The Future King: Logres (21 page)

L'ombre se transforme en nuit, et de la nuit à la
poussière.

The Round Table

Arthur had never seen
anything
like it.

It was a small town house, pocketed away at the end of a long road,
tall in stature and deceptively thin. It wasn’t the exterior that had him
wondering, however, it was Marvin’s apparent obsession with unusual things. The
walls were cluttered from floor to ceiling with them.

Arthur guessed that at some point in his life, Marvin had travelled
extensively. Exotic pots, carvings, wind chimes, musical instruments and
obsolete weapons covered the walls, interrupted by the odd oil painting. The
unpolished floor groaned beneath their feet as they moved deeper into the house.
Overlooking the staircase was the head of a great stag, grey with age.

‘That’s Rudolph,’ Marvin explained as he took Arthur’s coat. ‘My
great-great-grandfather shot him sometime in the 1930s. I should dust him,
really, but I like that he looks his age.’

Marvin left Arthur to hang his coat out of sight. Noticing an old
photograph by one of the closed doors, Arthur bent down to inspect it,
realising that it was of Marvin in his early twenties. Next to him was another
man similar in age and stature.

‘The others should be here soon, no doubt.’ Marvin reappeared from
the closet, and clapped his hands together. ‘Let me show you around. I was
thinking of using the study. What do you think? Will it do?’

It wasn’t the biggest room of the house, but Arthur suspected it
might have been, had the walls not been lined from floor to ceiling with books.
Most of them were coated in thick dust, but a few had recently been read.

‘I think this is where we’ll sit,’ Marvin said, circling the room
excitably. ‘I have to say that I’m rather nervous. I just hope the others will
find it as interesting as you do, Arthur. Would you like a drink?’

He nodded dumbly, and was surprised when Marvin unlatched a
compartment in the bookcase. Inside was an old bottle with several glasses.

‘What’s that?’

‘This? Oh, this is where I keep my consumables,’ Marvin grinned. He
took out a corkscrew, and placed the bottle on the round, polished table. ‘Have
you ever had wine before, Arthur?’

‘Once,’ he admitted. He picked the bottle up with interest, wiping
the grain-like sawdust away to clear the label. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘The black market.’ Marvin closed the hatch in the bookcase and commandeered
the wine. ‘This particular label is my favourite. It’s too expensive to drink
on a regular basis, so I save it for special occasions. It used to be abundant
on the market but the drought and dry winds of ’forty-eight damaged Europe’s
wine supplies. Now most of it goes to parliament, and what little is left to be
sold on the sly has more than tripled in price.’ The cork popped as it came
struggling out of the bottleneck. Once the glasses were dusted, Marvin poured
Arthur a small taster. ‘I know you’re not legally allowed to drink until you’re
twenty-five, but I thought this would be a good way to start our sessions. To
demonstrate to you what else is being forgotten.’

The doorbell rang. Marvin shoved the bottle into Arthur’s hands. ‘Ah!
Squirrel this away if that’s not our other two members, would you?’ He hurried to
answer the door. Curiously, Arthur read the date on the label.
France
,
2021
. His nose hovered over the neck, and he inhaled. The smell was
overpowering, but that was to be expected for something that was thirty-one
years old.

‘Come in, come in. I was just telling Arthur about enjoying things long
forgotten. Would you both like some?’ He hurried to the glasses, and reclaimed
the bottle.

‘You mean that’s
actual
wine?’ Bedivere seemed more eager than Morgan, who hung back, afraid of doing
something wrong.

‘Yes, it’s
actual
wine, one
of the many things being withheld by Milton. I suppose you’ve never heard of
his particular weakness for French red?’

The burgundy liquid glugged into each glass, and Morgan and Bedivere
received them tentatively.

‘No, no I haven’t,’ Arthur grinned. He smelt it again, and found it
was less potent than before.

‘We should have a toast.’ They all looked to Marvin and mirrored the
raising of his glass. ‘To truth, and knowledge.’

They murmured the words uncomfortably, waiting for their cue to drink.
Bedivere coughed, and Arthur winced. Morgan screwed up her face then raised her
glass again to discreetly spit it back out.

‘It does take some getting used to, freedom. I believe it is an
acquired taste, one that develops the more you’re subjected to it.’ Marvin sat,
his pale eyes scanning across the nearly empty table. ‘Before we begin, we
should decide on a name. Are there any suggestions?’

No one wanted to go first. Morgan stared at the books opposite, and
Bedivere swirled his glass.

‘Arthur! You’re usually the first to come up with such things,’
Marvin tried. ‘Have you thought of any possibilities?’

Arthur racked his brain, concentrating on his little-used creativity
to try and think of something witty. ‘
History
Club
?’ he eventually shrugged. Morgan looked at him, and smirked.

‘We can do better than that. Anyone else?’

Encouraged, Bedivere cleared his throat. ‘How about
Marvin’s Maniacs
?’

‘Clever, very clever… though I don’t think that’s quite appropriate,
do you, Bedivere?’

Morgan’s eyes rose up to meet Arthur’s. ‘How about… how about
Round Table
?’

‘Round Table Club?’ Bedivere questioned, not getting it.

‘No:
The
Round Table. We’d
say; we have another meeting with
The
Round Table.
’

Marvin seemed pleased.

‘Well, the table is round,’ Morgan pointed out.

‘How about
Tabula Rotunda
,
to make it less obvious?’ Steeling himself, Arthur took another sip of his
wine.

‘
Tabula Rotunda
could work.
A bit of Latin never hurts.’

Morgan looked to Marvin. ‘But it’s too hard to pronounce. Why not
just stick with
The Round Table
? No
one will know what we’re talking about, anyway.’

‘We should have a vote,’ Arthur insisted.

‘A vote! Ah yes, our first attempt at democracy. All in favour of
The Round Table
?’

Bedivere and Morgan both raised their hands.

‘All in favour of
Tabula
Rotunda
?’

Marvin and Arthur raised their hands. The others looked displeased.

‘Well, that’s no good.’ Bedivere dipped his finger in the warm wine,
tasting it on his lips. ‘So much for democracy.’

‘This won’t do,’ murmured Marvin, scraping his scalp with blunt,
bitten nails. ‘Won’t someone relent?’

Silence ensued. All eyes looked to one another, Morgan adamant,
Bedivere shy. Eventually Arthur gave in. ‘I suppose
The Round Table
will do,’ he muttered, irked. Marvin beamed.

‘That’s settled then. Now, I thought we’d begin with the darker side
of human cloning—there are longstanding rumours that Asia and the States
have been using clone technology to test biological weapons. Or we could look
at the politics of Milton’s party, and those preceding it. Arthur’s been
reading a rather interesting book on surveillance.
1984
is a good one too—you must have heard of that.’

Arthur was the only one who didn’t look at him blankly.

‘Well, I have a copy of it upstairs somewhere. If you give me a
moment I’ll go and fetch it. That can be your homework for this week: reading.’

As Marvin vacated the room, Arthur took another sip from his glass,
savouring the taste. The burning of the alcohol no longer seemed so intense.
Bedivere surveyed the towering books, his eyes wide with wonder.

‘Where did he get all of this stuff?’ he whispered. ‘Do you know?’

Arthur shook his head, and sucked the wine off his bottom lip. ‘I
didn’t get the chance to ask. He must have got most of it abroad.’

‘He can’t have gone to each country to get each thing he has,’
Bedivere contested, frowning. He strained to get a peek of the littered
hallway.

‘It would be impressive if he had,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m pretty sure
that a stuffed duck-billed platypus isn’t allowed to leave Australia.’

‘Where was that?’ Bedivere asked quietly.

‘By the stairs.’

He leant back in his chair. ‘He must have bought it somewhere,’ he
concluded.

‘Maybe they’re all antiques? The stag belonged to his great-great-grandfather,
but I don’t know about the bison skull. It’s not like the US will just let
anyone in, and if you get a travel visa they make sure you only leave with what
you came in with.’

‘I didn’t see that either,’ complained Bedivere.

‘It was by Rudolph,’ Arthur remarked, his eyes trailing the wall of
books behind his friend. ‘It was on a plaque with an American flag, so I’m
assuming it was a bison.’

‘What is a bison, anyway?’

‘You know, a buffalo.’

Morgan was being quiet. Arthur had listened in on her interaction
with Gwenhwyfar in History yesterday afternoon, and though he had heard
Gwenhwyfar make countless attempts to strike up conversation, the effort had
indeed been wholly one-sided, a point he’d had to yield to today during Science.
‘Are you all right?’

She nodded, her long fingers tightly wound around the stem of her
wineglass.

‘You should drink that, you know. Marvin says it’s expensive.’

‘But I don’t like it,’ she murmured, her cheeks pink. She looked to
the door apprehensively. ‘Can’t one of you just down it? I don’t want to seem
rude.’

‘Drink it then,’ Bedivere said. ‘I saw you spit back out into it.’

‘Excuse me if I’m not comfortable with my History teacher getting me
drunk.’ He rolled his eyes. Morgan retaliated by pulling a face. Her gaze then
settled on Arthur. ‘Do you want it?’ she whispered.

‘Not particularly,’ he frowned.

‘Please?’

Arthur looked to Bedivere. ‘You really can’t just drink it?’ She
shook her head. Roughly, and a little irritated, he sighed. ‘Fine. Give it
here, then. If I must.’

Bedivere made a face as Arthur gulped it down, coughing and
spluttering as some of it went the wrong way. ‘Backwash,’ Bedivere said with a
sound of disgust.

‘It’s not like I’ve
got
anything,’ Morgan hissed at him. Arthur slid the glass back across the table. As
she took it off him, their fingers touched. He withdrew his hand sharply.
‘Besides, I can’t stay long,’ she added. ‘I have an exam tonight.’

‘You do? For what?’

‘Singing,’ she replied, looking to Bedivere with her arms firmly
crossed. ‘So
wine
is the last thing I
need right now. I should be practising.’

Faint thuds and footsteps could be heard from the rooms upstairs. It
was already dark outside, and Marvin had long since closed the heavy,
Victorian-style curtains that were decorated with the antique designs of
William Morris.

‘Go then, if you’re so worried. Arthur and I will finish the wine,
won’t we, Arthur?’

He felt he’d already had too much as it was, and said so, only the
words seemed to tumble out of his mouth like drunken acrobats. His next sip
went down more easily. Bedivere looked up at the ceiling at another mighty
thud.

‘What’s taking him so long?’

‘Maybe we should go and check?’ Arthur suggested, though he made no
effort to rise. Shortly footsteps sounded back down the stairs, and Marvin was with
them again, looking flushed.

‘Sorry about that,’ he apologised. ‘I found one copy but the other
wasn’t where I left it.’ He gave one each to Bedivere and Morgan. ‘Ah! Finished
already, I see?’ He picked up Morgan’s glass. ‘Would you like some more?’

‘Actually, I think Morgan’s had enough,’ Arthur announced, when he
realised she wasn’t going to object. ‘She’s got an exam, later.’

‘An exam?’ Marvin looked to her with interest. ‘Is this for your
singing?’