“Oh no!” Dobroc said. “No, I’ve never even tried. That time you met zir in the pavilion was one of the closest sightings to Foo, and even then, well—I don’t think I could have traveled out that far.”

Fift hit the braking goop, plowed a bodylength into it, and climbed out. Ze stood there, waiting for zir Mother.

“We couldn’t have either,” ze said. “I mean, not if we didn’t have Tickets . . .” Ze realized abruptly that ze was carrying zir Ticket—the actual physical object—in a pocket of the shift ze was wearing here, on the noise-canceling couch . . . which meant that zir location here at the fulcrum was being cached and published by Cirque-watchers . . .

“That’s when I began . . . to admire you,” Dobroc said. “You and Shria Qualia Fnax of name registry Digger Chameleon 2. Your forthrightness—your honesty—they’re what drew Thavé out! I don’t think anyone beyond the deep core of the world’s husbandry has heard zir speak so frankly or so, well, emotionally, for at least two hundred years . . .”

“But don’t you think . . .” Fift said. “I mean, my Father Grobbard seemed to think that it was planned that way. That ze wanted to say those things even before the performance started. That it was maybe even, well . . . part of the performance?”

Dobroc frowned. “Who knows? I’ve heard that very theory advanced on the Thavé-watchers’ polylogues. But . . . no, I don’t think that conversation was planned. Maybe Thavé suspected that rogue feedgardeners would strike during the Cirque’s performance and take the feed down. That’s zir job, after all: foreseeing catastrophes. Maybe ze was worried about the consequences, if they did. Maybe ze was making a plan. But it’s quite possible that ze wouldn’t have said anything to anyone at all if you and Shria hadn’t come along. I think . . . I think Thavé takes zir cues from the world. I think if ze ever had a clear plan for us, we wandered off its track ten thousand years ago. That’s what I think, anyway . . .” Ze trailed off, looked down.

At the end of the goopfield was a massive structure like a white tusk, curving gradually five hundred bodylengths into the air above them. A door was set in its base. Pip climbed out of the goop, shook zir robe clean, crossed to the door, and opened it.

“Oh,” Fift said. “So then . . . is that—is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Thavé?”

“Well, no. Or, yes. Or . . . no, not really,” Dobroc said. Ze pressed zir lips together.