The Future King: Logres

by Mackworth-Praed, M. L.

  Arthur was the only one who didn’t look at him blankly.

  ‘Well, I have a copy of it upstairs somewhere. If you give me a moment I’ll go and fetch it. That can be your homework for this week: reading.’

  As Marvin vacated the room, Arthur took another sip from his glass, savouring the taste. The burning of the alcohol no longer seemed so intense. Bedivere surveyed the towering books, his eyes wide with wonder.

  ‘Where did he get all of this stuff?’ he whispered. ‘Do you know?’

  Arthur shook his head, and sucked the wine off his bottom lip. ‘I didn’t get the chance to ask. He must have got most of it abroad.’

  ‘He can’t have gone to each country to get each thing he has,’ Bedivere contested, frowning. He strained to get a peek of the littered hallway.

  ‘It would be impressive if he had,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m pretty sure that a stuffed duck-billed platypus isn’t allowed to leave Australia.’

  ‘Where was that?’ Bedivere asked quietly.

  ‘By the stairs.’

  He leant back in his chair. ‘He must have bought it somewhere,’ he concluded.

  ‘Maybe they’re all antiques? The stag belonged to his great-great-grandfather, but I don’t know about the bison skull. It’s not like the US will just let anyone in, and if you get a travel visa they make sure you only leave with what you came in with.’

  ‘I didn’t see that either,’ complained Bedivere.

  ‘It was by Rudolph,’ Arthur remarked, his eyes trailing the wall of books behind his friend. ‘It was on a plaque with an American flag, so I’m assuming it was a bison.’

  ‘What is a bison, anyway?’

  ‘You know, a buffalo.’

  Morgan was being quiet. Arthur had listened in on her interaction with Gwenhwyfar in History yesterday afternoon, and though he had heard Gwenhwyfar make countless attempts to strike up conversation, the effort had indeed been wholly one-sided, a point he’d had to yield to today during Science. ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded, her long fingers tightly wound around the stem of her wineglass.

  ‘You should drink that, you know. Marvin says it’s expensive.’

  ‘But I don’t like it,’ she murmured, her cheeks pink. She looked to the door apprehensively. ‘Can’t one of you just down it? I don’t want to seem rude.’

  ‘Drink it then,’ Bedivere said. ‘I saw you spit back out into it.’

  ‘Excuse me if I’m not comfortable with my History teacher getting me drunk.’ He rolled his eyes. Morgan retaliated by pulling a face. Her gaze then settled on Arthur. ‘Do you want it?’ she whispered.

  ‘Not particularly,’ he frowned.

  ‘Please?’

  Arthur looked to Bedivere. ‘You really can’t just drink it?’ She shook her head. Roughly, and a little irritated, he sighed. ‘Fine. Give it here, then. If I must.’

  Bedivere made a face as Arthur gulped it down, coughing and spluttering as some of it went the wrong way. ‘Backwash,’ Bedivere said with a sound of disgust.

  ‘It’s not like I’ve got anything,’ Morgan hissed at him. Arthur slid the glass back across the table. As she took it off him, their fingers touched. He withdrew his hand sharply. ‘Besides, I can’t stay long,’ she added. ‘I have an exam tonight.’

  ‘You do? For what?’

  ‘Singing,’ she replied, looking to Bedivere with her arms firmly crossed. ‘So wine is the last thing I need right now. I should be practising.’

  Faint thuds and footsteps could be heard from the rooms upstairs. It was already dark outside, and Marvin had long since closed the heavy, Victorian-style curtains that were decorated with the antique designs of William Morris.

  ‘Go then, if you’re so worried. Arthur and I will finish the wine, won’t we, Arthur?’

  He felt he’d already had too much as it was, and said so, only the words seemed to tumble out of his mouth like drunken acrobats. His next sip went down more easily. Bedivere looked up at the ceiling at another mighty thud.

  ‘What’s taking him so long?’

  ‘Maybe we should go and check?’ Arthur suggested, though he made no effort to rise. Shortly footsteps sounded back down the stairs, and Marvin was with them again, looking flushed.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he apologised. ‘I found one copy but the other wasn’t where I left it.’ He gave one each to Bedivere and Morgan. ‘Ah! Finished already, I see?’ He picked up Morgan’s glass. ‘Would you like some more?’

  ‘Actually, I think Morgan’s had enough,’ Arthur announced, when he realised she wasn’t going to object. ‘She’s got an exam, later.’

  ‘An exam?’ Marvin looked to her with interest. ‘Is this for your singing?’

  Morgan nodded. ‘I have to leave early, I’m afraid. I can’t be late.’

  ‘A shame! Let’s not waste any more time, then.’ He frowned at Arthur’s empty hands. ‘What am I going to give you? Animal Farm, perhaps?’

  ‘I’ve already read it,’ Arthur confessed. ‘I felt particularly sorry for Boxer.’

  ‘As did I,’ Marvin remarked. ‘But I trust you’re still on the other read I lent you?’ Arthur nodded. ‘Well, perhaps you can keep going with that. Or refresh yourself with 1984 instead. We’ll be discussing it next week.’

  ‘You mean we have to finish this in a week?’ Bedivere asked, flicking through the discoloured pages.

  ‘It’s only a book,’ Morgan told him. ‘I could read it in an evening.’

  ‘Now!’ Marvin interjected. ‘You must all be wondering why I invited you here. Well, you know why you’re here, Arthur; and I assume you’ve explained a little about the club to our members—’

  ‘We’re looking at alternative truths, right?’ Bedivere asked. ‘The darker side to Britain, and all that.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Bedivere, we shall cover that. We shall look at Europe, why we left and why ultimately the EU was disbanded; we shall look at the tragic situation in the United States, and we shall look at the abandonment of the Commonwealth states and the blight of Indonesia. But as well as that we shall also be looking closer to home, at our own histories, and I use the plural intentionally; at the rising rebels in the old Celtic countries, at the redefinition of New National Britain’s borders, and at our absolute ruler himself, George Milton, who thus far has used all his electoral power to claw hold of democratic immunity, whose Party has long since been a change-hand, change-face game of musical chairs with the same policies and people from one party to the next. This brings me to my former point of why I invited you here: because I believe that you three are the smartest, the most open, the most questioning, and that you will benefit most from hearing things from an alternative viewpoint—not always my own, and not always comfortable—that the three of you may one day take what you have learned here and remember it when the world darkens, and this country truly forgets that which it once was.’

  There was a deep silence. Even Arthur, who was used to Marvin’s tangential speeches, was momentarily confounded, and in the quiet that followed he observed Bedivere to see what he thought of this side to their teacher. His eyes then slipped to Morgan, and he was surprised to find that she was transfixed.

  ‘But I must stress to all of you, it is my job at risk in doing this, my life at stake. So when you speak of this, speak only amongst yourselves, and tell no one what it is we discuss here. Understood?’

  There was a series of dumbstruck nods of consent. Bedivere cleared his throat with a small cough.

  ‘And here I thought this was just going to be an extracurricular History club,’ he joked.

  Morgan’s phone beeped. She jumped to her feet and looked to Marvin apologetically. ‘Sorry, I have to go. Are we still doing this next week?’

  Marvin nodded. ‘If you’re willing to come.’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  He grinned at her, and followed her out of the room to fetch her coat. Bedivere left soon after, and then it was just Arthur, watching the clock apprehensively and mind
ful of his need to get home.

  ‘I don’t think Morgan took to the wine, do you?’ Marvin remarked, as he rejoined Arthur at the depleted table. There were twelve seats, ten of which now sat empty, though most of the chairs were squashed together in a space which was definitely too small. ‘I suppose it could be quite distressing to be encouraged to break the law, but I didn’t really think of it at the time. Do you think she minds?’

  ‘I think she was just concerned about holding a sober slur for her music exam,’ Arthur grinned, rubbing the brim of his empty glass with his thumb. ‘I don’t think she took to the taste, either.’

  ‘I did say that it takes some getting used to.’ Leaning back into the soft leather of his chair, Marvin cradled his wine in his palm. ‘I think we wasted most of our time coming up with The Round Table. So how are you finding The Human Condition?’

  ‘Good. I’m not reading it in the right order, though. I’m on the chapter exploring the need for social hierarchies at the moment.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s a good one,’ Marvin reminisced. Suddenly he leant towards Arthur and set his drink aside. ‘Now, before you go, I was hoping to gauge your interest in something. Do you remember that conversation we had before the summer holidays? When you asked about going into politics?’

  Arthur nodded.

  ‘There’s an emerging political party that’s looking for people to join: young applicants in particular. They’re too small for the current government to worry about.’ He got to his feet and went to the desk in the corner of the room, which was surrounded by stacks of boxes and files. ‘Their policies are relatively safe. It’ll be a good thing to have on your record, especially if you’re still thinking of applying for a scholarship.’ He scribbled something down and passed it to him. ‘All you have to do is hand out leaflets and get to know the people higher up. You’ll have to complete voluntary service for the New Nationals, to counter your unfriendly interest, but if you’re keen you can then apply to be a prospective parliamentary candidate.’

  Arthur took the paper from him and read Marvin’s messy handwriting as best he could. It read, The Eco Party.

  ‘The hours are flexible—you could even do a couple at the weekend. I’ll help you if you get stuck, but I think it’s worth you looking into.’

  ‘Thanks, Marv.’

  ‘Please. Merlin.’

  ‘Merlin,’ he corrected, crumpling the note into his pocket. He looked at the clock once again, and this time Marvin did too.

  ‘We’ve run over our hour!’ he exclaimed, immediately clearing away the glasses. Rising to help, Arthur followed Marvin into the kitchen. ‘Give your regards to your grandmother for me, would you? Will you be coming next week?’

  ‘Of course.’ Arthur smiled. Marvin led him into the hall and then vanished to retrieve his coat. ‘This stuff, Merlin… where did you get it all from?’

  ‘These? Abroad, mostly. I travelled in my younger years, but most of it belonged to my father and grandfather. They were much bigger explorers at heart than me.’ His face stretched into another crooked smile as he helped Arthur into his sleeves. ‘This is a greatcoat, unless I’m mistaken.’

  ‘It was my grandfather’s,’ Arthur responded with some pride. ‘He left it to me when he died. It’s been in the family for years.’

  ‘It must be ancient,’ Marvin admired, enthused.

  ‘It was never really worn before he got it. Between us we’ve had it repaired dozens of times.’ He looked down at the old, woollen green. Marvin unlatched the door.

  ‘Thank you for coming tonight, Arthur. Do you think our first session went well, all things considered?’

  ‘I think it was very interesting,’ he said, even though he had learnt little. ‘I’m sure we’ll get down to things next Friday.’

  The two exchanged their farewells. Marvin stood waiting at his doorstep until Arthur had disappeared from sight, his oversized greatcoat billowing behind him in the gloom.

  * * *

  The house greeted him in the cold, its windows gazing out into the dark with open lids. The lights were on, and as he closed the front door he heard sounds in the kitchen.

  ‘Arthur! Is that you?’

  His grandmother appeared in the doorframe, her lilac jumper rolled up to her elbows and her slim jeans muddied at the knees. Her clothes were never age-appropriate for a seventy-two year old; they were worn for practicality’s sake, for digging in the garden, for working on her jewellery and for the Alexander Technique, which she no longer taught. Her hair was dyed red with home-dye kits, and her nose was proud and not like his at all. She came towards him with her arms extended and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘How was it? You must tell me how it was. How is Bedivere? Did he like the club?’

  He took off his coat and hung it on the stand. ‘He did, and he’s fine. The club was good. We talked about books,’ he added, thinking it was mostly true. ‘I invited Morgan, too. Do you remember Morgan?’

  ‘Of course I remember Morgan!’ She led him into the kitchen. ‘She’s the blonde girl, isn’t she? The one you had a crush on last summer?’

  ‘No, that was Catherine. Morgan’s got brown hair. She’s interested in books, too.’

  She frowned at him. ‘What’s her surname?’

  ‘Faye.’

  ‘I’m sure she was blonde.’

  He could smell smoke. ‘You’ve left the hob on.’ Arthur hurried over to the stove and snatched up the smouldering wooden spoon. ‘What did you have the hob on for?’

  ‘I had to cook, didn’t I?’ his grandmother snapped. He ran the cold tap to cool the wood. ‘Have you eaten? I made lasagne earlier, just for you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have made anything,’ he said, turning off the tap and drying the spoon. ‘There’s food in the fridge so you don’t have to cook.’

  ‘I like cooking,’ she objected. She went to busy herself at the kitchen counter. ‘I’ll make you some tea.’ Hissing, she retracted her hand from the stove. ‘Why is that thing on?’

  ‘What did you do?’ Arthur said, rushing over to her.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ She waved her hand away. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘It’s not fine—you’ve burnt yourself. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine! Really.’ She yanked her hand away from him when he tried to inspect it. ‘Don’t fuss.’

  ‘Run it under the cold tap,’ insisted Arthur, turning it on again.

  ‘I know what to do.’ She stuck her hand under the water willingly, and kept it there.

  ‘I’ll heat up that lasagne. Would you like some?’

  ‘I already had some. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. It only took five minutes.’ She turned the tap off, dried her hands, and went to peer out the back window. ‘Damn cat scared off the woodpecker this morning,’ she muttered. ‘It’s such a beast. It’s left three heads on the kitchen floor this week. I’d kick it out, if your grandfather hadn’t loved it so much.’

  ‘He needs a bell,’ Arthur said for the hundredth time. ‘I can buy him one, if you like.’

  ‘And have him tinkling about the house all day? It’d drive me mad.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not hungry?’ he asked again. ‘I can warm you some up anyway, just in case.’

  ‘All right then,’ she relented.

  Relieved, Arthur hunted in the fridge for what she had made, finding that though she had cooked a lasagne, she hadn’t eaten any of it at all. He pushed it into the oven, grateful that they had power. ‘So where is Lionel?’

  ‘Outside. I haven’t seen him all day.’ She frowned at him, waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘How was the library? You don’t have to work, you know. I can give you money if you need it. Where’s my wallet?’ Searching her surroundings, she found it on the kitchen table and pulled out an old, crumpled note. ‘Here, you must take it. No Arthur, I insist. Go on.’

  Reluctantly, but with a grateful smile, Arthur folded the ten new-pounds and stuffed it into his pocket. ‘Thanks
Gran. I know I don’t have to work. I work because I enjoy it.’

  ‘I know what you’re like. I don’t want you paying my bills for me. I mean it. Your grandfather left me with enough when he died. I can manage it.’

  ‘I know.’ Arthur checked the clock. The last time he had failed to pay a bill on time their water had been cut off. ‘I spend my earnings on junk I don’t need, don’t worry. I even bought these shoes last week.’

  He showed her his school shoes, which looked fairly new, and she was appeased. Soon they were sitting at the small kitchen table with cups of tea in their hands, waiting for their supper to be ready.

  ‘I was thinking… maybe after my shift tomorrow we could go to the supermarket and get something nice for lunch on Sunday,’ he said after a silence. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you should be spending your weekends with your friends, that’s what I think,’ his grandmother told him. ‘What about that girl from Wales? What happened to her?’

  ‘Nothing happened to her. We’ve been hanging out at school, when she’s not with her friends. She’s nice.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I thought you’d forgotten about her.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten. I just hang around with Bedivere as well,’ he lied, not wanting to get into the particulars about Marvin. ‘But I’m seeing Gwen after school, too.’

  ‘What about Lance?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘How’s he doing?’

  ‘He just got back from another suspension. For slashing the principal’s tyres, remember?’

  ‘Lance? Little Lance?’ She looked at him disbelievingly. ‘But he was always such a lovely boy. Why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Arthur pushed himself to his feet and checked on their supper. Deciding it was suitably heated, he served two large portions, knowing that he would finish whatever his grandmother didn’t. She always ate sparingly, and yet was constantly insisting that she was full, and had just had breakfast, lunch or dinner.

  This wasn’t the first time she had almost set fire to the house, and such incidents were becoming more frequent. Coming home from school was often a gamble in itself—sometimes she would be out, and then he would spend the evening worrying whether she would return, and if she didn’t, who might find her lost and confused across town—whether it would be a neighbour, or the police, whom he often had to call.