Crewel

by Gennifer Albin

  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.�
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  ‘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.’

  I sigh. ‘I should tell her. She’ll break purity standards and then . . .’

  ‘Why? She hasn’t done you any favours.’ He tightens his grip on my waist to keep me from pulling away to go to her.

  ‘So? She’s being used.’

  ‘As far as I’ve seen, she’s throwing herself at him,’ he says. ‘Shamelessly, I might add.’

  ‘You have a point. It just feels wrong.’

  ‘She’s hoping to move up,’ he says. ‘You all hope there’s some way to rise in the ranks or to escape. The sooner she learns there isn’t, the better.’

  His cold response sucks the air out of me. He may have been talking about Pryana, but he knew I was thinking the same thing.

  ‘Don’t be offended.’ He takes my chin in his hand and draws my face up until our eyes meet. I can see the red of my hair flaming in his deep blue eyes. ‘You aren’t throwing yourself at a fat, old letch.’

  ‘But you know I would take any opportunity to escape,’ I whisper.

  ‘The difference,’ he says, matching his voice to mine, ‘is that you’re smart enough to realise a ploy like that won’t work. You’d have a plan.’

  I blush and turn my face out of his hand so he can’t see my embarrassment.

  ‘In fact,’ he murmurs, leaning against my hair, ‘I can’t wait to see what you’ll try.’

  ‘Try?’ I ask innocently.

  ‘To escape,’ he clarifies, and I stiffen in his arms. ‘No, don’t worry. If you can get out, more power to you. No one ever has before.’

  ‘Perhaps because they depended on men to do it?’ I offer, and look up to see his mouth split into a wide grin.

  ‘See what I mean?’ He laughs and pulls me closer. ‘You’re already smarter than every girl here.’

  ‘Including Maela?’ I spy her out of the corner of my eye, chatting animatedly with a gentle
man at the bar. I’m glad she’s otherwise engaged.

  ‘Especially Maela,’ he says, and sighs. ‘She’s not an intellectual. She acts on her whims.’

  ‘She must have had a rough childhood.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says solemnly, ‘there was a serious lack of puppies.’

  I laugh and settle against his chest, glad I’m smart enough not to be cosied up to a drunk old man, but wondering exactly what I’m getting myself into with a charming young one.

  Enora’s voice hissing in my ear pulls me away from the moment. ‘Come with me now.’

  As she drags me away, I shoot Erik an apologetic look. Without wasting any time, Enora pulls me into the powder room.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she demands.

  ‘I don’t—’

  But she cuts me off with a finger and throws open the door to the toilet. It’s vacant, so she crosses over to the main door and locks it.

  ‘Now?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ she snaps.

  I fold my arms over my bare chest. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ Except, of course, I am.

  ‘Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that I couldn’t dance.’

  ‘Of course you can dance,’ she responds irritably. ‘You can dance with the old officials. You can even dance with a young one if his wife will let you.’

  ‘But Erik is off-limits because he’s unmarried?’

  ‘No, he’s off-limits because he’s Maela’s,’ she says, throwing up her hands. She’s not usually so dramatic. ‘And in case you missed it, she already hates you.’

  ‘No, I caught that.’ The fun I was having moments ago leaks away. ‘And what do you mean “he’s Maela’s”?’

  ‘Adelice, I know you aren’t stupid.’

  ‘Let’s pretend I am.’

  ‘Fine. She’s in love with Erik. He was some nobody who came to work in the kitchen a few years ago, but then Maela adopted him.’ Her voice shakes with panic, not rage.

  ‘She’s ten years older than him. At least.’

  She shoots me another exasperated look. ‘Back off before she takes even more of an interest in you.’

  ‘I was just dancing with him,’ I argue, not sure even I believe it. ‘It’s that or let some creepy Guild official paw me all night.’