The Future King: Logres (36 page)

What happens if someone else reads it?

Gwenhwyfar looked to the brown envelope. The sellotape she had used
to reseal it remained intact.

No.

Gwenhwyfar wondered why she was being contacted now. It had been
weeks since the march, and even longer since she’d spoken to Isolde. She didn’t
even know if this was Isolde she was speaking to.

Is this Omega Iota Zeta?

What is it you want?

Dread swamped her. She didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to meet up
with a stranger. She wasn’t ready. What if it was an undercover police officer?
What then?

I can’t
,
she tried.

You have to
,
was the
response.

How?

Can’t you help me explain it to them?

The window went blank, wiped from the bottom upwards, and then
suddenly there was an empty conversation box with space for her to type. A
small timer ticked in the corner. 30:00. She stared apprehensively at the
screen. When she next glanced to the clock, it read 27:30. Quickly she opened
the envelope, finding the four sheets of paper inside. She pulled them out.

The first was blank, but she knew it was not scrap because when she held
it to the light it revealed a strange text comprised of dots and dashes. The
second sheet was a numbered universal alphabet that she was still trying to
decipher, and the third revealed two code names,
Omega Iota Eta
and
Omega Iota
Theta
. She cast the unsolved paperwork to one side. The final sheet was a list
of what
Free Countries
believed in.
She looked to the ticking clock. Twenty-one minutes.

Fearing what might happen should she fail, Gwenhwyfar typed a rushed
hello
into the text field. She waited,
dearly hoping that, unlike her, the potential recruit wouldn’t switch off their
machine. A few precious minutes slipped by, and then:

She sighed with relief. She began to type her name, but changed her
mind at the last second.

Omega Iota Eta.

This took a while to absorb.

I’m from
Free
Countries.
We said we’d contact you. You
visited our website, right?

I know, we’re sorry. We had to run a security check
to make sure it was safe to contact you.

She referred to the sheet again.

Would you like more information regarding
Free Countries
?

When can you meet?

So we can discuss your interest in
Free Countries
.

The website never said
anything about meeting someone
,
the potential member objected.

Gwenhwyfar frowned, wondering how she was going to convince them. She
wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

So you’re not interested in joining
Free Countries
?

Omega Iota Eta. How did you hear about
Free Countries
?

She thought for a moment, considering.

Are you Irish?

What are you?
Gwenhwyfar
asked.

The clock was running down. Just eight minutes remained. Gwenhwyfar
heard her father call her from the bottom of the stairwell. Supper was ready.

No. Do you want to meet to discuss
Free Countries
? Don’t have much
time.

A long silence followed. Six minutes.

Tomorrow?

At the park by Woodlands Road?

Logres. In Surrey,
Gwenhwyfar explained.

Is Southbank good for you?

Oh.

She looked to the other side of the text box. In small letters she
noticed the location: Lostwithiel, Cornwall.

When are you next closest?

Time churned by. Her mother yelled for her. She tried again.

Hello?

Her panic lessened.

Perfect. What date?

What time?

Great, I’ll meet you in the main foyer under the T.
Rex at one. I have long brown hair, and will be wearing—

She thought for a moment.

—a navy coat with a red hat.

Gwen.

The window vanished when the timer expired, leaving no evidence of their
conversation. She suddenly realised that she had school that Friday. Her mother
opened the door. The paperwork from
Free
Countries
billowed across the desk.

‘For the last time, supper is ready! So will you come downstairs and
eat it, please!’

‘I’m coming!’ She whipped the secret code off the floor and stuffed
it back with the other pages into the brown envelope. ‘Sorry, I was in the
middle of my Maths homework.’

Eve stormed off downstairs. Hurriedly Gwenhwyfar shoved the
information pack into the first drawer of her desk, flipped the light switch
and then slammed her bedroom door.

It was Thursday afternoon when she dared to broach the subject of
Lancelot’s birthday party again.

Her text to Arthur over the weekend had achieved nothing, and though
she had tried to talk him into attending on and off throughout the week, he
remained reluctant. It had helped Gwenhwyfar greatly to learn that she wasn’t
the only one disturbed by what had happened at the Mobilisation March, and for
a while during History she and Morgan had something to whisper about. The
rapport between them soon came to a natural end, however, and resulted in a
mutual silence.

Marvin was marking papers noiselessly at his desk. When the hum of
the class was at the right level, Gwenhwyfar leant forwards and prodded
Bedivere in the back.

‘Bedivere!’ she tried with a loud whisper. ‘Are you coming to the
party on Saturday?’

His face brightened. ‘Lance’s party?’ Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘I wasn’t
sure if I was really invited,’ he frowned, keeping his voice low.

‘Why wouldn’t you be? It’s a masquerade, remember, so it’s smart dress
with a mask of your choice.’

‘I’ve only got a Halloween mask,’ he fretted.

‘That doesn’t matter. It’s going to be great. The others asked me to double-check
that you were still up for it.’

Bedivere shrugged. ‘Yeah, I suppose. Where?’

‘The abandoned warehouse by Flint Park.’

He nodded and then, predictably, turned to Arthur. ‘Are you coming?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘It sounds like it could be fun. My mum can give you a lift, if you
like.’

‘I can pick you both up,’ Gwenhwyfar offered.

Arthur glanced at Morgan, who quickly bent her head and pretended she
wasn’t listening. ‘I’ll have to talk to my grandmother about it first,’ he said.
‘I doubt it, though. Lance isn’t going to want me there.’

‘You think he wants me there?’ Bedivere remarked, his voice a little
louder. ‘I’ll go anyway, even if it’s just to annoy him.’ He set his gaze on
Morgan. ‘What about you? Are you going?’

‘Of course I’m going. Lance and I grew up together.’

Gwenhwyfar couldn’t help herself. ‘Is it true the two of you used to
go out?’

Morgan looked up at her, obviously surprised. ‘Who on earth told you
that?’

‘Lance mentioned it at the weekend,’ Gwenhwyfar said, her tone
dismissive. ‘He seemed to think you two dated.’

‘Lance said that?’ Morgan asked, dubiously. ‘Well, it’s not true.
We’ve only ever been friends.’

‘I thought so,’ Gwenhwyfar shrugged, wondering why she felt so
relieved.

Remembering his cause, Bedivere rounded on Arthur. ‘So are you
coming?’

‘I don’t know! Probably not.’ Huffing, Arthur returned to his work.
‘I’m sorry, but spending an evening celebrating the birth of Lance Lake seems counter-intuitive
to me.’

‘But it’ll be
fun
,’ pursued
Gwenhwyfar, longing for him to agree. ‘It won’t be any good without you,
Arthur. If you’re not going then I won’t want to go, either.’

‘Well, that means we can both do something else Saturday night, doesn’t
it?’ he sulked.

‘But I promised Viola I’d go. We won’t have to hang out with Lance.
We won’t even see him.’

‘It’s his birthday; of course we’ll see him,’ Arthur muttered. ‘You’ll
be hanging out with Viola, anyway. It’s probably better if I don’t go, it’ll
just cause a scene.’

‘You’re really going to miss it because of Lance.’

Arthur gave a rough shrug of his shoulders. ‘Sorry.’

Gwenhwyfar felt a flash of anger. Everything always had to be about Lancelot
with him. Why didn’t he want to do this for her? Why wouldn’t he kiss her? What
was she doing wrong?

As Arthur hunched his shoulders and faced the front of the class,
Gwenhwyfar returned to her work. If he didn’t want to attend the party with
her, that was fine. She would go anyway and have a fantastic time. No matter what
reason he had for refusing her, Gwenhwyfar was not going to let Arthur ruin her
fun.

Masquerade

So far the night
had been a blur of colour, with
sculpted faces that merged into one being, alien and unknown. There were
porcelain masks, Venetian masks, Halloween masks and animal disguises,
extravagant gowns and smart tailored suits. The old warehouse looked anything
but abandoned with the fairy lights dressing the walls, and they twinkled in
the dark like the Milky Way. Twisting quickly through the crowd, Gwenhwyfar
attempted to catch a glimpse of someone she knew. A long-nosed demon whirled
past, his eyebrows twisted and his nostrils flaring. She thought she spotted
the hem of Viola’s aubergine dress spin in the colour storm, but her eyes were
deceived. Frankenstein’s grimace grinned at her in the spotlight, whilst a
long-dead American president sat saggy as someone’s second skin. A burgundy figure
tempted her into thinking she’d just seen Morgan, a patchwork cat mask hiding
her features; while a candidate for Tom flashed through the crowd, with a long
beak of green. Gavin’s frame was perhaps the most recognisable of them all,
though his head was the least decipherable; he for the night was half-man half-beast,
a Minotaur in the making.

‘Gwen!’

She spun around to face the unknown speaker, and suddenly she was tugged
deeper into the throng, stumbling as the mischievous jester danced with her through
the grotesques. Solution burned through her limbs, and as they halted she pulled
her hand away from the whippet-like boy.

‘I’ve been looking for you all over!’ shouted the jester. It was
Bedivere.

‘Great mask!’ she yelled, leaning towards him. ‘Where’d you get it?’

‘My sister picked it up when she went to Italy last year! Said I
could use it!’ he yelled back. ‘Yours looks great too!’

‘Thanks!’

‘Where are the others?’

Her curls bounced as her head shook, framing the white and silver
façade. ‘I don’t know!’ she admitted, voice sore from shouting. ‘I saw Viola
earlier, but that’s it!’

Bedivere began to search, his jester bells ringing with every
movement he made. He pointed to the other end of the room. ‘There!’

Gwenhwyfar couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t matter. Her jester
was her guide. They passed a dame, a woeful amateur dramatics mask, another
pointy-nosed demon and a darker feline. The Minotaur, the green demon and the
porcelain-faced Viola were standing by the solution table, mixing and pouring
drinks.

‘Great party.’ Bedivere lifted his mask as they joined them,
revealing a face glazed in sweat. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Yeah, it’s really amazing,’ Gwenhwyfar enthused. ‘How did you do
it?’

‘It’s surprising what a good sweep and a few lights can do,’ Viola
grinned, her dark lips framed by the half mask.

The Minotaur removed his head as the long nosed demon handed him a
drink. Gavin was suffering from the heat, and he hissed at the potency of the
solution. ‘So where’s the birthday boy?’

‘I was wondering that too,’ Gwenhwyfar admitted. Viola and Gavin both
exchanged a glance. Feeling the lure of the music, Gwenhwyfar decided to mix a
drink. Four girls joined them. Cups were taken, cartons were exchanged, and as
Gwenhwyfar lurched for the solution her hand collided with another bound for
the same bottle. She looked up. ‘Isolde?’

She stared at her wide-eyed, her mother’s gold necklace hanging
beneath her green mask. ‘Gwen? What are you doing here?’

Her friends seemed surprised that she knew someone other than them.
She glanced at Viola and then at her secret recruiter for a radical cause. ‘I’m
a friend of the guy whose party this is. You?’

‘I know his cousin, Bobby. He’s in my English class in college.’

‘You live round here?’

Isolde nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
‘You?’

‘Yeah, I go to Logres.’

‘I used to go there!’ Isolde exclaimed. ‘Is Mr Caledonensis still
teaching History?’

‘Yep!’ Gwenhwyfar replied. ‘He’s my teacher. He’s pretty cool.’

‘Everyone in my class used to love
him,’ the Irish girl revealed. On a whim, Gwenhwyfar decided to introduce
Isolde to her friends.

‘We go to the same pony club,’ she lied, once names had been
exchanged. ‘We should go somewhere quieter to talk,’ Gwenhwyfar gushed,
enjoying her connection with Isolde through their association with the
forbidden. ‘I won’t be two seconds.’ She waved to Viola as they edged their way
through the crowd. ‘We’re just going to get some air!’

This time her journey through the room was even less lucid. A foreign
shadow seemed to stalk her movements, while the garish Frankenstein grinned at
her from afar. Isolde hovered ahead of her, ever out of reach. She didn’t
realise how hot the premises were until she made it outside. The cold sharp air
cleared her mind for a moment, and she inhaled it deeply, letting it harden the
warm glow clouding her coordination.

‘I can’t believe we met here.’ They found a low wall to sit on. ‘It’s
so surreal.’

‘It’s a pretty surreal party,’ observed Isolde. Neither one of them
removed their masks, the colourful veils complementing their sense of secrecy.
‘I’ve never been to anything like it. So how are you getting along with
everything?’

‘Good. I’ve arranged to meet with the new recruit, but he won’t be in
London until next Friday. I wanted to ask what I should do. I have no idea how
to convince him to join
Free Countries
.’

‘Just do what I did,’ Isolde shrugged. ‘Make sure that his interest
is genuine, that he’s not trying to bait you.’

‘And how am I supposed to do that?’

‘I’m not sure, really,’ her superior admitted. ‘You just have to listen
to your gut. That’s what I did with you.’ There was a moment of silence. ‘Oh,
and exchange numbers. We should have done it before, but I forgot. You can have
mine now, if you like.’

‘Sure.’ Gwenhwyfar opened her clutch and pulled out her phone. She
handed it to Isolde, who traded their information. ‘So you know Lance’s cousin?
Is he here?’

‘He should be. I haven’t seen him since I arrived.’ She handed Gwenhwyfar’s
mobile back to her. ‘His brother’s not here, though. He’s too young.’

‘Lance has a brother?’

Isolde shook her head. ‘Bobby’s brother, Luke. Lance is their cousin.
I only know about him because he lives with them.’

‘He does? How come?’

‘His parents died when he was young. Bobby’s dad is Lance’s mother’s
brother.’ She shrugged. ‘Lance said Bobby could invite people.’

She had thought that the hall seemed busy. Looking out into the dark,
Gwenhwyfar’s thoughts turned to Lancelot, and she suddenly wondered why she
knew so little about him. ‘How did his parents die?’

Isolde shrugged. ‘Bobby never said.’

They were silent for a moment. ‘Did you get that flyer from
Free Countries
telling us to go to the
Mobilisation March?’ Isolde nodded, and Gwenhwyfar frowned. ‘I thought you said
we didn’t do marches?’

‘We don’t organise them. We don’t usually attend others as a group,
either. I don’t think it was an order, I think it was a round-robin.’ Her face
darkened. ‘I heard from my contact that the New Nationals are going to start
restricting unapproved material sent through the post,’ she muttered. ‘So we
might not be getting flyers for much longer.’

‘But how will we recruit?’

‘We’ll find a way,’ Isolde promised. ‘Did you go?’

Gwenhwyfar’s pulse quickened as she nodded. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘No. It would’ve been too risky. I don’t know why we were encouraged
to go in the first place—it’s completely against protocol.’ She bent her
head towards Gwenhwyfar’s, her voice dropping to a dry whisper. ‘Then again,
I’ve heard that the Alpha
and the
Alpha Beta disagree on a lot of things. Apparently, even though the Alpha is in
charge, the Alpha Beta
is the brains
behind the group. If they disagree something like this happens.’

Gwenhwyfar gazed at her, surprised. ‘How do you know that?’

‘My contact knows more than he should,’ Isolde said. ‘He does a lot
of research. Don’t worry, it’s totally safe,’ she added, sensing Gwenhwyfar’s
concern. ‘He always trawls the archives for “little news” about underground
groups. Sometimes things about
Free
Countries
pop up. He’s really smart.’

Gwenhwyfar felt anxiety resurface in the pit of her stomach. ‘Do you
think I shouldn’t have gone?’

‘If you kept your identity safe, I don’t think it matters if you went
to the march or not. Not as far as
Free
Countries
is concerned, at least.’

They fell into another silence after that, and as time passed it
became obvious Isolde was cold. Not quite ready to retreat back into the mad
swirl of grotesques, Gwenhwyfar remained outside on her own, enjoying the
crispness of the night. It was hard to hear the party from where she sat, and
there was nothing to indicate its existence besides a few squares of light and
the muffled sound of bass pounding the earth.

Her eyes had been closed for some time when she heard a bark of
laughter. ‘Gwen—?’ an unfriendly voice bit. ‘Is that you? It is, isn’t
it? What are you doing out here on your own?’

There was an element of sarcasm that belied concern. Frankenstein.
Immediately she stood.

‘Hector.’ Another grotesque shadowed his footsteps: a smooth-skinned
alien with bug-eyes. ‘What do you want?’

‘Saw you were alone. Thought I’d better come keep you company.’

She resisted the urge to shrink away from him as he stepped closer.
‘I have nothing to say to you.’

‘Who said anything about talking?’ he jeered. ‘You got me into a lot
of trouble, with your tales. Running around, telling people I attacked you. I
could have been expelled.’

‘You did attack me,’ she responded calmly.

‘I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to, and you know it.’ He
began to circle her.

‘I pushed you away, remember?’

‘And I get suspended just because you change your mind at the last
minute?’ The alien hung back and stood guard. Hector spiralled closer. ‘I
know
you wanted it. You still want it.’

She snapped his hand away. ‘Can’t you take a hint? Everyone knows
you’re just some pathetic guy who has to leech around girls because no one
likes him. Well, I’ve got news for you: no one does like you. The whole school
knows what you did.’

She pushed past him, daring the alien to stop her. Hector grappled
onto her wrist before he could.

‘Pathetic?’ He laughed. Gwenhwyfar picked at his fingers, reluctant
to touch him, and tried to uncoil his grasp. He tugged her closer. ‘You don’t
realise what you’ve done, do you? You’ve ruined everything. I can’t apply to
college now. Ravioli’s already talking like I won’t be able to stay here.’

She held his gaze. ‘Your problem, not mine.’

He jerked her arm, hard. ‘It’s your problem if I make it your
problem: you and your squealing friend. Now every school in the country will
think I’m a rapist.’

‘Why? Are you going to rape me?’

This threw him. Quickly he released her arm. Gwenhwyfar felt her
heart pounding through her chest. Her phone was in her clutch. She prised it
open with one hand.

‘Rape you? Rape
implies
that I’d be giving you something you don’t want.’ He looked to the alien.
‘Right?’ He reached for her again. This time she flinched. He laughed with
vindictive amusement. ‘Jumpy, aren’t we? Like a little rabbit.’

‘Don’t you touch me,’ she hissed.

He expelled an exaggerated, wounded sound. ‘I thought you liked me?
No? That’s a shame for you. Word is you’re always moist.’

Disgust speared through her core. Frozen to the spot, Gwenhwyfar
glanced to the warehouse. She could scream for help, but who would hear? Hector
started at her again. She recoiled. Suddenly the alien came at her, too.

She ran. Hector was too close. He caught the back of her skirts and
she tripped. Her clutch flew out her hand as she landed on her forearms and was
winded by the earth. His clammy fingers scraped up her legs. She kicked at him,
spearing him with her stilettos. His laughter broke and he swore. Pulled back,
her torso scraped over the dirt. Gwenhwyfar lunged for her clutch. Phone. Keys.
Anything. She only grabbed one before she was dragged out of reach. Hector was
on top of her. She struck as quick as an adder. Her pocket deodorant hissed
into his eyes. He howled.