“I need to discuss the Crossing Festival with my cousin.”

“I will not attend,” Tis snapped.

“You will!”

Jay watched as Tisianne’s fingers tightened convulsively at the rap of command in that cold voice, and the delicate stem snapped. She regarded the drooping flower with annoyance.

“He’ll be there. The Ideal knows what he might try,” Tisianne argued.

“It’s Festival, you’ll be safe.” Zabb helped himself to a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table. “And speaking of your so-charming grandson, I want to discuss the speech he delivered.”

“What about it?”

“Taj and I were wondering if this power is a side effect of this jumping power? It is having an electrifying effect on the Tarhiji planet-wide.”

“Maybe because it’s hitting home some truths?” Jay said.

Zabb ignored him. “And you heard what happened at Rodaleh. We cannot fight if we cannot trust the troops at our backs. You said Blaise possesses a powerful mind control. It is possible it can sway thousands? Work across a bounce/cast?”

Tis shook her head. “You are looking for a magic explanation. Jay is right, the truth is he has found our Achilles’ heel and is exploiting it.”

“If you want to hang onto your own people, you better start offering them a mentat in every pot, and a chicken in every garage,” Jay said.

Zabb frowned, confused. Mark stepped in. “You know, how a politician will promise anything just to get elected.”

Zabb was staring at them both as if they’d suddenly begun speaking in tongues. And then it hit Jay. On Takis nobody got elected to nothin’. The art of the stump had never been invented. There was no demagoguery on Takis because there were no demagogues.

That was Blaise’s secret power. Not wild card, not the jumper skill, not his quarter Takisian blood. In a fit of excitement Jay explained his sudden insight. Tisianne looked sick, Mark thoughtful. Zabb was still confused.

Meadows slowly shook his head. “This is fucking awesome, Blaise is bringing down an entire planetary culture with the power of the Lie.”

“Well,” Jay grunted, “he better get a new speech writer. At Rodaleh we heard Roosevelt and Churchill.”

Zabb shook his head like a horse afflicted with flies. “Well, here is my truth. We will not mix our blood with that of the Tarhiji.”

“Then I guess we better start studying Vayet,” Jay grunted.

That pissed him off, and Zabb left with only another reminder that Tisianne would be attending Festival, and he’d send over her mother’s jewels.

Tis sighed and settled into a chair. Meadows fluttered around her nervously. “You okay? He didn’t get to you, did he?”

“No, no. Right now Zabb’s machinations, Blaise’s political posturings, the fate of the planet, and the future of Takisiankind are very secondary to my child.” She laid a hand on her stomach. “Personally I hope Zabb and Blaise beat each other to death with their respective peni.”

“What is this Festival shit?” Jay asked.

“It’s the holiest and most important celebration on Takis. It celebrates our passage through darkness to find and settle the Crystal World.”

“But Blaise is going to be there?” Mark asked.

“Yes. Everyone will be there.”

“What, every House?” Jay asked.

“Every House. Every member of every House.”

“Well, shit.” Jay shoved his hands into his pockets and started pacing. “This solves -” He broke off and looked to Meadows. “You got the jammer?”

“Yeah.”

“Fire it up.” Meadows located the Network device and did so. “So Blaise and the body will be at the hop?”

“Yes. How many times do I have to -”

“So I pop them both here -”

“No.” Tis’s eyes had gone dark with some undefined emotion.

“What do you mean, no?”

“First, you won’t be there. You’re not family.”

Jay waved that aside. “So I sneak in. I’ve got a Ph.D. in hiding in bushes.”

“The Festival is held on the South Pole.”

“Oh fuck.” Jay kicked a chair. “So I stow away.”

“On a living, mind-reading ship?” Meadows asked logically.

There was some sort of internal struggle going on in Tisianne’s soul. Jay could read it in the conflicting emotions washing across that little girl’s face.

“We can’t,” she finally said. “We swear peace at Festival. No one’s ever broken it. I can’t do this. I can’t let you do this.”

“I can end this thing in about two seconds -”

“No.”

“You’ll have your body back -”

“No!”

“Meadows and I can go home -”

“No!”

“And you’re not going to let me do it because it’s Christmas?”

It cost her. Her teeth gently sketched at her lower lip, then her expression hardened. “That is correct.”

Jay checked just inside the kitchen door. Both big ovens were fired up, and all the burners on the stove. Steam formed worm tracks on the window in the back door. Hastet was alternating between making sugar flowers on a multitiered cake, and giving an occasional stir to a bubbling sauce.

A young man, his plump face red with exertion and heat, was creaming butter in a giant ceramic bowl. Haupi went hissing and rollicking across the floor. Her wings were up, but she seemed to have about as much lift as a dodo.

“Jesus, are we entertaining the army tonight?”

Hastet pushed back a hanging strand of hair and left a pink smudge on her damp forehead. “I suppose I have you to thank for this.” She didn’t sound real happy.

“What? What did I do?”

“The House called yesterday. I’m to prepare desserts for Festival.”

“It is a great honor, genefemme,” the young man said.

There were a mountain of flaky cookies with pink icing. Jay snitched one. The sweetness of the frosting contrasted with the almost tart flavor of the dough. He snitched two more.

“Shut up and stir,” Hastet ordered. “No, better yet, go to Wan’se and buy me some more sithi beans. I’m almost out.” The boy grabbed his coat and vanished, along with a cloud of steam, into the alley out back.

Hastet caught Jay with his hand on the cookies, smacked him with her pastry gun, and decorated his shirt with green icing.

“Thanks,” Jay said. Scraping it off with a forefinger, he daubed it on her nose like war paint.

“I won’t be able to have a booth at Festival now. I’ll be too damn tired,” Hastet complained.

“Nice of the lord and lady poobahs to let you guys party along with them. Even if you’re not good enough to go to the big polar hop.”

“I wouldn’t want to be there. We have more fun here.” She had these incredibly serious eyes, and when she turned them on him, Jay felt as if it were X-ray vision to the soul.

“Is that meant to be an invitation?” Jay asked.

She turned away and stirred sauce. “I would like it.”

He took the whisk away from her and put his arms around her. She let him, and he felt as if someone had opened a bottle of champagne in the center of his chest. “I’d like it too.” She glanced over at her cooking and gently freed herself from his arms. Jay perched on the marble pastry table. “So what’s this party like?”

“It’s outdoors with lots of food and drink and music and dancing.”

“And cops and fights?” Jay suggested.

Hastet looked at him oddly. “When we Takisians fight, we fight for real. People die.”

Jay remembered Hiram remarking, after a return from overseas, that the most violent cultures tended to have the most elaborate system of manners, the greatest degree of politeness; it was a way to keep the violence in check. Takisians seemed to be no exception.

“And besides, this is Festival,” Hastet added.

“Yeah, I’ve heard too much about how peaceful everybody is at Festival.”

Hastet resumed her cooking. She had an ability, rare in many women, to be perfectly comfortable with silence. Jay ate cookies and watched as the elaborate confection took shape. And slowly a plan also began to take shape.