Arthur put his bag next to hers on the table. ‘You know, I’ve been hearing all sorts of rumours about Saturday. I think my favourite version involves you carrying Viola out of a burning building.’
Her cheeks bloomed crimson. ‘Not a rumour started by me, I can assure you.’
‘I know.’
‘In all honesty, I had no idea what to do. I completely panicked.’
‘Most people would,’ he pointed out.
‘I didn’t help with anything. And I definitely wasn’t heroic.’
Arthur eyed her, and Gwenhwyfar had the feeling that he thought she was being modest.
‘There were people pulling other people from burning buildings, though.’ She folded her sore arms, and unfolded them again. ‘People keep talking about it like it’s something from a movie, but it’s not, it’s real. People died and I didn’t help anyone.’
‘Sorry,’ Arthur apologised, ‘I didn’t mean to annoy you.’
Gwenhwyfar detected irritation in his tone, and battled a flare of it herself. ‘You’re not annoying me,’ she snapped. ‘It’s just that everything else is. You could never annoy me.’ Forcing a smile, she flicked her hair, tossed her head and exuded confidence that everything would be all right. ‘Lance isn’t in today. So you can sit with us if you like.’
‘I was going to anyway.’ Unzipping his bag he produced his lunch and offered a lopsided smile. ‘But I’m glad he’s not in—it means I don’t have to try to be civil, at least.’
She brightened at his words. ‘But what about Marvin?’
‘I’m sure he’ll cope without me for a little while,’ Arthur said. ‘Lately he’s just been trying to get me to join a political party. I’m not even sure if I want to.’
‘You don’t want to be a politician, then?’ Gwenhwyfar teased.
‘Who does?’ Her friends began to regroup at the table. ‘It’s corrupt, anyway. The system’s a poor excuse for democracy. They call it that, but it’s not really. Once you elect someone, they can do anything they like, including the exact opposite of everything they promised in the first place.’
‘What’s this?’ Gavin sat down, his face a picture of curiosity.
‘Politics,’ Gwenhwyfar stated, a smile playing her lips. ‘Apparently Marv thinks Arthur should become a politician.’
‘You feel like being Prime Minister? Good luck with that. Milton’s probably immortal.’
‘Or has access to the elixir of life,’ Arthur added. ‘No, I don’t think it’s for me. Not that job, at least.’
‘You never know, you might enjoy politics,’ Gwenhwyfar added.
‘Or you can just do it for the money and the five bedroom house like everyone else,’ suggested Gavin. The others joined the table. Bedivere was clearly pleased to see Arthur, and greeted him brightly.
‘Money doesn’t interest me,’ Arthur shrugged, once everyone had settled. ‘Not in that sense, at least.’
‘In what sense?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.
‘In the sense of working merely to earn, living to work. If I had the choice, I’d rather work to live.’
Gavin unpacked the burger he’d bought himself and took a generous bite. ‘So did you all see the speech? It’s bloody scary, if you ask me.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.
‘It’s like your dad said,’ Arthur commented. ‘Whose morals? Milton’s speech was vague for a reason. It’s an anti-extremism cell, and that could mean anything.’
‘Isn’t it clear?’ Tom interrupted. ‘Anti-extremism means anti-extremism. They’ll be chasing after the bombers of Saturday.’
‘You’re forgetting what they include in their definition of extremism,’ Arthur pointed out. ‘Had any of us been caught during the Mobilisation March we’d have been charged as terrorists. They linked it to the separatists; remember? Even though they could’ve just got us for disrupting the standard order of democracy, or for negatively affecting the economy.’
‘Arthur’s right,’ Gavin murmured, his burger suspended in one hand. ‘I’ve been following this for a while, it’s no coincidence. Milton’s been reorganising his pyramid. The New Morals will eventually replace the police.’
‘The police?’ Viola frowned at him. ‘Why?’
‘Because they’re privatised, but not by him. Milton wants full control. He is in charge of the New Morals, though; or he will be. He’s planning to replace police chiefs with his guys, reshuffling so the police will eventually fall under the New Morals’ command. I wouldn’t be surprised if the New Moral Army is somehow connected to the Army.’
‘That’s why I didn’t march,’ Viola pointed out. ‘What did it achieve? They did exactly what you said they would, Gav. Blamed it on one institution and sacked everyone they claimed to be involved. It doesn’t happen anymore. Problem solved.’
‘Except it’s not solved, is it?’ Bedivere asked. ‘People are still vanishing. We never even heard what became of those who disappeared from the centre that was penalised.’
‘Who cares? They won’t be missed; the New Nationals know it.’ Gavin wheeled on Viola. ‘And you’re happy with them introducing a new power force to further implement their human rights violations?’
‘What human rights?’ Arthur looked to Gavin. ‘We lost those when we lost the EU.’
‘We have a bill of rights,’ Tom contested.
‘It’s not the same,’ Arthur argued. ‘It’s filled with loopholes. It’s basically a document written to give us the illusion of rights, when in fact, when push comes to shove, we have none.’
Gwenhwyfar looked at them all, each one becoming more strident in their own view, and she found herself wondering what Isolde would think. The fear within her told her that the New Moral Army was a good thing, but everything she had witnessed over the past few months convinced her otherwise. She turned on Gavin.
‘Would you still be saying what you are, had Viola and I died yesterday?’
He seemed taken aback by the question, but then his eyes hardened under a deep scowl. ‘Sorry, but yes.’
The table erupted in outrage. Gavin struggled to be heard without raising his voice.
‘Come on—all I mean is there are things in place already to prevent this sort of thing from happening! That’s why we’re all so watched. What good does introducing the New Morals do other than give Milton more leverage to keep everyone in line? It’ll be your morals that he comes after next.’
‘You say that,’ Viola remarked, ‘but maybe this is just to deal with the bombers on Saturday. Don’t you think they would have stopped the attacks if existing surveillance was enough?’
‘You’re the one who was terrified about the idea of me giving the New Nationals reason to label me as a cyber terrorist,’ Gavin retorted hotly.
‘Everyone just calm down—!’ Gwenhwyfar raised her hands, but to no avail, and had to shout louder. ‘Come on! We can disagree on this. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Given that I was nearly blown up yesterday, I can see where Viola’s coming from. I can also see Gavin’s side. With what’s still going on with the Mobilisation Centres, it is worrying that Milton’s suddenly grasping for even more power.’
‘Thank you!’
‘I said I saw both sides,’ she remarked, looking sharply at Gavin. He sat back in his seat and looked to Arthur, the only one other than Bedivere clearly on his side. ‘I do find it worrying. Clearly the police aren’t enough to prevent attacks. They weren’t enough to prevent this.’
‘Do we know who did it yet?’ Tom asked.
‘No,’ Arthur said. Everyone looked at him again. ‘I won’t be surprised, however, if it turns out to be the Celtic Rebels. Separatists have tried to bomb London before.’
‘You think?’ Gavin asked, calmer again. Arthur nodded, and Gavin shrugged. ‘I don’t know, we can speculate all we like. At the end of the day, until someone claims responsibility for it, it could have been anyone.’
Gwenhwyfar recalled the noise of the explosio
n, the heat on her back and the grit in the air, and wondered why someone would want to cause such devastation, such absolute hurt. Each of the two hundred and seven fatalities of Saturday night were people and had been cherished by someone; be it grieving mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends, or children.
* * *
To his great surprise, Arthur thoroughly enjoyed sitting with Gwenhwyfar’s friends during break, and eagerly rejoined them on Tuesday. Though during lunch there had been much speculation among the group as to why Lancelot might be absent, Arthur had kept quiet and refused to offer his opinion. He knew why Lancelot was off sick, and judging by Gavin’s silence on the matter, the other boy did too.
His absence lasted until Wednesday. They were sitting in a loose cluster at break when his boisterous laugh cut through the hall. Twisting in his seat, Arthur saw him enter the canteen with Gavin. ‘Here he comes,’ he muttered to Gwenhwyfar, who turned so suddenly he felt he had announced some sort of flying wonder.
‘Just ignore him.’ No sooner than the words had left her lips Lancelot was upon them.
‘Hey Arty.’ It was sarcastic, it was snide, and it was completely expected. ‘How’s your granny?’
‘Good, thanks. How’s your uncle?’ He didn’t get an answer. The canteen felt like an overcrowded bus, humid from the rain. Lancelot stalked around the table. ‘Where’ve you been all week, Lake? We were worried about you.’
‘None of your business,’ he snapped, sitting.
‘Were you poorly?’ Arthur pried.
‘Fuck off,’ he scowled.
Gwenhwyfar glared at Lancelot. ‘No, not poorly?’ Arthur continued. ‘Perhaps you were just scared?’
Lancelot sprang to his feet. Arthur rose to face him, his chair clattering to the floor. Amid loud protests the two entered a staring contest.
‘Arthur!’ Gwenhwyfar exclaimed. ‘Just leave it, would you? He’s not worth the hassle.’ Gavin was already prying Lancelot away, encouraging him to take his seat at the opposite end of the table. Arthur couldn’t hear what was murmured, but it sounded calm and seemed to work. Soon he was left standing feeling rather foolish, with anger to spare but nowhere to direct it.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered blackly, as Gwenhwyfar helped to right his chair. He flopped down and glared at the floor.
For a while, normality returned. They were all talking about their favourite musicians when Lancelot started up again. Arthur didn’t know how it happened, because all he’d heard was something about some guitarist being a drug-addict, and then:
‘Hey Arty, wasn’t your dad a drunk?’
His jaw clenched. He refused to look up, though it was almost impossible not to. Gwenhwyfar squeezed his arm.
‘Arty? God, are you deaf or something? Didn’t he like die drink driving? I mean how stupid can you get?’
‘Lancelot!’ Gavin bellowed.
He jumped in his seat. ‘What? I’m just saying.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t,’ Bedivere snapped.
‘Shut it, Beddy. No one asked you.’ Lancelot turned his wolf-like smile on Arthur. ‘Aww, is he going to cry? Poor Arty. I’d cry too if my mother was a whore.’
Arthur surged to his feet in a move so powerful it disrupted the whole table. ‘That’s a bit hypocritical, considering how your mother spawned one.’ Silence fell. ‘I wouldn’t talk to me about drunks and whores if I were you Lancelot—if your father were still alive, your behaviour would have driven him to alcoholism, and your mother would have been determined to breed with every single man in sight in an effort to gain more tolerable offspring.’
Lancelot’s face grew dark with anger.
‘How about you go back to mad Marvin so he can molest you some more?’ Tom sneered. Viola smacked him hard around the back of the head.
‘Yeah, go get molested by that freak teacher of yours,’ Lancelot barked, firmly planted in his chair. ‘No one wants you here, anyway.’
‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ Arthur muttered. Bedivere jumped up as he walked away, hurrying after his long, troubled strides. Gwenhwyfar sprang to her feet, fury in her eyes.
‘You’re pathetic,’ she hissed.
She stormed off, snatching her bag roughly from the table. Viola bolted up and separated herself from Tom. Gavin lingered long enough to remind his friend that he was an idiot, but despite his best efforts Lancelot exuded the impression of total indifference.
* * *
Gwenhwyfar knew that she couldn’t guarantee anything involving Lancelot, but with Viola and Bedivere both backing her she tried, insisting to Arthur that nothing like this would happen again. Their words fell on deaf ears, however, and Arthur was adamant it would be best if he no longer sat with them. It was third period. Still furious, Gwenhwyfar decided she would hunt Lancelot down. When his Maths class produced no trace, she tried the bike shed, and then hurried out to the strip of grass running behind the sports hall. Her suspicions were confirmed as she approached the thick bank. There he was, milling about with two other boys she didn’t know.
‘Gwenhwyfar,’ he exclaimed with some astonishment. ‘Don’t you have Geography?’
She pushed him, hard.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ she demanded, feeling him stumble. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’ His dark brows twisted. She tried to shove him again, but this time he hardly moved. ‘Why can’t you just act normal?’
The two boys laughed. Gwenhwyfar wheeled round. ‘What do you think you’re staring at?’ she said, stomping after them. ‘Don’t you have a lesson to get to? Go on, go!’
They rushed off down the back of the sports hall. ‘I should kill you!’ she declared, turning on Lancelot. ‘I should! How dare you say those things! Do you have any idea how horrible that was? How would you like it if someone started calling your parents that?’
His scowl turned to bewilderment as she slapped at him again and he failed to block her.
‘I hate you! I can’t believe you mocked his father’s death! When has he ever bullied you for being orphaned? He won’t sit with us anymore, thanks to you. Are you happy?’
‘Yes.’
Gwenhwyfar couldn’t believe it. Any sympathy, any tenderness she thought she held for Lancelot vanished in that moment. ‘Why do you do it? You used to be best friends! Why can’t you just get along?’ When he failed to respond she slammed her hand into his shoulder. ‘What about me? What about what I want? I thought you were decent, but you’re not! All you care about is yourself.’
‘That’s not true,’ Lancelot stated, ‘and it’s not fair.’
‘Fair?’ She laughed at him. ‘Fair! What do you know about fair? You’re the most unfair, unkind, unattractive person I’ve ever met. I hate the way you always sulk and scowl at people, I hate the way you beat everyone up, I hate the way you talk about Arthur, and I hate you—!’
She’d had enough of his presence, enough of his face, enough of him. A sudden lump rose in her throat and she turned to hurry down the bank.
‘Gwenhwyfar.’ He reached for her arm, but she smacked him away. Lancelot tried to catch her flailing hands. He didn’t know what to do when she abruptly collapsed into his arms. He supported her gingerly at first, but as she broke down in earnest, Gwenhwyfar felt him envelop her in a strong hug.
‘Everything’s just so messed up,’ she sobbed, her words muffled in his chest. ‘How could someone do that? Just murder all those people?’
‘Gavin told me that you and Vi were in London, Saturday.’ Gwenhwyfar sniffed, and nodded. ‘Just think of it like this: you’re lucky everyone you know is still alive.’
His words weren’t much comfort. For a long while she stood with him in silence, clutching tightly to his torso. Eventually, she prised herself away, and his arms fell uselessly to his sides.
‘Why weren’t you in yesterday?’ she ventured, a horrifying thought penetrating her mind. ‘Oh God, you didn’t lose someone, did you?’
He drew his gaze away, and immediate
ly she felt awful. ‘Oh Lancelot, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’ She reached out to hug him again, her arms splayed. ‘Who?’
‘No one.’ He turned his hard eyes upon her. ‘I lost no one.’
She stopped, affronted by his severity. Of course, a recent death in the family would explain too much, would make things far too simple. Once again Gwenhwyfar found herself perplexed by Lancelot’s bipolar behaviour. She wished she could retract her outburst, but could offer nothing more than an apology. When he responded with a silent shrug, she left him on his own, deciding it would be best to leave it at that.
She rubbed her raw eyes with her fingertips, looking to the sky to dry the last of her tears. Wondering if she and Lancelot would ever get along, she wished desperately that he and Arthur would make amends, and put what was past behind them.
Anarchism
Thursday arrived with milder weather. They were sitting in their tutor room, waiting for Miss Ray to appear and take the register. The morbid fascination with the victims of Saturday had passed like a rolling fog; and their fellow students were now concerning themselves with other matters, mostly what they were hoping to get for Christmas. Emily was sitting with them again, as she had been since Monday, frequently causing Bedivere to absent himself.
‘Have you heard?’ she whispered to them all, once the register was taken. ‘The New Nationals have realised the New Morals scheme. The officers will be put in place today.’
She was trying, Gwenhwyfar thought, and because Emily acted as if they had always been best friends it was hard to treat her otherwise. Even Viola had said nothing to repel her, despite complaining about her in her still-frequent absence.
‘Says who?’ Bedivere asked.
‘The news.’ Emily inspected her cuticles. ‘I saw it this morning. They’ve already stormed ten key properties; they did it last night. They arrested several cells working with the separatists. Already the New Morals are a big success.’
‘Weren’t you at that march with Gwen?’ Viola suddenly asked.
The Future King: Logres Page 37