The Future King: Logres (27 page)

‘No, not everything,’ Arthur relented, ‘most things. She still has a
bit of money left over from when my grandfather was alive. I’m just glad the
house is hers, otherwise it’d be impossible. How could you think it was all
just provided for?’

‘I’m sorry if I offended you. It’s just—usually an uncle or a
relative would pay for something like that.’

‘Well, I don’t have an uncle,’ Arthur remarked. ‘Or any other
relatives.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be, it’s fine.’

This time the silence was short-lived. ‘You know, I think it’s pretty
great that you support your grandmother. Most people wouldn’t know where to
start with something like that.’

‘Thanks.’ He folded his arms into his chest in an effort to keep warm.
‘I think she appreciates it. Sometimes.’

She hitched closer to him again, and offered his coat to half-cover
them both. Gratefully he put his arm around her and rubbed her side. Pleased
that they were still friends, Gwenhwyfar held him close, and they sat huddled
together until the bell rang.

Arthur walked with Gwenhwyfar to Geography, where they talked together
until their lessons started. As Gwenhwyfar left to queue with Viola, Arthur rejoined
his own class, feeling the sullen gaze of Lancelot press hard upon him. They
were called into their classroom. The moment he approached Lancelot blocked his
way with a palm to the chest.

‘What?’ asked Arthur, in the bored tone he always used: a tone that
never failed to annoy Lancelot.

‘So you and Gwen are dating now?’

‘Maybe.’ Arthur twisted past him.

‘Lance! Sit
down
,’ Miss
Church commanded. He did, but without indicating that he’d heard her, and as
Arthur took his usual seat behind him, Lancelot twisted around.

‘So you are dating? Just for the record, if anyone does tell you I’ve
slept with her, please ignore them, because I wouldn’t even want to.’

The best policy with Lancelot was usually to ignore him. His jaw squaring,
Arthur occupied himself with collecting the necessary objects from his
schoolbag.

‘Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t, because she seemed up for it,
going by what Hector said…’

He opened his books, pulled out a pen, and calmly wrote down the
date.

‘…and she had to have had
something
along those lines in mind when she invited you both up to that room…’

‘
Me
. She invited
me
to that room.’ He shouldn’t have
corrected him. Immediately Lancelot’s eyes sparked.

‘Yeah, whatever, Arty,’ he smirked. ‘Next time just make sure you’re
not getting anyone’s seconds.’

His fist tightened around his pen. He hated being called
Arty
and he hated the way Lancelot
always threw such disgusting concepts around. What was worse, Arthur seemed to
find it nearly impossible to resist the urge to provoke him. ‘Don’t worry about
me, Lotty. Gwen’s made it quite clear who she’s interested in.’

His assailant scowled. ‘Oh, has she?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur stated, jaw tight. ‘So as much as I’m touched by your concern,
you needn’t worry. I’m not getting anyone’s seconds, unlike some people.’

His pointed look was enough to show Lancelot what he meant. Suddenly
Lancelot rocketed to his feet, and Arthur’s table was flying towards his face
as his angry, bruised hands smacked the edge up. Snapping the desk back down, Arthur
rose to the challenge. Miss Church yelled.

‘What, don’t like thinking about her?’ Arthur sniped, pleased that
for once, it was he who was getting a rise. ‘It’s just as well—she told
me she couldn’t stand you, anyway.’

‘Arthur!’ Miss Church cried. She stormed towards the duelling boys as
Lancelot pushed him.

‘I never touched her,’ Lancelot growled, his heavy brow twisted with
rage.

‘Lance!’ she shouted. ‘Sit down!’

‘Funny how she left, isn’t it? I told her she was welcome to you, but
apparently she would rather move schools.’ Arthur stood firm as he was shoved
again. Their teacher caught Lancelot by the arm and dragged him away from the
desk.

‘He started it!’ he hollered as he was pushed towards the door.

‘Out, Lance! I gave you a warning—I want you to go straight to
the principal’s office,
now
. You’re
not to come back until you’ve told him why I sent you there.’

Arthur smiled with satisfaction as Miss Church slammed and locked the
door. For a while Lancelot hammered on the wood, but then the knocking ceased
and his curses echoed down the hall.

‘Arthur!’ Miss Church barked, ‘If you don’t sit down, I’ll send you
there with him! Sit!’

Her voice rose to silence the class. Arthur snapped down and spent
the next few moments trying to restore his disturbed desk. For a while the girl
who sat next to Lancelot glared at him through narrowed eyes, but her silent
accusation was wasted. Arthur wondered why so many girls seemed to be enamoured
with the aggressive teenager. When the class quietened, Miss Church finally had
a moment to write her intentions on the board. The lesson would be on the science
of predicting volcanic eruptions. Arthur smiled.

Corrected

'
Lance has been disrupting
Mrs Church’s lessons again.’

The final bell of the day had sounded, expelling the students of
Logres from the school grounds in an excited hubbub. Though the days were
getting shorter, there was still some sunshine left to enjoy, and Julie felt
the usual sting of being one of the last stuck in the stuffy, dusty building.

‘I heard,’ Marvin remarked mildly, stirring the two cups of tea he
had just made. ‘Apparently she’s rather upset. I’d have thought she’d be used
to it by now.’

‘You don’t have him in any of your classes, do you?’

‘Not since Year Nine, no.’ Carefully, Marvin carried the two full
mugs across to where Julie was leant against the small refrigerator that stood
at counter height. ‘Personally I find Tom Hareton harder work. At least
whatever Lancelot has to say is vaguely intelligent. Tom just runs off that
mouth of his as if he’s got verbal diarrhoea.’

‘You shouldn’t be so cruel,’ she scolded, taking her tea from him and
blowing the steam over the brim. ‘I know what you mean, though. Since I gave
Lance something to work on from a higher set he’s settled right down. Where is
Jo now?’

‘In the deputy’s office, giving Mr Hall more black marks for Lance’s
record.’ His brow rumpled, and he sighed. ‘Sometimes I think the principal is
doing that boy more harm than good.’

‘Didn’t his mother teach music here?’

Marvin nodded, and swallowed. ‘Yes! Emma. She was lovely. One of
those rare people that just light up the room. I met her at university. I didn’t
know Ben that well, but he seemed a decent man. Lance could have used him in
his life.’

‘Funny how things just happen, isn’t it?’ Julie remarked. ‘One day
your life is set—you wake up, have toast, go to work, see friends, come
home and have your family—and then the next everything changes. Sometimes
I wonder how I got where I am.’

‘You seem to be doing well by those boys.’ He looked at her,
encouragement in his eyes. ‘Erec will get better once he settles. He always
finds it difficult when they swap him over to something new.’

She sighed. ‘I know. So how’s Arthur?’

‘He’s been spending more time with Gwen. It’s good for both of them,
I think.’

Julie nodded in agreement. ‘You should try to limit the amount of
time he spends with you. Jason’s concerned. He doesn’t think it’s… proper.’

‘Proper?’ Marvin questioned. ‘Of course it’s not
proper
. How many students would rather hang out with their tutor over
their own ilk? What have you heard?’

‘Just that the principal thinks it’s cause for concern, and that’s
without him knowing the full extent of how much time Arthur spends with you.’

‘They won’t know that, unless Mr Pick tells them, and he and I have
an agreement.’ He grinned at her toothily.

‘You’re so anti-establishment,’ she teased. ‘It’s going to get you
into trouble, one of these days.’

‘When it does, I’ll be sure not to mention your hand. Covering for me
in staff meetings? Keeping me up to date with the gossip? You and I make a
jolly team, Julie.’

She smiled at him fondly.

‘Those biscuits,’ he said, eying the coffee table in the middle of
the room. ‘Do they belong to anyone?’

‘They’re Mr Hall’s. He brought them in yesterday.’

He looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes, crept forwards
and set his mug on the table.

‘Marvin, don’t.’

He opened the tin with a pop.

‘You shouldn’t!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’ll know, I swear he counts them.’

‘A couple won’t hurt.’ He pushed the lid back in place, and scurried
over to her. ‘Chocolate digestive?’

She took one and Marvin bit into the other, showering crumbs down his
front.

‘I assume you’ve read the latest poll results,’ Julie remarked. ‘The
New Nationals still have the majority. I can’t imagine who votes in such
things.’

‘Whoever answers their phone,’ Marvin told her. ‘Those they call are
hardly going to voice support for an opposing party.’ Swallowing, he dunked the
rest of his biscuit into his tea. ‘I have wondered how many of our choices are
smoke and mirrors. It’s a popular conspiracy theory that the three main parties
are essentially one and the same, run and funded by the same oligarchy.’

‘Andrew Graham’s convinced that life has never been better. Things
are
good
under Milton, for men like
him.’ She glanced to the New National poster hanging on an otherwise empty
wall, opposite the notice boards. ‘I can’t remember when Logres suddenly became
so politicised.’

‘I think it was about the time when Ravioli became headmaster,
shortly after they came to power.’

‘It’s very tiring.’ She offered him a strained smile. ‘I’m sure it’s
what keeps Andrew and other Milton supporters here spouting their praise.’

‘Every regime thrives on its celebrating simpletons.’ He leant next
to her. ‘And you? What do you think?’

‘Do you even need to ask? If the New Nationals had their way, Erec
would be packed off to a mental institution. I know my son—he wouldn’t
hurt a fly. I even heard from my doctor that he could go into one of those
Mobilisation Centres.’

‘I would keep him away from those, if you can,’ Marvin advised. ‘I’ve
heard rumours about those places, and none of them are good.’

She frowned at him. The late afternoon sun cast new shapes through
the windows onto the rough blue carpets. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Julie?’

They both looked up. Mr Eaves poked his head through the doorway, his
steely eyebrows knotted. Marvin stepped away from her, and only then did Julie
realise how close he had been, close enough to smell, to feel the warm steam off
the top of his tea.

‘Charles,’ she smiled, aware that he liked to listen in on conversations
that didn’t concern him, and had long-since gained the nickname Mr Eavesdropper.
‘Don’t tell me, Mr Hall wishes to see me?’

‘It’ll be the biscuits,’ Marvin murmured in an undertone.

‘Not Mr Hall, I’m afraid.’ Mr Eaves half stepped into the room,
reluctant to be pulled too far from his busy schedule. ‘Dr Ravioli wants to
discuss your latest set of reports with you.’ He eyed her sympathetically. ‘Did
you forget to follow protocol?’

‘Oh, probably.’ Huffing, Julie strode across to the sink and emptied
what was left in her mug. ‘Has he spoken to you at all?’

‘Not yet; I’m hoping that I’ve been spared this term,’ Charles said
without a smile. He ducked out of the staff room and sped off down the
corridor.

‘Perhaps we can continue this some other time?’ Julie said, turning
to Marvin. ‘I always feel we’re rushed, talking in the staff room like this.’

‘Why, Ms Appelbauer, are you asking me on a date?’

‘Of course,’ she teased. ‘And what better way to spend it than
talking about Milton and his simpletons?’

‘Just let me know when you’re free, and we’ll work something out.’

‘I’ll check my schedule,’ she promised.

‘Until then, staff room tomorrow?’

‘Staff room,’ she agreed.

They parted, and set off to opposite ends of the building.

‘So what are you reading at the moment?’

They were sitting at a table for two, nestled at the back of the
small room, as close to the corner as they could get in an already full
restaurant. It was Thursday evening, and Gwenhwyfar was working her way through
her pizza, which was crispy, thin, and bigger than the plate it was served on.

‘Something called
Capitalism,
the One True Religion
. It basically argues that capitalism and environmentalism
can’t co-exist. In order for capitalism to be “successful”, the environment has
to be destroyed.’

‘Is it good?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘It’s all right. It’s a bit Americanised. The last
book I read was better.’

‘You mean
The
Human Condition
?’ He nodded. Gwenhwyfar
bit off a mouthful of crust and took a moment to swallow. ‘I’m just going on a
hunch here, and ignoring what Marvin said about it. I’ll bet it’s worth reading.’

‘It is worth reading,’ Arthur agreed. ‘I can ask Marvin if you can
borrow it. He won’t mind as long as you’re careful.’

Gwenhwyfar glanced down to his plate. He had nearly finished. ‘Won’t
someone else be reading it?’

‘I doubt it. Shall I ask him?’

‘Why don’t you give me the highlights?’ Gwenhwyfar suggested. She
took a sip of lemonade. ‘I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with Marvin or
anything.’

‘You just can’t be bothered to read it, can you?’ Arthur teased.

‘Well, I
am
in the middle
of something else right now,’ Gwenhwyfar admitted, buoyantly. ‘It’s about a
struggle to claim a kingdom’s throne, but the
true
heir is a bastard-born pauper living in the slums. She’s only
just discovered her true heritage after earning her freedom as a slave and sailing
across to new lands.’ She grinned. ‘I’m on book four. My aunt gets me them for
Christmas.’

‘What’s it called?’ Arthur asked.

‘
Empire’s Call
. Well,
that’s the name of the series. The first book is
Untold
. Want to read it?’

‘Of course! I’m wondering why I’ve been wasting my time with politics
books now. Compared to that they sound boring.’

‘You can have my copy, if you like.’

‘Thanks.’ He folded his cutlery and let his arm rest across the
table. Gwenhwyfar still had a quarter of her pizza to go. She was flagging.

‘So what’s
The Human Condition
about? You never really said. Give me all the details, come on.’

‘Well,’ Arthur leant across the table, and Gwenhwyfar did the same.
‘Mostly it’s looking at the social state of the country at the time of
publication. Investigating things like the need and use of CCTV, the purpose
and effect of hierarchal systems such as the monarchy—’

‘It was written before the abolition?’

Arthur nodded. ‘In 2001. The most interesting bit is about big businesses
and their involvement in politics. It explores how corporations control
governments through lobbying and donations. Given that the party with the most
money usually wins the election, once in power you could argue that they’re
indebted to those who gave them funding. If company A gives party B a million new-pounds
for their election campaign, and party B wins and comes into power, party B are
hardly then going to pass any laws that negatively affect company A, otherwise
they won’t donate next time.’

‘I’ve heard about this,’ Gwenhwyfar said, remembering what her father
had told her. ‘It happens all the time. With the highest-funded party winning
every election, you’d think they’d just cut out the whole voting process and
declare the party with the biggest campaign budget the winner.’

‘I suppose it would save everyone the trouble of getting to the
ballots,’ Arthur remarked with an appreciative smile.

‘Did the New Nationals have the highest budget?’

‘I don’t know,’ Arthur admitted. ‘But as they’re currently in power,
I should imagine so.’

‘I’ve heard you can’t trust the news, either,’ Gwenhwyfar added,
glancing to her left as a waitress hurried past. ‘Often they have interests in
particular industries, historically oil and fracking, but currently coal, right?
So they peddle the particular viewpoint that benefits them. Such as claiming
that climate change doesn’t exist—you know, like they used to—and
maintaining that it’s under control now, that a little more coal burning won’t
hurt. To guide public opinion and justify continued investment in non-renewable
energies.’

‘Well, it works to an extent,’ Arthur agreed, his voice lowered to a
suitable murmur. ‘Public opinion on the matter is definitely confused. We have
the resources to curb climate change—we’re just not investing ourselves
in
it. I suppose the required steps have
always been considered too radical.’