About Sisterland by Martina Devlin Read Free Book Online Page B

prefer daughters.
    Constance showered, and patted transcendent gel over her face to protect it from drying out under her skin. Otherwise, there was a risk of faces becoming spongy. You saw it occasionally in forgetful sisters, but they only had themselves to blame. Next, she fell to considering which set of tunic and leggings to wear. Dresses were worn for ceremonial occasions, but she didn’t put mating in that bracket. She supposed her outfit ought to be something that wouldn’t get spoiled. At the thought of how it might get stained, she felt damp and overheated. But the obedience habit asserted itself, and she dressed quickly, pulling on her favourite boots – a long pair in stretchy mesh. Without stopping to check her appearance, she caught up her skin and left the twoser.
    As she walked along, she stroked Silence’s moon charm for luck. It kept her company on the pavement decorated with seahorses and other fish that led to the Tower. And here she was already. A metal arm extended from the building, from which dangled a sign shaped like a castle. She supposed it was intended to appear inviting. The dome-shaped door opened, side-to-side in the old-fashioned way, and a woman drifted out into the night air. She looked dazed. An older woman stepped out from the doorway opposite, where she had been waiting, and led her away.
    The door was still swinging on its hinges when Constance entered. Inside stood a young woman in the domino-checked tabard and tights of a medieval page.
    “Good evening, sister. Welcome to the Tower. I’m Unity, your greeter. Identify yourself, please.”
    “Constance 500.”
    She consulted a screen. “We’ve been expecting you. Please sig in.”
    Constance raised her hand, and the pinkified φ symbol on her inner wrist throbbed and became lambent. The greeter swiped an icon on the screen, and another woman approached, also in that anachronistic black-and-white uniform.
    “This is our sister’s first time – make sure the Mating Mother knows,” said Unity. She turned back to Constance. “Be fertile, sister.”
    The second woman led her along a hallway, as far as an imposing double staircase. Flurries of chatter and laughter gusted out from the right. Taken aback by the noise, uncharacteristic in Sisterland, Constance looked left – an inviting area of quiet.
    But the attendant shook her head. “You don’t go there till later.”
    “Is that where it happens?” asked Constance.
    “Wait and see.” She pushed a button on the wall by the stairs, and a drawer slid out. It was blocked off into compartments, most of them containing a skin. “Check in your skin, please.” Constance unclasped it. “You’ll need to collect the skin again when you proceed to the mating floor. This way, sister. Here’s the readying room.”
    She pointed right, and Constance found herself on the threshold of an ornate reception room. What she saw dazzled her. It resembled the interior of a castle, in so far as she could judge by pictures in books. Ahead of her was a sunken room, three steps leading down into a dramatic space. Candles glowed from sconces set high on walls made from slabs of stone, while gargoyles in alcoves grimaced, leered and licked their lips. Tapestries depicted flower-strewn meadows and lush orchards, some with unicorns, others with lions or stags. In paintings with gilded frames there were maidens in rooms similar to the one where Constance stood, open-mouthed. They wore flowing gowns and had blossoms threaded through their hair. Some strummed musical instruments, while others were dancing, or playing games. Pewter statues of mythical beasts reared up around the room, and earthenware pots held a profusion of tall flowers she couldn’t identify. Their scent was intoxicating – perhaps they were a newly manufactured species. From the ceiling was suspended a blazing candelabra and, against one wall, a fire roared in a massive fireplace.
    It was the fire which restored Constance to her