“Does that satisfy you, Flor,” said Haymarlen. “He’s open to new ideas.”

“…Don’t call me Flor…” Flora grated. “And I can’t believe a ‘naturalist’ such as ‘Fontarius Hergewick doesn’t know of any other trees who might have the palmate shape.”

“I’m more taken by beeches to be truthful,” Fontarius added. “Plus, limes, the odd oak, and more recently ashes.”

“But no conifers,” Flora continued.

“In the winter.”

“When you haven’t got any choice; otherwise, they might as well be on the moon. I suppose I should let you off in acknowledgement of the fact that you’re not so scholarly on tree species as you lead Mr Pipcastle to believe.”

“Who still hasn’t got up from the spot where you threw him, Flor,” Haymarlen noted.

“That’s three times now, Haye.”

“Just tell, reprimand, then send him on his way, Flor,” said Haymarlen, “and that one’s a bonus.”

Flora closed her eyes and adjusted the circlet on her head. “Well, you were heading in a good direction when you said pseudoplatanus, Mr Hergewick. For the fine specimen in front of you also has Platanus in its name. Only in its case, it’s the first one.”

“…Platanus…?” Hergewick mulled.

“A Plane!” Flora exploded, seizing Hergewick and almost launching him into a nearby hedge. “A Platanus x hispunica: A Londinium Plane!”

Hergewick began to quiver; whether from the twin burning magenta pools that were Flora’s eyes or the fact that his feet were not in contact with the ground.

“Lyralees,” said Haymarlen. “It’s gone beyond reasonable now.”

“He’s going to apologize, Haye,” Flora continued.

“I-I’m sorry for my i-ignorance,” Hergewick began, “and for inadvertently leading others into a mistaken belief.”

“Not me, her you idiot,” said Flora, about-turning Fontarius towards the Plane tree.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“But I can’t see her-” Fontarius began.

“The Tree!” Flora thundered, pressing Fontarius against it until his cheek was a fraction away from the flaky bark. “Apologise!”

“I’m sorry–I’m sorry–Mr–”

“Mrs!”

“Mrs Plane!” Fontarius yelled. “Please forgive my terrible misdemeanour!”

“There, he’s said it. Now can we go, Flor,” said Haymarlen.

Flora glared at Haymarlen and brought Fontarius round with her. “He has to tell his new fan.”

Haymarlen gaped. “His fan? He’s out like a snuffed candle!”

“I–I’ll apologize to the oxen if you want,” Fontarius continued. “Just don’t-”

Flora looked at Fontarius. “Do you think I’m crazy telling you to apologise to a tree?”

Fontarius’s face had an evacuation of blood.

“Am I crazy?” Flora repeated.

Fontarius, began to shake.

“Don’t you start shaking!” Flora began. “I’ll do the shaking. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Not crazy, but down-right disobedient!” another voice coursed.

Haymarlen spun round and Flora also turned, coupled with Fontarius. In front of them stood another lady; dressed in dark violet with a brocade of snow silver.

“M-mistress…” Haymarlen curtsied whilst Flora let Fontarius collapse onto the ground. “We didn’t see you.”

“You’re not likely to when you’re so engrossed terrifying the locals,” the lady replied, sweeping over and kneeling in front of Fontarius. “Can you stand, Mr-?”

“Hergewick,” Fontarius managed to breathe, looking across and almost staring at the new woman with tresses as dark as Flora’s were fair. “I haven’t come across a plane before…”

“Platanus…” Flora began.

“Drop it…” the purple-gowned lady concluded, helping Fontarius to get to his feet. “Please accept this as an apology, Mr Hergewick,” she added, putting a small, clinking bag into the fellow’s hand. “And two verbal forms from Misses Evarné and Eucranté over there.”

“But I tried to dissuade her Miss Eulimene,” Haymarlen began.

“Two.”

“I’m… sorry for not trying harder to stop my friend, Mr Hergewick,” Haymarlen said, stepping forward, then noting how Fontarius kept looking up at Mistress Eulimene.

“You tried,” Fontarius said at last, nodding at Haymarlen, then glancing at the pouch. “That’s more than anyone can ask.”

“And what does Miss Evarné have to say for herself?” Mistress Eulimene coursed.

Flora’s hands momentarily curled into fists, then hands once more as she dropped into a curtsey. “Sorry for letting my emotions take control…” she added. “And for disturbing your refreshments.”

Miss Eulimene continued to look at Flora whilst Fontarius rubbed the back of his neck. “Accepted.”

“Rest assured,” Miss Eulimene said, turning away from Flora. “They will be punished, Mr Hergewick. But you might want to see to your friend with the bright trousers… a mule is making off with him.”

Fontarius turned towards the cottages. Sure enough, one of the mules was acting as a platform for the groggy form of Mr Pipcastle. Although how either of them had wound up in the middle of the ploughed field with the stationery, bucket-drinking ox-team was a mystery; until Mr Pipcastle tried to push away one of the two chaps helping him (the mule driver), accidentally slapped the flank of the mule, who promptly charged towards the twinkling form of the lake to more frantic yells from the cottages.

“Why didn’t one of you have hold of the rope?” Fontarius yelled. “What is this place, Canothril-Londst?”

He ran into the field, taking care to land on the ridges, then stopped and about-turned to say goodbye to the taller-than-most men lady with the eyes of cool steel blue; only to find no one about, save the ace — no — plane tree. Frowning, he continued to stare along the road beyond, until his ears caught the connection of an unmistakable splash.

“Please Mr Hergewick!” A voice that could only belong to a near-swooning Mrs Pipcastle yelled. “My husband’s in the Darn!”