Crewel

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. Then 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