“Betrayed? Betrayed by your own body?” Pina touched her arm, a gesture of support. “If it’s any consolation I don’t think you’re the only one . . . I suppose my memory is that bit deeper than yours. Things have been different the last few years. People have been—” She waved her hands vaguely. “—agitated. Every summer the new cadres come up from the downbelow schools, all fresh faces and bright smiles, like fields of flowers. Always charming. There are always one or two who stand out from the crowd.”

“Like me.”

“But in the last few years there have been more.” Pina shrugged. “There are some who say there is trouble with the matres. Perhaps that’s somehow disturbing us all.”

Lucia had only ever heard the word matres a few times in her life. Some called those mysterious figures the mamme-nonne—the mother-grandmothers. She had only the dimmest idea about them. Ignorance is strength—another crèche slogan. You weren’t even supposed to talk about subjects like the matres . . .

She pulled back from Pina. Suddenly it was too much; she was crashing through too many taboo barriers. “I should get back to work,” she said.

“Why don’t you talk to somebody?”

“Who? Nobody would want to know.”

“I don’t mean the girls in your dormitory.” Pina thought briefly. “How about Rosa Poole?”

Lucia knew Rosa, a woman in her forties who had a job in the remoter layers of the Order’s administration. Rosa had lectured Lucia’s classes a few times on aspects of information technology—database design, programming theory.

“Rosa is approachable,” said Pina earnestly. “She would know what you have to do.”

“Do?”

Pina sighed. “Well, to begin with, you’re going to need towels, aren’t you? You have to be practical, dear. And after that . . . Well, I’m not sure—”

“Because it never happened to you.”

Pina kept her face blank, but Lucia, her nerves taut, nevertheless thought she detected a little smugness in her friend’s face. “No, it never did. Which means I’m not much use to you. Rosa might be, though. She’s approachable, for a member of the cupola.” The Order had no hierarchy in theory, but in practice, at any time there was a rough-and-ready chain of command among the senior women, known informally by everybody as the cupola.

“I don’t know, Pina.”

Pina said a little harshly, “You think if you keep it secret it might all go away. You think if you were to talk to someone like Rosa it will make it real.” She looked closely at Lucia. “You think even talking to me about it makes it real, don’t you?”

“Something like that,” Lucia said reluctantly. “This is very difficult.”

Pina said softly, “We can sort this out, Lucia. Don’t be afraid. You’re not alone.”