Ultimately, they chose an assortment from each of the stalls and carried their purchases to one of the round tables lining the other wall of the car. The train rocked steadily back and forth, a hypnotic, soothing rhythm that lulled all the senses into a state of serenity. Or maybe she was just tired, Kit thought. She had been through such a broad spectrum of emotions this day that it was no wonder she felt blank, purposeless, passive. She slid into a chair and set down the food, cradling the more slippery items to keep them from sliding off the table with the motion of the train.

They ate in silence except when Nolan made a few brief comments about the quality of the food (“This is better than I thought it would be … What’s this? I like the spices”). Kit’s foot was beginning to ache with a serious throbbing, and the interior of her head felt as though it were expanding and contracting in time with the iron wheels below her. If she didn’t sleep soon, she would die. Either alternative sounded equally peaceful and attractive.

An albino man had entered after them and was now carrying on a low-voiced transaction with the meat vendor. Nolan appeared to listen for a moment, though it was obvious he did not understand the goldtongue conversation. Indeed, as Kit watched him because she could not muster the effort to turn her eyes away, he shook his head in quiet admiration.

“I sometimes think the albinos must be the smartest ones of all of us,” he observed.

“Oh?” Kit said, surprised she had the energy to speak.

“They learn one whitetongue when they’re brought up, and then they learn bluetongue when they come to the city, and then some of them learn the gulden language as well. Think of all the translating that must go on in their heads for them to be able to talk to a guldman.”

Kit felt herself staring in slackjawed stupefaction. “What?” she managed to scrape up the indignation to reply. “Do you honestly believe—hasn’t it ever occurred to you that a man could just translate directly from whitetongue to goldtongue? That he wouldn’t have to know the indigo language as well?”

He gaped at her—no, the thought had obviously never crossed his mind—and then he flushed so deeply that his cobalt skin turned purple. She wanted to rail at him (“You stupid, self-referential, unthinking fool!”), but she could not force herself to feel either enough anger or scorn. Instead, she put her hand over her face and leaned on her elbow, willing the world around her to simply dissolve.

*   *   *