Faust cannot glare; he finds insult, like every human act, too charming. “Carlyle Foster-Kraye?” He sat down opposite the lank but lovely figure. “Whatever are you doing out here, hiding under all that black and scowl? You should be in there, they’d let you in.” He cocked his head. “You know, you’re the spitting image of your mother dressed like that. Think of a number for me. Any number.”

Carlyle did not even raise her sparkling eyes.

“Now there’s some top-quality despair. If you won’t give me a number, look at these forty-eight pictures of things eating bananas.” Faust held out a tablet, since the ancient room contained no screens.

Absurdity awoke what charm could not. “Why?”

Faust stiffened. “I am Headmaster of Brill’s Institute and Steward of Gordian, the First Hive, which birthed the best age this planet has ever known. When I tell you to look at forty-eight pictures of things eating bananas, you do not ask why.”

Carlyle swallowed. “Sorry.”

Forty-eight pictures of things eating bananas later:

“Well?” Faust prompted. “What do you think?”

“I… I think sharks look really weird eating bananas.”

“Fine observation. Anything else?”

“No.”

“What types of creatures were there the most pictures of?”

“Let’s see… sharks… um… rabbits, monkeys, parrots, people…”

“There were twice as many pictures of each of the others than there were of sharks.”

“Really? I guess I just remember the sharks because they looked so out of place.”

“Correct. Now, tell me, Carlyle, if you have your parents’ brains: Why are there so many Cousins involved in these recent riots?”

“Are you saying…” Carlyle blinked. “Are you saying… there aren’t actually very many Cousins rioting? It just seems like there are because everyone notices Cousins more because Cousins look so wrong rioting?”

Faust knows when there is no need for ‘yes.’

“Then who is rioting?” Carlyle’s voice gained momentum. “And who’s destroying the set-set bash’es if… if not…”

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled like liquid chocolate. “Cousins’ wraps are slow to change out of. Not like taking off a jacket.”

“A jacket,” Carlyle repeated. “The photos. Lots of Cousins. The Masons and Mitsubishi are taking their jackets off before the riots, aren’t they? And Brillist sweaters… and feet are hard to see, so no one spots Humanist boots.” Intensity flickered in Carlyle for a few seconds before she slumped back. “Hmm. Funny.”

Faust waited. “That’s all I get? I give you the key to exonerate your Hive and all I get is ‘Hmm, funny’? You are far gone.”

The king intruded. “Does Bryar know this? Does Romanova?”

“Don’t spoil it!” The Headmaster spun on Isabel Carlos II, his face almost a snarl. “That was for Carlyle to ask! And as it happens, I don’t think Bryar does know. Now, I’m sure the raw numbers are somewhere, the new Censor will have them, and Heloïse, but they’ll all still be distracted by how desperately they wish Cousins weren’t there. Oh, if only some enterprising young Cousin who knew Bryar Kosala and Heloïse personally might bring this to their attention!”