Crewel

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 hand 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