Crewel (13 page)

‘
You
could fix it,’ I say.

‘Yes, I could, but that’s not why I’m here. You must make the hard choice, Adelice, before you can move forward. Decisions must be made. Often between life and death. It is hard to make a decision to save thousands when it compromises one.’ Her voice is a hollow whisper, and ghosts echo in her eyes. ‘It is easier not to be put in that position.

‘As Creweler, you can create new places – oceans, lakes, buildings, fields. It can be rewarding,’ she continues, and as I watch she enters a new code into the companel. A moment later, a new piece of Arras appears on the loom. It’s nearly blank, a hint of green glistening against the bands of gold, and she clicks the zoom wheel to bring it into more detailed focus. It’s a simple piece of land. Maybe a park or a field lying outside metro limits somewhere. There are no trees, no rocks, just a valley of lush, green grass. For the first time I notice the small bag she carries with her as she places it at the foot of the loom and gestures that I should let her sit on the stool.

‘Normally, I work in my own studio, but I brought my supplies with me today,’ she says with a kind smile. ‘You must get a feel for your own loom. I have clearance to call up the weave on any machine. Now if I must show you destruction, I want to balance that with the beauty of what we can do.’

From the bag, she draws out spools of thin blue thread. It’s hard to describe what raw material looks like. The colour of the strands is an innuendo – the possibility of colour rather than a clear shade. As though I understand it’s blue only because I’ve seen the colour before. The thread itself is light and cool to the touch, and when she unwraps it from the spool it glimmers and sparks with energy. This is the very raw material that is sewn into the weave by the skilled hands of Spinsters, composing all objects in Arras. I can’t think about it too much, because part of my ability stems from my hands’ natural desire to weave. My conscious mind plays little role in the task. I’ve added to Arras before, but that act adhered to a strict pattern established by more experienced Spinsters.

After carefully removing some of the green threads from the weave on the loom, Loricel takes a blue strand, and slipping it through a small thin needle, begins to add it to the spot. She works quickly but expertly, subtracting the green and adding the blue in a tight weave. When the entire section has been replaced, she takes another piece of sheer thread and embroiders along the edge. My mother cross-stitched kitchen towels when I was a child and the technique is similar, but Loricel uses no pattern and her embroidery illuminates the section. Even in its abstract state, the weave is stunning.

‘This binds the new addition,’ she explains as she finishes embroidering the edge. ‘It’s key to permanently altering the weave.’ When it’s done, she puts the extra raw materials back into her bag and clicks the zoom wheel on the loom. Where previously she’d shown me a simple valley, a radiant lake now resides. A source of water for the residents nearby.

‘Later, the farmers can add fish, and the town can ration it as food,’ she explains. ‘I’m particularly fond of adding lakes. Something about water tugs at my soul.’

I am silent with awe, finally understanding her significance now. With the ripped strand from earlier resting in my palm, I feel in even greater contrast to the woman sitting beside me. She is life. I am death.

I’m not surprised when Enora announces I’m training for Crewel work as we walk to the dining room that evening during our meal shift. At the table I sit next to her and watch as Pryana takes her spot at the end of the table – next to my empty chair. We’re assigned to sit by rank of importance at the table. Now only Pryana, who is still training, sits at the end. To anyone else she would look oblivious, but I see the slight fury blazing in her cheeks when she spies me towards the front of the table. Her head stays down throughout dinner. I feel badly for her. At least I have Enora, but Pryana sits alone, isolated from the rest of the group. I’m sure she hates me even more now.

‘How long have you been training, dear?’ The Spinster who speaks to me draws out her words until they sound like warm, thick honey dripping slowly off her tongue. She must be from the southern stretches of Arras. We don’t have much of an accent in the Western Sector.

‘What day is it?’ With the travelling, I’ve lost track of the date.

The Spinster oozes a slow chuckle. ‘It’s October fifth, dear.’

The still-warm air had a bite to it the day I made my fateful slip at the testing facility back home. The leaves were barely yellowing, and running home might have pinkened my cheeks, but a jacket wasn’t necessary yet. That was September. Only a couple of weeks of my life have been spent in the Coventry. In many ways my life in Romen feels like a faded, long-past memory, and yet it seems that only yesterday my mother commanded me to clean my room or I braided Amie’s hair. My memories of them are vivid, but blurry at the edges as though they are slipping away.

‘Less than a month,’ I say out loud. I don’t tell her how much of that time was spent in cells.

‘A month?’ Her eyes widen, and her deeply lined lids look garish and frightening. ‘That must be some kind of record.’

A few of the others nod in amazed agreement. Enora, who has been busy talking to the woman next to her, notices my discomfort and jumps in. ‘She scored very highly on her aptitude tests and we needed more help in the Crewel department, so we brought her up.’

She smiles warmly and everyone relaxes into other conversations, except the southern Spinster, whose eyes stay fixed on Enora in a fierce way. She looks like a caged animal, both frightened and eager. I don’t like the way she stares at my mentor. Who could be threatened by Enora? I make a mental note to steer clear of this woman from now on. She’s a climber.

I pretend to lose interest in everything but eating, but I feel eyes on me. I look up to discover Maela studying me. We are roughly equal in our positions at the table. She heads up the lower Spinsters, and I trail behind the trained Spinsters, apprenticed to Crewel work, so we overlap. I see the wheels turning in her mind. Eyes slightly glazed, the purse of her lips, the tightness of her jaw; she has nowhere to go, and I’ve only begun my own rise in this world. But she’ll find a way to climb further up – her kind always does.

‘Are you excited?’ the southern Spinster asks sweetly.

‘I’m sorry.’ I blush, confused by her question. ‘Should I be?’

‘For the State of the Guild ball,’ she says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘It’s next week.’

‘You’re right,’ I say, remembering images from the
Bulletin.
The ball was always held in the autumn months. ‘I had forgotten.’

‘Will Cormac be escorting you to this event, too?’ The sugar is gone from her voice.

‘No,’ Enora says, looking directly at the other woman. ‘Spinsters don’t have escorts at events held within the Coventry, remember?’

‘I must have forgotten,’ the woman says flatly, and turns back to her other conversation.

I guess we won’t be friends after all.

‘Don’t worry, your dress is ready,’ Enora whispers from her spot a few spaces down.

‘I didn’t think I’d have to ward off Cormac for a while,’ I mutter, not sure she can hear me.

Enora snorts. ‘Think again.’

The whole event is over-the-top. I should have expected as much with Guild officials in attendance, but despite my being used to feeling surprised at the ridiculousness of the Coventry, this is too much.

It began with my dress. I’d felt out of place in my gown at the ribbon-cutting ceremony in Cypress, but tonight I feel naked. Even now as I idly shake hands and dance with official after official, I feel nothing like myself. At least with my usual wardrobe of dress suits I’m mostly covered. To say this dress leaves nothing to the imagination is an understatement. Made of emerald-green silk, it flows along the curves of my body. Not that I have any, but something about this gown – and the subsequent lack of underwear it necessitates – makes it look like I do. It drapes down and rests at my tailbone, exposing my entire back, and I don’t even want to think about the front. The thinness of the vibrant silk feels like nothing at all. I might as well clutch some fig leaves and hide in the corner.

The photographers go wild over nearly nude me and over Pryana, who’s dressed in a strapless black velvet gown that lets one of her long amber legs slip through a thigh-high slit to reveal she’s stockingless. As they click and capture, I spy a whole pig on a spit in the middle of the room, an apple shoved ceremoniously in its mouth. I know just how it feels. Pryana seems much more comfortable in front of the cameras, flashing her dazzling smile and striking spontaneous poses. I don’t usually fall into the shy category, but I’ve never been the centre of attention like this before.

A strong hand grabs my elbow and keeps me from fading into the background of the party. ‘You’re at my table,’ Cormac whispers in my ear.

‘My dream come true,’ I reply.

‘I’m sorry?’ he says in a voice that dares me to repeat myself.

‘I said, lead the way.’

Our table is the first in a carefully ordered line near the podium, and far from the noise of the dance floor. As Cormac pulls my chair out for me, I glance at the other name cards. I recognise several of the names, and the throbbing panic I’m trying to hide pulses harder.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Cormac asks.

I take one more look around the room, recognising nearly every man here from the Streams I watched as a child, and nod.

‘Sooner or later everyone takes up drinking.’ He laughs and makes his way over to a small bar in the corner.

I’m inspecting the silver service when the rest of our table joins us. I’m stuck with a group of politicians and their wives. I keep my head down except to take hurried sips of the wine Cormac brings me. Loricel takes a seat, and I feel relief loosen the panic in my chest, but she stares up at the podium, blowing air through her nearly closed lips. The other women ignore her – and me – giggling about so-and-so’s dress and who’s gone bald. The men discuss policies and people I’ve never heard of. I find myself intensely grateful for the drink Cormac brought me, even if I can barely handle the way it burns my throat.

Servers arrive with giant silver platters, and I marvel at their ability to carry them. Most of the waiters are typical, gaunt lower-class assignees, brought in especially for the occasion. Fewer rations means less eating, which means less muscle tone. But they balance the platters and serve each plate with precise ease. At least there’s food here. I unfold my napkin in anticipation, but Cormac pulls it out of my hands and places it back on the table.

‘Not until they bring your plate,’ he mutters. There’s a tinge of horror in his voice at my faux pas.

I keep my eyes on my plate after that. A salad of bitter greens with bits of tart fruit and a sweet dressing. Soup with shark fin and leeks. A large, leaking steak for the men, and petite slices of chicken over a bed of rice for the women. I can’t help eyeing Cormac’s dinner.

‘Here,’ he says, holding up a forkful. ‘You already look like you’re wasting away.’

I savour the bite of juicy meat, and the woman across from me stares as I eat it.

‘Magdalena,’ Cormac says in mock admonishment, and she giggles.

‘I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman eat beef,’ she admits, and the other two wives at the table laugh in agreement.

‘We eat it at the Coventry,’ I say, and then flush for drawing attention to myself.

‘Of course
you
do,’ Magdalena says. ‘You have third-gen renewal patching. Only second gen is available to us.’

‘Oh.’ I have no idea what she’s talking about.

‘I heard they’re working on a fourth gen,’ another wife says in a low voice as the men return to talk of politics.

‘Good, they’ll finally release third gen for the rest of us,’ Magdalena says to the other wives. ‘Of course, I can’t imagine what fourth gen is.’

‘I hear it’s as if they put you back in the womb. You come out like a baby,’ the other tells her.

Magdalena’s eyes stay on me. ‘I’ll settle for third gen.’

I turn to see Loricel watching this exchange with the hint of an upturned lip. I wonder how old she really is. If she has this much tech at her fingertips, why is she showing her age at all? Or is it that she’s actually extremely old, and only now starting to reveal it?

‘Older than you think,’ she mutters, and I turn away, embarrassed that she knew what I was thinking.

They’re clearing our dessert plates and offering coffee when a broad-shouldered gentleman crosses to the podium. He waits as the conversation dies down. It’s Prime Minister Carma, current head of state.

‘Greetings to you, keepers of Arras. This has been a momentous year. We have seen unprecedented peace and prosperity . . .’

I’m straining my neck to see him, but I wish I were at home where I could go about my night while the address streamed unobtrusively into my life. Here, next to Cormac, Stream crews are recording guest reactions, so I keep my face blank. They won’t show someone as uninteresting as me. My mind wanders to Jost, and I wonder if he’s stuck serving the officials. I wish he would come and feed me now like he did in Cypress. Jost knew exactly how much to scoop on the fork, and when I was ready for the next bite. I remember how his jacket was warm and soft in the cell. I want him to take care of me now. But even thinking about him is a welcome distraction from this evening’s politics, until everyone at the table starts to whisper in exhilaration, drawing my attention back to the speech.

‘We’re confident that safe mind-mapping will be available to the general public by this time next year,’ Prime Minister Carma says from the podium. ‘Imagine being able to save the treasured memories of your elderly grandparents before their removal or to deal painlessly with behavioural issues in your children. Until now these minor inconveniences have been the only flaws in Arras, but soon they’ll be a thing of the past.’

‘Wish we had that last year,’ Magdalena says quietly to the other wives. ‘Korbin held on to his mother for two years before I convinced him to put in the removal request.’

The wife to my left laughs, and whispers, ‘Not to mention dealing with Joei. I didn’t think I would get her through testing without killing her!’

My eyes meet Loricel’s, but I say nothing.

The speech continues with crop predictions and reports and proposed changes to the weave, which the Guild will apparently be voting on in the coming election. Then the prime minister begins calling on various officials to stand to receive recognition for their contributions throughout the year. When Cormac’s name is called, I try to smile at the vlip recorders that are trained on us.

Prime Minister Carma ends the accolades with his arm pointed to our table. ‘And, as always, the Guild offers its gratitude for the continued service and skills of the head of Manipulation Services, Loricel.’

She doesn’t stand. She doesn’t even smile. They clap anyway.

Cormac is called away when the address is over. Loricel leaves soon after, and I wait at the table, unwilling to risk going near the dance floor, where the older Guild officials linger, dragging Spinsters out to dance. That leaves me to eavesdrop on the gaggle of wives whispering across from me.

‘He may have the half the women in Arras drooling over him, including you,’ Magdalena says, poking the woman next to her, ‘but he’ll never get the nomination.’

‘Men like him, too,’ the other wife protests.

‘No, they’re jealous. There’s a difference,’ Magdalena points out. ‘And even if we did have a say, he still wouldn’t get elected. Cormac’s single, and no bachelor will ever get elected head of state.’

‘You’re just hoping Korbin will get the nod,’ whispers the other wife.

I peek over at them and notice Magdalena flinch at this accusation. Her eyes travel to mine.

‘Regardless, Cormac won’t ever be prime minister if he keeps running around with little girls,’ she says bitterly.

I take this as my cue to finally slip back to my apartment. I’m sure they’ll turn their venom on me next. Scanning the room, I don’t see anyone who will stop me from leaving, unless one of the officials tries to get his hands on me. That’s something I’d like to avoid, as the men who are here alone are as undesirable as they come – dumpy, hairy, and smelly. The only girl who would go after one of them would be a girl after power.

I guess that’s why Pryana’s draping herself over the dumpiest, hairiest, and smelliest of the undesirables – the minister of Ambrica, a large region that contains most of the Eastern Sector. It’s situated along the seaboard, and his bulging waistline is evidence that he enjoys the benefits of a rich seafood diet as well as far too many of the wines that are produced in the region. Unfortunately, he seizes my arm as I try to steal past them.

‘You must be the other new hire.’ He winks at me, and Pryana glares, her body still pressed against him.

‘I suppose so,’ I say, as bored as possible.

‘You are a fine-looking pair. These days it’s rare we get two ideal new Spinsters at the Western Coventry in one year,’ he says, moving so close to me that the stench of garlic and whisky stings my nose. ‘But you two are exquisite.’

I try to think of something clever to say without insulting him or encouraging his perverted commentary. I can’t come up with a thing.

Thankfully, Pryana, who appears to be trying to permanently adhere herself to him, steps in and bats her overlong lashes. Her body language tells me to back off, and I want to scream at her that this is the last place I want to be.

The minister grasps Pryana firmly at the waist. ‘You, my dear, are like midnight.’

She smiles and leans in to whisper in the minister’s ear, but he pulls away and clutches at my wrist. My skin crawls where his doughy hand rests, and I’m grateful my arm is the only thing he can reach. ‘But you,’ he continues in a husky tone, ‘are like a pearl.’

‘Funny, Cormac says the same thing.’ It works. He immediately drops his hold on me.

‘Pity he had to leave,’ the minister slurs. ‘Called to Northumbria, I hear.’

Why he left is news to me, but I nod as though I’m in on everything. ‘He said something about it during dinner.’

The minister, a little too drunk, tries to straighten up as though we’re talking official business, which results in Pryana falling off him – literally. Her lips tighten against her teeth and her nostrils flare, but she coolly tugs him away from me. ‘Dance with me.’

‘Oh yes,’ the minister slobbers as she pulls him toward the vibrantly lit dance floor in the centre of the banquet room. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Alice.’

Alice. Wonder what he thinks her name is.

‘Was he talking to you?’ a smooth, strong voice asks from behind. I turn, expecting to see Jost, whom I’ve seen wandering about the hall, but find Erik.

‘You look disappointed,’ he notes.

I am disappointed, but I shake my head. ‘No, you sounded like someone else.’

A frown passes over his pale face, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. ‘If you’re expecting someone else . . .’

‘Oh, well, any moment I’m expecting to be mobbed and eaten alive by fat old men,’ I say matter-of-factly.

‘I suppose I should leave you to it then.’ He pretends to turn away, and I punch him lightly on the shoulder.

‘Ouch, you could have mentioned you didn’t want to be mobbed by fat, old men,’ he says.

‘Why would you ever think I would?’

He points to Pryana hanging on the minister. ‘She doesn’t seem to mind.’

‘Well, I’m not Pryana.’

‘So does that mean you are available for this dance?’ He grins at me. No amount of Crewel work or weaving could achieve such a perfectly crooked smile.

I nod, and he leads me over to the floor. Pryana flashes a scathing look in our direction, but immediately turns her attention back to her prey.

‘You know, dancing naked is easier than I imagined it would be,’ I say without thinking as the music slows and Erik draws me into his arms to dance.

‘Naked?’ he asks quietly against my ear.

‘Oh, nothing.’ I can’t believe I said it out loud. ‘I feel naked in this dress.’
Twice.

‘You look it,’ he admits. ‘I have to be honest, I
really
like this dress.’

For some reason this is hysterically funny to me, and I actually begin to giggle. ‘I should have known that would be your stance.’

‘So which of our lascivious ambassadors do you have in your sights?’ he asks, scanning the room thoughtfully.

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘They do this every year. Host the State of the Guild here so the officials can drool over the new girls. The other coventries host similar state dinners throughout the year.’

‘Gross,’ I mutter.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ he whispers, amused. ‘But, really, no lucky bachelor this year?’

‘I think I’ll let Pryana have her pick,’ I say, watching her simper and pout at the minister.

‘I doubt his wife will let him bring her home,’ Erik responds with a wink.

‘Wife?’ I pretend to gag.

‘Oh, they’re all married,’ he informs me. ‘The young ones’ wives insist on coming, for obvious reasons, but by the time your husband looks like that –’ he tips his head at an older man with more hair in his ears than on his head – ‘you’re happy to let some poor girl take care of business for you.’