The Future King: Logres

by Mackworth-Praed, M. L.

  ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t tell anyone?’ Emily snapped, shooting Gwenhwyfar a glare.

  ‘Viola already knew,’ she explained. ‘She knew we were going. So did Tom.’

  ‘Tom?’ Emily asked, alarmed. ‘But Tom’s—’

  ‘Tom’s what—?’ Viola interrupted. ‘He won’t tell anyone. He knows how dangerous it was.’

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘No one,’ Gwenhwyfar insisted. ‘Just Mr Caledonensis.’

  Emily seemed wholly uncomfortable, but after she shifted in her seat and glanced nervously around the class her blue eyes settled on Viola. ‘So why didn’t you go?’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ Viola told her. She glanced to Charlotte’s table, keeping her voice low. ‘I can’t do anything that would jeopardise my father. Besides, I knew it wouldn’t work, and it didn’t. They just buried it.’

  Gwenhwyfar leant into the table. Reports of rape had marred the otherwise peaceful protest, along with fatalities, petrol bombs and the chaos the police had caused. ‘You never said why you were there,’ she pointed out. ‘How did you find out about it?’

  ‘Someone pushed a flyer through my letterbox. I looked it up online. I think it was some kind of organisation.’

  ‘Free Countries?’ Bedivere asked. Gwenhwyfar’s eyes skipped to him, her heart pounding.

  ‘I think so,’ Emily breezed. ‘No one else seemed bothered about it, so I went on my own. I suppose it didn’t do any good. Like you say, it’s been buried.’

  ‘Just like Gavin predicted,’ Bedivere concluded, his manner still stiff.

  There was a moment’s silence, and then Emily brightened again. The blare of the classroom seemed to intensify as the bell marked the beginning of their lessons.

  ‘So,’ she asked, eyeing them hopefully. ‘What are you guys doing for lunch?’

  * * *

  Break time was welcomed with bruised clouds that raced across the sky in an invigorating wind. Forgoing the canteen, Gavin headed for New Wormelow after an hour and a half of Spanish. Lancelot was waiting for him by the low wall along the path outside of Marvin’s classroom, squinting in reaction to the on-off sunshine.

  ‘Rupert’s starting a game of rugby,’ Lancelot said. The two made their way towards the sports field. ‘Told him to save centre and flanker. That all right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Gavin traced the grass as it passed beneath their feet. ‘You get up to much last night?’

  ‘Not really. You?’

  Gavin shrugged. ‘Just did a bit of reading. You know, on the forums. There’s talk that Milton’s planning to introduce a youth division for the New Moral Army. Word is it’s going to be mandatory service.’

  Lancelot seemed surprised. ‘Mandatory?’

  Gavin nodded. ‘We’ll miss the sign-up age. We could join voluntarily, hypothetically. It’s worrying. It’s like they’re trying to get as much hold as possible, just in case these elections don’t go their way.’

  ‘Won’t they?’

  ‘I have no idea. I suppose… there’s always the risk.’

  ‘You shouldn’t read such things.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Look at you; it clearly messes with your head. What does it matter? Let the idiots sign up if they want to.’

  ‘It matters because it’s not right. Doesn’t it remind you of anything?’

  Lancelot eyed him, and then looked away with an irritated huff. ‘All right, what’s this young army going to be doing besides tying knots and composing camp songs?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s going to be so harmless.’ They climbed the shallow bank onto the first sparsely populated field. ‘Perhaps they’re just going to use it to drum up support for the party? Or it might be to flesh out the Watchmen, that seems to be a popular theory.’

  ‘So this is just speculation,’ Lancelot remarked. ‘Someone might be stirring. You don’t know who’s posting or where they heard it. I heard they put spies on those things, to bait people into saying something they shouldn’t.’

  ‘I know the bullshitters from the truth-tellers,’ Gavin insisted. ‘The people who are saying this are the ones who helped spread the word about the Mobilisation March.’

  ‘Makes me wonder, given what that achieved. Arrests, and not much else.’

  ‘Wonder about what?’

  Lancelot shrugged, not willing to elaborate. ‘At least we’re missing it. Thank God.’

  ‘Maybe not. Word is they’re going for the Cadets.’

  This stopped him. ‘What do you mean, going for?’

  ‘Absorbing it. Funding it with money reserved for the New Morals. It might well become their young army, or part of it, in the long run. It’ll still be Cadets, but politicised.’

  ‘As if it’s not already?’ He sighed roughly, and started walking at a quicker pace. Gavin kept up with ease. ‘When is this happening?’

  ‘It’ll be done by February. It’s being snuck through with the reshuffling of the police. They’re going to merge us with their new youth recruits, I just know it.’

  ‘February.’ Lancelot thought for a moment. ‘That gives us, what—a month? Maybe I can convince my uncle to let me do Tai Quan Do instead. What do you think?’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘You’re not?’

  Gavin was silent.

  ‘You want to stay there—? You want to be part of Milton’s wet dream?’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘What’s not simple about it?’

  ‘You know that if I leave I’ll practically ruin my chances of signing on as an officer with the Marines,’ he snapped. ‘You will too.’

  ‘I don’t want to join the sodding Marines,’ Lancelot hissed. ‘I don’t want to be shipped from one country to the next for the sole purpose of shooting people.’

  ‘That’s not what it’s like.’

  ‘Oh, you know, do you? You’ve been to Ireland, Israel and Africa? What did you do there? Make all those separatists cups of tea?’

  ‘You think I like the idea of Milton getting his claws on the Cadets? You think I want what we do to be drowned in New National doctrine?’

  ‘I don’t know, you don’t seem that opposed to the idea.’

  ‘I can’t just leave, not now. And you shouldn’t either.’

  ‘I’m leaving the moment the funding changes. It’ll make a point.’

  ‘It’ll make no point.’

  ‘They can’t influence the Cadets if all the cadets leave.’

  ‘And that’ll happen?’

  ‘No, because you’ll still be there, wagging your tail when Georgie throws you a tit-bit.’

  He wanted to push him, hard. Sometimes his quips got the better of him. It didn’t help that Lancelot knew him well, better than most. ‘It won’t be like that.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I’m only his attack-dog if I think like them. I don’t think like them, I’m never going to think like them. Why should I let the sodding New Nationals prevent me from doing what I want?’

  ‘What, shooting people?’

  ‘You sound like Gideon.’

  ‘Gideon makes sense. You want to help people? Be an engineer or a doctor.’

  Gavin shook his head, thoroughly disagreeing. He knew he should leave if the New Morals started to fund the Cadets, but he had worked too long, too hard to give in now. His goal was in sight. He was nearly eighteen.

  ‘Just two more years,’ he said. ‘We’ll be in the upper squad next term. The change won’t be so big there. They’ll only shake things up for the new recruits, otherwise they wouldn’t get away with it.’

  Lancelot said nothing. The game of rugby had already started, with others filling their roles for them.

  ‘Two years,’ Gavin said again.

  ‘Right,’ Lancelot sneered. ‘It’s like you said: if you’re not police or army, you’re little people.’

  He ran onto the field before Gavin could retaliate. Irritated with his lack of understanding, and also with himself,
Gavin watched as Lancelot flagged down Rupert and negotiated his spot. Huffing, Gavin jogged onto the pitch to join them, no longer eager to partake in the game.

  * * *

  It was lunchtime, and they had decided to enjoy the rare bit of sunshine. Though it was icy, Gwenhwyfar and Emily were sitting outside on one of the picnic benches, waiting for the others to join them. She hadn’t seen Lancelot all day. Whether it was her that he was avoiding or Emily, Gwenhwyfar couldn’t be sure, but his eagerness to not spend more time with her than he had to suited her perfectly.

  Emily was examining her nails, red and immaculate. ‘So do you always sit with Bedivere?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘Oh, I was just wondering,’ she shrugged. ‘He sat with Morgan for registration yesterday. Do you think he’s got a problem with me or something?’

  Gwenhwyfar didn’t know how to put it without being rude. ‘I think he’s still a bit uncomfortable with what happened. You know, at Tom’s party?’

  ‘So he has got a problem with me. I don’t know why. He’s the one who said I was a crap kisser.’

  ‘I made that up, remember?’ Gwenhwyfar contested. ‘You did apologise to him. I’m sure he’ll get over it eventually.’ She eyed Emily closely, wondering. ‘You don’t have an issue with him, do you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Emily insisted, sitting up straight. ‘He’s the one who’s being weird.’

  ‘Aren’t you just a little bit embarrassed about it, though? I mean; you kissed him. You kissed Bedivere.’

  ‘So what? It was just a kiss, it means nothing.’ Suddenly Emily shuddered, and made a sound of disgust. ‘You know what? Maybe I am embarrassed about it. I mean, what was I thinking?’

  Gwenhwyfar wanted to remind her it had been part of Charlotte’s cruel plan, but thought about what Viola had said to her on the way to Wormelow that morning: that the Furies had all changed allegiance in the past. Emily’s infatuation with them wouldn’t last—soon she’d scurry back to Charlotte, and all would be forgotten.

  ‘So we can’t just ditch him, then? I mean, it’s bad enough that I kissed him without having to sit at the same table as him.’

  She was shocked that she would even ask. ‘No, of course not.’

  The serious expression across Emily’s brow dissipated. ‘I’m joking.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t care if he sits with us, if he doesn’t care either. So you’re going out with Arthur, right? How’s that going?’

  ‘Oh, good,’ Gwenhwyfar said, reluctant to discuss something so personal with someone so loose-tongued. ‘You know: Arthur and Gwen, just like you said it would be.’

  Emily was pleased to find they still had common ground. ‘I knew it would work out,’ she gushed. ‘I’m glad for you, really I am.’ Pausing, she looked down at the grain of the table and picked at her own fingernails. ‘What about Lance?’

  Gwenhwyfar’s heart tightened. ‘What about him?’

  Emily propped her chin in her hand. ‘Is he seeing anyone at the moment?’

  Gwenhwyfar traced Emily’s gaze to the cafeteria. Lancelot was waiting by the doors with Gavin, presumably for the others. She felt a surge of anger as she remembered the incident yesterday. She had offered to sit alone with Arthur today, but he had insisted he wanted to spend time with Marvin instead. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘No reason. I was just wondering.’

  She felt her stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot. Emily couldn’t, could she…? But then she remembered what Gavin had once said, that blonde girl who’s obsessed with Lance. Suddenly Lancelot’s own words resurfaced, and she felt sick.

  ‘Lance—?’ she said in disbelief. ‘You like… Lance?’

  ‘Shh!’ she hissed at her. ‘I never said that!’ Despite the words, she smiled. ‘But he is fit. Have you seen him playing rugby?’ She released a sound that made Gwenhwyfar feel uncomfortable. ‘I’d be surprised if he is single.’

  Gwenhwyfar could barely speak.

  ‘Do you know if he fancies anyone?’

  Yes, me, she wanted to shout. He fancies me. But did he? That was nearly a month ago now, and a lot had happened since then. What if he liked Emily, too? ‘I did hear that he had a thing for Juliet in sixth-form,’ she lied, grasping at straws.

  ‘Juliet?’ Emily’s nose wrinkled. ‘Ugh. I don’t know why all the boys like her: she’s such a hag.’

  ‘Emily, you’ve never dated Lance, have you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This is going to sound weird, but have you ever been been with him?’

  She didn’t get it. As Gwenhwyfar tried to convey her meaning through her gaze, Emily merely looked at her as if she were strange.

  ‘You know,’ Gwenhwyfar murmured, reluctant to say it. ‘Have you… slept with him?’

  Emily’s sudden look of surprise turned to horror. ‘What? No! Ugh, don’t be so vile! Of course not! Who told you that?’

  ‘Lance,’ she revealed with some satisfaction. ‘He said he’d had sex with you.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Ages ago, months. He was obviously bragging. He said he’d had hundreds of women, and that you were one of them.’ She offered her a false smile. ‘Now I know he was lying.’

  ‘Lance said he slept with me?’ Emily scowled. ‘Why would he do that? Unless… unless he actually wanted to. Gwen! Don’t you see? It’s obvious! He said that because he fancies me!’

  She stared, slack-jawed. ‘You think?’

  Emily shushed her to silence as Lancelot loped over with the others. He sat down, pulling a stolen apple and chocolate bar out of his pocket. He soon realised that Emily was staring at him.

  ‘What?’

  Gwenhwyfar felt the jealousy within her explode. ‘Emily was wondering why you were telling everyone you slept with her,’ she snapped. Emily smacked her arm, the part that was still sore.

  ‘Lance made that up?’ Tom hacked out a mocking laugh. Gavin and Viola looked about the table in surprise. Lancelot’s knuckles whitened. He stood to leave.

  ‘Who said he made it up?’ Emily blurted out. ‘We were just wondering why he’s told everyone, when I specifically asked him not to.’

  Gwenhwyfar couldn’t believe it. Even Lancelot looked stunned. ‘Right,’ she said, her mouth dry.

  ‘You slept with Lance?’ Tom asked, his disappointment evident.

  ‘It was ages ago,’ Emily shrugged. ‘It wasn’t anything serious.’

  Gwenhwyfar felt nauseous. What was Emily playing at? None of them had forgiven her for what she had done, and yet she was here, as if she had always been one of them, and she was ruining everything.

  ‘Is this true, Lance?’ Viola asked, as shocked as Gwenhwyfar. By this stage Lancelot had regained his composure and was sitting as he always did, smugly, with an unshakable air of confidence.

  ‘Of course,’ he claimed. ‘I said we did, didn’t I?’

  The table fell into deliberation. Eventually the subject changed, the claim forgotten, but Bedivere seemed troubled and Gwenhwyfar found her feelings warring for the rest of recess.

  She was hurrying into the girls’ toilets when Viola caught up with her. The other girl slammed the door open, and Gwenhwyfar looked round in surprise.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Viola demanded, striding into the bathroom. Gwenhwyfar pressed her hips into the ceramics as she adjusted her appearance in the dirtied mirrors.

  ‘Gwen?’

  ‘What was what about?’ she snapped, irritated with herself.

  ‘That!’ Viola exclaimed. ‘That whole charade with Lance! You getting stroppy with Emily!’

  She sniffed, and pushed back her hair. ‘What’s it to you? I thought we hated her anyway.’

  ‘I thought so too, and then you go and let her sit at our table! Don’t you remember what she did?’

  ‘She apologised for what she did,’ Gwenhwyfar bit. ‘Besides, you’ve got a mouth, haven’t you? You could’ve said no, but you just sat there and told her you didn’t mind. Well, now lo
ok what happened! Bedivere’s clearly upset about it.’

  ‘So you’re going to blame this on me, are you?’

  ‘No. I just don’t agree with Lance bragging about things that aren’t true.’

  ‘You didn’t have a problem with it before.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It only seems to bother you now that Emily’s around.’

  ‘Don’t be such a hypocrite.’

  ‘I’m not the one taking the moral high ground here,’ she shouted. Gwenhwyfar decided she wasn’t going to answer that. She didn’t want to argue. ‘You’re not even listening to me,’ claimed Viola.

  ‘I am listening.’

  ‘No, you’re not. What the hell is up with you?’

  ‘She had a right to know. She didn’t sleep with him. She’s only saying she did because she likes him. She wants to make him think she understands him.’

  Viola stared.

  ‘And she doesn’t understand him,’ continued Gwenhwyfar. ‘She has no idea who he is. And Lancelot seems to have forgotten what she did to him. I mean, who does that? Claims they screwed the person who destroyed their life?’

  Viola waved her arms in exasperation and brought her palms up to her forehead. ‘I can’t deal with this!’ she expelled. ‘I mean, God! Emily’s only been with us for five minutes, and you’re already acting like her.’

  ‘Acting like what?’ she dared.

  ‘You know, like her. Like a complete bitch.’

  She was stunned, hurt, but couldn’t back-peddle now. ‘Oh, so now I’m a bitch, am I?’

  ‘No! You’re acting like one, but it’s not you. It’s Emily, and it’s driving me insane!’

  Gwenhwyfar pulled out the grimy bottle of lip-gloss that often sat in her pencil case and, lost for words, applied it angrily.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. You’re not a bitch. But I mean, do you fancy Lance or something?’

  She turned to face her. ‘What? No!’

  ‘Are you sure? Because you’re certainly acting like it.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘So you like Arthur, then?’

  ‘You know I do,’ she affirmed. ‘Why wouldn’t I? He’s perfect.’