Ze knew what Father Grobbard would do. Incorruptible and emotionless as the void, immune to Vvonda’s insults and scorn, ze would calmly interrogate vem, coolly entertain vir opinions and rash statements, expose the flaws in vir reasoning. Gradually Vvonda would seem more and more ridiculous until, flushed and petulant, ve’d submit to zir logic.

(At the thought of zirself in this role, of Vvonda supplanted and yielding to zir cool, efficient intellect, ze experienced an absurd little erotic thrill. What if Vvonda were the one to feel helpless . . . to feel overpowered, overcome, awed by Fift, caught and carried along in zir wake . . . ? Ze remembered zir hand, struggling in Shria’s blue forest . . . )

But ze didn’t know what logic that would be, or what words to say.

Ze was sure, though, that if ze could produce even Father Grobbard’s tone of clinical, dispassionate certainty (or Mother Pip’s tone, for that matter, certainty mixed with charm and bombast), Vvonda’s swagger would vanish again. Forced to fight on Staid territory, ve’d go stiff, defensive, guilty . . .

Fift couldn’t, though.

The rhythm got louder:

Baaa-RUMP, ba-chiggity-chiggity-whuppity-chiggity-chiggity-BOOM!

A pause spread through the riot like an infection, one body after another. The grappling slowed. Heads lowered, resting for a moment on the shoulders of those they strove against; heads rose, listening.

Father Squell was crying softly. The sound mixed, in Fift’s tired brains, with the chiggity-whuppity rhythm . . .

“Our time together,” Panaximandra said, “is coming to an end, my sistren. For now. You have work ahead: difficult, dangerous work. Hardest of all will be the work of remembering why this matters—of remembering that you can be free.”

Vvonda stared at Fift as if waiting for more. Then ve nodded once, turned, and sauntered away.

At the table, Fift opened zir eyes. Father Grobbard, eyes still closed, looked tired, peaceful, still, absent: a premonition of death.

The rhythm was as loud now as a stage whisper at the other end of the breakfast table:

Baaa-RUMP, ba-chiggity-chiggity-whuppity-chiggity-chiggity-BOOM!

“They will try to make you ashamed,” Panaximandra said. “They will tell you you are behaving like children. They will explain to you why this is already—”

“Vvonda,” Fift said.

“—the best of all possible worlds. They will not see you or your grievances. And if you force them to see, they will pretend to find you ridiculous. And if you shock them out of their laughter—”

Vvonda turned back, flinging a hand up in what-is-it-now? exasperation.

“—they will pretend to find you shameful. And if you refuse to be ashamed, they will call you evil—”

Fift said, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“—and if you are unafraid to be evil, they will banish you to an Idyll. They will say they want to help you, so they can silence you. And if they cannot mock you from your goal, and they cannot frighten you, and they cannot trick you—”

“What?” Vvonda asked, vir eyes hardening dangerously.