Grobbard’s eyes were closed; the apartment was deathly still. The contrast with the chaos of sound on the byway—

Hhrang, hrrang.

BOOM-ba-de-chiggity, BOOM-ba-de-chiggity,

Feedly-doodly-doo.

—was eerie.

Shria threw an elbow into the gut of the blue rent-a-body as the Clowns reached the edge of the riot. The rent-a-body went down.

With another cautious glance at Fift, Tigan Melitox Farina turned back to Pom Filigrous Tyrox. “You can talk all you like, but you won’t be able to find those words tomorrow, will you? No memory, no weighting, no filtering, and our agents asleep—so what good is your opinion, honestly? What is it for?”

The rioters, who had stopped fighting to gape, now shuffled out of the way of the advancing columns of Clowns. Shria stumbled back; the other Vail’s real-eyed rent-a-body struggled to its knees. One bulbous-headed drummer Clown (huge and ugly and sure of step, its drumstick bones blurring on the metal drum) marched between them, and then another. The rent-a-body Vail stood, and ve and Shria looked at each other across the gap. The drumming was an unbearable roar; it soaked into their bones.

Fift had to get to zir feet and move when the drum-tree-headed Clowns rolled through, spitting sparks. Ze took a few steps toward Shria. The rent-a-bodies around zir were helping each other up.

“It’s sort of terrifying, isn’t it?” Pom Filigrous Tyrox said.

“Yes,” zir name-cousin said. “It is. Also, if there’s anything scandalous you want to do, you should probably do it now, while this lasts.”

“Good thinking,” Pom Filigrous Tyrox said. And they wandered off into the crowd.

Shria stared at the anonybody with the real orange eyes. The many-limbed dancers bounded between them, the architectural-model Clowns drummed through, and then the anonybody was gone.

Shria sagged, and spat on the byway.

Fift went to vem. Shria reached out and took Fift into vir arms. Fift’s cheek was pressed into the hollow between vir two middle breasts. The drums were too loud for zir to hear vem crying, but ze felt the small explosions of sobs beneath vir breastbone.

“Good day for a festival,” Grobbard said drily.

The eerily identical flautists (or flautist? But it must be a trick, no one could manage fifty bodies! Where was lookup?) passed. The pipers passed.

Someone cleared their throat behind Fift; it took a moment to figure out where.

It was at the party. Fift was staring at the bric-a-brac pyramids above where Father Frill was no longer dancing.

Ze turned around.

Mother Pip was there, looking grim and amused. Frill and Smistria stood a pace behind zir. They looked aggrieved.

“We have a bat,” Pip said. “We’re going to fetch your body from the byway. Stay where you are.”

“The Clowns—” Fift began.

“Just stay,” growled Pip, “where you are.”