The Lost Girl

5

Mercy



I wake at four in the morning, jerked out of an Amarra dream by something strange. I sit up in bed, listening, and realize it is the sound of the front door. It’s not a normal sound this late.

“I’m sorry, Mina.” I hear a muffled voice, out in the living room. Ophelia. “I know you weren’t expecting me until the morning, but I couldn’t sleep and I thought I’d save time and drive up early. . . .”

“Naturally,” comes Mina Ma’s voice, groggy with sleep. “Who would want to stay there any longer than necessary?”

She must mean the Loom. She never uses that tone for anything else.

“That’s not what I meant,” says Ophelia, sounding hurt. “I don’t mind being there, I . . .” She trails off, obviously realizing it’s useless. Ophelia has always defended the Loom. She has believed in it, in the Weavers, for as long as I can remember. I think she realizes she and Mina Ma will never see eye-to-eye on that subject.

After a pause, Mina Ma says, more gently, “Was it very difficult?”

There’s no reply, so I assume Ophelia has nodded, because Mina Ma says, “So it went badly, then? No,” she adds quickly, “you’re upset. Let’s go into the garden and talk.”

“The kids asleep?”

“Yes.”

There’s a long pause. I open my door and peer out. I can see the corridor and the doorway to the next room, but no more than that. There don’t seem to be any shadows moving against the wall of the living room, so they must have gone out.

A shape materializes at the foot of the stairs, inches from my bedroom door. I squeak and jerk back.

“Don’t do that!” I hiss at Sean.

He’s in the T-shirt and boxers he wears to bed, but he looks wide awake. I make myself stare at his face.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Ophelia’s here,” I whisper. I pull him quickly into my room and shut the door. “I guess she’s been in London. But she left quite suddenly, and she seems really upset. Do you know if anything was happening at the Loom last night?”

“Weaving?” Sean asks drily.

I frown at him. “Anything else?”

“There may have been a trial,” he says. “I saw something about it in the weekly update we’re sent. An echo and her guardian. They must have broken a law.”

“Well,” I say, “my room faces the back garden, so we could find out.”

His disapproval is obvious, but he doesn’t stop me. I pad across to the window and open it a crack. I kneel down beside the sill. With a resigned look, Sean crouches across from me.

We can hear them talking. Ophelia’s voice is quiet. Her hands must be shaking because I hear her lighter click several times before I smell the smoke of her cigarette.

“She must have been twenty-three, twenty-four,” says Ophelia, between desperate drags, “and she was screaming. God, how she screamed. They weren’t hurting her, but she was scared. I had to sit there with her.” She pauses. “Her and two of the Guard. You know what they’re like. They don’t speak unless they have to. They just stand there, watching. Always watching.”

Who are the Guard? I mouth the words at Sean. This is the first I’ve heard of them.

He hesitates, then says very softly, “They’re echoes. If an echo goes wrong and can’t be used as a replacement, the Weavers keep them. Raise them. They become the Guard. They protect the Loom and the Weavers. They’re completely devoted.”

I hadn’t even known echoes could go wrong. I look down at my own fingers. I’m not broken.

“Do regular people know about them?”

“I think they’ve heard rumors.”

That doesn’t surprise me. So little of the Loom is fact, is understood. Until recently there were no facts at all. The Loom first started stitching life two hundred years ago, or something like it, anyway, and back then it was a secret, smoke and stories to frighten naughty children, a mysterious thing no one was ever quite sure about. And over time it’s become more and more a part of the ordinary world. Now people know it exists. They know about us. And many of those people hate it. Unnatural. That’s the word they use. I wonder how they’d feel knowing it’s possible for an echo to go wrong.

“Are they treated badly?” I ask Sean. “The Guard?”

“No, they’re treated kindly enough. But even if they weren’t, they wouldn’t betray the Loom. It’s the only life they’ve known. They do anything, everything, the Weavers ask them to. A few of the Guard double as seekers, too.”

There is a sudden sound outside. I stifle a gasp.

Sean stops speaking. I hold my breath, but no one comes to the window to confront us. I don’t relax until I hear their voices again.

“And the girl?” That’s Mina Ma.

“The moment they came to take her to her trial, she broke down. She wouldn’t stop screaming, begging them to give her another chance—”

There’s a silence out in the garden. I lean my head against the sill, a sour taste in my mouth, and watch Sean’s face. Something solid to hold on to.

“How did they vote?”

“Oh,” says Ophelia. I can tell she doesn’t like the question. “Well, naturally they felt that they couldn’t trust her, and I—I mean, of course they had a long think about it, but I . . . well . . .” I hear the sound of her blowing smoke in a short, ragged burst. “Elsa wavered. She might have voted to save that poor girl. But Adrian and Matthew voted first, and they both voted to get rid of her, so Elsa gave in.”

“What will happen to the guardian who broke the law with her? Prison?”

“I don’t know,” says Ophelia. “But he did break the law. . . .”

Mina Ma lets out a long, sad breath. “I keep hoping, with every trial, that it will change. That they will show mercy to somebody.”

“It’s not about mercy,” says Ophelia. “They can’t make threats and not follow through. They can’t make laws and forgive if the laws are broken.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” says Mina Ma, rather coldly. “Is that what Adrian says?”

“That’s not fair!” Ophelia protests. “They’re doing what they believe is right. Adrian is doing what he believes is right.”

There’s a long, tense silence.

“Come”—Mina Ma’s voice is softer now—“never mind that. You need rest, you haven’t slept, and you’ve driven a long way. Go upstairs, use my room. I will stay with Eva for the rest of the night.”

“Eva?” Ophelia demands in surprise.

“She’s named herself. She says she’s tired of feeling ashamed of not being like normal people. She wants something of her own.”

“Good for her.”

Mina Ma’s voice is stern. “You’ll forget to mention that to the Weavers, won’t you?”

The first trace of a smile creeps into Ophelia’s voice, and I feel a rush of love for her as she says, “Mention what?”

I reach to close the window. Cold creeps up my spine like icy fingertips. The Weavers never show mercy. I lean back against the wall, my leg pressed against Sean’s for warmth, and neither of us moves or says a word for a long time.