Crewel

by Gennifer Albin

  The staircase opens into a grand stone room with oddly shaped windows speckling the walls, too small to fit through but easy to see out of – the kind of room you hide a girl away in. Everywhere there are large, steel looms like the ones from the vlip, but these are cold and slick and empty. Each connects to the others through a series of gears and wheels. Tubes run along the walls, curving and wrapping around the great steel beasts. Evenly spaced around the room are short padded stools. I wonder if they’ve dismissed the Spinsters who work here so we can use the machines.

  The other girls point and whisper, with wide eyes, and I feel left out again.

  Maela, looking as stunning as she did in the room of mirrors, sweeps into the room followed by Erik and another bodyguard. The other guard’s hair is cropped close to his scalp, but both men are perfectly angular, striking, and clearly dangerous. Maela towers in front of us, her crimson dress a splash of blood against the dark backdrop of the men. I know she wants to intimidate us, but I straighten up and raise my jaw ever so slightly to show it’s not working.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she trills, flourishing her arms. ‘Today we begin your journey to becoming Spinsters, and you will have your first test. It will measure your natural ability to read the weave and your control over your ability. It will also provide immeasurable benefit to the cities you see before you now.’

  Several girls applaud this announcement, but I stare straight ahead.

  ‘We have an unexpected treat for you. Normally you wouldn’t have access to a real loom until your talent has been confirmed and honed, but we have occasion to do a little pre-emptive pruning this year. I know how excited you are to have this opportunity.’ Her eyes flick over to me as she speaks. ‘But as the orientation vlip told you, not all of you will become Spinsters.’

  The group around me shifts and fidgets. The buzz of delight that filled the group an hour ago has faded into quiet panic.

  ‘Rest assured that when you were invited—’

  I laugh before I can stop myself.

  ‘Adelice, is something humorous?’ Maela asks sharply, and every head swivels around to stare at me.

  ‘You reminded me of something that happened earlier.’ I smile, forcing myself to meet her gaze. ‘But please continue.’

  If looks could kill.

  ‘As I was saying . . .’ Maela only misses a beat, but I’m sure I’ve drawn unnecessary attention to myself. ‘You will all remain here in service to the Coventry. Many of those dismissed from Spinning or Crewel work are quite happy working in our mill or in various other necessary positions.’

  As maids and servants.

  ‘There will always be a place for you here.’ Maela gives a precise sort of smile.

  Many of the girls look pacified, although a few seem to be considering what they’ve just been told.

  ‘One of the most important aspects of Spinning is the removal of weak strands. Each person, object, and place within Arras has its own thread – or in the case of a place, a woven section. We maintain Arras by redistributing, adding, and removing these strands and sections of the whole. If one thread is weak, it jeopardises the others around it. The weave is pliable, allowing for some flexibility within the cities, and for our work, of course. But put simply, some threads are more resilient than others. We must be careful to repair and replace when necessary, but we must also remove at times.’

  She is speaking directly to me now. ‘If too many strands are weak, it compromises large sections, and as you can imagine, this puts everyone at risk.’ She breaks eye contact with me to seek affirmation from her silent audience.

  The other Eligibles nod earnestly. I don’t. Next to me Pryana bumps my arm as though she’s urging me to join in and agree.

  No one asks any questions. They bob their heads in synchronised conformity as though why we are being asked to do these things is trivial. All that matters is doing what the Guild asks us, because they say it’s important. Doesn’t the gradual ebbing of the time bands spark curiosity? Don’t they want to know how the machines help us work? I’m not in a position, as Maela’s least favourite student, to ask these questions, and no one else seems to care.

  ‘Today you will each be completing your first removal,’ Maela tells us.

  ‘You mean ripping?’ Pryana asks. For a brief moment the muscles of Maela’s jaw visibly tense, but she remains composed.

  I think I like Pryana enough to make friends, like Enora instructed.

  ‘Yes, some people refer to it as such. I find the term vulgar,’ Maela answers smoothly, but her jaw is still tensed.

  I find the whole thing vulgar, but I bite my tongue so as not to attract her wrath or more attention from her rapt disciples.

  Maela nods to Erik, who steps towards the far wall and presses a series of buttons. The other girls watch him. Even Pryana’s gaze is greedy as he strides by. As soon as he enters the code, glistening, nearly transparent tapestries appear on the strange steel looms dotting the room. The appearance of the weave is the only thing that can tear their attention from him. Many of the girls gasp, and one even shrinks back as if the mere sight scares her. For girls who’ve only touched a practice loom at testing, the sight of Arras laid before them must be overwhelming. Even though I’ve always been able to visualise the weave, seeing it like this, called up for our use, makes my stomach knot.

  ‘Can you see the weave without a loom?’ The question is out of my mouth before I can swallow it back, but I need to know how big a freak I am.

  Erik stares at me curiously, but Maela looks annoyed at the interruption.

  ‘No, that’s ridiculous. The weave is the very time and matter that we occupy. Of course you can’t just see it,’ she snaps.

  Except, of course I can. But apparently she can’t, and judging from the looks on the others’ faces, neither can they. I’m alone in this ability.

  ‘This,’ she continues, gesturing to a large ornate piece woven with vibrant greens, pinks, and reds, ‘is you.’

  The girls crowd closer together and press forward to see the brilliant weave.

  ‘We’re beautiful,’ a petite girl notes with awe.

  ‘Of course you are,’ Maela coos. ‘The rest of these pieces are from various cities within the Western Sector. The looms allow us to call up and view the actual fabric of Arras, and each day the Spinsters prune the parts of the weave that are our responsibility. They check for brittle threads, and they handle any removal requests we receive through proper authorities.’

  She demonstrates how to adjust the settings on the loom to pull the weave’s image into more detailed focus. As we watch, the piece of Arras on the loom zooms from a swirling array of colours and light into the subtle image of a house.

  ‘You can request removal?’

  ‘Yes, certainly. Individuals may request removal as well as law enforcement officials. Hospital staff submit removal requests for individuals in poor health and for the elderly.’

  I think of my grandmother and wonder who put in her request – certainly not her or my mother. She wasn’t weak enough to need removal. My eyes smart at the idea of some doctor deciding it was her time to go.

  ‘These looms feature areas where maintenance is needed. We will visit each, and you will be given a chance to identify the weak point and remove it. Although the looms are equipped to allow you to zoom in and out of the piece as necessary and even to locate very specific strands, there’s a certain skill to being able to find the weakness without using the magnifiers and locators.’

  I shift uncomfortably in my heels and notice several other Eligibles doing the same. It’s a lot to ask considering we’re so new.

  ‘No need to be frightened,’ Maela says reassuringly, obviously sensing the apprehension around her. ‘You simply use your fingers to read the weave. Watch.’

  Moving to the nearest loom, Maela traces a long, polished finger over the surface, from left to right, moving in lines down the piece until her hand stops. Closing her eyes briefly, Maela lets her han
d rest there.

  ‘Here,’ she says, and the group goes utterly still. ‘It is thinner than the rest. Worn and tired. I can feel the stress it is placing on the other threads nearby. They are doing more than their fair share to keep everything together.’

  No one breathes as Maela takes a long silver instrument from the caddy at the edge of the loom. ‘Simply hook this end,’ she says as she gently threads the crook between the strands and with a swift motion rends the piece. A shimmering thread hangs from the end of the hook and she holds it out for us to inspect. ‘Simple.’

  My stomach flips over. What does it feel like to be removed? The piece still exists, but where is that person now?

  ‘Now, who is ready for her turn?’ asks Maela.

  A dozen girls crowd forward, eager to prove themselves. Pryana meets my eye, and I see horror reflecting back in her almond eyes. At least I’m not the only one sickened by this test.

  Girl after girl steps up and attempts the test. One girl nearly takes out an entire section, but Maela swiftly stops her. I wonder if her mistake will doom her to a life slaving away at the mercy of the Coventry. Soon only Pryana and I are left. I see how unnerved she is, and I step forward, not only to give her a few more moments to compose herself, but also to get it over with.

  Maela leads me to a new piece. It is more intricately woven than the other pieces we’ve seen so far; thousands of glinting threads lace and wind together in a rainbow canvas of light. A few girls eye it apprehensively. It is much more complex than the rest, but it’s not what scares me.

  ‘Let’s see what you can do,’ she says encouragingly.

  I reach forward and softly touch my fingertips to the piece. The sensation is shocking. I’ve touched pieces of a weave before, but never sections that contained people. There’s a charge running through the piece, and I realise that what I’m feeling is the energy of the thousands of lives that rest under my fingers. Despite the complexity, my hand immediately senses the weakness. It’s so minuscule I can’t imagine trying to remove it without damaging all the other strands around it. I also can’t imagine that this tiny weakness could be a real threat to such a large, tightly woven piece.

  ‘It’s here,’ I murmur, and I hear an impressed buzz from the others around me.

  ‘Very good,’ Maela replies simply. She brandishes the hook like a weapon, and I see the dare in her eyes. She must know this ripping is unnecessary – possibly dangerous – but it’s clear I’m being tested at a more advanced level.

  ‘No need.’ I remove my hand from the spot. ‘It’s no danger to such a beautifully woven piece.’

  ‘That’s not really a determination for you to make, Adelice,’ she hisses, and she holds the hook out further.

  ‘Removing it would risk all the surrounding threads. It’s not necessary.’ I lift my chin and meet her eyes, daring her to defy my proclamation.

  ‘Adelice, I won’t tell you again. You put us all in danger when you don’t do your part,’ she says, as though she’s instructing me on simple addition and subtraction.

  ‘And I’m telling you there is no risk,’ I reiterate, my heart beginning to race. ‘In fact, it would be more dangerous to remove it.’

  ‘Is that so?’ She seems genuinely interested in my opinion, but I know it’s just a show. ‘In that case . . .’

  Her motion is so swift, I don’t see it coming. She wields the hook like a razor, slashing across the piece and brashly ripping an entire section out. Hundreds of shimmering threads hang off the hook, and she beckons for the burly officer.

  ‘Take these – and the others – to storage, and inform the Spinster on duty that we need an emergency patch.’ She hands the hook to him nonchalantly. No one else speaks; we only stare.

  I try to bite my tongue, but the flood of hot anger rising up my body and into my cheeks prevents it. ‘That was unnecessary.’

  ‘I told you that even one weak thread was a danger.’ Maela frowns and shakes her head in a gesture meant to convey sympathy. Or perhaps remorse. Neither is believable.

  ‘Do you want to be responsible for a tragedy?’ she asks me, her gaze travelling around the room. The question is rhetorical, but several of the girls shake their heads.

  ‘If we fail to do our job, we compromise everything that’s been built,’ she continues, and as she stares me down, she turns a tiny knob on the side of the loom. The weave before us, mangled and torn open, begins to shift into clearer focus. At first it looks like a piece of cloth, intricately woven, stretching across the machine, but as she zooms in and adjusts the visual it becomes a town. It’s as though I’m looking at a map with a hole in it, and then she clicks the wheel another notch and it becomes a street view. A perfect tree-lined lane, much like the one at home, leading up to a building, an academy. There is the arch of a doorway and the brick façade of the entrance and then nothing. The rest of the building is gone, simply ripped away, leaving bits of bricks tumbling and disappearing into an abyss. It just isn’t there any more.

  I haven’t been able to grasp what she’s done until now. Seeing the weave in tapestry form couldn’t call up the anger this image did. This for a lesson? And what have we learned? That Maela is a psycho. Sure, I could have guessed that. Is this why they need cleaning technology, to sweep away the actions of people like her? Is she who we need to forget?

  She keeps her violet eyes on me, until the hint of a smile flits across her face. She doesn’t allow it to settle there long enough for anyone but me to notice. ‘I think we’re done for today.’

  I glance back at Pryana, who may be my friend now. I’ve saved her at least, if only for the moment. Her face says it all – she’s not ready for this. As eager as she was to become a Spinster, it’s clear she didn’t expect this. But if I’m being honest, I didn’t either.

  ‘Pryana, you are excused,’ Maela says. ‘In light of the situation, it wouldn’t be fair.’

  Pryana’s coffee eyes echo the alarm I feel.

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Maela simpers, squeezing Pryana’s shoulder.

  ‘What loss?’ The girl’s voice is so low, Maela looks at her like she can’t hear.

  I speak up instead, my mouth dry. ‘She asked, what loss?’

  ‘Unfortunately –’Maela lingers on the word – ‘this piece is from the academy in Cypress.’

  Pryana gasps as her eyes dart to the spot, trying to read the brilliant web.

  ‘I can’t imagine much of it is left.’ Maela offers an apologetic look and then turns to whisper to Erik.

  ‘My sister attends the academy in Cypress,’ Pryana says quietly.

  Everyone is watching her now, but her eyes stay fixed on the mutilated piece. A few of the other girls glance over at me. When Pryana lifts her eyes, she looks directly at me.

  ‘You killed her.’

  I’m fairly positive Maela expects her to kill me. I’m certainly bracing for it when a pair of firm hands grip my arms. Erik is pulling me away to safety.

  6

  We walk swiftly until we reach the stone hallway I was led from only yesterday. There Erik slows and loosens his grip on me. I look up to catch him grinning at me. He’s all business in his dark, trim suit, carefully shaved and groomed. Only his wild blond hair and lopsided smirk belie his professionalism. He’s younger than I thought. In total fairness, I’ve been half-drugged or half-starved during our previous meetings. Still, I can’t help wondering if he’s as dangerous as his boss.

  ‘Did I miss a joke?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, you were there,’ Erik assures me, still grinning. ‘You sure know how to get under Maela’s skin. I’ve never seen her lose it like that.’

  ‘You have a strange sense of humour.’ I think back to Maela’s perfect calm, broken by a single, disastrous moment of fury. But perhaps even then she was in control, her anger precise in its purpose, turning Pryana against me.

  ‘Why didn’t you do it?’ he asks.

  ‘It wasn’t necessary. That thread was strong,’ I answer without hes
itation.

  ‘But the Guild has a purpose in asking for its removal,’ Erik argues, dropping my arm altogether.

  ‘Do they?’ I ask, and then wish I hadn’t. I’m sure that everything I say to him will be reported straight back to Maela, especially if it sounds like I’m questioning things. But if he’s got a response to my scepticism, he doesn’t share it.

  We stop at a towering oak door, and he jostles it open.

  ‘Do you want the penny tour?’ he offers, his blue eyes twinkling a bit.

  I take a look around the empty stone cell and shake my head. ‘I’ve been here before, but thanks anyway.’

  ‘Well, I’ll check on you later,’ he says, stepping back into the hall.

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘I know.’ Erik shoots me a wink as he pulls the large door closed.

  The first thing I notice is the toilet. I must have done something to deserve this slight improvement in my imprisonment, but I’m not sure what. Regardless, it’s small comfort. I know now I’ll die here. Maybe not in this cell, but somewhere in the Coventry. It should bother me more than it does. But rather than focus on my own fate, here in the dark, I think of my mother and Amie. Here in this cell without the blinding lamps and overbearing colour of the compound, I can sketch them in my mind. The way my mother chewed her lipstick off when she was concentrating. Or how Amie would tell me, down to the colour of their socks, what every girl in her class wore to academy and who got in trouble for talking during quiet hour. The blackness lets me imagine we’re back in my room, giggling at how Yuna Landew got called out of class to be interrogated about her purity. Of course, that part doesn’t seem so funny to me any more.

  Now that I know how far the Guild will go to prove a point, I wonder what really happened to Yuna. Maybe she played dumb better than I can. I should have known Maela’s little test wasn’t aimed at weeding out the weak girls so much as testing my loyalty. Hundreds are dead because of me. And who have I ‘saved’? An elderly teacher or a terminally ill child?

  Just as I’m sinking into total hopelessness, the door to my cell creaks open. I start when I realise that it’s the strange boy with the disappointed eyes, bringing my meal.