Crewel

by Gennifer Albin

  ‘So is that why they’re doing it? So they can remap us?’

  ‘It would be foolish to remap a Spinster. All attempts to do so in the past have resulted in loss of weaving ability,’ she says.

  I remember Cormac telling me that they almost had the technology perfected to clean and splice an individual’s strand. Either Enora doesn’t know that or she’s lying to me. I rub my hands together and stare at her. Why is she acting like this?

  ‘My hands are almost better,’ I say, holding them out for her to see the bandages.

  ‘I’m relieved to hear that,’ she says without even a small smile.

  ‘Enora, did something happen?’ I whisper, hoping the companels can’t hear me.

  ‘I’m fine, Adelice,’ she says with a blink. ‘I was sick but the Guild doctors have helped me, and now I’m fine.’

  She’s not though. Nothing is right about this. My Enora would be fawning over my hands and lecturing me right now. She wouldn’t have stayed away the whole week. This woman is like a talking shell of Enora.

  ‘What was wrong with you?’ I ask.

  ‘Anxiety issues. I was having strange urges, so naturally I spoke to Loricel and she got me into the clinic right away.’

  This knocks the wind out of me, and my mouth falls open, but I quickly shut it. Loricel – why would she hurt Enora?

  ‘What kinds of urges were you having?’ I ask, trying to steady my breathing.

  ‘Unnatural ones,’ she says, as though this requires no further explanation.

  ‘Have you been mapped yet?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You and Pryana will be the last of the Spinsterhood to be mapped. We did it by seniority,’ Enora says, folding her hands in her lap and smiling.

  ‘Even Loricel?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t have access to the list,’ she says. ‘Although Loricel should have been the first to go.’

  First to go. Is that why she hasn’t visited me? Why she didn’t step in when Maela punished me? Did a new Loricel do this to Enora?

  ‘When am I scheduled?’

  ‘Friday,’ she says. ‘It is quite painless.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ I say automatically.

  The door to my quarters opens, and Jost appears with a silver tray.

  ‘Enora,’ he calls, ‘will you be dining with Adelice?’

  ‘No, I’m expected in the dining hall,’ she tells him. ‘I was leaving.’

  She nods once at me, then exits. I’m still staring after her when Jost sets down the tray and clears his throat. Snapping to it, I freeze the time, creating a bubble around us, then turn to face him.

  ‘Am I imagining it or is something different about Enora?’ he asks, his eyebrows knitted in concern.

  ‘You’re definitely not imagining it.’ I sigh, trying to piece together the information.

  Jost gestures for my hands, and we settle down on the cushions. He removes the bandages and inspects my fingertips. Even I have to admit the renewal cream has worked wonders.

  ‘I think you’re done with these,’ he says, tossing the bandages to the side.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, trying hard to hide my disappointment. If I’m healed, there’s no reason for him to keep coming to see me.

  ‘I thought that might be the case,’ he says. ‘So I made a special lunch.’

  ‘You cooked this?’ I ask in amazement.

  ‘No,’ he says sheepishly. ‘The food generators did most of the work, but I chose the dishes and laid them out.’

  ‘It’s perfect.’

  I eat with my hands. I love the feeling of the foods – greasy, slick, rough, creamy. Jost laughs and shovels violet berries into my mouth. I wonder whether he still loves Rozenn. The shame of the thought creeps hot onto my cheeks, and he stops feeding me the berries.

  ‘Ready to get back to work?’ he asks.

  ‘I guess I have to now.’

  ‘You could stay in here,’ he says, his eyes traveling along the perimeter of the bubble.

  ‘And miss all the fun when Security realises why you’ve been visiting me every day?’ I tease.

  ‘I’d stay with you,’ he says in a quiet voice.

  There are a million things I want to say to Jost at this moment, but the only thing that comes out is the question that’s been burning through my mind since he said the word revolution. ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ he says.

  ‘Forget it. It’s not my place to ask.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that . . .’ Jost pauses, struggling for the word.

  ‘You don’t trust me,’ I say. ‘It’s okay, you have no reason to.’

  ‘I trust you, Adelice. Please know that.’ He reaches over and cups my face, his palm searing my already warm cheekbone. ‘I thought I would never trust anyone again.’

  ‘You aren’t alone,’ I murmur, turning my head into his outstretched palm. He sighs.

  ‘I know,’ he says, but it’s more a confession than a realisation. ‘Ad, you aren’t the only person who knows why I’m here.’

  It takes a moment for this to sink in, but when it does I whip my head up to meet his eyes. ‘How many people know?’

  ‘Now? Two. You and one other,’ he admits, lowering his rejected hand to rest on my leg. My nerves pulse along my thigh where he’s touching me.

  ‘Who?’ I ask, trying to ignore the tingle running through my lower half.

  Jost shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry. That isn’t my secret to share.’

  ‘But you said I was the only one you trusted,’ I press.

  ‘I don’t trust this person,’ he says.

  ‘But you’re working together?’

  ‘No, we’re definitely not working together, but this person knows why I came to the Coventry.’ He pauses before adding, ‘It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to work together.’

  ‘But this person is a revolutionary?’

  ‘No,’ he rushes to answer.

  ‘But they know why you’re here? Will they inform on you?’ I feel confused by the vague turn this conversation has taken. I’m getting answers, but the kind that only lead to more questions.

  ‘I’m not worried they’ll tell on me.’ He looks away to signal he won’t say anything else.

  I nod and try to think of a way to change the subject.

  ‘So where does that leave us?’

  Jost pulls his hand away, and I rush to clarify. ‘I meant, what is your plan and how can I help?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He looks genuinely abashed for his reaction, and his hand twitches as though he wants to reach out again, but he doesn’t. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How’s that working for you?’ I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘The truth is I never had a plan,’ he confesses, his lip threatening to curl into a smile. ‘I came here to avenge Rozenn, and I’ve never known how I would do it. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity and then you . . .’

  ‘Fell into your cell?’ I offer.

  ‘Something like that. More like you mouthed off, and I dropped you.’

  I grimace at the memory and rub my tailbone. ‘By the way, I think you broke it.’

  ‘Oh yes, it was me who broke it and not the days you spent sitting on a cold stone floor.’

  ‘About that,’ I interject. ‘In the future, do you think you could bring a pillow or something?’

  ‘In the future? Planning to get locked up again?’

  ‘Some girls have a knack for trouble,’ I tease, tossing my head dramatically. But before I can peel off the laugh mounting in my throat, Jost’s hand catches my face and brings it to his own. He traces my jaw lightly with his nose and his warm breath tickles along my neck, sending ripples of anticipation through every bit of me. I realise I’ve stopped breathing and I part my lips slightly to gasp for air. Jost responds by trailing his mouth up my neck, my jaw, and my chin until his lips are over mine.

  It’s a different kind of kiss from my first one with Erik, and yet it’s the same wildly e
xciting feeling. Jost’s lips crush into mine, and I reach out without thinking and pull him closer against me. My hand tangles in his hair, and the web shimmers around us. The rest of the world is perfectly still, but we are in motion, crumbling into one another.

  15

  We lie in the web next to each other and stare up at the sparkling light that encloses us. Our hands barely brushing. Not speaking. I could stay like this forever, remembering our first kiss.

  Jost finally breaks the moment, rolling over to his side and propping himself up next to me. He leans in and kisses my nose. ‘Hey, traitor, you hungry?’ he asks, reaching toward the tray he brought earlier.

  ‘I’m fine.’ The spell broken, my anxiety comes rushing back. The last thing I want to do is eat.

  He takes a bite of an apple. ‘Suit yourself.’

  It was a perfect moment, completely under my control, until I was reminded that the one thing I want power over can’t be woven: my own thoughts. Closing my eyes, I wish I was home now; that Jost and I had met through a marriage profile; that Amie was trying to spy on my courtship appointment; that later I would climb into her bed and giggle about his hair or whisper about how it feels when he looks at me with those perfect blue eyes; and that afterwards I would lie in my own bed, designing my wedding dress. But when I open my eyes, I’m here under my frozen dome with Cormac’s procedure looming in the future instead of a wedding. The only comfort is Jost resting beside me, but even that’s complicated.

  ‘They’re going to map me,’ I whisper.

  ‘What?’ He sets the apple down and stares at me.

  ‘Enora was here to tell me that I’m going to be mapped on Friday.’

  Jost swallows hard and sits up. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

  ‘Medics are going to map my brain. Enora claims it’s so they can study Spinsters’ abilities.’

  ‘Or control them,’ he suggests.

  ‘I think that’s what happened to Enora. They cleaned her thread, but I’m not sure why.’

  ‘Mind-mapping couldn’t do something like that,’ he says. ‘Even if they can control your skills—’

  ‘The new method can,’ I interrupt. ‘Didn’t you watch the State of the Guild?’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I was playing cards with some other valets in the back. Altering and cleaning is too tricky to risk on a Spinster.’ But even he doesn’t sound convinced.

  ‘The tech is safer now. I’m not sure how it works, but Prime Minister Carma said it can erase behavioural issues. That it can change how a person acts and thinks.’ I tell him about what Cormac said about isolating problem areas in the strand and splicing new material into an individual’s thread. As I talk about it, my hands ball into fists. ‘It was supposed to be a process reserved for deviants, but the Guild seems to have a pretty flexible policy on what constitutes a deviant.’

  Reaching over, Jost takes my clenched hands and gently laces his fingers through mine. ‘And you’re going to let them do this?’

  ‘I don’t have a choice. It might be the only way to find out exactly how the process works.’ And it will get me into the research wing of the compound. There might be useful records, but something tells me to keep that to myself.

  ‘But you saw what it did to Enora,’ he says softly.

  ‘Let’s hope I’m wrong about that,’ I murmur. ‘And don’t worry, I’m not going in unprepared.’

  The guard at the entrance to the upper studios regards me with suspicion. I’ve never been here before, so I’m counting on my promotion to Crewel apprentice to get me in, but it’s pretty obvious I have no idea what the security procedure is. The heavy red door to the upper studios won’t budge, and I’m eyeing the companel next to it when the guard clears his throat.

  ‘You’ll need to provide your proof of identity to the scanner.’ He points to the companel.

  I press my palm against it, silently willing it to open and wishing I didn’t have an audience right now.

  ‘Adelice Lewys. Access granted,’ it chirps at me, and the door clicks unlocked.

  Heaving it open, I duck inside without looking back at the guard. I’ve drawn enough attention to myself already. I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I have a hunch. Since everything here is based on rank, I head toward the stairs. They spiral up endlessly, and I pass several floors of quiet studios before I reach the top, where I step into the most breathtaking room I’ve ever seen. It feels more like I’m standing on the roof of a tower. The screens have been woven so that it looks as if nothing stands between me and the sprawling vegetation outside the compound or the sky overhead. To the west, the belly of the ocean laps against the tower, and as I turn and look north it meets with a rocky shore that grows into large craggy mountains around the compound. It’s not the same view that’s programmed to run in my quarters.

  In the centre of the space an ancient brass loom, far bigger and grander than any I’ve seen before, swirls and shimmers as tiny gears turn and click. It’s intricately etched with words in a language I can neither speak nor read. A chair of ruby velvet, tossed with silk pillows in emerald and onyx and sapphire, butts against it. Although around me the ocean crashes, birds soar, and snow falls, I hear nothing but the soft whir of the loom.

  ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Loricel says behind me, and I turn to find her stroking a furry ginger animal. ‘There are over eight hundred looms in the compound here, and they can all work on Arras’s weave, but this is the oldest. It was the first loom stationed in the Western Coventry.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in on you.’ I blush. Despite my close connection to her, I feel like a thief standing here and stealing the only beauty in her life.

  ‘Don’t fret,’ Loricel reassures me. She nods down to the creature in her arms, obviously aware that I’m staring at it. ‘It’s a cat. I keep it as a pet.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware pets were allowed any more.’ In fact, I know they aren’t. Pets were banned two decades ago, according to the civil responsibilities class we had at academy. Nowadays ‘pet’ is a common nickname for secretaries. I smile, recalling how my mother fumed when her boss used the term.

  ‘Citizens are not allowed to have them,’ she says with a shrug. ‘But it’s one of the few perks I take advantage of as Creweler.’

  I nod. That makes sense. If anyone could have a pet, it would be Loricel.

  ‘Tell me, Adelice, what do you see?’

  I look around the room and describe the foaming waves cresting over the jagged rocky shore and the mountains quickly being blanketed in snow. ‘Your screens are amazing. I feel like I’m on the roof. I feel free.’

  ‘Adelice, what did your home look like?’ she asks, watching me closely.

  I’m confused by the change in conversation, but I tell her about the tiny neighbourhood that sat outside Romen. The perfect street peppered with tiny bungalows and gardens. And as I describe Mr Figgins’s apple tree across the street, it grows on the wall in front of me. With a startled gasp, I whirl to find my own home tucked back behind the loom. It’s so close. As the first tear pricks the corner of my eye, I watch the image swirl and fade away into a stark, starless night.

  ‘That’s better,’ Loricel says. ‘They’re screens like you said, but I patched in a locator program years ago. When you walk into the room, the screens display where you want to be.’

  ‘But I saw mountains and the ocean,’ I say.

  ‘It’s the default,’ she explains. ‘Anyone who enters will see it. You have to describe the setting for it to change. Like us, the program can’t read minds. It’s very similar to the tracking system the Guild uses to locate citizens.’

  ‘Cormac used one to show me my sister once,’ I tell her, but it feels like a confession somehow. As though I’m revealing a weakness rather than knowledge.

  She smiles and then briefly describes a sunny, lonely beach. ‘I prefer warmer climates.’

  It’s unnerving to stand in the centre of snowy mountains, my childhood street,
and a lapping crystal ocean without moving, so I plop down onto the braided rug beside the loom to gather my thoughts.

  ‘What’s really out there?’ I ask finally.

  Loricel doesn’t answer. She moves to the edge of the wall screen, but she doesn’t change the program. Instead, she very carefully opens a seam in the illusions, and I realise that the images on the walls are also a form of weaving. I wonder if she’s about to show me the image of the sea I watch from my quarters or even a blizzard like the one I witnessed moments ago, but I could never have imagined what the break reveals. In between the fibres of the weave, I see a shapeless bloom of light and colour.

  What lies behind the screens on Loricel’s studio walls isn’t what I imagined. Even though I’ve been manipulating the weave around me for years, only now is the truth clear. The weave we call up on a loom, or manipulate in the room in front of us is only a façade. Behind it lies another layer, even more brilliant than the first.

  ‘None of it’s real,’ I whisper.

  ‘It depends on your definition of real,’ Loricel replies. ‘I can touch this floor. I can touch you. I can eat the food at mealtime. How is that not real?’

  And I can’t answer her, because she’s right. The tickle of water as I step into the bath, the way the pillow cocoons my head, Jost’s hands stroking my face. How could these things not be real? And yet, standing here staring out at the raw matter flowing into oblivion, nothing can ever be real again.

  ‘So that’s it. This is reality,’ I whisper, the words barely making a noise as they leave my mouth.

  Loricel purses her lips together as though she’s unsure where to begin. ‘Yes and no. This is our reality, but not reality in the truest sense.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I admit.

  ‘The Guild doesn’t mean us to, but if you are to take over here then you must understand.’ She gestures to the magnificent work space.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from the open seam. My hands twitch; I want to touch it. Finally, Loricel closes it up and leads me over to a small couch.