32. Yarrow Disembarks Before Her Scheduled Stop

Outside the empty window frame, the domed roofs of Blue brushed the cloudy sky. Green vines twined around their walls, bearing clusters of flowers in red, orange, yellow. People were setting themselves right, gathering scattered belongings, or pressing eyes to windows to see the cause of the disaster. Yarrow tried to ignore them.

"Are you hurt?" she said, setting the baby aside and bending over to help the flower back onto the bench. They kept repeating the fuck over and over, but aside from bruises and scrapes, they seemed all right.

Yarrow leaned out the window to look down the line. The train had been in the middle of a leftward turn along a viaduct, so the track ahead was hidden from her. Before her eyes were bare, snow-whitened treetops full of bright birds, and above that, tier on tier, was Blue Tower. Beyond it, along the top of the South Passage, sat the cloisters of Grey from which she had so often looked at Blue, but the near tower hid her own. That was just as well. Homesickness already laid cold fingertips on her heart. It would never do to let it get a stronger grip.

One of the Brothers came into the coach, checking passengers for injuries, hearing their complaints. When he had seen everyone, he went to the front and raised his voice.

"This train will not be completing its journey," he said. From the belt of his robe, he took a dark cylindrical object. "Ice has disrupted the line ahead, and we cannot continue farther." He unwound several long leather strands from what now appeared to be a handle. At the end of each strand was a sparkling shard of obsidian. "The Order of Transit apologizes for any inconvenience this may cause."

He shook the strands out, and with no hesitation, swung them back to flog himself. The obsidian slashed through his robe and into his skin. "We apologize," he said, and flogged himself again. All in all, he went through the rite twelve times. By the end, he was shaking and tears were running down his cheeks, but his voice was steady.

"What are we to do, then?" said a businesslike person with smooth rose-pink skin.

"The Brothers will assist you off the train. From within Blue, you may arrange transportation to your destination or continue on foot. Train service resumes at Prince Margay Station near the Court of Weavers."

Most of the passengers groaned. Yarrow furrowed her brow.

"How do I get to Black Tower?" she said.

The Brother inclined his head. "The disruption has made it impossible for any Angel Circuit trains to reach Black Tower. From Margay, you may take the Gatehouse Circuit to Red, which will circle back within a day or two."

"I can't wait that long," said Yarrow. "How can I get there sooner?"

"Foot traffic is outside the purview of the Order," said the Brother. He was sweating and trembling, but he stiffened right up when someone else started to ask another question. "I am only permitted to give three answers," he said. "The rest of the Brothers will be along shortly."

When he was gone, the other passengers grumbled to and about Yarrow. She sat and looked out the window, her face burning. How was she supposed to know the rules?

In the abstract, Yarrow had no problem with rules. In Grey House, she knew all of them. She enforced them, for North's sake. And everyone around her had known them, taught them to her, followed them, reverenced them. But out here in the rest of the palace—

The flower nudged her. "Your pet just went out the window."

"She what ?"

The flower pointed. Yarrow leaned through the window frame. On puffed-out skirts, the Lady was drifting downward like a dandelion seed. She looked up at Yarrow and waved.

Sighing, Yarrow slumped back into her seat.

"You're not going after her?" said the flower. "You didn't seem interested, but—"

Yarrow sighed again, more heavily. "She's not mine. I just picked her up accidentally."

The flower shrugged, making all their petals jiggle.

Yarrow chewed her thumb. It would be more convenient to travel without the Lady. The creature was maturing rapidly: she was no longer a newborn. (Probably.) As a woman in grey, it was not Yarrow's responsibility to care for a child . The Lady was making decisions, jumping out of trains, waving: not exactly newborn behavior. It was tricky, but Yarrow was perfectly justified leaving the Lady behind. (Possibly.)

But in a flash she saw herself ascending the steps of Black Tower and having to admit, first of all, that she had destroyed the Yellow Lady, and second, that she had abandoned the Lady's own daughter and heir to die in Blue. However the first was judged, the second was a serious dereliction of duty. They would never turn the wheel for someone so neglectful. And they'd certainly punish her. All the more harshly if she lied—and there went any chance of lifting winter.

Sighing a third time, she got her pack and stood. Many of the passengers had already left. Two Brothers of the Order flanked the train door to assist people out.

A Brother with several eyes handed her down. When she reached the track, it rapidly became clear that she was going to hate whatever happened next. The viaduct ran along huge piers of rough dark stone. Though the other passengers were sidling along the track's broad curb, there was no obvious way off. She could climb down the stones, perhaps, but they would tear her fingers to bits. And she was so, so tired.

"Can you help me down?" she said.

"Foot traffic is outside the purview of the Order," said the many-eyed Brother.

Below, the bright gown of the Lady vanished under the trees. Yarrow gritted her teeth and held up the Black Tower token.

"I only want to get to the ground, " she said. "You don't have to touch it. Just help me down if you can."

The Brother blinked. It took a while. "Do you understand that you assume full personal responsibility for yourself and your goods and chattels as soon as you leave our track?"

"Yes," said Yarrow.

"And do you swear to absolve the Order of all culpability in any harm that may come to you or your goods and chattels?"

"Yes," said Yarrow. Why did they make things so difficult ? She brandished the token. "Yes!"

Whether because of the token or the promise, he whistled. A third Brother joined them. His large hands had bulbous scaly fingers, their ends padded and wrinkled. At his instruction, she climbed on his back, and he descended the pier. The skin of his fingers caught and held on the stone, allowing him to move with ease.

The pier was surprisingly high, even allowing for the trees obscuring the distance to the ground. By the time they reached the grass, the train was hidden behind the treetops. The winter in Blue was lighter than in Grey, and hardly any snow had accumulated, especially beneath the ivy-hung trees. The air grew stiller and warmer as they descended, until it almost seemed as if Blue stood poised on the verge of spring.

From her brief glimpse atop Grey Tower, Yarrow had known that winter covered much of the palace, but after spending so much time in Yellow, she had forgotten how uncanny it was. Peregrine, the Keeper, and Old Yarrow had all believed something was truly wrong. Some part of her had still thought it was punishment. It was easier that way. The wheel could not break so thoroughly. It couldn't. There was a reason for this, surely.

But Blue was the tower of peace. It alone had never spawned a rebellion against Black: Red Tower, at least once per era; Yellow, during Bellflower; even Grey had asserted its autonomy during Lily. Blue was the place of artisans, flowers, birds. What could it have done to merit this?

She asked the Brother the way to Prince Margay Station, but he shook his head and went back up the pier, leaving Yarrow shivering and looking for the Lady. All about her were tall, straight trees and neatly mown grass, as unlike the stony cloisters of Grey as one could imagine. But even here the trees were dead, green only with ivy, and in many places the grass was patchy brown. Birds flashed from bough to bough, chattering and fighting over seeds and insects. The Lady's cry could not be heard, and among the birds, her yellow gown would not stand out.

"Hello?" said Yarrow. "Are you up there somewhere?"

There was no reply, but farther down the viaduct birds flapped and shrieked in a sudden commotion. Yarrow hiked up her skirts and ran.

Near the next pier, things had already settled down. Halfway up a beech tree, the Lady clung to the bark with one prickly hand. The other clutched a tattered goldfinch carcass, which she was devouring with eager speed. Drops of blood spattered her dress and dripped from the bird's bent and broken tail. The grass and snow were sprayed with red.

"Hey!" said Yarrow. "Put that down!"

The Lady's eyes swiveled toward her, but the child kept munching. When had she developed teeth? Had they been there the whole time, sheathed like a cat's claws?

Keeping back revulsion, Yarrow held up her arms. "Come down from there."

The Lady's teeth caught on a gristly bit and began gnawing. She did not move.

"Come on," said Yarrow. "Or I'll leave you here."

The gristle came out with a wet rip, and the Lady swallowed what appeared to be a chunk of the bird's spine. Yarrow's stomach turned. Women in grey were forbidden to handle raw meat; Servant had always cooked the Lady-day ortolans, and no other meat was permitted in Grey House. This violence was unfamiliar and obscene.

She tried again and again to coax the Lady out of the tree, but it seemed the little creature, having tasted fresh goldfinch, was determined to stay there until she caught more. Not for biscuits would she come down, and not for the few figs Yarrow had left. And Yarrow would not go catch a bird to lure her. Face burning with frustration, Yarrow threw herself down on the cold ground and crossed her arms.

Maybe if the Lullaby of the Reeds were sung, it would put her to sleep. But that was a huge risk. If it worked, she caught the Lady and could resume her journey. If it destroyed the child the way it destroyed the mother, Yarrow was no worse off. Others must have survived: the place had been plastered with eggs. This one would be no great loss.

At that thought, Yarrow stood and was about to leave. Let her stay here eating! What did it matter? But no. The Lady had a distinct fondness for meat. Only a finger in her mouth had kept her silent, and she would eat nothing but birds. Left alone, would she grow to hunt bigger game? A woman in grey must not be responsible for death. Blue had Ladies; someone here must know what to do with the baby.

With a groan, she began the Lullaby. From the first note, the baby was transfixed. Her eyes grew heavy. She nodded, jerked back awake, and nodded again. At last her grip on the tree slackened. Yarrow moved forward and caught her as she fell, sleeping peacefully. With great care, as if packing a piece of porcelain, she put the Lady in her pack. That did not feel secure enough, so she took the Lady back out, wrapped her in the extra wimple, and pinned it tightly so the Lady could not wiggle free. Then she turned toward the obscured face of Blue Tower and, once more, began walking.