The Future King: Logres

by Mackworth-Praed, M. L.

  Defensively, Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘Fine,’ she muttered, if only to please them. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  The shrill bell sounded, and Miss Ray released them all into the corridor.

  * * *

  By the time Bedivere and Gwenhwyfar made it to History, Morgan and Arthur were already in their seats. The old classroom was stale with dust, but it was too cold outside to open the windows. As Bedivere sat down he offered a cheerful greeting that was not reciprocated, and when Gwenhwyfar said hello to Arthur he gave her an upturned shoulder. She glowered. What had she done now?

  ‘Good morning, class!’ Marvin said brightly. He was in early again, and was hovering awkwardly while he waited for his students to sit. ‘How is everyone today? I hope you’re all ready for your first revision session?’

  There were general groans of protest throughout the room, the most verbal from Tom. Marvin scribbled “Level Fours” across the board. Turning to face the class, he smacked his hands together.

  ‘Page two-hundred-and-seventy-seven, please! Hurry up now, we don’t have all day. I want to introduce you to the concept of practice papers in the second half of the lesson.’

  Gwenhwyfar split open her thick, glossy History book and flicked through it, her eyes slinking across to Arthur. After a few moments she realised that Morgan was staring, and as their gazes crossed the other girl glanced away with a worried look in her eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered. Morgan said nothing and looked pointedly ahead, listening to Marvin. Apprehensively, Gwenhwyfar studied Arthur. Had he heard about what had happened? Feeling uneasy with the memory of what Hector had done, she ducked her head and set to work. Conversation swelled as Marvin failed to quieten his pupils, and the remaining hour left her with a niggling sickness that she couldn’t shake.

  Her heart leapt when the bell rang. Immediately the class jumped up, abandoning their test papers. Shouting above the din, Marvin endeavoured to control the outburst, waving his hands about as his words fell on deaf ears.

  ‘Don’t forget questions five and six for your homework! Bring your practice papers to the front! No pushing in the aisles!’

  Gwenhwyfar bolted to her feet, her eyes fixed on Arthur. He packed swiftly, grabbed his paper and then attempted to squeeze past Bedivere. She stretched over her table and took his arm.

  ‘Arthur?’

  A look was all she received for her concern, a hard, ugly look that made her feel small. Marvin stared in surprise as his usually talkative student shot straight past him, with Gwenhwyfar close behind.

  She could barely keep up. A group of Year Eights shouted as she elbowed past them. ‘Arthur, please! Just tell me what’s wrong!’ Forced to break into a run, she pushed through the double doors that swung shut on her as he escaped out onto the strip between the Maths rooms and mobile classrooms. ‘Arthur!’ He stopped and glared at her mutely. She was on the verge of tears. ‘Please, just tell me what the matter is!’

  ‘You don’t know what the matter is? How can you not? It’s obvious, Gwen. Really obvious.’

  His riddle threw her. As she tried to sense what might have upset him, she could only think of Saturday. ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.’

  He turned to leave. She hurried after him.

  ‘Morgan told me. Of all people, I shouldn’t have to hear it from her.’

  ‘Hear what from her?’ She reached forwards to stop him, but he shook her away. ‘You know she doesn’t like me.’

  ‘So you’re denying it then?’

  Her heart pounded. ‘Denying what? I don’t know what it is you’re talking about!’

  They came under the annex between the girls’ toilets and the back entrance to old Wormelow. He wheeled round on her.

  ‘You and Lance! That’s what I’m talking about. Morgan said she saw you at the party together. Don’t deny it, Gwen. She said he had his arm around you.’

  Relief, then panic, flooded through her. ‘So?’ she said, daring him to make the accusation. ‘You think that because he had his arm around me, we’re seeing one another? Is that it? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?’

  ‘It wasn’t just the arm, Gwen. Morgan said you had your head on his shoulder.’

  Suddenly she was angry. ‘So what? We’re just friends! Nothing happened. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got the right to care who I associate myself with.’

  ‘I haven’t?’ The very air around him seemed to blacken. Gwenhwyfar’s eyes flashed as his did, and she squared herself closer.

  ‘No, you haven’t!’

  ‘I thought we were supposed to be going out?’ he snapped.

  ‘Are we? It’s not like you ever actually asked me out, Arthur!’

  ‘I thought it was obvious!’

  ‘Obvious?’ she flared, nostrils widening. ‘After that stunt you pulled with Morgan, nothing was obvious!’

  ‘How clearly do you need to hear it? I’m not interested in Morgan. And I don’t see how you couldn’t have known we were exclusive!’ he added hotly.

  ‘Exclusive?’ she mocked. ‘You’re making it sound like something actually happened! It didn’t! Lance is just a friend.’

  ‘Oh, so now he’s a friend? I thought you couldn’t stand him?’

  She growled in vexation. She didn’t want to explain; she shouldn’t have to explain.

  ‘She said you were holding each other, Gwen!’

  ‘I don’t see why you’re so wound up!’

  ‘Don’t you?’ he fired.

  ‘No!’ her voice broke above his. ‘Especially when you and I haven’t even kissed yet!’

  He fell silent, and so did she. Their anger leaked away and left them both cold.

  ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that I’m failing to meet your expectations,’ he muttered, wounded.

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ she tried.

  ‘No—you’re right. It’s none of my business who you sit with.’ His broken sarcasm was biting, and it split straight through her chest.

  ‘Arthur!’ she called as he turned away. Angry tears launched into her eyes, but furiously she blinked through them. The doors to old Wormelow swung open and a flurry of pupils swarmed around her. She attempted to follow him, but was forced to give up. He was out of sight in less than ten seconds.

  * * *

  English was set to the tune of heavy rainfall, a sudden and unexpected outburst that beat down on the windowpanes and cut streams across the glass. Bedivere listened to Gwenhwyfar’s news concerning Arthur’s mood with interest, though he seemed to withhold his opinion and offered few solutions. Break time passed with no sign of either Arthur or Lancelot, and she spent most of General Studies longing for a resolution to their conflict. She walked with Gavin to the canteen through the lingering drizzle, but as they were about to slip through the double doors she was arrested by the sound of her name.

  ‘Gwenhwyfar.’

  She knew the voice before she turned. Lancelot. Gwenhwyfar looked for sign of Arthur, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Can I talk to you?’

  She nodded, and started to follow Gavin into the depths of the canteen. He stopped her again.

  ‘No, not in there—somewhere private.’ He led her down the paved slope to the nearest tree, and soon they were stood under its partial shelter.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Hector went to hospital. He’s off school for a couple of days. I don’t think he’s said anything about what happened. Apparently he’s telling people it was an accident.’

  She gazed at him, and the attention seemed to make him nervous.

  ‘I still don’t know who the alien was, though. I thought it might be someone from Bobby’s college, but he doesn’t know anyone who went with that mask.’

  ‘You told Bobby?’

  ‘Only that a couple of guys had been making trouble. I didn’t say what.’

  The pressure she had been feeling over the weekend lifted slightly. ‘Looks like I taught him a
lesson after all,’ she murmured. Lancelot looked a lot nicer when he smiled. For a moment they stood in silence, but then a large, cold droplet of water made it through the naked branches and landed directly on Gwenhwyfar’s head. She wiped it off with a shiver. ‘I think I’m going to head back.’

  As she turned to leave he panicked. ‘Wait!’

  She halted. Now she was standing in direct contact with the rain. ‘What?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

  ‘Can’t you wait until we’re inside? It’s freezing out here.’

  ‘It won’t take a moment.’

  ‘What is it?’

  He struggled over his words. Gwenhwyfar realised she had never seen him so flustered before. Slowly, she began to understand what it was he wanted. It couldn’t be, could it?

  ‘I… I…’

  Stammering was never a good sign. She was about to turn around again, but her attempt to escape only forced him to blurt it out.

  ‘Will you go out with me?’

  She froze, suddenly afraid. Why did he have to ask?

  ‘Gwen?’

  Reluctantly, she turned to face him. His hair was lank, his shoulders drenched. He stared at her earnestly and in his eyes she felt she witnessed something people rarely saw.

  ‘I know you’re supposed to be seeing Arthur—’

  ‘Am seeing Arthur,’ she corrected.

  ‘I know, but… after Saturday… and I’ve liked you for some time now, but I didn’t know what to do about it, or if you liked me… but after… I thought you might…’

  A sharp emotion whipped through her stomach. What was it? Nerves… anxiety? Her heart was pounding and the sensation felt akin to fear. She laughed inwardly at herself. Now Arthur had something to be upset about. Though why should it reflect on her if Lancelot felt this way?

  ‘Lance…’ she began softly, ‘I have a boyfriend. I can’t just forget that.’

  The disappointment on his face was heartbreaking. ‘But Saturday…’

  ‘I was afraid on Saturday. And I was drunk.’ The drizzle turned to cold needles as a stronger wind cut between them. She winced. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re not even the slightest bit interested?’ he asked hopelessly.

  ‘I like Arthur.’ She felt odd saying it to him, and folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘But I like you,’ he argued.

  ‘Sorry, Lance. I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m flattered, but no, I can’t go out with you.’

  He soon withdrew, and shrugged carelessly. ‘Right,’ he murmured. ‘Whatever. Just thought I’d check. Guess I misunderstood.’

  ‘We can still be friends though, right?’ she probed in an effort to cheer him.

  He shook his head, his shoulders drooping. ‘Whatever, Gwen.’ He expelled a rough sigh. ‘Yeah, I guess we can still be friends.’

  She tried to dispel the guilt creeping within her. ‘Come on. Let’s go and find the others. Gavin will be wondering where I got to.’ She turned to briskly ascend the hill. Half-heartedly, Lancelot followed.

  They both received strange looks when they returned together, drenched from the rain. Eager to put some distance between them, Gwenhwyfar positioned herself at the far end of the table, shedding her coat and dragging her fingers through her wet hair.

  ‘Where have you two been?’ Gavin asked. He eyed Lancelot with concern. ‘Swimming?’

  ‘Yes, actually,’ Gwenhwyfar replied lightly. ‘It’s like walking around underwater out there, isn’t it Lance?’ Lancelot sat staring into the crowd. ‘Freezing too,’ Gwenhwyfar continued, ‘I’ll probably catch a cold.’

  ‘You’d better not,’ Viola remarked. ‘Remember when you made me promise to take you to any modelling parties? Well, I just heard from my agency. I have to go to a preview party for that new make-up product. You know, Bare Make-up? It’s next Saturday in London. You’re my plus one, if you’re up for it.’

  ‘Of course I’m up for it!’ Gwenhwyfar exclaimed. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Some club in Mayfair. We’ll have to catch the last train home, but it should be fun.’

  ‘If it’s in a club, how are you going to get in?’ interrupted Gavin.

  ‘It’s a private party. I just have to take a calling card to show the bouncer.’

  ‘Jealous,’ remarked Tom.

  ‘You can come to the next one,’ Viola promised, grinning. ‘I’ll let you know if I see anyone famous.’

  Gwenhwyfar’s eyes slunk across the table to Lancelot. He looked back, and she averted her gaze as if scalded. As her friends changed the subject she retreated into her thoughts and mindlessly stared out of the water-stained windows. Silence surrounded her. Gwenhwyfar didn’t see Arthur stride into the cafeteria, as wet as an otter; nor did she notice him hasten straight to the table he usually went to great lengths to avoid. She started in surprise when suddenly he was there, towering above her.

  ‘Arthur?’

  He deliberated for a moment, but then he held out his hand. As soon as Gwenhwyfar grasped it she was tugged to her feet.

  The tables erupted into a chorus of whooping as he stooped down and caught her firmly on her lips. Surprised, she relaxed into him, her chest expanding with joy. He broke away for a moment, lust darkening his eyes. Eagerly he kissed her again, deeper this time, holding her close.

  The cheering died, and the jeering started. Bliss embraced her. His lips were soft and warm, just as she had expected, and they fit against hers perfectly. She welcomed his tongue with her own, touching, tasting. After a perpetuity, she was finally released. Gwenhwyfar felt a sudden rush of cold air. Abruptly, Arthur abandoned her.

  The cafeteria erupted into roars of laughter.

  ‘What?’ She sat down quickly, her cheeks a furious shade of red. Tom was in hysterics.

  ‘What was that about?’ Viola asked, amused.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked, still in shock.

  ‘Well, at least he’s kissed you now,’ teased Gavin, pressing his chin into his knuckles. ‘Ask and you shall receive.’

  She tasted where Arthur’s lips had touched. Had he been trying to make some sort of point? It hadn’t felt like it. Warmth flooded her, and she smiled.

  ‘It’s quite cute, really,’ Viola mused. ‘When he left he was blushing and everything. I think he really likes you, Gwen.’

  Gwenhwyfar thought so too. Euphoric, she surveyed the table. There was something missing, the lack of a biting comment that was expressed whenever someone mentioned the name Arthur. Her eyes fell to where Lancelot had been sitting, and her insides turned to frost.

  ‘Where’s Lance?’

  ‘He left,’ Gavin remarked.

  ‘When?’

  He shrugged. ‘After Arthur showed up.’

  Suddenly she felt terrible. Her eyes scanned the hall again and then slipped to the door. Blood seemed to pulse in her ears with each thud of her heart. He was nowhere in sight. Deflated from her moment with Arthur, she began to worry about how she could rectify the damage caused to Lancelot’s feelings, and then fretted over the fact that she cared.

  Tristan

  Taking advantage of her impeccable attendance record, Gwenhwyfar had conned her parents into thinking she was unwell. She was only able to sneak out of the house by chance, as her mother had scheduled a last-minute shopping trip with a new acquaintance and would not be home for several hours. The trains were running late and the Underground was congested, but she managed to make it to South Kensington in good time. The museum’s security nearly turned it into a wasted trip, however, and when she was finally let into the main exhibition hall she was desperately late.

  She waited by the foot of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, trying not to look too suspicious. A boy soon approached her, eying her apprehensively. ‘Omega Iota Eta?’ She nodded. ‘From Free Countries?’ the boy continued. He looked similar in age to Isolde, and spoke with a Cornish lilt.

  ‘Gwen,’ she expelled, holding out a hand for him to shake. ‘And yo
u are?’

  ‘Tristan,’ the lanky boy replied. He had long, stalk-like limbs and a clear complexion with tawny brown skin. He wore his full curling hair loose, and was dressed in a grey jacket, old blue pullover and worn jeans. Gwenhwyfar smiled.

  ‘Thanks for taking the time to meet me here. Sorry I’m late. The trains were a nightmare, and I’m supposed to be in school.’ She looked to the displays, and then up at him. ‘Have you eaten?’ Tristan shook his head. ‘We’ll go to the café, then.’

  They walked in silence, past the great panda now extinct in the wild for many years, and the polar bear, a species long absent from the Arctic. The food hall was still busy for lunch. They queued for hot drinks and found a small table in the corner. Once seated, Tristan produced a lunchbox and ripped it open, clearly ravenous.

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No,’ Gwenhwyfar said, removing her coat and hat. ‘Go for it.’

  He unwrapped a sandwich and took a healthy bite. ‘So how does this work?’ he asked, chewing.

  ‘I see if you have any questions regarding Free Countries, and then you decide if you’d like to join.’ Like Isolde, she had brought a notebook. She fished for it in her bag.

  ‘Questions?’ He frowned, his dark eyes watching her closely.

  ‘And I ask you a few things, too.’ She flipped open the book and produced her favourite pen. ‘So,’ Gwenhwyfar began, trying to sound authoritative, ‘why do you want to join Free Countries?’

  He shrugged unhelpfully, as she had done. ‘I don’t know. I just saw the flyer and found the website.’ She scribbled it down. ‘I think George Milton’s an idiot, and you seem to be against him.’

  ‘We’re not just against Milton,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked. She un-crumpled the short manifesto that she’d brought with her and held it as a point of reference. ‘We have other policies, too.’

  ‘Such as?’

  She took him through the full list of what Free Countries was about, but it didn’t seem as if he was really listening. He was too busy wolfing down his yoghurt. ‘Does that all make sense?’ Gwenhwyfar asked afterwards, taking a sip of her hot chocolate.