Fourteen.
03212144 WR LM LA
The sequence drilled into my head as a child.
‘It’s how we’ll find you if you’re ever lost,’ my mother said.
It’s how they find each of us.
Date of birth. Sector. Metro. Mother’s initials. Child’s initials.
I stare at the box in front of me. Whose sequence is this?
My hand reaches out to open it, but my fingers hit the wall screen.
‘It’s an illusion,’ I remind myself. The screens look so vivid that for a moment I thought I could reach out and riffle through the boxes.
I nearly drop the digifile from my sweaty hands, trying to find the information on the map, but thankfully it’s there: a list of coordinates that will call up the Coventry’s weave on the machine. Sitting at the loom, I punch in the codes and watch as the Coventry’s weave spins across it. Next to me the command panel blinks red, flashing a reminder: partial within boundary diameter. It means I’m looking at a piece of the weave that contains the very location I’m in. Maela showed us this piece before, but I wonder now, as the warning light flashes at me, if I’m risking its stability to manipulate the compound from within the compound itself. But I can’t think of a better – or safer – idea. And, I argue to myself, why would Enora have given me this info if I wasn’t meant to use it? But . . . if I’m being honest, this is possibly the stupidest plan ever. I’m not sure if it’s possible to remove a piece from the loom’s weave and place it into the room’s actual weave. Probably because no one has ever been desperate enough to try it. Except me.
I run my hands along the top of the loom, the weave shocking the tips of my damaged fingers. Slowing them to a soft trailing motion, I adjust the view on the loom, zooming into the weave until it focuses, mirroring the map Enora left me on the digifile, and then I see the outline of the repository. Keeping my fingertip carefully on the spot, I tease a few strands of the area out, carefully, so as not to remove the entire room from the weave, which would surely draw immediate suspicion. Holding it delicately in my left hand, I reach up into the air with my right, and concentrating until the room’s weave shimmers into view, I draw apart the strands of this room, hoping my theory is correct and that I can transplant threads from the loom into the weave of Loricel’s studio. If so, then I hope to create a rift between her studio and the repository that will allow me to enter the secure facility. I weave the strands from the repository into this space and cautiously peek through.
It’s not a bad first try, except that I’ve woven it in upside down and I’m looking at the ceiling, the storage units suspended overhead. There’s no way I can open those boxes this way, so I step back through to Loricel’s studio and fix it.
There’s a faint hum filling the other room, and I shiver as I step through. It’s at least thirty degrees colder in here than any other space in the compound. I pull my jacket tighter and step up to the nearest shelf; there’s only one way to find out what’s in there.
The boxes latch on the right side, and I have to try twice to raise the tiny lever. In response, the front of it slides away, revealing a small crystal cube. I reach in to pull it out. A thin strand of light shimmers, suspended in the centre and woven into a delicate knot. I turn it over in my hands and the thread doesn’t move. It’s too thin to belong to the person with this identifying sequence. I’ve seen individual threads after removal, and they’re comprised of several strings knitted together; I’m sure that this is only part of the ripped thread. On the bottom, I notice an etched code composed of a series of numbers and varying bars. Sliding my digifile next to it, I open a folder labelled Tracking and press the small screen up to the code. A pulsing icon flashes immediately and then a new dataset appears:
NAME: Riccard Blane
PERSONAL IDENTIFYING SEQUENCE: 06022103 EN BH BR
OCCUPATION: banker
REMOVAL DATA: 10112158 EN
REQUEST CONTACT: Amolia Blane
RELATION: wife
CURRENT STATUS: active
Active?
The strand is too thin to be the banker’s remains. If he was removed two years ago, why is he listed as active? I hold the cube up to the repository lights, but no new information appears. I save the dataset to the digifile to study later and place the cube back in the box.
I tiptoe down the narrow aisle, afraid even my light footfalls might attract attention in this section of the compound. As I get further from my entry point, I begin to worry. What if Loricel returns to her studio, or someone else walks into the repository? Starting to head back to investigate closer to the rift, I glimpse the shelves one row over. Squat metal rectangles, not square boxes, compose these units. I dart quickly to them. Each is labelled with an identifying sequence, but there’s no storage cube inside. Instead a thin plastic card pops out of the cubby. Fumbling with the digifile, I scan the card and wait as the dataset loads.
NAME: Annelin Mayz
PERSONAL IDENTIFYING SEQUENCE: 11262158 NU MG MA
ALTERATION DATA: 12162159 NU
RELOCATION: EN
REQUEST CONTACT: Officer Jem Blythe
KIN: none / permanent removal
CURRENT STATUS: healthy
The file includes a picture of a young girl. According to her PIS, she’s only two years old now. This is what I’ve been looking for: records of children who have been rewoven to foster families. Amie’s information will be in here, too. I push Annelin’s card back into the cubby and bump the latch on the next file. The small door slides open, and before I can close the lever, the next card ejects all the way out. Reaching down I pick up the card and scan it. Maybe there’s a pattern to the alterations. The first line of the dataset stops me in my tracks. Although it’s not Amie.
It’s Sebrina Bell.
Bell.
I jam the buttons linked to the attached image files. The girl in this image is an infant, her cheeks both dimpled and a wisp of dark curls falling across her forehead. She seems too little to smile, but she is grinning like she’s staring at someone she adores. Someone like her father. Her eyes are a sparkling, deep blue. I know those eyes instantly. They must run in the family.
It’s Jost’s daughter – the one who disappeared right before his eyes. I choke back a sob. Clutching the card to my chest, I scan through the data on the digifile:
NAME: Sebrina Bell
PERSONAL IDENTIFYING SEQUENCE: 02262158 ES BR BS
ALTERATION DATA: 05282158 ES
RELOCATION: EN
REQUEST CONTACT: Ambassador Cormac Patton
KIN: father/abandoned mother / permanent removal / deceased
CURRENT STATUS: healthy
NOTES: New personal identifying sequence to be assigned due to collateral removal.
All the resentment I’ve felt toward Cormac bubbles up and mixes with this information. I slip the card into my pocket and lean against the shelf trying to slow my ragged breathing. I’ll save the file in a minute; I still have to find Amie.
July 24th. Her sequence begins with 0724. The other girls’ information was filed according to the sector of relocation. I scan each row of files until I find the cubes for the Northern Sector. Rushing down the row, I scan the tiny compartments, watching the numbers build in size. I’ve reached 0618 when I hear a door click to the north of me. I hold my breath as the tap of dress heels echoes in the silent room.
Creeping to the edge of this unit, I peer around the corner. No one. Snaking along the side, I steadily move back to the opening I’ve left between the repository and Loricel’s studio.
The door clicks open again. I wait, praying the intruder is gone, but instead I hear another person call out and the first person heads back toward the door. I press against the side of a shelf, not daring to move forward. Two male voices echo through the room, but I don’t pay attention to what they’re saying. I hear their footsteps coming nearer to my hiding spot. I slip to the next set of shelves and wait breathlessly, gauging how close they are to me now. T
hen to the next. And the next.
I’ve reached the rift when one of them shouts. My hand grips the card in my pocket; I forgot to shut the door to its cubby. I throw myself through the rift as the repository lights brighten; they’re looking for me. Pulling the repository’s threads from the spot where I wove it into the fabric of Loricel’s room, I clutch the strands against my chest. As soon as I’ve put the strands back in their place, completing the repository in the compound’s weave, the loom whirs to life and dismisses the piece. I drop to the chair and listen for approaching guards. No one knows I can do this except Loricel, but how long before someone becomes suspicious? And even if they aren’t looking for me, this is the first place they’ll come to find out who’s responsible.
But when no one appears, I relax. It’s only then I notice her lounging on her sedan, stroking a fluffy ginger cat. ‘Loricel,’ I gasp. It comes out in a gurgle of apology and surprise.
‘Go.’
Her eyes won’t meet mine.
‘Loricel, I—’
‘Leave me alone, Adelice. I need to think.’
I start to ask what she means, but she answers the question before I speak. ‘I have to figure out how to cover this up.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, lifting my eyes from the floor to meet hers.
She keeps her gaze on the cat and continues to pet it. After a moment, she asks, ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
The tiny plastic card feels like a piece of lead in my pocket, but I shake my head.
‘You endanger your sister by drawing attention to her,’ she warns, looking at me for the first time.
‘I need to know where she is,’ I say.
‘Cormac showed you your sister, alive and well,’ Loricel says. ‘It’s best to leave it at that, unless . . .’
‘I’m not going after her.’ Not yet.
‘If he perceives her as a threat, Cormac will remove her.’ Loricel pushes the cat off her lap and stands.
It takes me a moment to realise she’s reading the coordinates I’ve left on the companel. ‘Ingenious plan,’ she says, ‘but I wonder how you found the coordinates to pull the repository’s weave up on my loom.’
I bite my lip and clutch my arm around my waist, hoping she can’t make out the digifile’s silhouette in my pocket.
‘I’m not going to tell on you, Adelice,’ she says, turning to stare at the false wall. ‘I told you this was your choice, and I meant it. But you’re playing a dangerous game.’
My mouth is dry. ‘I’m not playing a game,’ I say.
‘All the same, be more careful.’
She says nothing else, so I exit the room, arms still wrapped around my waist, guarding my secrets: the truth about Jost’s daughter, and a small patch of the weave from the studio’s screen.
22
I manage to sneak past the guard, who’s busy smoking a few metres from the door to the upper studios, but I don’t return to my quarters. As soon as I’m out of his sight, I shift into a confident stride, lowering my arms to my sides and straightening my back. There’s surveillance on me, and I don’t want to raise any suspicion. With trembling fingers, I remove the piece of the screen from Loricel’s wall from my pocket and hide it in my palm. It’s only a few inches wide and featherlight, but it reflects a bit of the default scenery of the studio walls.
I say only one word: ‘Jost.’
An image flickers in my hand and I take quick glances at it. Long steel tables run the length of the room and girls in short, fitted dresses carry trays of dishes to deep metal basins at the wall. Standing in a far corner, Jost directs a group of boys. As soon as they disappear from the scene, Jost closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks tired as he leans against the far wall and I’m about to add to his stress. But if I don’t tell him now, I may not ever have the strength. With my free hand I draw out the digifile and consult the map. I’m right above the kitchen. For one moment, I consider turning around. I’ve already ruined everything between us, and nothing will be the same once he knows about Sebrina. But I think of Amie, and although it’s not the same, I know I can’t keep this from him. Moving to the right, I duck into the nearest stairwell. I don’t even have time to think of what I’ll say before the stairs deposit me near the doorway.
The maid nearest me whips her head around and stares at me, her mouth hanging open. Several others stop their dishwashing, but only one wipes her soapy hands on her apron and comes over to me.
‘Miss?’ she says, running her eyes over me doubtfully. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I need to speak with the head valet,’ I say, raising my chin as regally as I can muster.
She purses her lips and squints meaningfully at me. ‘Jost?’
‘If that’s his name,’ I say, waving her off dismissively. I feel like a total bitch, but the more I act like a Spinster, the less curious they’re going to get.
The maid curtsies once and heads back towards the food gens, but I catch her rolling her eyes at another girl, who giggles. One look at my face and the smile drops from hers, and she rushes back to work. They must hate me.
Jost peeks around a door in the back and his eyes widen a bit, but he keeps his expression blank. He exchanges some words with the maid I sent and then walks towards me.
‘Can I help you?’ he asks. There’s not even a hint of friendliness in his voice.
‘Yes, I need your services,’ I say, gesturing to indicate that he should follow.
‘I can send one of my men with you,’ he offers, his eyes flat. ‘I have other responsibilities. I’m not here for your amusement.’
‘I was specifically told to get you,’ I repeat.
A few of the girls around us slow their work to eavesdrop on our exchange.
‘In the future, you can use a companel to send for assistance,’ Jost says, turning to leave me.
‘I don’t think I’ll be needing assistance in the future.’
This stops him. To the others I’m sure my angry words sound spoiled and petty, but Jost knows me too well to dismiss them – even if he wants to.
‘Lead the way,’ he says with a sigh.
In the stairwell, I stop him. ‘We need to talk.’
‘I’m listening,’ he says, crossing his arms against his chest.
‘Somewhere private,’ I whisper.
Jost unfolds his arms and takes a deep breath. A muscle twitches in his neck, but he nods and takes me down to the basement. As we duck through a second door, I recognise the cold paving stones.
‘It’s been too long,’ I murmur, trailing my hand along the moist rock wall that makes up the cell area.
Jost leads me into a cell and pulls out a small handlight. It casts a harsh glow in the room. He leans against a wall and raises one eyebrow.
‘I know I hurt you—’
‘No,’ he says. ‘I can tell by the way you say it. You don’t know, Adelice.’
‘I was protecting you.’ I move closer to him.
‘I don’t need you to protect me.’
‘You’re such a man. Can’t trust a girl do anything.’
I try to turn away, but he catches my wrist.
‘I don’t need you to protect me,’ he repeats softly. ‘I need you to trust me.’
‘I do trust you, idiot,’ I snap.
‘Then let me in,’ he says, pulling me closer.
‘There’s more going on here than you and me,’ I say, inhaling the smell of him – smoke and sweat, something sweet like honeysuckle. I want to pull the strands around us and trap us like this forever. Safe and content, if not happy. I’m not sure happiness is possible for us any more.
‘Maybe,’ he whispers into my hair. ‘But that’s their problem. We need to worry about you and me.’
‘There can’t be a you and me here,’ I say. My whole body is cocooned in his arms, and I press my head to his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat.
‘Here is all we have,’ he says, drawing my face up to meet his eyes. The electri
city is back, and it threatens to overwhelm in its intensity.
Jost leans down to kiss me, but I pull away.
‘We won’t even have that for long,’ I say in a soft voice.
His arms drop from around me, and I straighten up, fighting the urge to burrow into his chest.
‘Why are you here?’ he asks, barely controlling the rage in his voice.
I tell him what I’ve learned about Enora and how they plan to remap me. About what I’ve learned from Loricel about Earth and the mantle of Arras. As I speak, the coldness fades from his face, and by the time I tell him about Cormac’s last visit, his hand has found mine again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, interrupting my tale. ‘I’ve been unfair.’
I shake my head. ‘I deserved it.’
‘You were doing what you thought was best and I—’
‘Jost,’ I butt in, sensing the guilt building in his voice. ‘It’s in the past.’
It’s tender and sincere, and maybe it’s not everything I want to say about how confused but hopeful I feel. It’s not the questions I want to ask or even the one thing I think I want to tell him, but it’s enough.
He breaks into a wide smile and wraps his arms around me.
‘You’re right.’
This time I let him kiss me. It starts slowly, but I press closer to him and clutch his shoulders. He holds my waist, and then his hands, warm and strong, move slowly up my back. Everywhere they touch, my body sings out for more. His lips are soft, but I demand more, sliding my arms tight against his neck and pulling him closer. He responds, his mouth opening against mine, and I feel a tremor run through my body. Finally he pulls back, our foreheads still touching, and we breathe in quick pants against one another. His breath is hot on my face, and I struggle to remember what I came to tell him.
‘We have to leave.’ I force the words out before I give in to the ache building up in my chest that begs for the touch of his lips again.
Crewel Page 27
