The Future King: Logres

by Mackworth-Praed, M. L.

  ‘I don’t know what else we need,’ Gavin was saying. ‘I’ve got everyone’s outfits already. You all owe me, by the way.’ He emptied his rucksack onto the table and seven packages slopped out. Each one included something similar to a fencing mask. ‘I had to pay for these. There was a guy distributing them last night by the old warehouses. There were a lot of people there.’

  ‘How much were they?’ Morgan asked as he passed them around.

  ‘Five quid, so we’ll call it fifteen each, yeah?’

  ‘Fifteen?’ Percy scowled. ‘You just said it was five.’

  ‘I went there, didn’t I?’ Gavin huffed. ‘If any of us get caught, it’ll be me, not you.’ He threw one to Percy, who caught it quickly. ‘I got a spare one, just in case. I wasn’t sure if you’d need it or not, Marv.’

  ‘I appreciate the thought, but no, I don’t think I will. Masks and overalls won’t be enough. We need to make sure there’s no crossover.’

  ‘Crossover?’ Bedivere asked. He opened the plastic bag and turned the mask over in his hands. Gwenhwyfar felt uneasy the moment he tried it on. It was black, and hid his face completely.

  ‘I need to make sure that none of you can be linked to your actions tomorrow,’ Marvin explained. ‘If you walk into an alleyway in that gear, then walk away without it, you may as well wear no disguise at all.’

  ‘You mean the cameras?’ Gavin said. Marvin nodded.

  ‘But how?’ Morgan asked, looking at her black overalls.

  ‘Let me worry about that,’ Marvin assured them. ‘It’s my responsibility to make sure you take part in this as safely as possible. I know Gavin was the one to organise it, but I feel that none of you would be marching were it not for what you’ve heard in our sessions.’

  ‘Gwen hasn’t been coming here,’ Morgan pointed out curtly. ‘And neither has Lance. He’s marching tomorrow.’

  ‘What does Lance care about this?’ Arthur remarked.

  ‘A lot,’ Gavin interrupted. ‘He’s just aware of the risks involved. If any of us are identified, we’ll be arrested for “disrupting democracy” and “disturbing the peace”.’

  ‘For taking a stand against the government’s treatment of the vulnerable community?’ Percy asked, appalled. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘There were rumours going around yesterday that we’ve got permission to protest from the Met, but for an entirely different cause,’ Gavin told them all. ‘So when we show up with the wrong banners, things might get nasty.’

  ‘And that’s the best case scenario, right?’ Arthur asked.

  ‘Worst case scenario is we don’t have permission, and the police will arrest on sight.’

  ‘They might do that anyway, if we’re dressed like this,’ Percy observed. Gwenhwyfar looked to Arthur, who was gazing at the black garments he held with unease.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘Dark spots.’ Marvin said, standing. He brought a handful of maps over from his desk, and spread them across the table in no apparent order. ‘These all indicate areas where there are gaps in the CCTV networks. Hard to find, these days, but they do still exist. The plan is to meet at these garages, change, and then pair up. I’ll drive you up to London and drop you off here, here and here. We can avoid the main checkpoints if we drive in from Wimbledon. You’ll then take these specific routes to Temple. You will have sole responsibility for your partner. It’s on you that they get home safely. That said, I don’t want to hear of two of you being arrested and going in for questioning together, understood?’

  There were varying nods from the table. Gwenhwyfar felt her pulse quicken. The risk of attending suddenly seemed real.

  ‘Now, as we don’t know how this is going to go, I’ve drawn out three routes back to the rendezvous. I’ll be waiting here from six o’clock.’ He pointed to one of the smaller maps. ‘I want you all back by eight at the latest, you hear me? From there, I’ll drop you as close to home as I can manage.’ He passed the directions he had arranged around the table. ‘I think I can guess the pairs,’ he said, looking to Arthur. ‘The only question is, who’s prepared to go as a three and watch out for Lancelot?’

  ‘That’ll be me and Bed,’ Gavin volunteered. ‘I’ve already spoken to him about it.’

  Marvin nodded. ‘Good.’

  ‘Do we know who’s organised this?’ The table looked to Gwenhwyfar, and her palms began to sweat. ‘I mean, is it an organisation, an individual, a family member…?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  She looked to Marvin. ‘I got another flyer from Free Countries in the post on Monday. It was encouraging people to attend.’

  ‘So that’s why you changed your mind,’ Bedivere grinned, and though she knew he was joking, she shook her head.

  ‘Should we even go if we don’t know who’s behind it? I mean, if it’s organised by a group like Free Countries… they’re very anti-Milton. The New Nationals will be all over it.’

  ‘It’s a risk, yes,’ Gavin told her, ‘but that’s what the disguises are for. If it’s obvious that it’s not safe, we can always just leave. As far as the New Nationals know, this march has nothing to do with the centres. They’re expecting it to be small scale.’

  ‘And what will they do if thousands of people turn up, hiding their faces, with banners about the centres?’ Bedivere asked.

  ‘Let’s hope it is thousands,’ Percy murmured. ‘It lowers the risk of the hundreds who will be arrested being us.’

  ‘They can’t arrest anyone if the protest is peaceful,’ Morgan argued.

  ‘They can arrest whoever they like,’ Arthur said. ‘Once they see the banners and hear the chants…’

  ‘Which is exactly why I want all of you to leave at the first sign of something going amiss,’ Marvin said forcefully, his grey eyes bulging out from beneath his brows. ‘No hanging around, you hear me? Keep away from the edges of the crowd, if you can. It’ll be the stragglers they’ll pick up. Remember, police officers have cameras with voice and facial recognition, so keep your mask on at all times.’ He smiled ironically, and shook his head. ‘Technically, the New Nationals have the right to arrest everyone for concealing their faces. But like Percy says, let’s hope it’s thousands that turn up, and not hundreds.’

  ‘So who is behind all this?’ Gwenhwyfar asked again.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gavin admitted, ‘the guy who blew the whistle perhaps? Families of those vanished? It could be anyone.’

  ‘We’ll have to be careful.’ Arthur leant into the table, his disguise before him with the blacked-out mask. ‘Dressed like this, we might not even make it to Temple.’

  ‘There’s safety in numbers. If you see others, flock to them. Just as long as it’s not each other,’ Marvin added. ‘I don’t want all our eggs in one basket.’

  Gwenhwyfar took hold of the veiled mask that sat with her protest uniform. She wondered who else might be going, whether there would be anyone from Free Countries, and if Isolde would be there. She took comfort in the anonymity of the event, yet at the same time it frightened her. Anyone could be there—the very best of humanity, and the very worst.

  ‘Meet me here at twelve,’ Marvin said, pointing at the local map. ‘If you’re late, you’re not going.’

  They each acknowledged his order, and then packed their outfits away into their rucksacks, ready for tomorrow.

  * * *

  They were dressed the part: their faces hidden by the full-head masks, their clothes cloaked by the anonymous overalls. They marched through London in ranks, beating drums, blowing whistles, their loudspeakers and placards all shouting in outrage. New National banners lined Whitehall and Parliament Square, crimson and angry. Metal fences mapped their way, manned by hundreds of armed police officers.

  ‘The water cannons are waiting,’ Arthur shouted to her, as they were carried with the crowd. He clutched her hand tightly, and bent his head to hers so he could be heard. ‘I’m surprised they haven’t used them already.’

  ‘They’re p
robably keeping an eye on the situation,’ Gwenhwyfar called back, her voice muffled by the gauze. ‘Think we’re going to try for Parliament Square?’

  ‘No,’ he told her, ‘Gavin said they’re avoiding it.’

  She nodded, but he couldn’t see the gesture, and soon he was standing upright again, straining to peer over the heads of the crowd.

  The noise was relentless. They stopped for a while in Trafalgar Square, where many remained, shouting facts and grievances through a megaphone half-drowned by the cries of solidarity thrown back at it. Despite the advice broadcast that morning not to march, tens of thousands had turned up and so far went unchallenged. Most wore the uniform black masks but others wore different faces, while a brave few wore no mask at all. The throng set off shortly after the megaphone changed hands. They were supposed to be marching along Pall Mall and up to Green Park, but the way was cordoned off and they were redirected down a different route.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Gwenhwyfar elbowed Arthur in the side. He glanced down, and then up ahead, jumping to try and see.

  ‘They’re taking us down another road!’ he called to her, concerned. ‘I don’t know which—I can’t tell. There are too many people!’

  They walked on over Charing Cross roundabout, and for a moment Gwenhwyfar thought they would be heading down The Mall to Buckingham Palace. Instead they went down Whitehall.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she called up to Arthur. He didn’t answer. ‘I thought we weren’t allowed in Parliament Square?’

  It was there, near Westminster, that the atmosphere changed. They came to a halt and the ruckus died a quick death.

  ‘Cannons!’ Someone yelled. The crowd surged backwards, spray raining down upon them as those caught in the jet were blown over. Protestors advanced angrily, shouting words made incomprehensible by the din. The sirens sounded again and water punched into them, hitting one man in the face. When the panic spread and people tried to escape through the cattle gates they were beaten back; and then suddenly the riot vans had descended, with dogs, tear gas and rubber bullets. Gwenhwyfar didn’t know how it had happened but they were firing into the crowd.

  She was knocked out of Arthur’s grasp in a second, pushed aside by one scrambling body and then another, and suddenly she was being carried along with a stream of faceless figures, fighting against them, trying to get back.

  ‘Arthur!’

  A tear gas canister propelled past her, splitting the protestors. Someone pushed her hard in the back. Gwenhwyfar didn’t realise she had fallen until she was on the tarmac. Instinctively her hands flew up to protect her head. Someone trod on her leg, another person tripped over her stomach. The shouting was frightening. Grabbing hands pulled her up, and then another protestor was asking if she was all right, helping her away from the scene. When she fought against them they abandoned her.

  ‘Arthur!’ she yelled again, cutting through the crush. He was tall; she should be able to find him, and at the same time she half-hunted for Gavin, who was tallest. She daren’t jump to try and see better; if she did she would go down again, and this time she might not get back up.

  She longed to take her mask off; it was hot and hard to breathe. They had been told to go to Marvin’s meet-up spot if one of them got separated, but with her phone at home she was scared to leave when she knew that Arthur was here somewhere, just a few feet away.

  The crowd struggled the only way it could—back into itself. Gwenhwyfar waited, alone and small as the road around her cleared, but when the police charged in with handcuffs and batons she shrank away, knowing she shouldn’t linger. A sudden heat seemed to melt against her with the brightest of lights. Someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail.

  The New National banner lit up in one great woosh, the flames licking the white stone of the building it hung from. The popping of plastic bullets clicked to the pop of metal, and the screaming was cut short; a dozen were down.

  ‘Gwen!’

  He grabbed her by the hand and yanked her away so hard she thought her arm might come off. He started to run, and she ran with him, looking back on the warzone; another Molotov burst and another banner lit up; rocks and stones bounced off riot shields, whilst the furious kin of the dead howled in handcuffs or were beaten to the ground.

  She didn’t realise she was crying until tears beaded on her lashes, blurring her vision. She stumbled, but Arthur dragged her up, and for a moment he was swinging her forwards with one arm until she found her feet again, and ran with him.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ he urged, though the chaos was unfurling ahead of them now, too, and shots could be heard in Trafalgar. ‘We need to get to Marvin.’

  There was no way forwards, no way back. With determination Arthur pushed his way along the road, past Downing Street. It was packed here, as each street either side of Whitehall was gated shut, but there was some protection in numbers, and they were shielded.

  ‘We’ve got to keep going!’ Arthur shouted, dragging her, pulling her between other bodies and through gaps so small that she thought she might pop. ‘A little further!’

  They came to the next junction, blocked by cattle gating. The crowd was thinner at the side of the river. One of the gates had toppled and people crashed through it like water. Another gate near it was unguarded—an opening. Arthur turned Gwenhwyfar to face him, but she couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘We’ve got to run for it! If I get caught, keep going, got it?’

  She nodded, and then shouted when she remembered he couldn’t see.

  They ran at the fence together. Arthur was first over, Gwenhwyfar second. Someone grabbed at her overall and tripped her up mid flight. She landed on the gating with a painful crack, half over, and then it toppled, too. Immediately people were running around her, stepping on her, and she was pulled backwards, up and by the foot like a dead rabbit. Arthur grabbed her in the nick of time. She kicked herself free. Every inch of her throbbed as Arthur tugged her loose from the crowd, and suddenly she was running with him again out onto the Victoria Embankment.

  ‘All right?’

  Adrenaline coursed through her. ‘What do we do?’

  After a second’s breath they were moving, sprinting with those who had managed to escape. The public stared. Others averted their eyes, as if looking at them was in itself a crime. Gwenhwyfar didn’t like the attention they were attracting.

  ‘We should change!’

  ‘We can’t change.’

  ‘People are looking at us. What about the police?’

  ‘We’ll have to risk it,’ Arthur said. ‘We can’t show our faces, not yet. Marvin said we should protect our identity at all costs.’

  He hurried again, faster, and soon they had lost the other protestors and were running over Waterloo Bridge. Gwenhwyfar didn’t think she could keep up the pace much longer. She was near to suffocating in the mask, each impact with the concrete sent painful shots up her shins, and she had a burning pain in her side; a stitch or a more serious injury, she couldn’t tell.

  They outran and hid from two more police officers before they made it to Marvin’s rendezvous. He was waiting for them on the Southbank, parked in a back-alley out of sight of pedestrians and cameras. He got out of the driver’s seat when he spotted them, slamming the door.

  ‘Don’t tell me what happened, I already know,’ he barked, ushering them around to the rear of the transit van. Quickly he opened the doors, and they jumped inside. ‘The others aren’t back yet. If they’re not here in half an hour, we’re leaving.’

  He shut them in before they could utter a word. The van was lit by torchlight. Gwenhwyfar took her mask off immediately, wishing she could have had at least one gulp of fresh air. Arthur did the same. His brow was glazed in sweat.

  ‘Made it, then,’ Bedivere smiled. He looked pale but seemed unscathed. ‘Where were you when it happened?’

  ‘Right by Parliament,’ Arthur said, huffing. He drew in a sharp breath. Heaving, Gwenhwyfar sucked in as much air as she could. ‘You?
’

  ‘Closer to Trafalgar,’ Bedivere said. ‘They almost got Gavin.’

  Gavin lifted his right arm. It was cuffed. ‘Don’t suppose anyone’s got the key?’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘One guy got me in a lock, on his own. Lance rugby tackled him. Almost didn’t make it, either. We got out just in time.’

  ‘You assaulted a police officer?’

  ‘He was bludgeoning unarmed protesters. He was no police officer,’ Lancelot said in a low voice, looking to Arthur.

  ‘You’re lucky neither of you got shot,’ Gwenhwyfar told him, still out of breath. ‘They were shooting people where we were.’

  ‘With rubber bullets, I know,’ Gavin remarked.

  ‘No. Not rubber.’

  ‘Jesus,’ he cursed. ‘Are they—?’

  ‘Dead? I think so.’

  ‘Christ.’

  The door opened, and they were blinded by the dwindling light of day. Two more people clambered into the van, joined by a third. Panting, Morgan took off her mask, and Percy struggled out of his. The doors were shut as the third figure removed her veil.

  ‘Emily—?’ She looked at them all sheepishly. ‘What are you doing here?’ Gwenhwyfar demanded. Suddenly all her pain seemed to have gone.

  ‘What do you think?’ she remarked, sitting down and crossing her legs. ‘I ran into Morgan and Percy. They said they knew a safe way of getting home.’

  ‘But how—?’

  ‘We were looking for a way out, hoping to find some toilets or something. Emily was being harassed by some men,’ Percy said, calmly. ‘It was clear that the police weren’t going to do anything, so we intervened.’ He looked to Morgan proudly. ‘Morgan walloped them with someone’s drum.’

  ‘You’re the one who chased them off. One against three?’ She smiled at him. His lip was bloodied. ‘It was pretty impressive. It started a massive fight.’