Yarn (24 page)

"There are two floors," she whispered. "Your room is here." She unbuttoned a door that led to a small cabin. "Tomorrow, when it's light, and you've had some rest, I'll show you around."

Beside a narrow mattress on the floor sat a low table, holding a nano-denier crochet bowl filled with what looked like steaming water.

"There's linens and clothes for you in the closet. We don't have running water and when we're traveling-especially near cities-it's lights out. It might take you some getting used to the airborne movements, the feel of the ship, the turbulence. And there's not much heat, but we can talk about that later." She eyed me. "You should clean up before that gets cold. I've left some food here. Sleep well. I'll see you in the galley for breakfast." She then stood and her expression seemed to vacillate between anticipation and hesitation. She then said, "Welcome," leaned in, kissed me on the mouth, and was gone.

I stood for a long moment savoring the lingering warmth and moisture of her lips. She had saved my life. I wanted to laugh, but just then the floor shuddered, and the bowl with the water would have spilled had I not leapt at it. After I had washed and changed into a simple pair of red pants, a button-down shirt, I ate, felt incredibly sleepy, and crawled into bed.

When I woke, it took me a moment to remember where I was. I heard distant laughter. Unbuttoning my door, I stepped into the hallway and followed the sounds.

Up a spiral oilcloth stairs, I found the ship's galley where five sat around a table. Their conversation and laughter stopped as soon as I entered, and when I swallowed, I was sure they could all hear. As Vada smiled and stood, I was overcome by the childish disappointment that I wouldn't have her all to myself.

"Good morning. You look rested."

"Thanks, I feel better."

She introduced the others. At the far end sat Xavier. Gregg, his first mate, sat to his right. Haas, who I almost never saw after that first meal, was the cook. He sat next to Gregg. Vada was on the other side of the table. Marti, the captain's boy-a young woman-was nearest the door.

Gregg glared at me with what seemed like preemptive loathing. Marti didn't look up from her bowl, but sat with her spoon hovering before her mouth like she was waiting for someone else to speak. Haas stood and rushed past. Xavier looked at me blankly. His right arm and his right eye were missing, and the flesh of his face was lumpy as muffin dough. Beneath his bare pate, his mouth now twisted to the side in a permanent snarl. I quickly glanced away.

"They just left him there in the mud!" said Vada. Gregg harrumphed displeasure. "Come in… Come in!" She waved me toward her. As I wedged myself into the chair beside her, she patted my shoulder once.

"He shouldn't be here," Gregg muttered.

"He
is
," replied Vada, staring him down.

"Could have got you both killed," added Marti, finally downing that spoonful of stew.

"He has as much right to be aboard as either of you two halfbreeds!" Vada closed her eyes for a beat, gathering herself. "And it was not his fault. Caam was talking too much, and Ffem, bless her bones, was also linked and slaughtered. Our cell broke too many rules and procedures."

Gregg cocked his head to the side. "But he's the enemy!"

"Shush!" said Vada, who glanced at Xavier for an instant. "I will have no more of that! He's with us! Treat him with the respect you do all crew members."

I held my head up and tried to smile, but I wondered if I should be here, if I even wanted to be here-if I would last.

"He can help." Xavier's voice, which had been as full and deep as an oak, now sounded like a twig scratching a windowpane. Frowning-or snarling less-which seemed the best he could do-he held up his remaining hand and the two gnarled finger stumps. "I can no longer sew."

I glanced at Vada and the long red-and-white-striped jamdani robe she wore. Was Xavier saying that he had made it and the rest of her costumes?

Marti stood and left the room. As the rest of us sat in silence, I had just enough time to wonder how I had offended her before she surprised me by returning with a bowl of dark soup and a spoon, which she set before me. I thanked her, receiving just a grunt in response, but I sensed the beginnings of a grudging acceptance.

"You have to understand how protective they are," Vada said quietly when we were alone in her room that evening. After I ate, I napped the whole day. Now it was dark, but light from the three-quarter moon filtered through the layers of fabric of the dirigible above us to hazily illuminate the curves of her face and the open pages of her writing book.

"Were they with you in Seattlehama?"

"This ship was folded and put away." She eyed me. "They were working with another cell, but they got news every few minutes."

I lowered my voice to a whisper since I had found that the oilcloth walls of the ship didn't absorb much. "What happened to Xavier?"

"Yes… that…" Her voice cracked. She shook her head and started again. "We're just thankful he's alive. They hurt him badly. He's got all sorts of internal problems too. They used dark Xi."

"I've heard of that, but what is it?"

"There's pure and dark Xi. They're almost identical yarns, but are treated differently. The-" she stopped again. "I'm sorry I just, I can't talk about it."

We were lying across her wide bed, our heads propped up on the pillows, our legs loosely intertwined. Vada untangled herself and stood.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"Everything is upsetting!" she said loudly. "Everything is going wrong. And don't think that you're the only one to blame!" She tossed an arm at the door. "They want to lay it at your feet, but that's not right. It's all of us and all of our incompetence and our pettiness and our lousy tactics!"

I had lots of questions, but didn't dare ask.

Vada sat with her back to me. "Everything unraveled."

"How long was I… out?"

"You were in a suspension coma for two months."

"Two months?" I had figured it had been only a few weeks.

"Miss Bunné pinned the Izadora murder on Xavier and me. And because we're deadly, horrible Toue, in the ensuing panic, she disbanded the city's Fashion Board so that there's no opposition. Bunné is in complete control. And like the peons they are, the rest of those horse-hairless CEOs are all going along. The Toue have been flushed out and the tourists are coming and spending."

"I knew that drap-de-Berry thing was bad, but when nothing happened, I just hoped it would all go away."

"When the satins followed you to the entervator Keep when you came to see us, they made it into a grand Toue conspiracy."

The ship rocked gently, and then began to move in a slow wide turn.

"Why are you illegal?"

"Basically my very talented and proud ancestors couldn't get along with anyone. We've been labeled and hated."

Vit's words came to mind when he and Withor were accusing me of Izadora's murder:
Corn boy slubber
. The words felt like they burned my skin. I wanted to bash him. While the satins chased me down, he and Withor had watched like it was a sport. "Bunné makes the satin's clothes," I said with a sad laugh. I had seen the perfect stitching on the cuffs and pockets. "Their suits were beautifully tailored."

Vada snorted angrily. "Her personal army of cut men." The way she spoke, it almost sounded like a slogan. "A lot of them are recruited from the slubs. And she's got colonies all the way down to Antarctica now." Vada stopped and looked up. Through the ceiling and the ballonets, we could see a white moon.

"What do you mean,
cut men
?"

"Bunné's a castrator." She gazed at me sadly. "Even of herself. She's got a love-hate relationship with the male organ." Vada twisted her mouth left and then right. "Mostly hate, I suppose."

"Like that epic of hers with Warrior Remon called
Sensitive Dead Penisless Boys
."

Vada rolled her eyes. "Right! And the real shame about Bunné is that she's brilliant and fascinating and wonderful-if morbid, crazy, and deadly. In many ways she… well, she
was
a wonderful person." She stared ahead, lost in thought. "She's one of those rare geniuses in history. When she was five she was weaving jacquard, building electronics, and composing music." Her voice lost its edge and volume. "I haven't seen her in years. But, from what I've heard, she's not the same person."

"How do you know her?"

"Know thy enemy." She didn't continue.

"Why did you want me to rip a yarn from her?"

"Xavier came up with the idea. She's turned herself and her clothes into her own data-processing repository. Somehow if you could have gotten close and had taken a yarn, we might have gotten something very useful."

I feared Vada wouldn't be happy about what I was about to say, but I wanted to tell her everything this time. "I went to her store."

Her eyes darted toward me. "Whose?"

"Miss Bunné."

"What happened? Was she there? Did you see her? Did she see you?"

"No. It wasn't anything." I shrugged. "A saleswarrior just took me around."

Vada grit her teeth. "Just a saleswarrior?"

"And two others."

Vada closed her eyes-had I ruined everything, again? "Documenters?" she asked. "One had a light-gathering wand?"

"Yeah, but all I did was buy a shirt." I remembered the beads pressing into the flesh of the saleswarrior's throat, her face going white. "I just bought a mini-T that said
Bunné Hurts.
" The ice of panic filled my chest. "I had the mini-T in my pocket when the satins got me!" In that instant I finally awoke. "And the yarn from my father! I forgot about it! It was in my pocket too!" It felt as if my spleen had been torn from my gut.

"We recovered them."

I could hardly breathe for the relief. Her words were salve. "Where are they? Do you have them?" When she didn't immediately answer, I said, "I'm sorry about going to her boutique."

"No." Vada frowned thoughtfully. "It doesn't sound too bad. As long as she didn't see you." She motioned toward the hallway. "The things are in your room. I thought you'd found them already."

I stood and stepped to her door. "I just need to see my father's yarn."

"Look for a twill bag in the bottom of your closet."

I started to unbutton the door.

"Tane," she said, "you're
absolutely
sure you didn't meet Bunné? And there wasn't anything unusual about shopping, was there?"

I told myself that a saleswarrior almost choking to death wasn't rare. "No." I stopped unbuttoning. "Why?"

Vada pursed her lips. "If she recognized you… if she saw you again… she would almost certainly strike." She gazed at me apprehensively. As I opened her door, she said, "And I need a costume designer."

"What?"

"It's my weakness," she pouted playfully. "My one real weakness. I love clothes. And no offense, but I don't want any of those creepy skivvé with dicks and balls! I want beautiful, gorgeous, luxurious, and wonderful things."

Her unabashed greediness made me laugh. As absurd as it was, mingled with my horrifying memories, such frivolity seemed a release. I found myself answering, "I can do that." The last thing Zanella had told me was: design for women next. A wash of gratitude filled me. "I'd love to… I'd be honored to."

"I need a new costume for each show." She held up her hands as though I had protested or was about to. "I know! The vanity… the narcissism… Well, there's that, but I've found that it keeps the show fresh. And the costumes are not really so new. We recycle old ones and use every scrap, so you'll have to be inventive and resourceful."

"Shows?"

She blinked at me with theatrical surprise. "Good gracious, lovely shopping consumer, of course we're still doing our shows! And over the years, I've done many more shows in the slubs than in the cities. These are the people who really deserve some…" She paused as she thought of a word. "
Entertainment
."

PERFORMANCES IN RAM-POOR, MANIRA, SHI-ON, ZAK3, K'KOM

We flew mostly at night and stopped in clearings, muddy fields, or the crazed macadam of former parking lots early in the morning. While turbulent near-crashes seemed to be Xavier's specialty, all that we suffered were small abrasions, popped seams, spilled soups, and bruised elbows. Once landed, we would spend most of the day assembling the stage and getting ready. At dusk we would put on a show. In the darkness we would pack up and sail off.

Since Xavier's voice wasn't strong, Gregg did the barking. He also sang and accompanied himself on a crank electro-static harmonium. Marti wore flash pants, juggled glass spheres and knives, and sometimes told funny bawdy stories. But of course, the star of the show was Vada. She told fortunes, sang ballads, danced, stripped, told jokes, and ate fire.

I never tired of watching her, and now that I was living and sleeping with her, I saw and understood her performances differently. She gave of herself on stage in a way that she didn't-and probably couldn't-in the rest of her life. It was like a switch turned and the only emotions that came through were pleasure, happiness, and power. It wasn't that she was unhappy the rest of the time, but when onstage, the enthusiasm that radiated from her was like heat from glowing coils. Often the best moment of the day was when she would come to me at the side of the stage after a show, exhausted, but smelling of lilac and sweat.

"The audiences are so quiet," I complained after one of her first shows in a dusty, forlorn place called Ram-Poor. "It's like they're dead."

"It's the slubs," she said. "Multiply their response by ten." She exhaled deeply and laughed. "I'm telling you, they absolutely loved it."

"Well," I said, kissing her, "I did."

She pushed me away and whispered, "Not in front of the others!"

Each evening, once we were airborne, Vada and I would retire to her room for a fitting. She would strip to her foundation, and I would carefully drape and pin the various parts and pieces I was working on. As I made my adjustments, she, unstitched from the day, put her hair up in spools, and massaged in her face creams.