31. There Is a Form of New Life to Be Cared for and Nobody Knows How

31. There Is a Form of New Life to Be Cared for and Nobody Knows How

The train roared into a tunnel beneath overhanging buildings of blue slate. Yarrow yanked her thumb out of the Lady's mouth, and she started crying again.

"Just let it suck on your thumb," said the flower.

"It's disgusting!" said Yarrow. "Let her suck on your petal and see how you like it!"

Before she could stop the Lady, the infant put her mouth on the nearest petal. Yarrow sucked in her breath. With a high-pitched cough, the Lady spat the petal back out just before the flower shrieked and jerked away. The crying resumed, and a fine network of cracks turned the window opaque, while the window just ahead of them gave an ominous groan. Yarrow put her thumb back in the Lady's mouth and tried to think things through.

The infant Lady must have crawled into Yarrow's pack in the tower, perhaps to avoid the collapse of her sleeping mother. There was no way Yarrow could take her along. How would she explain showing up at Black Tower with the daughter of a dead Lady? A Lady she herself had accidentally killed, no less? She still didn't know how she'd explain that, either.

And yet the rules were clear. If a baby was delivered by a woman in grey, but the parents died or were otherwise unable to care for it, she was duty bound to get that baby to an appropriate caretaker. Yarrow had to do something with this infant.

"What the fuck is it?" said the flower. "And where did you get it?"

"I found it," said Yarrow. "In the West Passage."

The flower shuddered. "Well, if things like that are around, I'm glad I always followed my da's advice. Never take the West Passage, he said, and I never have."

A sheet-covered cart came down the aisle, pushed by a very short person with very large eyes. "Refreshments!" they called. "Refreshments!"

When the flower asked to see what they had, they pulled off the sheet. There were trays of fruit, bread, and roasted songbirds, with little cups for water or chamomile tea.

"Ah," said the flower regretfully. "I only have a Blue Tower token."

The vendor passed them some bread and an apple.

"I have a Black Tower token," said Yarrow. "What will that get me?"

"Anything you want," said the vendor with a low bow that hid them below the seat.

"Songbirds, then," said Yarrow. "And tea and fruit."

The vendor produced a steel tray from the lower level of the cart and loaded it up with her order. They passed it to her with their compliments and moved on.

"Would you like anything?" said Yarrow.

The flower's petals swayed as they shook their head. "The Brothers look a bit dim on passengers sharing. Bread 'n apple's enough for me."

Yarrow picked up an ortolan and breathed in the savory aroma. She popped it into her mouth and crunched down. The flavor permeated her body like summer heat, and she relaxed with a long sigh. Her eyes closed in bliss.

"Good?" said the flower dryly.

"They're a treat in Grey House," said Yarrow, her eyes still closed. "The only meat we're allowed, and we only have them on Lady-days."

"In a moment, you won't have any today either," said the flower.

Yarrow opened her eyes. The Lady had clambered on top of the tray and was devouring an ortolan.

"No!" said Yarrow, snatching her up. Before she could cry, Yarrow (with a shudder) put a thumb back in the Lady's mouth while she looked for a less precious replacement. The baby might like some grapes or something. There was no milk to be had, but then an infant Lady probably didn't drink milk. Yarrow tried feeding her a grape. The Lady narrowed her eyes and kept her head clamped where it was. Yarrow proffered an orange. The Lady closed her eyes entirely. With a sigh, Yarrow took up the half-gnawed ortolan and gave it to her. With a squeal of pleasure, the baby set to munching. She gummed the bird's flesh into a damp paste, swallowed it, and spat out the bones. It was a long, disgusting process.

While she was occupied, Yarrow shoved down the rest of the ortolans, nearly gagging on bones several times. South take her if this child ate the thing she loved most in the world. As it turned out, she need not have bothered. Whatever the other powers of the infant, she did not have an internal capacity larger than a whole ortolan. When it was finished, she licked her fingers like an ant cleaning its feelers and curled up against Yarrow's side.

"Adorable," said the flower wryly. "Is it wearing a diaper, or is it just going to shit on the seat?"

Yarrow did not reply. What answer could she give? Scattered ends of disused Lady-lore filled the corners of her mind, but they all assumed that one was dealing with an adult Lady. Offer this sort of reverence in this chamber, speak with the utmost respect, behave in such and such a way around a Lady of Black, all that sort of thing. The notion of encountering an infant Lady had never occurred to her, nor to generation upon generation of Yarrows before. Other towers might have infant Ladies, but since Bellflower, Grey had not.

As for diapers, well, a woman in grey was for two things: birth and death. Childcare was for parents, tutors in a pinch. Tithelings weren't even accepted into the house until they were old enough to use a latrine. Old Yarrow once said that in the old days many had joined the women in grey specifically to avoid raising children. Grey House was no place for them, Yarrow's lap even less so.

"Do you want her?" she said to the flower.

"Want… that ?" they answered, pointing to the baby.

"Yes."

"Can't say as I do," said the flower. "Anyway, look, she's taken to you."

There was no evidence of that. Yarrow was about to argue when the coach jolted.

The tray leapt from her lap as the train shuddered to a halt. Wheels screeched. She barely caught the Lady and herself, jamming one foot against the seat before her to brace them. The flower flew forward and banged their head on the seatback. Passengers shouted as they were thrown about. With a liquid crash, the broken window shattered and rained down around Yarrow's shoulders.

Hissing and creaking, the train settled into silence.

"The fuck?" the flower said, sitting up amid the glass. "The fuck ?"