Crewel (5 page)

‘No,’ Enora says in a heavy voice. ‘Her work is delicate and time-consuming. She rarely interacts with anyone but the officials and highest-ranked Spinsters. There’s a lot you’ll have to learn about how things work here, Adelice.’

Somehow this doesn’t surprise me, but I hold back the comment I want to make.

‘I’m sorry, I have a lot of questions,’ I say instead. I want her to like me. I need allies here, but her dismissal leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

‘I can’t blame you. It’s been a difficult transition for you.’ She stumbles on ‘transition’, and I realise how inadequate it sounds. With a full belly and a warm fire, it’s been easy to forget my initial imprisonment, but now doubt creeps back up my spine and down through my limbs, shooting a chill along my nerves. I hate myself for forgetting what they did to me – to my whole family – after two hot meals and a night of luxury.

Enora glides over and waves me to my feet. Moments later she’s fussily holding up ensembles, one after another, and muttering and sighing her disapproval. I see silk and satin, and each outfit looks skimpier than the last. I was never allowed to wear anything so revealing back home. It wouldn’t have been proper for me to show my arms, let alone my flat chest. Between my guilt and my complete fear of anything without sleeves, I begin cracking my knuckles. Enora notices and leads me to the bathroom. My mom used to do the same thing – distract me when I was upset. Now that the Valpron has long worn off, I feel a constant throbbing ache when I think of my family. With the clutching pain of hunger loosened, it’s become more acute. Almost unbearable.

‘Enora,’ I whisper, as she waves her hand over the switch scan, ‘do you know what happened to my family?’

Enora gives me a slight shake of the head, but I can see the understanding in her eyes. ‘I’ll see what I can find out, but, for now, you need to get ready for orientation.’

The bathroom is every bit as oversized and decadent as my sleeping chamber. At one end, a small station with an aesthetician’s chair waits ominously. I can only imagine how many hours I’ll waste being fussed over there. The rest of the room is tiled in marble and porcelain. In the centre sits a large bath with small marble steps and benches carved along its edges. I could easily swim in it. It’s already full and I wonder how this has been taken care of without my knowledge, like so many things here at the Coventry. I’m not sure I want to know the answer. There are no taps or spouts easily accessible, but I dip my toe gingerly at the edge and discover it’s hot. The thought of heat soaking into my skin is so tempting. I’m pretty sure I would sell my soul for a bath after the nights in the cell.

‘Your profile indicated that you liked water, so this was created for you.’ Enora points to the extravagant pool. ‘And you were appointed an ocean view.’

‘I would have been fine with a shower stall,’ I mutter.

‘We could arrange to have it changed . . .’ she says, a smirk playing on her lips, but I quickly shake my head, recalling the cramped old tub in my family’s one bathroom.

‘It’ll be fine,’ I say.

‘I thought it would be.’ She chuckles and takes my arm, shepherding me to the chair at the far end. ‘Valery is here to work on you.’

I sigh and flop down in the chair, resigned to my fate. Valery is almost as beautiful as Enora or Maela. But her features are Eastern in origin, her eyes sloping elegantly around toffee irises. Even in her heels, she’s much smaller than the rest of us. I’m beginning to understand why Spinsters are so finely polished. They could never allow other, inferior women to be more beautiful than they are. Staring at the number of prep tools on the cart next to me, I can’t help wondering how much time they waste in pursuit of perfection.

After an hour of lining and curling and spraying, Enora brings in her final choice for today’s outfit – a peacock-green suit that puffs at the sleeves and tapers to my knees. It is at once perfectly understated and completely unmissable. I slip into it and then grip the post of my bed while Enora hands me a pump.

‘Wrong foot,’ I say, passing it back to her. ‘Left first, please.’

She gives it to me with a raised eyebrow. ‘Superstitious? I’ve never heard that before.’

‘Not superstitious.’ I shake my head. ‘My grandmother always told me to put my left shoe on first, because my left leg’s stronger than my right. Easier to stand on one heel.’ I slide on the shoe and demonstrate my perfect balance.

‘Are you left-handed as well?’ she asks.

‘Yes, my grandmother was, too.’ The memory of her tugs at me; it’s an old sadness, more of a ghost than an ache, although it pulls harder on me here than it has for years. It’s different from the hot, panicked grief I feel for the rest of my family.

Enora hands me my other shoe, and Valery pushes me towards the mirror. The image is not the shock it was yesterday, but this girl with the brilliant hair and bright eyes is not me. I’m simply dressed in someone else’s skin.

Valery and Enora stand behind me like proud parents. My new mentor places a hand gently on my shoulder. ‘You’re stunning, Adelice.’

‘This isn’t me,’ I say, watching the strange scarlet lips move.

‘It is now,’ Enora whispers firmly. I can hear in her voice the same tone I use with Amie when I know what’s best for her, even when it’s something she hates, like brussel sprouts. I wonder if she has anyone watching over her now. I feel the panic creeping from my belly into my throat, but my reflection doesn’t change.

Now that I’m dressed, Enora escorts me to my first training class. I try to memorise the route – what my hall looks like, which floor to choose on the lift – on the off-chance that I’m ever allowed to move around the compound alone. We don’t pass through the same sterile hallway we used yesterday. Instead she guides me out into a beautiful garden surrounded by the high towered walls of the Coventry. Sunlight radiates down on us directly, creating a bright spot in the centre of a concrete fortress. Palm trees shade small, prickly pines. Animals scamper peacefully at my feet. It is the most wild – but tame – place I’ve ever been. Just when I’m sure it’s all screens like the ones in my room, reflecting a pre-programmed code, I spy him and a thrill sends my heart into my throat.

Crouched next to a wheelbarrow and wiping his forehead with a simple rag, there he is: the boy from the cells. A gardener, an escort? What other jobs does he occupy here and why? He glances up as we pass, and then he looks more closely, and I feel a tense energy fill the space between us – the force of it almost palpable. He’s taking in my vibrant tailored suit and new face. He looks puzzled for a moment, then something darker flickers across his face. It’s not anger or hatred. It’s not even lust.

It’s disappointment.

Enora pushes past the young man and hurries me along to another tower door on the far side of the garden. I fight the urge to turn back to him. What would I do? Apologise? Explain myself? What did he expect? Did he think I was going to set fire to the compound and run away, hungry and cold?

‘Adelice.’ Enora’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

‘Sorry?’

‘Try to pay closer attention during your orientation,’ she says with a sigh, ushering me inside the other wing of the compound.

‘It’s just . . .’ I struggle with exactly how to express my confused feelings about the boy in the garden. ‘Why are there boys here?’

‘There are a lot of tasks we can’t do for ourselves,’ she says matter-of-factly.

I give a slight nod, but I can’t quite hide the fact that I don’t buy it.

‘Spinsters have important work to do,’ Enora says, lowering her voice. ‘The men make sure everything around here functions, and . . .’ Her voice trails off and I can see she’s making a choice.

‘And?’ I prompt.

‘They’re security,’ she finishes.

‘Are we in danger?’ I ask in surprise.

‘Us? No,’ she says, and there’s bitter edge to her voice. ‘The Guild isn’t keen on a compound made up entirely of women.’

Enora wasn’t lying when she said she’d answer my questions, but I’m taken back by the trust she’s shown me already. Considering she knows my biggest secret, I suppose it makes sense.

‘You’ll be with the rest of the Eligibles today. Make friends,’ she says, changing the subject to the task at hand.

‘It’s the first day of academy all over again,’ I mutter, eyeing the gaggle of women gathered around a large oak door.

‘Yes,’ she says, taking my shoulders in her tiny hands and directing my eyes back to hers. ‘But you’ll live with these girls for the rest of your life.’

I swallow hard. Academy doesn’t seem so long ago, and yet the faces of the girls in my class are slipping away. It was one long beauty contest, each girl treading a fine line, maintaining the purity standards expected of Eligibles, while doing everything in her power to outshine the rest. Every week, someone had discovered something close to, but not quite, a cosmetic. I hadn’t been very good at gushing and primping. Pinch my cheeks? No thanks. Cosmetics and beauty treatments might be a reward for good behaviour growing up, and necessary when finally stepping into the less segregated work world, but here they feel like an even bigger joke than purity standards. As though we’ll be happy to waste away behind locked doors if we can look pretty.

Making my way to join the group, I try to maintain a neutral expression. We’re crowded in a plain hallway, waiting for the door in front of us to open. But the other girls, having broken into several smaller groups, maintain a steady stream of chatter with one another. It’s a motley group – a lithe girl with delicately braided oil-black hair; another with skin the colour of rich coffee, her hair short and waved close to her scalp; girls with platinum hair and tailored blouses. I wonder if they are excited or nervous. If they have sold their souls for large bathtubs and fireplaces. If they’ll do anything the Guild asks of them.

Two young officers usher us into a vast, open space filled with rows and rows of carefully placed chairs pointed towards a blank white wall. We file in and take our seats. The other girls sit together, giggling and chattering. I watch as a blonde girl reaches to touch the hair of the girl next to her. They’re so familiar with one another. These girls weren’t kept in cells, and they’ve obviously spent time together before now. I’ve missed a lot in the last few days.

The girl with oil-black hair drops into the chair next to mine. I can smell a rich hint of coconut drifting from her. Up close her skin is tawny, and her long legs stream past her pencil skirt. She must be half a foot taller than me at least – without heels. I can’t help but feel a little jealous of her exotic beauty as well as how relaxed she is in her new role. To my surprise she turns to speak to me. ‘They’ve broken us into two groups. You’re in mine.’

‘Do I look lost?’ I ask with a sheepish grin.

‘No, you look overwhelmed,’ she responds. ‘It’s easy to tell you’re new, because most of us room together.’

I lower my voice to match hers: ‘Together?’

‘Not everyone gets her own room.’ She grins, displaying a dazzling white smile set against chocolate lips.

‘I’m sorry, you seem to have me at an advantage,’ I say, curious as to how this girl knows me or my situation. ‘I’m Adelice.’

‘I know,’ she says. ‘My name is Pryana, and my mother was a maid in a small hotel for businessmen. She taught me that if you want to know the best gossip, you should get to know your maids. And right now, the best gossip around involves you.’

I think of the girls and boys bringing me food, stoking my fire, delivering my clothes, and feel like an elitist snob. I’m sure that’s how I come off to them – an eager young Eligible hungry for power. It never occurred to me that they could be sources of information. Or that they were watching me.

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Well, be careful,’ Pryana says, dropping her voice even further so that our conversation is lost among the flurry of gossip. ‘At your level, they pay more attention to who they have attending you. And with your history—’

‘My level?’

‘Girl, do you think we are all living in the lap of luxury? Do not get me wrong, I am very pleased with my current situation. But everyone in the Coventry wonders what landed a simple Eligible in the high tower.’

‘I clearly need to befriend a maid,’ I mutter. My mind is swimming with this new information. I have a pretty good idea why I’m getting special treatment, and it has nothing to do with favouritism.

Pryana gives me a sceptical look, unconvinced I’m the innocent I claim to be. But if she’s going to press the matter, she doesn’t get the chance because a brilliant display of colour lights up the blank wall we face. It fades in along the edges and gradually forms into the shape of a woman. The vlip is holographic, giving it the appearance of three dimensions. As though the woman were in the room with us, and not a mere recording.

‘Welcome to training,’ the holograph says with a smile. ‘Being called to serve the Guild of Twelve is an honour and with honour comes privilege. The Western Coventry wants to ensure your transition into your new life as a Spinster is smooth and joyful. Each of you will be assigned a mentor during the training process. She will answer your questions and provide guidance on appropriate behaviour and dress.’

I look around the aisles. The other girls’ eyes are glued to the vlip. Pryana catches my eye and grins.

‘Arras depends on girls like you,’ the actress in the vlip continues. ‘The Guild is a complex organisation charged with the care of our entire world, and you are a vital piece of our oligarchy. During training you will be observed as you complete a variety of tasks designed to test your skill, precision, and dedication to preserving the integrity of
Arras
. Your work will be carefully supervised as you learn how to read the specific patterns of our world, and your behaviour will be monitored by security personnel and audio surveillance to ensure the safety of everyone in the compound. This is precious information given to you in confidence of your allegiance to the Guild of Twelve. Each of you was brought here because you exhibited the potential to become a Spinster, but your placement and position within the Coventry will be made based on the observations of our specially appointed training panel.’

A few of the girls murmur in surprise at this news. They must not have been appointed mentors yet. I almost feel sorry that some of them have left everything they know and love behind to wind up as servants. Almost.

‘Rest assured that once you have been called by the Guild, you have a place here. There are opportunities for every girl’s skills in the Western Coventry, and regardless of where in Manipulation Services you are ultimately placed, you will enjoy many of the privileges allotted to Spinsters. Due to the sensitive nature of your training, it is impossible for you to return to civilian lives, but you will each have a home and job here from this day forward.’

‘What exactly does that mean?’ Pryana hisses beside me.

‘It means’– I lean in so only she can hear – ‘that some of us might wind up scrubbing kitchen floors.’

Her eyes widen, but she shakes her head in disbelief.

‘Ever ask your maid how she landed a job cleaning your toilet?’ I ask.

‘I will now.’

I can’t imagine anyone could be charming enough to prompt a former Eligible to reveal her rejection. It’s one thing to be catty about others’ misfortunes but harder to admit your own.

‘Your duties will be assigned based on skill level. There are always opportunities for advancement for loyal Spinsters of the Guild,’ the holographic woman continues. Behind her an enormous machine flickers into view on the screen. It’s a loom, like the one they presented me with in testing, only bigger. Gears and wheels grind together silently, connected to a series of intricate silver tubes. As she speaks, sparkling strands weave across it in a mixture of gold and other colours. I know from experience that the gold is time, and when I focus hard enough to see the weave around me, these strands flow across, forming bands. The other strands weave through the bands, forming a tight, colourful tapestry.

Before this moment, I’ve only seen looms during testing, and then I spent so much time ignoring my compulsion to touch the weave that its subtlety was lost on me. Now it shimmers with life. But as I watch, the image on the screen changes. The gears of the loom adjust, zooming in on a portion of the weave on the loom. First, the fibres suggest an aerial view of a neighbourhood. Then the weave is focused more closely until it reveals the image of a street. And finally, the weave reveals a family sitting inside their home. The vlip then winds the image back to the complex weave it first showed us.

‘Spinsters work hand in hand with the men who oversee the Guild of Twelve. In the Western Coventry compound, your work will be focused on basic weaving, maintenance, and Crewel work. Our compound is responsible for food and weather, and our most advanced Spinsters handle special issues specific to our sector. You were each transported to this facility based on your aptitude tests. Should you develop skills in other areas, the Guild may issue a transfer of assignment at any time. All four coventries work together to maintain the physical integrity of Arras’s weave and to ensure our world is bound together in safety and prosperity. Each coventry is carefully located to provide optimum control over the weave, and while each has specific tasks assigned to the women working its looms, all are of equal importance. Advanced Spinsters may perform Crewel work, a form of manipulation that adds to Arras and controls elements crucial to our survival.

‘The peace and prosperity of Arras are enabled through your work on the looms. Following patterns strictly to ensure the metros function smoothly, and monitoring the weave for evidence of deterioration, allow us to catch dangerous behaviour and conditions before they can affect the safety of our citizens. Special techniques have been designed to clean and renew threads damaged by aberrant tendencies. We work closely with academies across the world to catch deviants at a young age. This ensures a crime- and accident-free population. We rely on you to report any irregularities found in the weave in a timely manner.’

So that’s what Cormac meant when he laughed at me in the café. Arras isn’t as peaceful as the Stream and officials would have us believe, at least not naturally. Whatever this procedure is that cleans strands, I’m sure it’s what they used in Romen after my disastrous retrieval. Would citizens feel as safe knowing deviant behaviour exists but is merely wiped away from recollection? Or that their children’s threads can be cleaned at any time if a teacher expresses concern? For the first time, I’m glad I’m not a teacher put in that impossible situation. And I understand the gilded cage of false windows and concrete they keep us in. We can never go home with this knowledge.

The vlip fades from the holographic message to a slideshow of images from across Arras, drawing my attention away from this revelation. I’m glued to the images now, but to my disappointment, the metros on the vlip look the same as Romen – concrete, sky towers with thousands of windows spiking up from the metro centre, and small houses and stores dotting the perimeter in perfect spirals. The plants are the only parts of the landscapes that seem to vary. In Romen, we had grass and looming elm trees, bushes, and carefully preened flowers in yellow and white. But these metros have palm trees, pines, ferns, and tall yellow grass; these are plants I’ve only seen on screens during academy lessons. The differences are minute, but seeing all of Arras before me is exciting.

‘Welcome to the Western Coventry and may your hands be blessed,’ the woman’s voice concludes.

The final image is one of a towering complex that I’ve seen dozens of times in academy. It’s where I sit now: the Western Coventry. Several girls squeal with delight but I feel the weight of the concrete and brick pressing down on me. There’s nothing exciting about the compound. It’s walled. Industrial. It’s what it stands for – the promise of power and privilege – that thrills the others. But all I see is the lack of windows and how it rises like an endless cage into the cloudless sky. No one can ever escape it.

‘You don’t look so good,’ Pryana whispers to me as the vlip fades away. ‘Did the images give you motion sickness?’

I shake my head, genuinely pleased by her concern. ‘I’m fine. It’s just been a long few days.’

‘Well, I for one am ready to get on those looms. I’ve been dying to since testing,’ she says, her coffee-black eyes sparkling at the prospect.

‘You haven’t got to try them out yet?’ I ask, more than a little surprised.

‘No,’ Pryana confirms. ‘So far it’s been measurements, etiquette lessons, and small-group vlips. Let’s see. We’ve been reminded at least a hundred times about the importance of chastity to maintain our skills.’