The Future King: Logres

by Mackworth-Praed, M. L.

  ‘Technically? No. But Ravioli wouldn’t let him set one up here. Not in a million years.’

  ‘And it’s just you, Marvin, Morgan and Bedivere?’

  ‘And Gavin, I should imagine. Bedivere’s supposed to be asking him.’

  ‘And Lance.’ She chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’d like to, but I’m not sure if I’ll have time at the moment.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve got a lot going on. My… my mum’s going through something, and I feel I need to be there to support her.’ She looked down at her feet and paused by the tennis courts. ‘I don’t suppose you can hold onto my invitation?’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘She’s fine, it’s just stress. My dad’s not in much—he’s working.’

  ‘Next week then, maybe,’ he suggested. ‘But if you change your mind, let me know.’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’ She turned to leave. ‘You’re seeing Marvin?’

  ‘Yeah, I said I would.’ He frowned. ‘Do you want me to stay with you?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s fine. I’ll see you later? You know where to find me.’

  She left. The car park was emptying now as students moved on to inhabit the fields and cafeteria. Knowing that he would be thrown out if he got caught by the Prefects or staff on patrol, Arthur hurried into New Wormelow and headed to his tutor room, where he hoped to find Marvin waiting for him with his latest read.

  Knights

  Friday the eleventh of October was a grey day, with a heavy mist that broke into a thick curtain of drizzle. By the time Arthur made it to Marvin’s house he was drenched, his hair hanging in flat locks and his wool coat beaded with rain.

  ‘Arthur!’ Marvin exclaimed, opening the door. ‘Come in, come in! Dreadful weather, isn’t it?’

  Rudolph greeted him like an old friend as he was ushered into the hallway. The stag’s glassy eyes followed him about the room. ‘Good day?’ he asked, shaking off his greatcoat and spraying the hallway with rainwater.

  ‘Very,’ Marvin said, excitably. ‘I’m looking forward to welcoming our new members. I’ve even got a bottle out. Shall we?’ He took away his coat to hang it up, and then rejoined Arthur in the study. ‘Did you determine if Gwen is coming?’

  ‘She’s having to miss it, this week. Her mum’s not well. She’s asked if we can hang on to her invite. Do you mind?’

  ‘She’s your invitee, so that’s entirely up to you.’ Uncorking the bottle of red, Marvin filled five of the six glasses already set on the table. ‘I feel I should allocate seats, really. You’ve all been seat hopping too much. It unnerves me, being a teacher and all.’ Grinning, he handed Arthur a glass, and then the two toasted each other briefly.

  ‘I have to say, I’m feeling a little unsure about this,’ Arthur admitted, taking a small sip. ‘I hope we’re not making a mistake.’

  ‘This group was always going to expand. It may as well be sooner rather than later.’ The doorbell sounded. ‘That’ll be them. Would you mind?’

  Arthur set his glass down and moved into the hall. When he opened the door Morgan was standing before him, sodden. She hurried inside, shedding her coat immediately.

  ‘Percy!’ Marvin exclaimed, appearing behind Arthur with a merry smile. ‘Glad you could join us. I trust Morgan’s filled you in?’

  He was of average height; slender, with a round handsome face framed by sable, curling hair. It was his eyes that all the girls at school went on about, however; his brilliant blue, twinkling eyes, and as he moved to shake Marvin’s hand they glinted joyously.

  ‘Mr Caledonensis! Still putting crazy ideas into your students’ heads?’ He turned to Morgan, and looked at her far too fondly for Arthur’s liking. ‘I used to be in his History class. I didn’t do well. There’s a reason I gave it a miss for my Level Fives.’

  ‘Don’t worry, your record of being my worst student has long since been surpassed,’ Marvin chuckled, showing him into the study. ‘But I do hear you’ve found your calling. Particularly good at Psychology, am I right?’

  As Morgan went in after them, Arthur caught her by the arm.

  ‘You brought him?’

  She looked at him with confusion. ‘Marvin said we could bring who we liked this week.’

  ‘I thought you were bringing Lance?’

  ‘He seemed to have a problem with it. I thought you’d be pleased. It’s not like you wanted him here.’

  ‘No, I didn’t want him to know. I’d rather he didn’t know about The Round Table and wasn’t here, than him knowing and not being here. Him not being here means he has no reason to keep quiet.’

  ‘You should give him more credit,’ Morgan insisted, pulling her elbow away. She walked stiffly into the study, and pointedly sat next to Percy, who looked to Marvin in surprise.

  ‘We’re having wine?’ he asked.

  ‘If there are no objections.’ Marvin handed them each a glass. When Morgan politely declined, Arthur took it for her. ‘It’s good to have you with us, Percy. We should probably wait with introductions until Bedivere—ah, there he is now.’

  He put his glass down and went to answer the door, leaving the three of them in an awkward silence. Soon they were rejoined, and after a quick introduction Marvin announced a toast, his extravagant words celebrating their newfound camaraderie. Their glasses clinked and tastes were taken of the red. For Gavin the wine went down well, but Percy winced at the initial potency and laughed, coughing.

  ‘I am glad you’re all here,’ Marvin said once they were gathered at the table. ‘As it is, we’re still missing a member, but she’ll hopefully be joining us next week.’

  ‘Gwen?’ Gavin asked. Marvin nodded. ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Her mum’s not well,’ Arthur excused. ‘She’s looking after her.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything about her mum being ill,’ Gavin remarked with concern. ‘When did you hear this?’

  ‘Tuesday.’

  Percy eyed the group, eager to be included. ‘Who’s Gwen?’

  ‘She’s in our year,’ Gavin said.

  ‘You’re all year elevens?’

  ‘You’re the odd one out,’ Morgan told him with a smile.

  ‘We would have all been year elevens, had Lancelot said yes,’ Arthur remarked.

  ‘You invited Lance?’ Gavin asked, surprised.

  ‘Morgan did, but apparently it’s not his thing.’

  ‘It’s completely his thing,’ Gavin contested. ‘Maybe you’d know that, if you knew him better.’

  ‘Boys! Let’s not argue, hmm? I don’t think any of us were expecting Lancelot to give up his Friday evenings to join us. Let’s not worry over the whys. The important thing is we have Percy with us, who is very keen on world affairs—’ Marvin glanced to Percy, ‘—current world affairs, at least,’ he corrected.

  Unruffled, Percy grinned.

  ‘Now,’ Marvin said, ‘let’s begin.’

  The first fifteen minutes passed slowly for Arthur, as Marvin repeated much of what he already knew. Gavin and Percy said little to begin with, but listened to their host closely, neither one of them quite sure what to make of him. It was about forty minutes and one bottle of red into their session when the topic heated up. Marvin struck his hand against the polished table, making those nearest him jump.

  ‘Do you think that the New Nationals won’t come for you if you vote for them? Yes, at first they might not; but when they’ve come for your friends, your siblings and your parents, who will be left to save you? What makes you think you can complain about your loss of rights, if you fail to prevent injustice from happening to others?’

  Arthur drew his eyes away from Marvin the moment that he looked at him. Bedivere was frowning, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether or not to take him seriously, while Gavin watched Marvin’s every move.

  ‘Doing nothing about an injustice done to another can be as damaging as the injustice itself,’ Morgan dared. Percy looked to her uncomfort
ably, his eyes stopping on Arthur in the process.

  ‘Exactly!’ Marvin declared loudly. ‘Morgan has it! Why would an individual or an institution stop abusing their power unless people hold them to account?’

  ‘But who would help you?’ As Marvin’s eyes fell hard on Percy, he shifted. ‘I mean, if one person stands up for something they deem to be an injustice, and no one else stands with them, it’s pointless. You can’t stand against something alone.’

  ‘True,’ Marvin agreed. ‘The old saying “United we stand, divided we fall” comes to mind. This is probably why the world is in such a state in the first place. At the first sign of hardship everyone turns insular. My country. My resources. My money. Their fault. Division like this can only end in one way. What happens when one person perceives another to have more than them?’

  ‘They covet what the other person has,’ Bedivere suggested, his wineglass half empty. ‘They go to war.’

  Marvin nodded violently. ‘War, yes! The near-rebellion of 2033 is a good example of that. The poor becoming dissatisfied with how much the rich elite had. But who wins wars, I ask you?’

  ‘The rich?’ Arthur volunteered.

  ‘The rich, yes: those with the most resources. Here, at home, instability is rife, even though the New Nationals don’t want you to believe it. We have “enemies” abroad: we must stand together. It is a delicate lie ready to collapse. That is why the government is tightening its hold.’

  There was a moment’s breather. Marvin sat down, but hung on the table, his hands linked before him as if in prayer.

  ‘Is this why surveillance is so prevalent now?’ Bedivere inquired.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that it’s any more prevalent than it was twenty years ago,’ Gavin answered. ‘More intelligent, however…? I would say it is.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He leant forwards into the round table, evoking a creak from the polished woodwork. ‘Surveillance has long been in a new age. It’s very clever of the government to let those being watched to do the recording for them; from smart glasses to texts and emails and cameras in phones, right down to your latest status update, where you are and how you’re feeling. All you’d need to do is replace every social networking branding with that of the New Nationals. Who would post all of their personal information on NewNational-connect.com?’

  Marvin pointed to Gavin with a strange light in his eyes, amusement perhaps, or pride; Arthur found it impossible to tell. ‘Interesting point, Gavin! Bedivere was right to introduce you to us. Very interesting.’

  ‘But how can the government get away with such a blatant invasion of privacy?’ Morgan asked, her brow creased in distress. ‘Surely everyone would be furious if they knew?’

  ‘I am afraid, Morgan, that such knowledge is usually met with bemusement. Of course, one can see the humour in one’s government trawling through an individual’s private and often trivial emails; but these people are missing the point. No one should be reading what you’re up to in an email meant only for the recipient; no one should be creating a file on you about your sexual orientation or political leanings. What these people don’t understand, is that though currently their lives remain unaffected, there is nothing to stop this, or any government, from using activity collected from your computer as a means to prosecute or blackmail you, or from planting something that provides them with a good reason to ship you off to Halkirk. People who say if you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to fear are, quite frankly, idiots.’

  ‘But how can they justify it?’

  ‘In our society, surveillance of the collective is justified by the need to find terrorists. What terrorism consists of is entirely subjective to the government in power at the time,’ Gavin interjected, gesticulating his point calmly. ‘When a government begins to sift through the individual’s private correspondence, however, that government openly declares that you, the individual, have something to hide, and that you, the individual, have something to fear.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Bedivere complained.

  ‘From this,’ Gavin continued, ‘we can conclude that ultimately, in the eyes of the government, you are the terrorist.’

  ‘No,’ Morgan objected, ‘a terrorist is someone who causes mass harm and distress to civilians for an extreme cause.’

  ‘And so it should be. But when you know that your own government also brands peaceful environmental campaigners and human rights watchmen as extremists, you begin to wonder where they draw their boundaries.’ Marvin sucked his wine-stained lip. ‘But this takes us back to the age-old question, doesn’t it? Which is more important? Liberty, or safety? As Lincoln pointed out, those who do sacrifice freedom for security ultimately end up with neither.’

  His grey irises settled on them each, and he waved his hand with indifference.

  ‘According to the New Nationals, Arthur is a “terrorist”. Arthur uses the Dark Net to investigate New National corrections applied to the local press. Percy is a “terrorist” because Percy supports—albeit secretly—Rightswatch. Still signing all those petitions, Percy?’

  Percy nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘I am a “terrorist” because I am sitting here, providing you all with extremist ideas. And you are here, willingly, listening to me. But what determines who is and who isn’t? It’s not some unilateral law. Language is very particular, but as far as the New Nationals are concerned, the term “terrorist” can, and has been, applied in the broadest of senses.’

  Arthur glanced to the clock at Marvin’s desk in the corner of the room. Their time was up, and the session was at an end.

  * * *

  ‘Gwen? What do you think of this?’

  Her mother stopped by a very expensive-looking trench coat. Unhooking it, she held it up for her to see.

  ‘Mam, it’s hardly suitable for winter,’ Gwenhwyfar complained. It was Sunday, and they were out on a spree at Hollow Way, a designer-shopping village that had come highly recommended by her aunt. Gwenhwyfar felt the fabric, and found that though it was soft, it was thin. She immediately hunted for the tag. ‘What percentage is it? It’s not even one hundred percent cotton. Polyester? Ugh.’

  Shrugging, Eve put it back. ‘Well, what are you looking for? You hardly need much more than what you already have. I hear it’s going to be a mild winter.’

  ‘I heard the opposite,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked, stopping by a much warmer, much thicker coat with a fleece lining. She juggled with the bags she had already accumulated, five from three different stores, and hooked them over her forearm. ‘Something like this is better. What do you think?’

  ‘Try it on,’ Eve encouraged, her face lighter than it had been all week. She held Gwenhwyfar’s bags for her, clutching them tightly with her own. Gwenhwyfar took off her own jacket and put on the new one. It was warm, definitely, but too bulky.

  ‘Maybe we should try somewhere else,’ she said as she put it back on the rail. ‘What time is it? I’m starving.’

  ‘Two,’ Eve said. ‘Shall we get some lunch?’

  Gwenhwyfar reclaimed the spoils of their shopping trip, which, like the spa yesterday, was her mother’s treat. She had been afraid that their weekend together was a platform for Eve to tell her that she was filing for divorce, but so far nothing had been mentioned and they had only spoken of more trivial things.

  When they were sitting in a café, on-site next to one of the smaller handbag boutiques, Eve asked Gwenhwyfar to remind her what she had chosen.

  ‘The running shoes, remember?’ she said, extracting the box and handing it to her to inspect. ‘And that leather handbag you liked.’ Pulling it out of its wrappings, she tried it on over her right shoulder. ‘You don’t think Dad will mind?’

  ‘Why should he?’ Eve said, giving the trainers back. ‘It’s my money. Which dress did you get again?’

  ‘The black one.’ She pushed the shoebox back into a bag, and rewrapped her new handbag. Her mother had bought her a bangle as well: a delicate silver band fashioned i
n the style of a torque. The whole café was packed with hungry shoppers, each one sitting next to their own hoard of expensive things. ‘And those jeans. I’ve been needing new jeans for weeks.’ As the barista brought them their hot drinks they cleared the table, and then sat in silence for a moment, recovering.

  ‘Mam,’ Gwenhwyfar said after a while, ‘I was wondering… how do the finances work at home?’

  Eve stiffened, and frowned at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, do you and Dad have a joint account? Or separate?’

  ‘Joint, of course, but we each have our own accounts, too.’ She straightened up and fiddled with her favourite necklace, a silver chain with sterling beads that hung from her throat like raindrops. ‘You should always have your own money Gwen, in any relationship. Always have something separate, that your partner can’t touch.’

  She wondered how contemporary the advice was, and if it was born of recent circumstances. Gazing down at the perfect swirl of whipped cream on her hot chocolate, she sighed.

  ‘I know, Mam.’

  ‘Know—?’

  ‘I know about Dad. I know that you found a bank account he’s been hiding.’

  ‘How did you—?’

  ‘I overheard you talking with aunt Melissa.’

  ‘Darling, I—’

  She looked up at her sharply. ‘Don’t lie to me! I heard everything. He’s been buying her things, hasn’t he? That’s why he’s always working, that’s why he’s never home.’ She shook her head, and suddenly she felt sick. ‘Is that why we moved? So he could be closer to some squeeze?’

  ‘I don’t know, Gwen, really I don’t,’ Eve said quietly. ‘I—I don’t want to talk about it here, I don’t even know if he is—’

  ‘You said so yourself: you know something isn’t right.’ She sat back abruptly, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears. ‘Don’t you defend him, don’t you dare do that. You’re worth more than that, you hear me?’