An Interlude in Yellow Tower

An Interlude in Yellow Tower

There came a morning when everything was different, in a place where mornings had been the same forever. It began like any other, however. A servant woke Bismuth at about three hours past sunrise, and helped him to the close stool, and waited patiently as the great prince pissed. In Bismuth's grandmother's day, honorable people of the court had sought this position; now it was filled by no-names—though they were, as Bismuth had gradually, unconsciously learned over his long years, not the less honorable for that.

Afterward, Bismuth was helped to a chair, and this same servant, whose name was Lally, consulted with him about the choice of clothes for the morning. The gamboge silk doublet with white leather jerkin, yes, and hose to match the doublet, and an overgown of pale weld-dyed wool. And of course the chains of office and the Lady-ring. Lally fussed over Bismuth's white hair, combing and smoothing it with scented oils, as if this were an important day instead of just another morning, until Bismuth finally waved her away with a kind of pleased irritation.

Through the triple window, Yellow Tower was brilliant in the morning light: spare and elegant amidst its cupolaed and ironworked pavilions. At the same time, it was the worst place in the entire palace. You could live in the presence of the other Ladies. But Citrine, well, only her mad old ferry-keeper willingly stayed within the grounds of the Nine Fountains. Bismuth went there four times a year for certain rites and obeisances, and that was quite enough for him.

A pink tent wobbled and bounced past the windows. That would be the butler Peregrine on his way to the ferry. Was it that time of the month already? Bismuth's mouth watered, thinking of the fiery wines that Peregrine would bring before the day was over, and he called for his staff.

His leg allowed him to move just as often as it didn't. This day was one of the former cases, but for longer walks, Bismuth still preferred his staff. It had some ancient name, and truly was not meant for supporting him, but the scrollwork grip fitted his hand precisely, and it looked well when he walked with it. Particularly now, as all the halls and rooms of Nonesuch House were aglow with the noonday sun.

Built by Citrine before the Night of Bones, Nonesuch House was a miniature palace within the greater. She called it Nonesuch both for the yellow-flowered clover she had carved everywhere, and because there was no other residence like it in the palace. Forested with spires and turrets, it sat with one face in the pavilions and mansions of Yellow and one in the parklands of the Nine Fountains. A wide plaza separated it from the courts, but nothing separated it from the Fountains. Nobody lived on that side of the house, of course.

Nonesuch was intended as a retreat, and such it had become in a very literal sense. The Bismuth princes fled there after Citrine's decline began, and there they preserved such bits of Yellow Tower's government as had survived. Now, eras later, there were only three ministers, and they with Bismuth formed the entire leadership of Yellow.

Topaz, the Mistress of the Yellow Library, was waiting for Bismuth in the Privy Chamber, near the table laid for breakfast. She wore a long tight-sleeved gown of saffron cotton, buttoned from floor to neck with peridot spheres. The streaks of ink on her face, carefully painted each morning by Lally, were a little too close together today, making her look as if she'd been whacked on the cheek with a stick. She curtsied to Bismuth, kissing the air just above the Lady-ring, and rose slightly before his bidding. He smiled.

Galena, the Prime Minister, entered a moment later. His greying hair had been teased into a high, beribboned tower where tiny pearl pins peeped, and he had taken very little care with his makeup. His rhubarb-dyed jacket was ironed, but his breeches were not, and the less said about his white waistcoat, the better. He bowed, kissed the Lady-ring, and rose when bidden.

Silver, the Master of Arms, was late. When she finally appeared, it was with one pauldron unfastened and Lally hurrying after her, trying to finish buckling it. However, when she stood in the traditional pose (one arm behind her back, one foot slightly forward), and Lally had set everything aright, she was impressive.

"Let us take our seats," said Bismuth.

Lally returned with a tray. Cook had sent up white bread, only slightly stale, soft-boiled eggs, and a little pyramid of peaches, only slightly unripe. The ministers drank small beer; Bismuth had a green glass of yellow honeyed wine with spices in, which the apothecary had assured him would help his leg. A chicken had followed Lally in and wandered about as she came and went, its scaly tail hissing on the marble floor. Everyone ignored it. It was a pleasant breakfast; the open, arched outer wall of the chamber looked out on the well-tended garden, where Lally and Herth grew herbs, vegetables, and flowers in profusion, and a warm breeze bore their scent continually into the spacious room.

"To business," said Bismuth, when he was done but nobody else quite was. Only Topaz groaned as Lally cleared away the unfinished meal. (At that moment, Tertius and its two passengers had just reached the end of the green maze.)

"I've none," said Galena. It was unclear to everyone, most of all Galena, precisely what a prime minister was meant to do, so he spent his days handling incoming and outgoing messages, conducting the occasional guest to their rooms, that sort of thing.

"The Golden Army is ready for inspection when Your Highness has a moment," said Silver.

"I've finally got to the bottom of my requisition list," said Topaz, producing a long scrap of parchment. "Grey wants to borrow a copy of Your Highness's ancestor's A History of the Yellow Sister, if that's agreeable."

Bismuth blinked. "Of course, but why ask me?"

"It's in the glass cabinet, and Your Highness has the key."

Bismuth sighed. "I can't find the key. Lally's looked for it, too, and it's simply nowhere to be found."

"Maybe the chicken stole it," said Galena dryly.

"A possibility," said Bismuth, just as dryly. "I'll have Lally inspect the coop later. In the meantime, Topaz, what if we can't find it? Do we smash the glass?"

She consulted her parchment. "The request came several months ago with no follow-up from Grey. I doubt the guardian has noticed our little slip."

"Then I suppose she can wait some days longer. However long it might take the chicken to pass the key."

"And if it doesn't?" said Galena.

"Soup," said Silver.

The air shifted, stirred by some massive sound or movement near the tower. They all shuddered.

"I see Her Ladyship has been disturbed," said Galena.

"North, I hope it isn't a child again," said Silver.

A silence fell, broken only by the chicken trotting in, then right back out.

"We should put up a sign," said Silver. "That's the third disturbance in a month."

"Oh, the other two were dares," said Galena. "Silly young folks being silly and young. No sign'll stop that."

Silence fell again. They were all thinking of Sardonyx's inflexibility: all violators went straight to Her Ladyship, never to be seen again.

(Yarrow and Peregrine had reached the island.)

"If there's nothing more to do," said Bismuth, "I'll go inspect Her Ladyship's army."

He stood, and Topaz and Galena went about their separate business as Silver walked with Bismuth to the grassy parade ground in the center of Nonesuch. It would have been a lovely place to sit in the sun and daydream. A square colonnade surrounded it, and lavender beds lined it, laden with flowers no matter the season. Warm breezes stirred the dry palm trees that shaded it. Over its western edge, Yellow Tower shone. In the evening, the point of its shadow touched a block of rhyolite in the parade ground's center, and some ritual or other was meant to happen then, but could not, for half of the ground was inside the sphere of discomfort.

If you walked west past the yellow stone, you would feel a little uneasy, as if someone was watching you. If you kept going, this feeling deepened. Your heart would race. Your hands would shake. You would want to leave the parade ground forever. Eventually you would turn and run. It was possible to become accustomed to this feeling—indeed, there were some among the Lady's subjects who sought it out as a test of endurance and means of spiritual purification, and the Sardonyxes had always lived under its influence—but nobody in Nonesuch House was particularly interested in doing so.

The Golden Army had once filled the parade ground. Now it was three lads in ill-fitting helmets, their ostrich plumes a little ragged, but they cheered like anything when Silver and Bismuth came out onto the balcony. Bismuth raised his hand in benediction. At the same moment, there was a distant rumble. Everyone paused. A summer storm? But the sky remained clear.

A moment later the air stirred. A great weight seemed to lift from Bismuth's shoulders. He felt young again, and smiled with a relief he did not understand. Then the birds came.

Huge white gulls, the Lady's own favored creatures, streamed from the tower's windows in numbers unseen for generations. The noise was terrible, even before the birds reached Nonesuch. They filled the parade ground like hail, driving the Golden Army into shelter, colliding with walls, and breaking whatever windows remained whole. At that point Bismuth's leg gave out, and Silver had to help him inside and back to his chamber.

"Peregrine is here," said Lally as she brought in a little bowl of frumenty some hours later. "He says he has quite a tale to tell you."

"Show him in," said Bismuth, propping himself up in bed. "Did he bring any of that sweet wine from the south of Blue?"

"Just a bottle, sire," said Peregrine, entering as Lally handed the bowl to Bismuth. "There was a poor harvest ten years ago, I'm sorry to say."

"Ah, well." Bismuth pointed the butler to a chair. "What tale is this? A new play? I will be sorely disappointed if you come only to tell me of the Blue Sisters fighting, for that is already over, and I owe Silver a new doublet for predicting the winner."

"Is it over? I hadn't heard. No, this is something that affects you more directly."

"If it's the birds, I was there when they appeared. Some new miracle of our Lady, no doubt. She likes a little joke now and then." His bad leg twitched at the memory of the last one.

According to ancient records, the princely line of Yellow Tower had been founded by Citrine when she came across a pitiful creature in the mud of the river and adopted him as her own. He ran away three times, only to return to her bearing some great gift; the third time, it was a wife, who bore him a son, who was therefore Citrine's grandson, and ever since the Bismuths had ruled alongside or on behalf of the last living founder of the palace. According to other, equally ancient records, Citrine had gone and captured her adoptive son all three times, and finally induced him to stay by breeding him like a stallion and holding his first son hostage. Either way, it was an honor, but the Bismuths had held an ambivalent view of their great patroness all these long years.

"It has to do with the birds," said Peregrine. Something in his voice stilled the jokiness in Bismuth. Peregrine proceeded to tell the prince what we already know: that Citrine the Yellow had finally gone to sleep.

"So," said Bismuth, when Peregrine was finally done and the silence had become unbearable. He stirred his frumenty without appetite. "We offered rewards. Minstrels came from all over. Doctors brewed potions. One young girl went to fetch a sip of water from the mountains at the world's end. Citrine ate her for her trouble. And all the while, a little ditty from a Ladyless tower would have solved everything."

"It seems so," said Peregrine. He squeezed Bismuth's hand, a gesture that none of the court, for all their sardonic familiarity, would have made.

"And there's no heir. Her Ladyship never bore children of her own body."

Peregrine hesitated. "No," he said. "No heir."

"Then we are Ladyless too," said Bismuth. Outside in the long summer sunset, Yellow Tower was darkening, and for the first time in centuries, no lights glowed in its windows. That, more than anything else, convinced Bismuth that Peregrine was telling the truth. "What do we do?" he said. "What are we without her ?"

Peregrine shrugged, pouring some wine. "I'm just a Butler Itinerant, sire. Have a drink."

It went down as sweet and hot as incense smoke. After a bit, Bismuth began to smile.

"There may be claimants," he said. "Ladies from Black who see no chance for advancement under Willow. The tower must be secured."

"Naturally," said Peregrine, nipping a bit directly from the bottle. "Though this is a sad day, I suppose it must be nice to know that your long guardianship is nearly over." His eyes twinkled. "You might take up rulership of the tower yourself, sire. Become the new Lady."

Bismuth shook his head. "I'm too old for that. And I have no children. But I will defend the tower as long as I may. After that—who knows?"

"I've seen new things today," said Peregrine. "I never expected to, you know."

Yellow Tower was fading into the sky. Bismuth, watching it, shook his head. Nothing had truly changed for him. He had never in his life laid eyes on the Lady, only felt her dreadful presence from afar. The government would remain exiled in Nonesuch for now. The present was the same as the past. The future did not seem likely to differ.

Peregrine stood. "I must, unfortunately, take my leave. There are deliveries to make elsewhere. But, Your Highness, it has been, as always, a pleasure."

He bent to kiss the Lady-ring. Bismuth withdrew it. "Let us ignore protocol this time," the prince said. "What does the ring mean, with no Lady in Yellow Tower?"

After Peregrine had gone, Bismuth held the ring up to the lamplight, asking that question of himself over and over. He thought it would make him sadder, but it did not. Yellow Tower had been de facto without a Lady for over a millennium. She had mattered only to those in Nonesuch House, or to anyone who happened to wander into the Nine Fountains. The other towers only sent such embassages and gifts as tradition required, but they all came to Nonesuch and not the tower.

Bismuth was free to act as he chose, until Black Tower took notice—if they ever did, and the Willows rarely showed much interest in the larger palace. But he had been Prince Bismuth, Viceroy of Her Ladyship, for so long that he was not sure how to be anything else. He rang the bell for Lally, and while he waited, drained the glass.

"Go find Topaz. Tell her to break open the cabinet and send that Grey guardian the book."

He poured himself more wine as Lally ran off. A little scratching noise made him look at the door. The chicken was there, staring at him with a beady golden eye. It was in the process of swallowing a little silver key.