The Future King: Logres (43 page)

She’d had enough of his presence, enough of his face, enough of him.
A sudden lump rose in her throat and she turned to hurry down the bank.

‘Gwenhwyfar.’ He reached for her arm, but she smacked him away. Lancelot
tried to catch her flailing hands. He didn’t know what to do when she abruptly
collapsed into his arms. He supported her gingerly at first, but as she broke
down in earnest, Gwenhwyfar felt him envelop her in a strong hug.

‘Everything’s just so messed up,’ she sobbed, her words muffled in
his chest. ‘How could someone do that? Just murder all those people?’

‘Gavin told me that you and Vi were in London, Saturday.’ Gwenhwyfar
sniffed, and nodded. ‘Just think of it like this: you’re lucky everyone you
know is still alive.’

His words weren’t much comfort. For a long while she stood with him
in silence, clutching tightly to his torso. Eventually, she prised herself
away, and his arms fell uselessly to his sides.

‘Why weren’t you in yesterday?’ she ventured, a horrifying thought
penetrating her mind. ‘Oh God, you didn’t lose someone, did you?’

He drew his gaze away, and immediately she felt awful. ‘Oh Lancelot,
I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’ She reached out to hug him again, her arms
splayed. ‘Who?’

‘No one.’ He turned his hard eyes upon her. ‘I lost no one.’

She stopped, affronted by his severity. Of course, a recent death in
the family would explain too much, would make things far too simple. Once again
Gwenhwyfar found herself perplexed by Lancelot’s bipolar behaviour. She wished she
could retract her outburst, but could offer nothing more than an apology. When
he responded with a silent shrug, she left him on his own, deciding it would be
best to leave it at that.

She rubbed her raw eyes with her fingertips, looking to the sky to
dry the last of her tears. Wondering if she and Lancelot would ever get along, she
wished desperately that he and Arthur would make amends, and put what was past
behind them.

Anarchism

Thursday arrived
with milder
weather. They
were sitting in their tutor room, waiting for Miss Ray to appear and take the
register. The morbid fascination with the victims of Saturday had passed like a
rolling fog; and their fellow students were now concerning themselves with other
matters, mostly what they were hoping to get for Christmas. Emily was sitting
with them again, as she had been since Monday, frequently causing Bedivere to
absent himself.

‘Have you heard?’ she whispered to them all, once the register was
taken. ‘The New Nationals have realised the New Morals scheme. The officers will
be put in place today.’

She was trying, Gwenhwyfar thought, and because Emily acted as if they
had always been best friends it was hard to treat her otherwise. Even Viola had
said nothing to repel her, despite complaining about her in her still-frequent
absence.

‘Says who?’ Bedivere asked.

‘The news.’ Emily inspected her cuticles. ‘I saw it this morning.
They’ve already stormed ten key properties; they did it last night. They
arrested several cells working with the separatists. Already the New Morals are
a big success.’

‘Weren’t you at that march with Gwen?’ Viola suddenly asked.

‘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?’