Shades of Grey (46 page)

I had to agree with this, but the Apocryphal man, perhaps unused to having a chance to explain himself, carried on.

“There were initially ten Baxters, but despair took all but one. The weakest willed was always going to be the last Baxter standing. Sadly, it was me—I will have to shoulder the responsibility on my own.”

“What responsibility?”

“Without me, no one’s life has any meaning.”

“I thought Munsell said that color was here to give our lives meaning?”

“Its function is to give life
apparent
meaning. It is an abstraction, a misdirection—nothing more than a sideshow at Jollity Fair. As long as your minds are full of Chromatic betterment, there can be no room for other, more destructive thoughts. Do you understand?”

“Not really,” I said, confused by Mr. Baxter’s odd view of the world. “What was the Something That Happened?”

“I was born after the Epiphany. I don’t know what happened. But if you want to find out, then you should return to Rusty Hill and finish the work Zane and Ochre started.”

“The painting of the ceiling?”

“Everything is there in the ceiling,” he said. “All it needs is a key.”

I recalled the strong feeling of anticipation I had felt at the appearance of the Pooka. As with the Perpetulite’s hidden panel and the harmonics running Everspins, there was far, far more to the world than I supposed, and quite possibly a lot more to us.

“But—”

I was interrupted by three loud raps at the door. Aware that I should not even be acknowledging Mr. Baxter let alone
talking
to him, I went to the door to see the caller away.

It was Courtland Gamboge. He was on his own, and his manner seemed . . .
businesslike
.

“Twenty-two minutes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Twenty-two minutes,” he repeated, “until the train departs. You surrendered your Open Return to deMauve, and I’ve a spare. This time tomorrow you can be back in the arms of your sweetheart. No trip to High Saffron, no chair census, no getting married to Violet,
nothing
. It’s life as it was before you came out here to the Fringes.”

“I’m still down eight hundred merits.”

“You’ll have to sort that out for yourself.”

“And the catch?”

“No catch,” he said with a forced smile. “We give you a ticket, and you get on the train. You don’t owe us anything, and we don’t owe you anything. Clean slate. It’s like you were never here.”

“I need to tell my father.”

“You can leave a note. He’ll understand. Twenty-one minutes. If you’re going, you have to go now.”

They had timed it well, and the decision was an easy one to make. I took the proffered ticket.

“Good lad,” he said, “I’ll see you to the railway station.”

C
ourtland’s timing was indeed perfect: The train had just pulled in when we got to the railway station. Bunty was in her usual place and nodded to Courtland, who turned and walked back toward the village without comment. The day was by now blistering hot, with barely a cloud in the sky, and the trainspotters on the slope above fanned themselves with their notebooks to keep cool.

I opened the carriage door, smiled a greeting to an amiable-looking Blue woman in a hat and veil and sat by myself in the nearly empty carriage. I looked at Bunty, who was still seated on the platform, and she stared at me with as much disdain as she could muster, which was considerable. I took a deep breath and settled back into my seat. The train would leave as soon as the linoleum was loaded, and since I was impatient to be away, time seemed to slow down. I didn’t know what the Jade-under-Lime Council would say when I arrived back early, but I didn’t really care. I was away, and
alive
.

“Master Edward?” came a voice. “There’s a telegram for you.”

It was Stafford, who smiled and tipped his cap. I thanked him, and asked him how he knew I was here, to which he replied that he was simply picking up a fare, and always had at least a half-dozen telegrams to deliver.

“Off for long, sir?” he asked.

“For good, Stafford. Thanks for everything.”

“Most kind, sir. I hope things turn out delightfully uneventful for you.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, “I hope so, too.”

“Back to the usual routine, then is it, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” I replied, “I expect so.”

“Master Edward?”

“Yes, Stafford?”

“Never underestimate the capacity for romance, no matter what the circumstance.”

“You mean Jane?”

But he didn’t answer.

“Pleasant voyage, Master Edward.”

He tipped his hat a second time, and was gone. I sat back in my seat again, confused and annoyed. Stafford might have been pulling my leg, of course—or may not have meant Jane at all. I tried not to think about her and instead concentrate on what I had learned: Don’t rock the boat, don’t stand out, respect the Chromatic scale and, above all, don’t try to improve queuing. From what I’d seen in East Carmine, I now had all the tools necessary for a long and prosperous life. With a bit of luck, I would marry Constance, keep the Collective well supplied with string and give the Oxbloods the Reddest son they had ever had. It all seemed so simple, really, and in some respects, I thanked my lucky stars that I had been given the opportunity to allow clarity to be brought to my dangerously unsociable outlook.

I saw the stationmaster ready his flag, and for the first time since I had arrived in East Carmine, I felt myself relax. I smiled and looked out the window. The only alighting passenger looked like Bertie Magenta. Same large ears and mildly dopey demeanor. I looked closer. It
was
Bertie Magenta. He was dressed in a light synthetic-violet three-piece suit with matching hat, and was carrying a small overnight case. He held a perfumed handkerchief to his nose and had wrapped his shoes in newspaper, presumably to avoid soiling them.

“Bertie?” I said, having lowered the carriage window. “Is that you?”

“Hello, Eddie,” he replied. “Are you leaving?”

“It’s a long story. What in Munsell’s name are you doing here?”

“Very droll,” he said with a laugh. “Another one of your quippy japes?”

“Not at all,” I replied, “I really want to know.”

“Because
you
sent for me. Something about a frightfully vivacious sub-Beta gal who would be willing”—he leaned forward and lowered his voice—“to offer
favors
on approval.”

“Tommo!” I cried, suddenly realizing what had happened. Foolishly, I had mentioned Bertie’s name in his presence.

“No, I think her name’s Imogen, and she looks and sounds like just the sort of filly I’m after. If she’s half as purplicious as you made out in your telegram, I will
happily
give you the fifty-merit introduction fee you asked for.”

“There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“What?” said Bertie. “You mean she’s not available?”

“No. Well, yes, I suppose she is, but—”

“Welcome to East Carmine!” came a voice, and I turned to see Tommo and Fandango walking along the platform. Behind them in the station yard was the village’s Ford. Bertie was being given the full treatment, and while Fandango greeted Magenta warmly and led him toward the Ford, Tommo leaned on the window to talk to me.

“What are you doing on the train, Eddie?”

“Something I should have done the moment I got here. And just for the record, you had no right to contact Bertie.”

He smiled. “I meant to explain what I was up to, but I couldn’t think of a way of doing it without your flying into a rage. So I didn’t.”

“You forged a telegram from me!”

“Let’s just say I might have misrepresented the sendee a little bit. It’s no worse than lying about the rabbit. In fact, I’m doing the Magentas a favor—always a good move, if you know what I mean.”

“But Bertie’s a vacuous oaf. I wouldn’t wish him married to my worst enemy!”

“You’re
not
wishing him married to your worst enemy. You’re wishing him married to the lovely Imogen.”

“This will make her and Dorian
miserable
. How can you have a part in that?”

“When I have no cash
I’m
miserable,” he said, “so it’s either them or me. Good-bye, Eddie.”

And he walked off toward the station yard to join Fandango and Bertie.

I sat back in my seat, my relaxed feelings replaced by annoyance and frustration. I felt partially responsible, but there was, in fact, nothing I could do. I’d be overnighting in Cobalt and back in Jade-under-Lime by lunchtime tomorrow. I looked down and opened the telegram. It wasn’t perhaps the best thing I could have read.

I suddenly felt sick, angry, relieved and cheated all at once. I closed my eyes and scrunched up the telegram.

“Bad news?” asked the Blue woman with the veil.

“Ten minutes ago it would have been,” I said, thinking of Stafford’s words, “but right now it’s probably the best news I’ve had.”

I got up and opened the door of the carriage as the stationmaster was putting his whistle to his lips. But before I could climb out and shut the door behind me, Bunty strode up with a look of thunder.

“There was a deal, Russett!”

“The deal is off.”

“
We’ll
tell you if the deal is off!”

And before I knew it, she had pushed me roughly back inside the carriage. I used my foot to keep her from shutting the door and wormed my way half out again, whereupon Bunty punched me painfully in the midriff, then grabbed my ear. The stationmaster and the Blue woman in the veil looked on, he with the whistle poised in his mouth, and she tutting audibly, shocked and appalled by the unseemly tussle playing out in front of her. Bunty was stronger than I, and the struggle soon descended into her pushing with all her might from
outside
as I tried to keep hold of the varnished door frame on the
inside
. I caught the eye of the stationmaster. I knew he wouldn’t risk his job by assisting me, but I also knew that punctuality was of vital importance. So I suddenly let go of the door frame, and Bunty and I both tumbled inside. The stationmaster slammed the door and blew his whistle. By the time we had disentangled ourselves, the door locks had clunked and the train had begun to move off.

“You idiot!” yelled Bunty, her hair unpinned and her pinafore askew. “Just look at me!”

I told her it appeared we were now traveling companions, and she said only for the next forty minutes until Bluetown, where she would alert their departures clerk as to my behavior and use force if necessary to keep me on the train.

“And the next stop after that will be Greenways,” she added—“out of Red Sector West and our hair forever.”

I didn’t reply to this, except to say I had cut my lip, and excused myself to go to the toilet, leaving Bunty apologizing to the woman in the Blue veil and explaining that I was “trouble of the worst kind.”

But I didn’t go to the toilet. I went to the next carriage, lowered the window and climbed out until I was standing on the step. I timed my moment and jumped. The train was going at a reasonable speed by now, but I wasn’t much bothered as I tumbled on the grass and fell into a thorn bush. I sat up, scratched and bleeding, and watched the train until it was out of sight, then walked back down the line to the railway station.

“Changed your mind?” asked the stationmaster as I struggled back onto the platform twenty minutes later.

“The Outer Fringes grow on you.”

“So does lichen if you stand still long enough.”

I
made my way to the Fallen Man, where long-established custom would find Carlos Fandango offering tea and scones to Bertie, and discussing potential dowries, feedback ratings and virtues. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew I needed to do
something
.

Dorian was pacing around on the opposite side of the street, and before I could say anything, he punched me on the nose. It wasn’t that hard, but enough to stop me in my tracks.

“That’s for betraying my confidence,” he said. “I thought you were positive toward our predicament. And now I find you’ve invited this Magenta idiot to come over and feel the goods before purchase. What is Imogen to you? Ripe fruit?”

“Not my doing,” I assured him. “I think you should be looking for someone who would sell their own toes for a couple of extra merits.”

“Oh,” he replied with a look of sudden contrition, “Tommo.”

“In one.” I peered into the tearoom, where Fandango seemed to be in heavy conversation with Bertie. Sitting between them was Imogen, who looked very delightful indeed in her Outdoor Informal with Hat #8. She spent her time glaring sullenly at her father and potential husband in turn.

“You can’t claim you’re totally free of blame,” continued Dorian. “I mean, Tommo must have found out about Magenta from you.”

“Okay,” I said, “I’m going to have to make this right.”

“How?”

I handed Dorian the unused railway ticket, and his eyes opened wide.