With the guardian dead, the question remained: Who would do it? There was talk among the women of sending to Black Tower for someone, or of the old woman's apprentice taking over, but he, a pale youth who looked more used to handling books than beasts, turned paler when it was mentioned to him, and they would not shame him, not distress themselves, by speaking of it further. But in the meantime, the West Passage remained unguarded.

The women in grey took the body for washing and wrapping. Due to the importance of the deceased, Pell, who was their apprentice, was not permitted to touch, only to look, and as she looked she saw the pale youth slip something off the old woman's corpse just as everyone entered the small dark room. A trinket of some sort, on a string, perhaps a keepsake promised to him by the old woman. Pell said nothing.

A strong smell of death had settled on the room. It had not been a dignified death, and the old woman was very dirty. There was a song to be sung during washing, but the women in grey could only hum it through closed mouths. They filled basket after basket with soiled linen before she was clean. Yarrow, the taller woman, directed Pell to take the baskets out to the burnyard reverently but quickly and set them afire as soon as possible.

"And for North's sake," said Yarrow, "don't touch them, and wash your hands directly—seven times, remember, with some lavender oil to finish."

Pell did not need to be told, but it suited Yarrow to order and be obeyed, and it suited Pell to please Yarrow. The Mother of Grey House was a tall, stern woman, and the backs of her strong hands were covered in spines; you didn't want her boxing your ears. Pell did as she was told—burnt the baskets too, since they seemed fouled beyond repair—and as the linens and wicker settled into charred shreds in the furnace, she went to wash. Smelling of lavender, she returned to the old woman's room, where the apprentice sat in the corridor next to Arnica's wheelbarrow, his knees drawn up to his chest.

"Out of my way," said Pell, an important person with important tasks. Someday she might take Yarrow's place. Then people would stay out of her way and not just sit in it, staring.

The apprentice only moved a fingerwidth, as if his misery held his body full and taut and he couldn't compress it anymore. He did not look at her.

"I'm needed inside," said Pell, which was not strictly true. Yarrow and Arnica had only told her to keep out of the way and watch.

"What's to become of me?" said the apprentice.

She could not remember his name, and did not have the patience to try. "I can't speak for the future, but in the present, if you don't let me past, I'll box your ears."

They were the same age, or nearly, but Pell could talk like Yarrow when needed. He moved.

"Thank you," said Pell. To make up for her manner, she took a stick of candied angelica from her sleeve and offered it to him. He stared at it as if it were some unknown beast. "Take it," she said. Then again, more loudly, and added, "It's a gift."