The Future King: Logres

by Mackworth-Praed, M. L.

  ‘What are you making?’ she called to her mother, as she kicked off her shoes and dumped her bag.

  ‘Apple crumble!’ Eve exclaimed. Gwenhwyfar paused at a flyer that had been wedged between two envelopes. It was ripped. ‘How was school?’

  ‘Fine,’ she replied, scanning the flyer. It read: Do you dream of a free Britain? She wandered through to the kitchen, where her mother’s hands were buried in a bowl of flour. ‘I think I’ll go and get changed.’

  Eve seemed distracted. ‘We’ll be eating a bit later tonight. We have to go and pick the car up from the garage. You don’t mind keeping an eye on the supper, do you?’

  ‘Just let me know when.’ Gwenhwyfar vanished up the stairs.

  Once she’d changed into something more comfortable, she settled down on her bed. Her room was beginning to feel a little more homely now that some of the boxes were gone and all her furniture was in place. It wasn’t as big as her old bedroom, but it was definitely cosier, and she had a nice view of their small garden and the large townhouses beyond.

  She examined the flyer again.

  Do you dream of a free Britain?

  Many like you have decided to fight for a life free of repression, observation and poverty.

  Many like you are tired of living under a government that we did not vote for.

  Many like you want freedom, prosperity and independence.

  If you think a free Britain is for you, join the revolutionary cause. If you think freedom is for you, join Free Countries.

  Rising against the regime.

  Thoughtfully, Gwenhwyfar booted up her computer. The small device activated just as her phone beeped at her, presenting a message from Viola.

  Feel like going to the cinema on Sunday night?

  She tapped her thumb quickly over the touch-screen and messaged back, sure, what time?, then sat down. The torn flyer lay before her. She accessed the Internet, typing in a few key words to examine the results. The first page rendered little. The second, too, had nothing of interest, and so she tried again but with different words. Free Countries brought up scarcely anything, and Revolutionary Cause produced too much. Eventually, she tried typing each word with Rebels. This time she had some success.

  The fourth website down on the second page seemed like a promising source. Curiosity caused her to click. When she did, the entire text from the flyer flashed up on screen. It was a simple site, with black font on a white background. Gwenhwyfar scrolled down until she no longer recognised it.

  What do we believe?

  We at Free Countries believe in the right to choose our leaders, the right to freedom of speech, and in the importance of protecting human rights.

  We at Free Countries believe in independence from a no-longer-united Kingdom.

  We at Free Countries believe that the New Nationals are abusing their governmental powers, and that George Milton has no intention of ever holding his long-overdue elections.

  We believe in a free Britain.

  How do I join Free Countries?

  If you complete the security check, Free Countries will contact you anonymously with further details.

  This website is a smart site and only appears to non-governmental, safe networks.

  Please don’t forget to click the ‘erase’ button at the bottom of this page to wipe your browser history and evidence of your visit to Free Countries.

  Thank you for your interest in our cause.

  Alarmed, Gwenhwyfar pressed the button immediately. The page vanished. She checked her browser history; it wasn’t there. Neither was any indication that her computer had been connected to the address at all. Curiously, and with Free Countries’ promise in mind, she checked her email, but there was nothing new. By the time her parents left for the garage she was shopping online, and had to force herself to complete some homework. The rest of the evening passed by quickly, her mind preoccupied with the words of the website. Before bed she realised that she’d left the flyer out on her desk, so she ripped it up into small pieces, and then flushed it down the toilet.

  * * *

  ‘Garan! Gwenhwyfar! Good to see you.’

  It was Saturday afternoon. Gwenhwyfar’s uncle came into the room, his arms stretched wide. Garan caught him in a firm handshake.

  ‘Hello George,’ he said, his claim that their relatives were causing him a great inconvenience by visiting forgotten. ‘Glad you could make it.’

  They released one another, and then Gwenhwyfar was engulfed in a padded, affectionate hug. The moment she was free her aunt had taken hold of her.

  ‘Aunt Melissa,’ she said, with due enthusiasm. ‘It’s so good to see you. What do you think of the house?’

  ‘It is lovely, isn’t it?’ Melissa replied, admiring the furnishings and then the high ceiling. ‘It’s a great space. Lots of light.’

  ‘I love the front,’ George told them, hovering in the middle of the kitchen. ‘The brickwork is very handsome. What’s the neighbourhood like?’

  ‘Good. So far the neighbours seem friendly enough. Most people keep themselves to themselves,’ Eve told him, moving in for a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘It was like that when we first moved in too,’ Melissa told them. ‘People will warm to you, once they realise you’re here to stay.’

  ‘So are you all settled in?’ asked George.

  ‘Basically. There’s still a few boxes of old stuff in the attic that I need to go through, but everything else is unpacked.’ Eve sat down. ‘Would either of you like a drink?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely.’ Melissa joined her sister at the kitchen table. ‘George?’

  ‘Coffee for me, thank you.’

  Garan, still at the counter, went to boil the kettle.

  ‘So where’s Grace?’ Eve asked. ‘At home?’

  ‘No, she’s here.’ Melissa turned in her seat, and frowned at the door. ‘Grace?’

  ‘She said she was getting something from the boot,’ George explained.

  ‘She was supposed to be going out with her friends this afternoon. I said she could postpone it, this once.’ Melissa sighed. ‘Grace!’

  ‘I’m coming!’

  The front door slammed, and soon Gwenhwyfar’s cousin was in the room, observing them all resentfully.

  Gwenhwyfar hadn’t seen her since Grace was about eight. Her last memory of her younger cousin was the impressive waterworks she had displayed whilst out on a hack in the Welsh countryside, after being told that she couldn’t ride Eve’s horse. Worn down by the screaming, Eve had allowed her to sit up front with her on her eighteen-hander with the pony tethered close; only for Grace to kick the poor beast in the shoulders, spooking the Shire and sending her spurned ride galloping off across the hillside. It was later found wandering alongside a motorway after a long hunt to track it down.

  Grace was thirteen now, and could still be mistaken for Gwenhwyfar’s sister. Her hair was auburn and her chin was squarer, but it was the freckles she had inherited from George that really marked the two cousins apart—her face was peppered with them.

  ‘Hello Grace,’ Garan said, much too sweetly. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No.’ Adding a quick ‘thank you’ as an afterthought, Grace went to sit at the end of the kitchen table, away from her parents. Gwenhwyfar sat at the breakfast bar and observed as Grace produced her phone and scrolled through it.

  ‘We meant to come by sooner, but things have been so busy at the firm,’ Melissa said, taking the hot tea off Garan. ‘We’re working on a new case. Tell them about Roehill, George.’

  ‘We’re trying to claim compensation and a better settle price for houses that are no longer habitable due to repeated flooding along the Thames,’ George explained as Garan handed him his coffee. ‘The argument is that the government hasn’t done enough to prevent flooding in the area. The clients and property owners are hoping to claim under negligence.’

  ‘And would that be the New Nationals you’re suing, then?’ Garan asked with interest. Eve shot him a l
ook.

  ‘No, it’s the Department for Environment and the Ministry of Defence,’ George explained. ‘It’s a big case. We’re only involved with the property side. They have others working on it too. They’re going all out.’

  ‘None of this would be happening if the area wasn’t largely owned by property developers. Many of the houses are rentals, but at least this way the independent homeowners might see some compensation.’ Melissa sipped at her tea. ‘There’s a chance the court may just grant an injunction, which wouldn’t be a bad thing either.’

  ‘What’s an injunction?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.

  ‘An injunction means they’d have to intervene to prevent the problem from happening in the future,’ she explained.

  ‘I thought the New Nationals were supposed to have a good hold on climate change?’ Eve frowned.

  ‘You can’t control the weather,’ George disputed, ‘but you can cause over-saturation through poor land management. And it’s a historical case. Yes, the New Nationals are supposedly getting a handle on climate change now, but previous governments didn’t do enough.’

  ‘I’m surprised this isn’t a problem elsewhere in the country,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked.

  ‘Oh, it is. Cities have taken the right precautions, but in many cases that means dams upstream which flood rural areas. It’s the coastal towns that are the problem. Many are now below sea level and are relying on dykes. I rather feel they should just relocate further inland, if possible. Or look at some of these land-reclaiming projects they have going, you know, like they used to do in Singapore.’

  ‘Except then you leave massive holes in the earth elsewhere,’ Melissa pointed out, looking to George. ‘Really, I don’t know why anyone would buy on anything other than a very high hill these days. Can you imagine what would happen if the dams and dykes in London failed?’

  There was a moment’s silence. Gwenhwyfar could tell that her father was holding his tongue.

  ‘I’m making tortillas tonight,’ Eve announced. She turned to her sister. ‘Would you like to stay for dinner?’

  ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ Melissa beamed. ‘Grace? What do you think?’

  Grace pouted. ‘But I said I’d meet Josey at six.’

  ‘You can always see her tomorrow,’ George suggested.

  ‘I already had to change my plans once today,’ Grace huffed. She turned to her mother. ‘Can’t Dad just drive me home? You can have dinner here, if you want.’

  ‘Grace, I don’t think that’s entirely practical,’ Melissa started, her voice low.

  ‘You don’t have to stay. Some other time, maybe?’ interjected Garan.

  ‘No, we’d love to stay for dinner,’ George said firmly. He looked to Grace. ‘Wouldn’t we?’ Grace said nothing. ‘Grace?’

  ‘Fine,’ she muttered.

  ‘Shall we do a tour?’ Gwenhwyfar stood up, and the tension in the room dissolved. George and Melissa were keen, so she led the Swan family upstairs to explore the rest of the house, showing them everything but Garan’s office.

  Grace didn’t stay for dinner. George drove her home and then came back just in time for supper. Afterwards, he and Melissa left early to pick Grace up from her friend’s house. Gwenhwyfar marvelled that her cousin’s brattish tactics had won the day, but her parents seemed happy to let it pass without comment.

  * * *

  On Sunday evening Gwenhwyfar went with Viola to the cinema, where she received a full account of the test shoot the day before. Viola went into detail about everything, from what she’d worn right down to her specific poses and facial expressions. When Gwenhwyfar tried to mimic them, the interplay became so absurd that they both fell apart laughing. Afterwards she made Viola promise to take her to any modelling parties, insisting that she should get first refusal if Viola was ever given any extra free clothes.

  Monday morning was soon upon her again. They were gathered in their tutor room early, and Bedivere was explaining to them both how Arthur had apologised over the weekend.

  ‘Turns out he’s found out all about it, at last,’ he commented, enjoying his new place at their table. ‘Marvin told him. Annoying, given he wouldn’t listen to us.’

  ‘I wonder if he’ll apologise to me?’ Viola mused, her chin propped in her upturned hand. ‘He had a real go at me when I tried to explain everything to him.’

  ‘He did say that he would,’ Bedivere assured her. He turned to Gwenhwyfar. ‘I also asked him about Morgan. What was it you heard, again?’

  ‘That he’s going to ask her out,’ Gwenhwyfar said. ‘Though admittedly, it’s Emily who said it.’ She exchanged a glance with Viola. ‘So what did he say?’

  Bedivere shrugged. ‘Nothing much really, but I definitely got the feeling that as far as he’s concerned, they’re just friends.’

  A few other students were beginning to find their way into the classroom, Morgan included. She glanced over to their table as she passed, and seemed to reflect over something, but then she adopted her usual seat and produced her sketchbook in silence.

  ‘God, when are they going to call?’

  ‘Who?’ Bedivere asked.

  ‘Her agency,’ Gwenhwyfar explained. ‘She had a test shoot on Saturday.’

  ‘For a modelling agency,’ Viola interjected. ‘I’m waiting to see the pictures. They’ll only put me on their books if they like them. They looked all right when they took them, but you can never tell with that sort of thing.’

  ‘Still, you said that the photographer seemed really positive,’ Gwenhwyfar reminded her. She turned to Bedivere. ‘She’s just paranoid.’

  Miss Ray strode into the room, keys and papers in one hand, her coffee and I.D. badge in the other. ‘Gwen?’ she called, setting her things down at her desk. ‘I’ve just spoken with the principal. I’m afraid that he wants to see you in his office, before first period.’

  She twisted around in her chair. ‘What for?’

  ‘He didn’t say. It’s all right, you won’t miss the register—I’ll mark you in as present.’

  She didn’t really feel like facing another meeting on her own. It must have shown, because Viola and Bedivere both looked to her with concern.

  ‘Do you want one of us to go with you?’ Viola offered.

  She doubted that such a prospect was an option. ‘It’s all right. I’ll see you both at break.’

  ‘And History,’ Bedivere reminded her. They waved at her as she slipped into the corridor, and she wondered how well they would get along in her absence.

  * * *

  ‘Miss Taliesin. I’m glad you could join me.’

  Reluctant to go into his office, Gwenhwyfar hovered by the door, her hand squeezing the strap of her rucksack. Eventually she plucked up the courage to enter, and sat down stiffly. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dr Ravioli began. ‘First of all, I have spoken to your father. I would like to assure you that I am looking into the breach in confidentiality that has occurred at this school. As it is, Mr Caledonensis had already informed me of the situation. I can assure you that Mr Hall won’t be present for any of our future meetings.’

  Gwenhwyfar nodded, knowing that the damage had already been done. The principal glanced down to his desk for a moment, fingering the fountain pen that lay across his papers.

  ‘I’ve also come to a decision regarding the incident. Now, I want you to understand that these are just precautions that the school is taking. If you feel the need to involve the police, you’re free to do so, but I think we both understand that’s not necessarily the best way to proceed.’

  Gwenhwyfar knew he was right, in this case, as far as the particulars involving the solution went. She also knew that she did not like being told what to do. ‘Yes, well, I think I’ll be the judge of that.’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed.

  ‘So what’s the verdict? Are they going to be expelled?’

  ‘Not quite. I’ve decided that three days’ suspension is best.’

  ‘Suspensio
n?’

  ‘Unfortunately, expelling a student isn’t so straightforward. There has to be a good reason, prior concerns, and all four students have merits that make them worthy of a second chance.’

  ‘Like what? Rich parents?’ Gwenhwyfar snapped. ‘Hector’s done this sort of thing before. Why should he get another chance?’

  ‘You’re lucky that I’ve decided to rule in your favour. Had I simply taken their word over yours, it would be you and Mr Greenstone-Jones who would be facing suspension.’ He leant forward, and offered her another one of his crocodile smiles. ‘I can assure you that I’ve taken none of this lightly.’

  ‘No?’ she retorted.

  His countenance suddenly darkened. ‘No. This will go on their permanent records. Which, might I add, will be very detrimental to this school’s reputation.’

  He looked pointedly at her, as if this was her fault. Brimming with rage, Gwenhwyfar said nothing.

  ‘I thought I should inform you of this now so that you know where Browne, Stone, Mulberry and Rose are, and why they will be absent from school this week. I have also insisted that they apologise. Is that acceptable to you, Miss Taliesin?’

  Gwenhwyfar never wanted to speak to any of them again. Eventually she nodded. She felt she could do little else.

  ‘Very well. Now, it might be a good idea if you get to class.’

  The bell rang on cue. Eager to separate herself from his company, Gwenhwyfar hurried to join the stream of students ambling through the corridors.

  She was a little late by the time she made it to Mr Caledonensis’ room. Bedivere and Arthur were both talking as she found her seat, and though Morgan seemed to be working in her exercise book, she was clearly listening. Only when Gwenhwyfar sat down did she realise that the other girl was sketching something in the book margins: a woman in a medieval gown.