The Future King: Logres (19 page)

Gwenhwyfar could tell that her mother didn’t agree, for she sat back
violently and cast her gaze out of the window. For a moment Gwenhwyfar thought
she was going to press her opinion further, but she said nothing.

‘I think you’ve made the right choice, cariad.’ Garan offered her a
half-relieved smile. The car turned another corner and then the next left, and
soon they were driving through the suburbs of Upper Well Street, closing in on
their still-new home.

It was Wednesday evening when Gwenhwyfar was reminded of
Free Countries
.

She was sitting on her knees at her desk, huddled by her computer,
when a small window popped up to fill the screen. Irritated, she clicked it
away, but it followed her from page to page. Only when she looked properly did
she realise that it wasn’t just any pop up window. It was trying to say hello.

There was a small box in which she could key in words, like an old-fashioned
messenger portal. When she failed to cross it away, the pop up box grew
impatient.

She didn’t know what to do. Her instincts told her to ignore it for
fear it was a virus, but curiosity soon prevailed.

Who’s this?

Nothing. She waited two minutes in apprehension, watching the clock
tick by. Finally,

She faltered, considering.

Yes, I’m here.

How did you find me?

Who is this?

She considered turning the power off. As her finger crept closer to
the restart button, text flashed up again.

Panic flooded through her. Suddenly she felt as if she’d done
something dangerous, that this was too suspicious. She pressed the power button
before she could stop herself. Relief washed through her as her computer
rebooted with a clear screen. Nervously Gwenhwyfar waited for a few moments and
then opened up the Internet, just to be sure.

Her heart froze.

My computer crashed. Who are you?

No, I mean, what’s your name?

She waited while the pop up window digested her question. It seemed
to chew it over for a while.

Gwenhwyfar frowned.

I’m not meeting anyone unless you tell me your name.

More deliberation. She picked the last scraps of nail polish away
from her thumb.

What is your name?

Isolde
, the pop up box relented.

Really?

You’re a girl?

Gwenhwyfar suddenly felt less threatened.

She thought for a moment.

Yes. Where can we meet?

She was unnerved that they knew her location in detail. Drawing
another deep breath, she calmed herself. Public, she should meet her somewhere
public.

Is there a coffee shop near by?

Sounds good.

Gwen.

The conversation ended itself. Suddenly there was no sign of it ever
happening at all.

For a while Gwenhwyfar continued to browse the Internet, making sure
that there wasn’t anything else. Was she crazy, doing something like this? She
didn’t even know if she agreed with
Free
Countries
, but it sounded appealing to be part of a forbidden cause. Just
to be safe she deleted her browser history, switching off her computer. It was just
gone ten o’ clock, not quite late enough for bed, and so taking a few moments
to stretch, Gwenhwyfar made her way downstairs.

Her parents were watching the media station. She moved to sit in the
armchair, stepping carefully over Llew, who gazed at her with rheumy eyes.
There was a man on screen reporting world events with an emotionless
expression. She glanced to her mother and father. They were both transfixed.

‘What’s going on?’

‘You just missed the announcement,’ her father said. ‘George Milton is
holding a general election next May.’

Gwenhwyfar tried to read his expression. ‘Is that good?’

‘It is. He was supposed to hold one last year. Parliament has to have
one once every five years, or more often, depending on the Prime Minister’s
discretion,’ he explained.

‘So why didn’t he hold one then?’

‘The five year time limit of a parliament can be varied by something
called an Act of Parliament. Milton extended his term by six months at first,
but then increased it by another six. He claimed it was due to the financial
crisis. We couldn’t
afford
an
election. Not that the New Nationals minded, of course, but there were plenty
who did.’

Eve propped her head in her hand. ‘Weren’t there all those protests
about it?’

‘There was almost a civil war,’ Garan corrected. ‘He made a joke out
of democracy.’

‘That’s right, I remember it being on the news.’

Gwenhwyfar frowned. ‘When was it on the news?’

‘Last summer. They clamped down on the protesters quite hard. It got
nasty when someone died.’

‘Who?’

Eve shrugged. ‘I don’t know, just some woman. A policeman hit her and
she fell. I don’t think it was his fault. She was just in the wrong place at
the wrong time.’

‘They were trying to kettle the crowd into too small a space,’ Garan
added, angered. ‘It was completely their fault. What do they think is going to
happen if they trap ten thousand people in Parliament Square? They’ll panic,
that’s what. No wonder they turned violent.’

‘They were only doing their job,’ Eve huffed. ‘You know that those
boys they arrested had petrol bombs. They
intended
to hurt someone, police or not.’

‘So they said,’ Garan remarked. ‘They also said that the woman was
part of the group allegedly caught with the petrol bombs. They only backtracked
when her family threatened to sue for libel.’

‘
Fine
,’ Eve snapped.
‘You’re right: it was the Met’s fault. I mean, I don’t know, do I? You’re so
strident
.’

Quickly, Eve’s gaze flicked back to the media station. The images
changed again, and suddenly the newsreader was talking about the ongoing
effects of the historical privatisation of the NHS. Gwenhwyfar bit the dry skin
off her lower lip. It bled.

As the news turned to local headlines, she wished her parents
goodnight and pulled herself up the stairs to get ready for bed. She’d never
really followed world affairs before; her old life at Ysgol Annwfn had
consisted of little more than worries over what to wear to each social event. Now
that she found her eyes opening, however, she wondered if the world had always been
so frightful. Sleep welcomed her slowly that night, bringing her unsettled
visions that abated when she woke.

Quantum Models

The lights flickered, threatening
them with another
blackout. It was Thursday, so the Furies were back, and the next-door table was
monopolised once again, a circus routine of all three girls applying make-up,
ruffling their hair, checking their reflections, then repeating all the former;
until at long last they concluded their beauty routine with the toxic spraying of
deodorant under their shirts and the dousing of their wrists, legs and necks in
perfume. Forty-four B was again filled with the smog of strong-smelling
substances in the mornings. Gwenhwyfar hated it.

‘This is giving me a headache,’ Bedivere complained, sinking low to keep
his head beneath the hanging cloud. ‘I can barely breathe with that stuff in
the air. It
stinks
.’

Gwenhwyfar looked across to the Furies. Word had spread about what
had really happened the night of Tom’s party, and as a result she now endured
renewed whispering and rumour in times of recess. Charlotte gave Gwenhwyfar a
sidelong glance that suggested she had heard Bedivere’s complaint. ‘How is it
even allowed?’ she whispered.

‘It’s not,’ he murmured back. ‘Miss Ray banned it ages ago, but she’s
stopped dealing out the detentions. They don’t work, so she pretends not to
notice.’

‘How can anyone not notice this?’

‘They’d all shrivel up without their smellies,’ Viola declared
loudly. ‘I think she knows she’d be liable.’ Smirking, she folded her arms and
leant back in her chair. ‘So have you spoken with Arthur?’

‘Not since Tuesday.’

‘And?’

‘I didn’t want to bring it up. He says they’re just friends.’ Gwenhwyfar
looked over her shoulder, but Morgan wasn’t at her desk yet. ‘I don’t know if I
can say anything without seeming weird.’

‘He
did
hide it from you,’
Viola reminded her. ‘Why didn’t he mention it, if it was so innocent?’

‘It was just an outing. It’s not that weird, is it?’

‘You seemed to think so on Monday,’ Bedivere remarked.

‘I’ve had time to think about it since then. Besides, she
knows
he likes me.’

‘And he knows she likes him.’ Viola’s brown eyes settled on
Gwenhwyfar. ‘I don’t care what he says, that’s
weird
.’

Suddenly her resolve unravelled. ‘It
is
weird, isn’t it?’ she fretted. ‘I mean, who hangs out with
someone that fancies them if they don’t like them back?’

‘I don’t know why they’re suddenly such great friends,’ Bedivere
muttered. ‘Before you got here, Morgan followed me everywhere, yet when I was
with Arthur she barely said more than two words to him.’

She scowled. ‘So what am I supposed to do?’

Viola shrugged. ‘Nothing. What can you do? Arthur says they’re
friends, so you’ll just have to trust him. If he
does
like you, he’ll soon forget about Morgan. When’s your next
lesson together?’

‘Second period.’ She now knew her timetable by heart. ‘Science. Then
History this afternoon.’

‘Make sure you get to sit with him in Science, then,’ Viola advised,
her voice low. ‘And make sure it’s clear to Morgan how close you and Arthur
are. She’ll soon back off.’

‘I think I can manage that,’ Gwenhwyfar murmured. She turned her eyes
to the door. Morgan came into the classroom with her tatty sketchbook pressed
close to her chest. Gwenhwyfar felt no sympathy for the doe-eyed girl as she
sat alone. Morgan clearly had a strong dislike for her. It was a mutual
feeling, and once again Gwenhwyfar found herself wondering what on earth Arthur
saw in Morgan other than a pretty face.

As she joined the queue outside her Science room, Arthur greeted her
with a lavish smile.

‘Gwen,’ he expelled, uncrossing his arms. ‘Is it still all right if
we sit together?’

‘Of course! If Mrs Paxton will let us get away with it. You know what
she’s like.’

He grinned boyishly. ‘She won’t mind. I think she likes me.’

The door was opened to grant them access to their lesson. ‘So what are
your plans for this weekend?’ she teased. ‘Any more secret trips with your
stalker?’

‘She’s hardly a stalker, Gwen,’ Arthur said as he followed her to her
seat. ‘Actually, she’s quite nice. I think you’d like her, if you got to know
her.’

‘Well, that’s not going to happen.’ Gwenhwyfar slipped her bag off
her shoulders and pulled out her exercise book. ‘She hasn’t said a word to me
since I started here. Or haven’t you noticed?’

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ he frowned. ‘She’s probably just shy.’

‘Being shy is no excuse for being rude,’ she said, unzipping her
pencil case. She offered a good-natured smile. ‘I’d be perfectly happy to talk
to Morgan. I’m not the one ignoring her.’

Arthur watched her surreptitiously. Gwenhwyfar waved her arm and
expelled half a laugh.

‘All right, you just wait until History, and you’ll see. When has she
ever
done anything but hiss at me?’

‘I just don’t understand it,’ Arthur said. ‘She’s perfectly nice to
me.’

‘Of course she’s nice to you,’ Gwenhwyfar replied, writing out the
date. ‘You’re a boy. She’s clearly one of
those
girls
.’

‘Which girls?’

‘You know, the ones that are nice as pie to anything male, and that turn
into a harpy the moment they’re on their own with something with any form of
ovaries
.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ He dropped his bag on the floor. ‘But no,
I’m
not
going on some secret outing
with her. I only didn’t tell you about last weekend because I thought it wasn’t
important.’

‘I know.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not. Really, I don’t care who you hang out
with. I just thought that when you said you weren’t going out with her, you
weren’t going out with her. In whatever context.’

His jovial demeanour collapsed. ‘And that was my fault, I know. I
should have mentioned it. Sorry.’ Gwenhwyfar felt a flare of inward irritation,
and she hated herself for bringing it up.

‘Look, I don’t particularly want to talk about Morgan all lesson, do
you? If you say you’re just friends, you’re just friends. I trust you.’ She
sent him a winning smile. ‘So what
are
you doing this weekend?’

‘I have a Saturday shift at the library. Then I’m spending Sunday
with my grandmother. You?’

Her mind jumped to
Free
Countries
and immediately her pulse quickened. ‘Just meeting a friend,’ she
lied. ‘We’re going shopping.’

Mrs Paxton silenced the class with the clap of a wooden ruler against
her desk. Her grey eyes honed in on Arthur and immediately she asked him to
move. Gwenhwyfar sent him an apologetic smile as he ambled back to the front of
the classroom, quietly and without protest.

He waited for her once the bell rang, and together they came out into
the corridor.

‘So where are you off to now?’ she asked, moving closer as they
streamed with the crowd, at a pace that annoyed others.

‘Marvin’s.’ His palm brushed the small of her back as he guided her
through the masses. ‘You?’

‘Cafeteria,’ she called up to him. ‘To sit with Vi. Want to join us?’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t.’ He seemed to sense her disappointment.
‘I’ll walk you there though, if you like?’

‘Sure.’

Though the sun shone outside, the cold wind sapped all warmth from
the pale rays and left her fellow pupils shivering in inadequate coats. They
made their way down from Wormelow in silence, and stopped together just outside
the canteen on the cut grass, which lay a good distance from the congested
doors.

‘So I’ll see you in History?’

‘Of course.’ He stood a little closer. ‘Maybe… if we’re not so busy
next weekend… we could hang out, or something?’

‘Or something…?’

‘You know, go out together… go and do something.’

She smiled up at him. ‘Are you asking me out?’

Immediately he coloured. Saving him from the embarrassment of trying
to formulate a response, she stepped towards him and clasped his hands gently.

‘I’d love to. We’ll work something out?’

A pleased grin split across his lips. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Want my number?’

They fumbled for their phones. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured, once he had it.
Gwenhwyfar looked up at him, reluctant to go.

‘I’ll see you later?’ He nodded. Standing on her tiptoes, she cupped
his neck and planted a feather-light kiss upon his cheek. A group of boys saw
it and ambled by, whooping. As Gwenhwyfar blushed Arthur did too.

‘I’ll see you later,’ he promised, half-stunned by the gesture. Eventually
they parted, and his eyes shadowed her until she found her way through the throng
and into the cafeteria.

Her friends were all sitting at their usual table. Lancelot was there
too, and looked just as moody as he had been the day before. Since first
meeting him on Monday, he had thawed very little towards her.

Gwenhwyfar scoured the crowd as she joined them. Hector was nowhere to
be seen, despite the fact his suspension ended today. ‘Everyone all right?’
There were varying positive noises, and a grunt from Lancelot.

‘Viola was just showing us her pictures from Saturday,’ Tom
announced. Before the couple sat a smart-looking folder.

‘I was going to show you this morning,’ Viola added. ‘I went into the
agency after school to pick them up. I’ll be on the website soon.’

‘Can I see?’ Gwenhwyfar reached for the portfolio. It was heavy with
a soft, matte cover. The letters QMS were embossed in the middle. She opened it.
‘Oh Viola, these are gorgeous!’ she exclaimed. Her friend took the compliment
in silence, while everyone around her craned their necks for a second look.
‘Your hair looks amazing… I’m so jealous!’

‘Me too,’ Gavin said, and everyone laughed.

She turned the page and studied the second and third picture with
just as much awe. The portfolio was empty after that, but Gwenhwyfar could tell
that Viola, along with everyone at the table, was made proud by the content.

‘You’ll go far, I think,’ she encouraged, closing it carefully and
handing it back to her. ‘I wish I could be a model.’

‘I think you could be, if they didn’t have this silly height
restriction. One of the girls at the agency told me that her friend was dropped
for being too short. She was fourteen when she started, so her agency thought
she’d grow. When she didn’t, they stopped promoting her effectively. That was
after they told her to quit school to model full time.’

Tom’s face contorted. ‘That’s a bit unfair.’

Viola shrugged. ‘That’s the industry.’

‘Did your agency do that?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, thinking that perhaps
modelling wasn’t for her after all.

‘No,’ Viola said, clutching her book to her chest. ‘That was
Fashion First
. She couldn’t find work
with other agencies after that. She was too short, and too old.’

‘How old was she?’ Gavin enquired.

‘Nineteen.’

‘I thought you were going to say thirty, or so,’ he confessed.

‘Not that thirty’s exactly retirement age,’ Lancelot snorted. They
all looked to him. It was the first contribution he’d made in days.

‘I suppose they prefer working with girls when they’re younger and
thinner,’ Gwenhwyfar theorised.

‘Only because most of them haven’t finished puberty yet.’ Viola stowed
her portfolio away. Gwenhwyfar was beginning to play over her arrangement on
Saturday. She was experiencing second thoughts.

‘Do any of you know anything about a group called
Free Countries
? I got a flyer about it
in the post the other day.’

‘I think I’ve had one of those before,’ Bedivere confessed. ‘I usually
just throw them away.’

‘Apparently they have a website.’

‘They do?’

‘Yep! That’s what I’ve heard, at least.’

‘I heard they were some extremist organisation,’ Tom remarked. ‘Apparently
they were involved in the rioting the night of my party. Did you hear about
that?’