Crewel (8 page)

‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said with a shrug. ‘I know a secret. Go wash up.’

Amie looked at me doubtfully, but she did as she was told.

When I was sure she was in the bathroom, I climbed onto the slick wooden counter in our kitchen and pulled down the last bit of chocolate. I didn’t want her to
see
me trying to touch the chocolate’s weave. I was still stretching out the strands of the chocolate to make more of it when my mom walked in from work.

‘What are you doing on my kitchen counter?’ she demanded. ‘And you’re filthy, too. Were you . . .’ The words dropped off her tongue when she saw what was in my hand.

‘That’s your father’s chocolate,’ she said softly.

‘I didn’t waste any of it,’ I said, showing her the pieces. There was at least twice as much chocolate as there had been earlier.

‘Go to your room,’ she ordered.

I left the pieces on the counter and stalked away. I didn’t tell them what Amie had done. Instead I let them believe I had eaten the chocolate. And as punishment, I was sent to my room, where I waited until my parents came in later that evening. Amie was probably still too scared to talk to them, so she stayed in the living room watching the Stream.

‘Do you understand why what you did was wrong?’ my father asked as he sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. My mother stayed by the door.

I nodded my head but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

‘Why was it wrong?’ he asked.

I gritted my teeth for a moment before I answered. I knew the answer. I’d learned it at academy for years. ‘Because it wouldn’t be fair for us to have more.’

I heard a strange gasp from my mom, as if someone had physically hurt her, and I looked up to see her regarding me with tired eyes. She turned away from me to look at Amie in the next room.

‘Yes, that’s part of it,’ he said slowly. ‘But, Adelice, it’s also dangerous.’

‘To eat too much chocolate?’ I asked, confused.

He smiled a little at my answer, but it was my mother who spoke.

‘It’s dangerous to use your gift,’ she said. ‘Promise us that you’ll never do that again.’

There was a raspy quality to her words, and I realised she’d been crying.

‘I promise,’ I whispered.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Because I swear I’ll cut off your hands before I let you do it again.’

Even now, as I nibble at the stale bread, the threat echoes in my ears, warning me to keep my skills hidden. So what if the Guild already knows what I can do? I can’t betray my parents again.

The next day, when someone finally comes to see me, it’s not Erik or Josten, but Maela herself. She saunters into my cell in a long black gown, holding a lit cigarette. Light streams in from the hallway and outlines her sculpted silhouette. It’s how I imagine death will come to me: overdressed and smoking.

‘Adelice, I trust you find your accommodations lacking,’ she purrs.

‘I’ve definitely seen better,’ I say.

‘Two nights ago,’ she reminds me, puffing thoughtfully on the brass cigarette holder. ‘You are a peculiar case.’

I remember what Jost said about them killing the other girls. I’m a
peculiar
case because I’m breathing.

‘I thought you might like to see this,’  she says, showing me a small digifile. Maela sweeps her fingers along it and the screen glows, displaying a series of numbers and charts.

‘This is what insubordination causes,’ she murmurs, sounding amused with her little toy, and I realise with horror that she’s showing me the number of people killed during the test.

‘Insubordination,’ I say softly, ‘had nothing to do with it.’

‘When I tell you to remove a weak thread, you do it,’ she snarls, dropping her charade of calm amusement.

‘Or you’ll murder people?’ I don’t disguise the hate in my voice.

‘Examples,’ she starts slowly, evidently intent on keeping her composure, ‘are necessary to show the importance of our work. You can play the victim, Adelice, but you are as culpable as I am. When you cannot make the difficult decision for the good of others, you jeopardise everyone.’

‘It wasn’t a coincidence that Pryana’s sister was in that piece,’ I accuse her, but she ignores me.

‘It seems you won’t learn your lesson,’ she says between drags.

‘Maybe I’m not the only one.’

Maela smiles, and it’s a real smile this time, not the dazzling show smile she puts on for the others or the wicked grin she seems to save for me. This smile shows all the flaws carefully covered by cosmetics – the lines, the too-noticeable gum line. It’s a hideous sight.

Her face fades back into practised calm. ‘I’m willing to give you another chance. I’m not usually so forgiving.’

I picture the other girls, killed for less. Had they wasted away in cells or been ripped out and destroyed?

‘What happens?’ I ask, thinking of the shimmering threads hanging off the hook.

‘What happens when what?’

‘When you remove strands. Where do they go?’

She smiles again, but it is one of polished venom, not actual mirth. ‘Perhaps you can go to your training classes and find out, instead of wasting away in a cell.’

She leaves me here to ponder this, but deep down I know that they aren’t going to answer the kinds of questions I want to ask. Enora had genuinely not known the answer when I asked her the same question during our first meeting. But why hide what really happens if ripping is such an integral part of our jobs?

Unless the ripped could be saved.

I taste iron and my lip stings from where it split open against my teeth. So much for a low profile – not with
Pryana
in my training group. Maela officially released me a few days ago, shortly after our little chat, and even though I spent considerable time thinking of the right way to approach going back to training, I was still at square one. I’d planned to apologise, but the words never came. The other Eligibles seemed as cold as Pryana, clearly not impressed by my showdown with Maela. The looks they were giving me were pretty easy to read. In fact, they reminded me a lot of how the girls at testing had treated me. They thought I was awkward and incapable. And maybe they were right. Regardless, I found myself shuffling into the studio for our loom instructions without saying a word to Pryana. It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. It was obvious that she laid the blame for her sister’s death at my feet. I was a much easier target than Maela – and a much less dangerous one.

We were finally working on real looms again. After that first disastrous experience, we’d each been given three days of practice with an artificial weave before they allowed us to work on a real piece. The fake weave had felt lifeless under my fingers, but it was easy enough to work with. By the end of the first practice session I had proved my ability to alter easily enough. But, as if I needed another way to alienate myself, most of the other girls hadn’t. They were passable as Spinsters, but their work was sloppy or they took too long or they lacked the confidence to really dig into their tasks. By the end of the practice days, we all were cleared to try simple tasks like food weaving, but Pryana and I found ourselves singled out. We were both working on weather instead of food. I’d hoped this would give me a chance to talk with her.

I knew she’d be upset but I hadn’t expected her to come right out and hit me. I’m weak after several days in the cell and very little edible food and water, so Pryana’s blow knocks me on my butt. I’d like to think it’s because I was caught off guard, but I’ve never had an occasion to test my fighting skills. I can’t blame her for being angry. I wish I could slug someone for what the Guild did to my family.

‘I promise you,’ Pryana says, leaning over so her breath is hot on my face, ‘your life will be torture as long as I’m around.’

‘Fair enough,’ I splutter against the blood pooling along my gums.

She doesn’t like my answer. I can tell because her eyes narrow into slits. The whole situation is ridiculous. A feud entirely of Maela’s making. I meant well when I stepped forward to take Pryana’s place at the testing, and there was no way for me to know it was a piece containing her sister’s strand.

This won’t stop her from hating me.

Pryana settles back onto her stool and resumes her work, weaving furiously. It should make me mad, or at least indignant, but I think of Amie and how her fine blonde hair waves around her ears. It’s my fault what happened to them – to both our sisters. I started it all.

Our instructor, an over-eager older Spinster who should not be wearing so many cosmetics, doesn’t notice any of this. She’s busy flitting from Eligible to Eligible, guiding their work and offering encouragement. She’s an excellent teacher. I feel a pang and wonder how many teachers were named on assignment day in Romen. Not me. I return to the task of weaving a short rainfall over the north-eastern region of our sector.

My loom is larger than the other girls’ and its gears and tubes take up an entire corner in the room. It’s a much newer loom, usually reserved for the instructor to demonstrate on while the rest of the class practises. The other looms in the room are small, some even rusted, but all in working order. They are pressed so close together the
other
Eligibles can hardly move to work. Pryana works on one of them. Add that to her list of reasons to hate me. I sigh, thinking how long that list is getting, and how impossible it will be to get back in her good graces. But I can’t let myself get distracted when I’m doing something that requires this much of my attention.

Weather is trickier than food, because the strands that compose rain or snow have to be knitted into the ones that make up clouds, which are in the sky strands.

Rations are a simple alteration task. The raw material is available and woven into the supply chain to the farmers and store owners. Livestock and plants can be raised and tended by men, providing valuable roles for citizens, so all we have to do is weave the raw material onto new farms and then remove the crops for even distribution throughout the rest of Arras. It’s basic weaving – take a strand out, relocate it in a new piece, weave a new strand into the old piece to grow. Thus crops are farmed and food gets from farm to market. But it’s mind-numbingly boring work. Apparently over one thousand Spinsters in Arras’s four coventries do this day and night. Two hundred are stationed here, and I hope I don’t get assigned to the task. I bet Maela would love to stick me at a station doing simple addition and location for hours every day.

At least the weather gives me room to experiment. Our raw materials come from sources gathered and managed in the various sectors, a process they haven’t really explained to us except to flash some pictures of mammoth drills and large factories that separate and organise the strands. I take the material – slate fibres for the rain clouds, brilliant gold lightning thread – and weave them together. Then I insert them into the designated locations called up on my loom. It’s a gradual process, carefully adding the elements so that the storm arrives at the predetermined time, when citizens expect it. The teacher warned me how angry people can get if they are caught in a storm moving in too quickly or slowly. Too many mistakes and you’re demoted to something like the food-supply chain. The bands of time, which never stop moving across the loom, slowly eat away the threads we add. I use stock matter to replace them as quickly and precisely as I can. Otherwise there’ll be a dark-out in the area I’m working on. This happened once when I was younger, and my parents dragged us to the cellar to wait it out. It wasn’t dangerous, but when you’re seven, seeing the sky disappear is pretty scary. I had nightmares for weeks.

I love the feeling of the weather threads in my hands, and being able to work with a loom is much less tiring than weaving with my hands. No one else here seems to have the skill to work without a loom, and I’m more than happy to keep using the machine. The rain clouds swell against my fingers as I add them into the skyline, and the lightning bolts tingle across the tips. Somewhere in the north-east, it’s flashing across the horizon, warning of the impending downpour in case anyone missed the Stream weather schedule. I want to hate the work, but creating the rain is relaxing, fulfilling even. The tapestry is beautiful – a shimmering, shifting web of light and colour.

‘Adelice.’ My instructor beckons me to join her in a far corner. A few of my classmates notice but quickly return to their assigned tests. No doubt they expect I’m in trouble again.

But it isn’t just her waiting in the corner. Pryana is with her, and she’s not happy to see me.

‘I’ve been asked to send you two with the gentleman in the hallway,’ the instructor tells us in a lowered voice, so the others won’t hear.

Pryana casts a terrified glance at me, and I know we’re thinking the same thing: Are we in trouble for fighting? Well, more her hitting me and me standing there taking it, but same principle.

‘You aren’t in trouble,’ the instructor assures us. She must see the fear on both our faces. ‘You’re moving on: you are Spinsters now.’

To my surprise, this news brings a feeling of relief. I’m eager to learn more about what happens here at the Coventry. Of course, the drawback is that I’m moving on with Pryana. Regardless of what Jost believes about Maela’s desire to keep me alive, I know both she and Pryana will be hoping to watch me fail.

Outside the training room, Erik is waiting. Today he’s dressed in a dark blue suit with subtle stripes intricately woven into the wool. It’s amazing how less than a week of experience with weaving draws my attention to things I never noticed before. How fine the cloth is and how expertly it hugs his body, tailored to fit him precisely. He clears his throat, and I shift my eyes quickly to the floor.

‘I have the honour of escorting you both to your evaluation. You will be assigned to a novice studio from there, and you will meet with your mentors to discuss what changes to expect.’ His tone is clipped and impersonal. He’s given this speech before, probably dozens of times. So when Maela is busy, I can count on Erik being around.

‘Pryana, your personal belongings are being taken to your new quarters in the lower tower.’

‘Personal belongings?’ I blurt out before I can stop myself.

They both turn and look at me. Pryana understands first, and her face twists into a look of malicious amusement.

‘Of course,’ she simpers. ‘We could bring items that mean something to us. Clothing, pictures of our families.’

Her delight goes flat at the last word and pain flits across her face. I wonder if anyone from the Coventry bothered to find out if her sister died, but I’m pretty sure the answer is yes.

‘You don’t get personal items when you run,’ she continues, eyes flashing.

‘I guess not.’ I step closer to Erik and further from her.

‘It’s like you never even existed.’

‘At least I’m not caught up blaming the wrong person,’ I say, the words slipping out of my mouth before I can swallow them down.

Her nostrils flare, but she composes herself quickly. ‘What? You think because I didn’t rip that day I’m inferior to you?’

‘I think you didn’t rip because you’re scared and you’re taking out your anger at yourself and the Guild on me.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Pryana growls. ‘We were only there because of you. Don’t try to deny it. You can believe anything you want, but the truth is that the whole thing was your fault. Maela was testing you. You failed.’

She’s got me there, and I can’t think of a thing to say in response.

‘Adelice.’ Erik steps in like he’s missed the entire argument. ‘You’ll stay in your previously assigned quarters.’

I focus on the fact that I don’t have to leave my comfortable new room. Screw Pryana and her personal belongings.

‘Since we’ll be seeing much more of each other,’ he continues, taking Pryana’s hand, ‘please call me Erik.’

‘More of each other?’ Something about this news sends a tingle down my neck.

He looks equally pleased with this announcement. ‘Although you are being moved into the Spinsters’ quarters, you’re still under observation. During the next few months, you’ll be evaluated and assigned a more permanent position.’

‘Will the others be joining us?’ Pryana jumps in, asking exactly what I’m thinking. I’m reminded of the one afternoon we were friends.

‘We will keep the others under evaluation until we’re certain there are no more Spinsters in the group. Some might end up doing the basic food weaving, but they’ll probably never get any further.’

No more Spinsters? I can’t believe that they can weed us out so quickly. Will the others be sent to make clothing or work in the kitchen? I’m glad I won’t be there when the perpetual excitement drains from their faces. They left home expecting a glamorous life, not a life of tailoring and cleaning. And yet I’m grateful they weren’t chosen. Anyone who would treat joining the Coventry with as much passion as those girls doesn’t need to be part of the Guild. Eager girls want to please people like Maela.

‘You know, Erik,’ Pryana purrs, crushing against him, ‘we’ve all been wondering why Adelice has a room in the high tower.’

His response is so well rehearsed, I can almost see the time stand still. ‘Maela has a reason for her actions.’

He must say that a lot. It seems to appease Pryana. Or maybe she’s smart enough to stop asking questions.

‘Pryana, you will be meeting your mentor here.’ Erik opens a large metal door and quickly withdraws her arm from his. Too quickly. Pryana notices and skulks inside.

‘We aren’t training together?’ I ask as innocently as possible, as Erik shuts the door.

‘No.’ He grins. ‘You’re off the hook for once.’

I try to keep up my wide-eyed act, but it crumbles easily. ‘Thank Arras.’

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.’ Erik laughs and offers his arm.

I slide my own through, feeling a little awkward. I’ve never walked with a man like this. ‘So, can I ask you something?’ I try to sound nonchalant, but it comes out too rushed.

‘Of course,’ he says airily, and I’m struck by how casual he is when he’s away from Maela.

‘How did you wind up here?’

‘That’s a long story.’ He sighs.

‘I’m betting most of us have long stories.’

‘You’d be right,’ he agrees. ‘I sort of ran away from home, and now there’s nothing to go back to. I was only fifteen at the time, but the Guild took me in when it became evident I possessed certain necessary qualifications that Maela needed in an assistant.’

‘Necessary qualifications?’

‘I have what can best be described as flexible morals.’ He turns the full force of his crooked smile on and slows his pace.

‘Did your parents die?’

A shadow of a frown flits over his face and he nods. Although he quickly changes the topic. ‘Did Josten take good care of you the other day?’

For a moment the question paralyses me, but then I remember that Erik had sent him to check in on me, so I say yes.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t return but I had some pressing duties. Maela can have quite a temper, especially when she’s been challenged.’

‘I noticed.’

‘I don’t want to throw you back in the cell again, Adelice, so if you could be a little more . . .’

‘Amiable?’ I offer.

‘Obedient,’ he corrects, and I wince at the term.

‘I know as well as anybody how unfair she can be, but she’s running the show, so take my advice.’ There’s a plea in his voice, and it runs all the way up to his sparkling eyes.

Enora is waiting for me in a large, airy room. On one side windows overlook the enclosed courtyard. I think they’re actually real, and I long to reach through and feel the air. The others look out onto the sea. It’s calm today, a perfect mirror of the cloudless sky. These screens were probably programmed to make me feel tranquil, and perhaps less defensive. Against the wall screens overlooking the sea, a small steel loom sits.