42. Yarrow Speaks to the Frogs

Strange tears came to Yarrow's eyes. She wiped them away as she went on. By then she had nearly crossed the room, and it was only when she had gone up the far steps that she noticed the Lady wasn't with her.

There was a swish and a splash, splash, splash. The Lady had reached into the pool of lamb-eggs and was drawing one out, dripping and quivering. It was connected to all the others, and she was having a difficult time separating it. Her struggles disturbed the water. By the time Yarrow reached her, she'd managed it. The two severed ends of the chain slipped back into the pool, and the frog looked over in time to see the Lady tear open the clear, delicate rind of the egg. The half-developed lamb inside slithered to the floor in a shower of slime. Its limbs twitched as it tried to stand. Yarrow bit back a groan of horror.

As the Lady greedily bent down to take up the infant, the frog, who had so lately been speaking of reeds, opened its great mouth and let out a guttural scream. The Lady lifted the lamb to her stony mouth and bit down. Blood showered out, mingling with the slime and spilling into the pool. The frog went on screaming. The noise echoed and reechoed until Yarrow could hear nothing else.

"Stop!" said Yarrow. "Stop, stop, stop !"

The frog stopped. The Lady was reaching in for another egg. Yarrow slapped her wrist.

"I'm sorry," said Yarrow. "I'm so sorry. I'll take her out right away."

"They'd be eaten anyhow," said the frog. "Eaten," said the smaller one on its back.

"But she shouldn't have," said Yarrow.

"It's theft I object to," said the frog. "Theft," said the smaller one.

"Against the rules," said the wheelbarrow frog. "They get mad about quotas and things."

"Who does?" said Yarrow.

"Steward," said the wheelbarrow frog.

"So many lambs per day for the flocks of Blue," said the first frog. "Lambs," said its companion.

"The flocks can't—" Yarrow swallowed. "Can't birth themselves?"

"Not at the right rate," said the frog. "Nor the workshops with wheelbarrows and the like, nor the orchards with seedlings and the like." "The like," said the smaller frog.

"Deficiencies and deficits everywhere," said the wheelbarrow frog. "A lack for us to supply. Duty to the tower, duty to the Ladies. All that."

"Years and years it's been," said the lamb frog. "Years," said its companion.

"Could be less," said the wheelbarrow frog.

"Could be a lot more," said another frog, whose pond was full of unhatched doorknobs. "Lily's in charge, is it?"

Yarrow wrung her hands a moment. "Willows," she said at last. "It's the Willow Era."

"Next after Lilies, are they?" said the doorknob frog.

"No," Yarrow whispered.

"Then granddaughters of Lilies?"

Yarrow shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"Won't go on guessing, then," said the doorknob frog.

"Thanks," said the lamb frog. "I was about to be sad." "Sad," said the smaller frog.

"What's your name?" said the wheelbarrow frog. "What are you doing in the Deeps?"

"I'm Yarrow. I'm going to Black Tower."

"Wrong direction, then," said the fish frog. "It's up there, in the Levels." "Levels," said its companion.

"Ninny," said the doorknob frog. "There's a shortcut here."

"What are your names?" said Yarrow, desperate to avert what seemed to be an argument.

The frogs all looked at her.

"Names?" said one, as if unsure of the word.

"They take your names," said the lamb frog. "Take," said its companion.

"Come work for us, they said." The wheelbarrow frog made a discontented motion of its forelimbs that sent water gushing over the floor. "Leave the river. Join the new thing that's happening. Walls and houses, all new."

"But leave the names behind," said the doorknob frog.

Like Servant. The woman had not been born with that title. And despite her long years of service to the house, Yarrow knew little about her. Some things were just the way things were, like an inconvenient cellar step. Before she could say anything, the far door opened, and six guards in the livery of Blue Tower entered. They held spears, and they pointed them at Yarrow.