Crewel (10 page)

‘Happy?’ I ask doubtfully.

‘We did some modifications on her.’

‘So you turned her into someone else?’

‘She’s in essence the same,’ he assures me.

‘But you took away her memories of my family. Of me.’ I can feel the tears drying up as I struggle with this new information.

‘One of our very best Spinsters in the Northern Coventry cleaned her thread,’ he says with a patronising tone.

‘What does that even mean?’ I explode. ‘First you alter my town, and now you
cleaned
her thread?’

‘It’s a process we’ve been using on deviants for years. If a child shows a predisposition to violence or mischief, we go in and map his or her brain. The method allows us to follow how the individual’s brain processes information, and then we isolate the problem areas and map where the issues occur in the individual strands.’

‘So you can see how their minds function and store memories, but how does that change anything?’ I ask, looking past him, afraid to meet his eyes.

‘We can often replace parts of the thread with artificial or donated thread material. It’s a science we’re still perfecting,’ he tells me. ‘But it’s usually very successful. It’s a lot like the renewal patching that strengthens and refines an individual’s threads. Someday, we’ll be able to completely control both techniques, eradicating behavioural issues and larger problems like ageing.’

I shudder at the thought, but I’m not surprised someone like Cormac wants to control ageing.

‘If Amie’s a completely different person, I’m not sure we have a deal any more,’ I hedge, hoping he’ll reveal more about where she is or what’s happened to her.

‘Screen,’ he orders, and a burst of colour illuminates the swirling marble mantel. ‘Location service.’

‘Clearance?’ a pleasant voice prompts from somewhere in the ceiling.

‘Cormac Patton.’

‘Subject?’

‘Lewys Subject Four. Amie?’ He looks to me for confirmation, and I nod.

The abstract pattern draws together and blurs, slowly forming the shape of a young girl. Her back is to us as she walks with another girl along a shady, tree-lined lane.

‘Visual realign. Face recognition,’ Cormac orders.

It’s not necessary. The girl’s hair is pulled up loosely and it curls into soft, golden tendrils at the backs of her ears. I turn from the screen as it flashes an image of Amie, laughing, with her new friend. Happy. My heart cracks along its barely healed lines and falls back to pieces.

‘No harm done,’ he confirms. ‘Do I have a date?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ I manage to ask.

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Although, choose wisely.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I tell him quietly, holding back the tears in my throat. There’s no way he heard me, but he doesn’t ask again. I’m grateful for a knock at the door. I couldn’t handle being with Cormac much longer. Erik ducks into the room and strides over to him.

‘You’re Maela’s assistant?’ Cormac asks smugly, staring at his wild blond hair.

Erik, to his credit, smiles and extends his hand. ‘Erik, sir.’

Cormac stands and shakes his hand. Clapping a hand over his shoulder, he turns Erik to face me. ‘Escort Miss Lewys to her quarters. Oh, and Erik?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Keep your hands to yourself.’

‘Of course,’ he agrees, without missing a beat.

Letting go of Erik’s shoulder, Cormac turns back to the corner.

‘Bring my meal here and order my motocarriage for pick-up in an hour,’ he orders Jost.

‘Sir.’ Jost bows and moves across the room to exit. As he passes, he dares a glance at me. Beside me Erik bristles at Jost’s appearance. I hadn’t pegged him for an elitist.

‘Miss Lewys?’ Erik offers me his arm after Jost has passed.

I make it to the hallway before the tears start.

‘Yeah.’ Erik pats my hand. ‘Ambassador Patton has that effect on me too.’

‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and offer him the smallest smile I can muster.

‘Don’t be,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to be around someone who has more than two emotions, and if I have to suffer Maela’s wrath later, I might as well enjoy your company.’

‘She’s going to be mad?’ I ask between sobs.

‘Patton’s a jerk. He sent for me to put Maela in her place – remind her who’s in control. I mean, I’ve met him at least ten times before today.’

‘But you were so polite when he forgot your name.’

‘Being rude won’t get you anywhere,’ Erik says. His tone is conversational, but I’m sure it’s a warning.

He lets me cry for most of our walk back through the halls, and in the brass lift he hands me a soft linen handkerchief.

‘Thanks.’

He nods.

At my door, I offer it back to him.

‘Keep it.’ He pushes it into my hands. ‘I have a feeling you’re going to need it more than I am.’

I wish I could tell him he’s wrong.

As a child I sat rapt on the bathroom floor and watched my mother line her eyes with a fine pen and then smooth pink rouge on her cheeks. She was the perfect Western woman – attractive, groomed and obedient – but she was made more beautiful by her laugh-lines and the faint crow’s-feet that crinkled as she smiled. Day by day, I am remade, into someone else, and I wonder if age will ever leave her tracks on my face. I’m sixteen now, and I will be almost flawless forever. That thought helps me fall asleep at night, secure in my place here, but it also wakes me up trembling with nightmares.

Stockings are the biggest sartorial change in my life. The first time I wore the flimsy hose I loved how the silk caressed my bare legs, but I soon realised that they leave a film of sweat on my skin. The seam is always running crooked up the backs of my legs, and the stockings constantly slip down. Keeping up my proper appearance has ceased being glamorous, and now that I’m expected to travel with Cormac Patton, it’s even worse.

I’ve spent little to no time at a weaving station since his visit. Instead I’ve been fitted and measured and trained in etiquette. While it’s saving me from actually using my weaving ability, it’s also leaving me plenty of time to dwell on the fate of my mother and sister. The image of my father in a body bag is inexorably burned in my mind and while I see it when I close my eyes to sleep, at least his death is real to me. But my sister’s fair hair and my mother’s flawless face feature endlessly in my dreams. I obsess over Amie’s new life while they pin and tack my new gowns. She would love this – being fitted for fancy dresses. At least
my
Amie would. The idea that she’s alive but a completely new person makes me ache like I’ve been hollowed out and left to stand too long without a core. It’s too much to process, so instead I count the dresses I’ll need. Dresses for rebounding, dresses for interviews, dresses for pictures. Judging by the amount of silk and tulle filtering into my quarters, I’m not looking forward to wearing any of them.

Enora might as well move into my quarters. I’m expected to know every Guild official, the name of his wife, where he resides, and his sector’s primary exports. Arras has a prime minister, and then each sector has a governing minister; every metro has one as well. The roles are granted through bloodlines as long as each man has a male heir. A Guild office can never pass to a woman. It’s more information than I learned in ten years at academy, and I can’t imagine how I’ll ever use it. I’m not much for small talk.

‘Will there be a test?’ I ask Enora after the third hour of quizzing she’s given me on the Eastern Sector.

‘Why don’t you call and ask Cormac?’ she snaps, clearly as tired of this as I am, but too worried to send me off unprepared.

‘So how do I address these officials?’

‘Address?’

‘Yes, what do I call them? Are they considered ministers?’ I recall how many of his officers refer to Cormac as Minister Patton instead of Ambassador.

‘You shouldn’t address them at all.’ She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

I don’t bother to hide my annoyance. ‘Then why am I learning this?’

She lets out a long, motherly sort of sigh before responding. ‘As Ambassador Patton’s escort, you will be expected to remind him of important names and information.’

‘Wait a minute.’ I tug out of the grip of the seamstress who is quietly sewing at my feet and turn to Enora. ‘Are you telling me I’m learning this so Cormac won’t have to?’

‘Of course.’

‘But I shouldn’t talk to these people?’

‘Only if they address you and only to make very casual conversation.’

‘Unbelievable.’ I’m not sure if I’m referring to the expectations or to Enora thinking this is normal.

‘That’s another thing.’ Enora hesitates. ‘You’re a bit too comfortable with him. Has Ambassador Patton asked you to call him by his first name?’

‘I can’t remember. He doesn’t seem to mind.’

‘Adelice,’ Enora says quietly. ‘He usually visits us once or twice a year, and he’s informed our head valet that he’ll be here at least once a week for the next month. Because right now he’s enamoured with you.’

‘Enamoured? Yuck, I just ate.’ I don’t care if half of
Arras
’s female population would run naked into his bed, he’s way too old for me. And I still don’t trust him.

‘You amuse him,’ she continues, ignoring my comment. ‘Just remember he’s the one who can sign the execution decree.’

So she knows. I hadn’t bothered to fill her in on the particulars of my meeting with him, and I’d purposefully forgotten to mention his remark about killing me. She worries enough.

‘Until he tells you otherwise, call him Ambassador
Patton
.’

‘Fine,’ I agree, stepping back onto the stool to allow the seamstress to continue working on my hem.

Enora pauses and draws in a breath, watching my fitting for a moment. ‘Maela has asked to go over your itinerary with you.’

‘That’ll be fun.’

‘Behave yourself,’ Enora orders me in a disapproving whisper.

A few minutes later, Maela enters my bathroom and gives the gown I’m wearing a critical look. ‘Interesting choice.’

I pretend I can’t hear her.

‘Ambassador Patton’s office has telebounded your official itinerary to me.’

‘I’d be happy to go over it with her,’ Enora offers.

Maela’s eyes burn, but she laughs at the suggestion. ‘I think it would be better if someone who has attended an official Guild event outside the compound briefs her. Why don’t you run up to the depository and retrieve suitable adornments for her?’

Enora gives me a sympathetic smile and leaves. Having succeeded in getting rid of Enora, Maela knows I’m at her mercy.

‘You’ve been to one of these before?’ I ask her.

‘You don’t think you’re the first Spinster to catch Cormac’s eye, do you?’ Maela asks.

So that’s her hang-up. ‘I haven’t given it much thought actually.’

Maela turns her attention to her personal digifile. ‘You will leave here tomorrow at seven in the morning and rebound to the Nilus Station, where you will have an image shoot with the local Stream crew.’

‘I came here through Nilus,’ I tell her, but she ignores me.

‘From there, you will rebound to the Allia Station in the Eastern Sector, followed by the Herot Station in the Southern Sector and the Ostia Station in the Northern Sector.’

‘That seems like a lot of work,’ I say, grimacing for emphasis. If I thought this would break the ice between us, I was wrong.

Instead Maela whips around to me and glares. ‘You don’t deserve this. There are dozens of girls here who’d give anything to escort Cormac without acting like some entitled brat.’

I’m guessing she’s one of them.

Just as quickly as her rage appeared, it evaporates. ‘At each stop you will participate in an image shoot,’ she continues. ‘You will be given a set of appropriate responses to the Stream crew’s questions and only speak when you are asked a question directly. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘See! I did it!’ I add with mock enthusiasm.

This time she ignores my jibes. ‘You will visit Guild officials at each stop. I assume Enora has gone over expectations.’

‘Yep.’ I smile brightly. ‘Shut up and look pretty.’

Maela’s head snaps up, her face ripe with disapproval, but she doesn’t lecture me again. ‘The following morning Ambassador Patton will escort you to several image shoots and various scheduled appearances. Your aesthetician crew will rebound behind you.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes.’ Maela’s face contorts in impatience, showing her age. ‘As will your personal guard.’

‘But I don’t have a personal guard,’ I point out.

‘Ambassador Patton has reassigned Erik to escort you,’ she says calmly.

I am acutely aware of the number of scissors scattered around the room.

Maela keeps her eyes on her digifile, probably trying not to stab me. Apparently Erik was right about Cormac wanting to get under her skin.

‘Valery will be attending you, of course, and she is bringing an assistant. Cormac has also ordered that Josten Bell serve as his valet.’

‘Josten Bell?’ I keep my face turned down to the seamstress working at my feet.

‘He attended you in the cells,’ she tells me, studying my face. ‘Don’t you remember him? He’s our head valet. I thought he’d taken an interest in you.’

‘The rude one?’ I ask.

‘That’s him.’

‘Why?’ It feels like a trap to send me travelling with two young men, or maybe Cormac’s just really stupid.

‘He attends Cormac – excuse me, Ambassador Patton – when he calls on the Western Coventry,’ she says, checking her digifile screen. ‘The ambassador has a fondness for him, or rather for his cocktail-mixing skills, and since his usual valet is unavailable, he took ours. It seems he doesn’t care about our ability to function while you two are travelling.’

‘I guess I didn’t think he was anybody important.’ I try to keep my tone dismissive and casual, but I’m aware of how fast my heart is beating. Not only has Maela noticed Jost’s attention to me, now he’s being dragged into this mess.

‘He’s not,’ Maela assures me as she disappears back into my bedroom.

‘That’s what I thought,’ I murmur to no one in particular.

Enora comes to help me pack, and my primary aesthetician, Valery, trails behind her. I’m grateful for the company. I know I’ll never sleep, like the night before Winter Solstice, when all you can think about is presents. But this time it’s fear, not excitement, that’s keeping me awake.

Valery whispers something into Enora’s ear and she squeezes her forearm in response. ‘Ready for tomorrow?’ she asks me, leaning against Enora.

I bite my lip and screw my face into one of panic. Valery laughs, but Enora shakes her head in amused disapproval.

‘I’ve been prepping her all day,’ Enora says to Valery, but her eyes are on me. ‘She’d better be ready.’

‘If you prepped her, I’m not worried,’ Valery says, giving my mentor’s arm a friendly pat. ‘But I’d better be ready to do my part.’ My aesthetician grins at me and slips into the bathroom. She’ll be sure to have all her tools ready for this trip: the thought sends me spiralling back into dread.

Most of my belongings are being sent along with the crews following me through the rebound stations, but Enora hands me a small red box tied with a satiny white bow. It reminds me of the presents my parents brought into my room on my birthday each year. I never got a chance to enjoy the perfume they bought me on my last one, a gift to celebrate turning sixteen and the promise of my long-awaited dismissal. I ooh and aah as I open Enora’s gift, but I have to fight the hollow ache it prompts in my chest.

It’s a personal digifile.

‘For your rebounds,’ she tells me as she shows me how it powers on. ‘I know they can make you sick, so I thought this might distract you. It has all the information you need.’

I gently touch the screen and it offers me a variety of entertainment options: cosmetic and clothing catalogues, Stream vlips, and the latest Guild
Bulletin
.

‘Thank you,’ I say, genuinely pleased with the gift. Although I’ve seen some people like Maela using them, in Romen only highly ranked businessmen could afford digifiles, and I’ve never seen a woman use one outside the Coventry. It makes me feel important to have one of my own.

‘It will also allow you to communicate directly with Ambassador Patton,’ Enora says, sliding her finger to select complant compatibility. ‘He wanted us to fit you with a complant, but Maela threw a fit.’

For the first time I’m grateful for Maela’s jealousy. ‘He wanted me to have a complant?’

‘He’s been pushing for Spinsters to be fitted for years,’ she tells me. ‘He claims it will allow for quicker response to imminent threats to Arras.’

‘Is he right?’

‘No, we’re prepared with Spinsters on emergency duty at all hours. He’s more interested in keeping tabs on us.’

I try to hide my surprise at her openness. Despite her kindness, Enora rarely speaks so directly with me.

‘Why did Maela say no?’

‘Don’t worry,’ she says, and laughs. ‘She’s not reconsidering your relationship. She couldn’t get approval from Loricel, so I suggested this.’

‘Loricel?’ I ask, scanning through the files.

‘She’s the only person around here who says no to
Cormac
.’

I set the digifile down and pay closer attention. ‘Who is she?’

‘She’s the Creweler.’

‘Like you?’ I ask, recalling Enora’s various duties.

‘No, I’m nothing like her,’ she admits. ‘I merely assist her on certain projects.’

‘But there’s more than one, right?’

‘Not really,’ she says, lounging back on a floor cushion. ‘True Crewelers are very rare. Loricel is the only Creweler in Arras.’

‘The only one?’ I stop pacing and sit down next to her.

‘Crewel work is an act of pure creation. Crewelers do more than weave the fabric of Arras. They can capture the materials to create the weave. Only they can see the weave of the raw materials.’ She looks at me pointedly. ‘It is only through Loricel that Arras survives. The Spinsters wouldn’t have any matter to weave if it weren’t for her special gift.’

‘How old is she?’ I ask, my stomach dropping. All the years of hiding and lying about my ability to touch the weave without a loom, even here at Enora’s request, make sense now.

‘It’s hard to say, with renewal patches and medication,’ Enora says lightly. ‘But she’s been in service for over sixty years.’

She must be ancient. ‘What happens when she dies?’

‘They’ll find a new Creweler.’ Enora’s gaze is steady on mine. ‘But so far there haven’t been any real contenders.’

‘And if we can’t find one?’ I whisper.

‘Arras will fade away.’

I search her face for a sign of sadness or fear but it’s not there. If the possibility of Loricel’s death frightens her, she doesn’t show it. But the image of Amie laughing with her friend floats to my mind, followed by how Jost’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. Without a Creweler, they’ll fade away too. It’s a possibility I can’t even consider.