The Future King: Logres (47 page)

Safe
. Her heart
began to race at the thought. The others were safe, but she wasn’t. For a moment
she wanted to confess to everything, as if that might make the fear go away,
but the words stuck like thorns in her throat.

She couldn’t tell anyone, not ever. She thought perhaps if she
changed the events in her mind, they would change in reality, too.
It never happened
. She had never heard
of
Free Countries
. As Miss Barnes
settled the class she repeated the thought until she fooled herself into
believing it was true.

The day had been long, but at last it was over. Eager to get home as
quickly as possible, Arthur hurried through the outskirts of Logres, his lips
stinging with each cold breath. It was dark now, but the streetlights were lit,
staring gloomily down at the pavement with their yellow eyes. He stopped off at
the kiosk on his way through town and bought what was left from the day’s lunch
run: a chicken salad with a wrap and, feeling generous, a chocolate sundae with
a packaged spoon. Absently Arthur wondered if the homeless woman had somewhere
to sleep, one of those shelters perhaps that were struggling to stay open.

Should he bring an extra blanket next time? He wasn’t sure if his
grandmother had one that wouldn’t be missed. Perhaps he should just ask the
woman if there was anything he could do to help, but he was weary of the risk.
The police patrolled these streets on a regular basis, and after work the
Watchmen were usually out in anticipation of their late-night shift.

He was walking down a quieter side road on his way to his drop when
he saw them, a group of boys a few years older than him, clustered together on
the pavement. A quick survey counted five. They were jeering.

Instinctively Arthur crossed the street. It was best not to get too
close. Even if such groups weren’t looking for trouble, they were often aware
of their presence and took delight in intimidating others. The laughing
greatened. One of the lads pushed at something with his foot.

‘Illegal scum,’ the youth said unashamedly. ‘What you doing sitting
on our doorstep? We own this doorstep, it belongs to the British.’ He bent down
and reached for something. Quickly he retracted. ‘God, she
stinks
.’

‘Stinks of piss,’ said another.

‘Did you piss yourself? Probably did. Old bag.’

‘Show us your tits—come on,’ demanded the third. He reached for
something. The others laughed.

‘She’s an illegal,’ said the first again. He kicked something, hard.
‘Shouldn’t be here. Lazy cockroach. Ugh, she smells more when you kick her.
Disgusting
.’

There was a person huddled at their feet, wrapped up in an old
blanket. Arthur stopped, stayed by shock, and then anger. He stood planted to
the spot as the boys laughed again. One had an umbrella and was poking at the
unfortunate human as if it were already a corpse.

He crossed the road without looking. ‘Hey!’ They didn’t hear. ‘
Hey
!’

Two police officers appeared at the end of the street. Arthur flagged
them. They hurried over, flanking him as he brought them to the scene. The boys
split, but stood their ground. Arthur’s heart dropped the moment he saw the terrified
woman’s face. It was the woman he’d been helping.

She probably looked older than she was. She was weathered from excessive
wind, sun and rain, and her wiry hair had greyed before its time. Her chin was
square, and she had a tired, gaunt face that stared up at them all with
yellowed eyeballs.

The two officers left no room for intervention. The first stepped
into the circle and eyed the teenagers.

‘What’s going on here?’

‘Rough-sleeper,’ one of the boys said, matter-of-factly. ‘Probably an
illegal.’

‘No,’ Arthur objected. ‘They were kicking this woman, and spitting on
her.’

‘We were not,’ the first boy said.

‘What were you doing, then?’ the officer asked.

He shrugged. ‘She’s an illegal.’

The police officer looked from the boy to Arthur. His colleague
helped the woman to her feet. She dropped the few belongings that she had been
clutching onto the concrete.

‘She might be an illegal,’ the second officer said. He took a sniff
near the woman’s head and drew back sharply. ‘Definitely homeless.’

The first officer stepped closer, his manner stiff. ‘You got an
address?’ The woman eyed him without comprehension. ‘Proof of address—you
got proof of your address? B.I.D.? Where’s your B.I.D. card?’

This produced no results. The officer turned to the rest of them.

‘B.I.D.s, now.’

Arthur fumbled for his identity card as the other boys made sounds of
protest. The officer pulled out a reader hooked in his belt and scanned each one.
When he was done, he waved Arthur and the teenagers away.

‘You can go.’

‘But wait—they were kicking her. I saw it.’

‘Were they kicking you?’

‘No, but—’

‘Did they spit on
you
?’

‘No
,
they—’

Shaking his head, the officer waved the group onwards. Emboldened,
they sauntered down the street. One or two of them made crude gestures for
Arthur’s benefit. The officers gathered about the woman like crows, one tapping
on his scanner, the other holding her arm so that she couldn’t leave.

‘What’s your name?’

Silence.

‘Where are you from? Do you speak English?’

‘She’s retarded,’ claimed the second officer. ‘Doesn’t understand a
thing.’

‘Probably just not speaking so we don’t hear her accent,’ the first
officer drawled. He sighed, as if he had been put at great inconvenience.
‘Definitely an illegal. Come on then, you’re coming with us.’

They manhandled her away from the step. Her blanket fell to the floor
and was stepped on. Suddenly the woman caught Arthur’s gaze and her eyes were
filled with panic.

‘Wait!’ Arthur trailed them as they marched up the street. ‘She’s not
an illegal—she has an address. She has my address. She lives with me.’

The officers ignored him. They were taking the woman to their patrol
car. She stumbled with each forced step.

‘She lives with me! She just can’t talk because she’s mute. We have
the papers for her and everything. She’s on medication—’

‘You’re willing to vouch for this woman?’ The first officer turned to
him. His partner opened the back seat passenger door.

Arthur nodded fervently. ‘Yes, I know her.’

‘You know her?’ The first officer pointed a clean finger at the grimy
woman. ‘You live with her, you have papers for her.’

He wanted to say yes, but words failed him. Instead, Arthur nodded.

‘You understand that attempting to prevent the arrest of an illegal
is a felony.’

He said nothing. Suddenly his heart was racing and his palms were
sweating. The officer squared closer.

‘You understand that giving false information to a police officer is
cause enough for us to take you in with her.’

Arthur felt powerless. He couldn’t get arrested, what would he do?
Who would bail him out? Who would look after his grandmother? There was a thick
silence. Both officers eyed him critically.

‘You’re just a young lad, so I’m going to ask you again.’ The door
was shut; the woman was jerked away from his partner and presented for Arthur to
inspect like some ad-hoc line up. ‘Do you know this woman?’

Her eyes were deep-set, ringed in hollowed sockets that made her seem
sadder. She was appealing to him, appealing for help; though clearly not sure
of the finer workings of the situation; only that she was in trouble, that she
was in the hands of those who she should avoid; that she was there because
someone had called the police and flagged them over. That someone was staring
right back at her.

‘Well?’

‘No,’ he said, so quietly that he had to clear his throat and repeat
it. ‘No, I don’t know this woman.’

They didn’t say anything as they bundled her into the back of the
car. Arthur stepped away from the vehicle as both police officers got in the
front, screwing their faces up with distaste the moment they were but half in.

‘Fucking
stinks
,’ they
muttered, as they slammed the doors shut. Arthur lingered to watch as the car
pulled away from the kerb. How had this happened? But he knew what they were
like—of course they would take her in. He was an idiot. He should have
intervened himself, got into a fight—perhaps then she would have had time
to slip away while the police broke up the ruckus. Perhaps he should have done
nothing at all.

He would think of this many times in the years to come, his failure,
his cowardice and self-interest. He should have made more of a fuss. He should
have been outraged. He should have done
something
.

The Campaign

‘
To me, to me
!’

Gavin huffed as the ball shot straight at him, and with a kick he
sent it flying past the goalkeeper. An eruption of victory cries sounded from
his team. Not quite able to mimic Lancelot’s somersault, he ran about
screaming. Lancelot met him mid-pitch, hooked his neck and violently ruffled
his hair.

‘Gav, that was brilliant!’

‘Cheers,’ he laughed.

They shoved one another and staggered apart. Lancelot surveyed the
field. ‘Where the hell is Tom?’

‘Taking a break.’ Gavin brushed off his uniform. ‘Oi, Tommy! Get back
on the pitch and stop being such a pansy!’

Their friend waved at them, then held his hand to his ear, taunting.

‘I said, “Stop being such a pansy!”’ Gavin bellowed, his words
booming across the sparsely populated field. The gesture was replicated and,
scowling, Gavin cast out a profanity that Tom also claimed not to hear.

They jogged briskly to join him at the other end of the pitch.
Overhead, a military aircraft thundered past. Tom sat huffing, his arms draped
over his knees.

‘It’s the New Morals, Gav. Coming to get you.’

‘Don’t even joke,’ Gavin remarked, watching the jet get smaller and
smaller as it passed over the horizon. ‘It might well be.’

‘Told you we shouldn’t have gone,’ Lancelot muttered, crouching down
to the compact earth. ‘It was idiotic.’

‘It was necessary. What else were we supposed to do?’

‘Do? It
did
nothing. Just
got some scapegoats fired.’ He shrugged, and pushed at Tom. ‘Come on, the
game’s not over yet. We’re winning, for once.’

‘I’m fine here!’ Tom insisted. ‘I’m an artist, not an athlete.’

‘You’re a slob, that’s what,’ Lancelot countered. ‘You should at
least try. Just run around a bit.’

‘Or stand still on the pitch, if you prefer.’ Gavin sat and sucked in
a deep breath. Despite the biting chill, his back was glazed in sweat and his
shirt stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Lancelot sprang up, as controlled in his
movements as a wild cat.

‘Don’t you want to keep in shape? You know, so you can hold on to
your model girlfriend.’

‘Yeah, you can’t protect her like this,’ Gavin bantered.

‘Protect her?’ Tom’s voice filled with concern. ‘From what?’

‘From better-looking men, of course,’ Lancelot mocked. ‘The guys have
been going on about her all week.’

‘Who told them?’ he barked.

‘Rupert, I think,’ Gavin remarked, still following the game.

‘I
told
him not to say
anything!’

‘The whole school probably knows by now,’ said Gavin. ‘Well done.’

‘I didn’t think it would be an issue if
one
person knew,’ Tom countered. ‘He shouldn’t have told anyone.’

‘Well then, go and chase Rupert down instead,’ Lancelot added.
‘That’ll sort you out. He’s even on the other team.’

‘I can’t, I have to rehearse for tomorrow. This is an important gig.
I’ve booked the practice rooms for tonight. Can we do another run-through?’

Lancelot shrugged. ‘Sure.’

There was a moment’s silence. Gavin looked up at Lancelot as he
half-danced about on his feet. ‘So what are we going to do about Hector?’

‘Nothing. It’s up to Gwen if she wants to report it or not.’

‘Except the threat was directed at you.’

‘Yeah, but it was obviously meant for her,’ Lancelot disputed.

‘I kind of feel like this whole thing just got blown wildly out of
proportion.’

Lancelot and Gavin both looked to Tom. Gavin frowned. ‘What do you
mean?’

‘Hector. I mean, as far as he knew Gwen was up for it. Seems unfair
he should be suspended over something he didn’t go through with.’

Gavin looked at Lancelot. He was still now, completely still, and he
watched Tom intently.

‘He went for her at Lance’s party—remember? There was no
misunderstanding then. Lance said he had another boy with him.’

‘I know
that
,’ Tom added,
‘and I’m not saying what he did was right, not at all. It’s just… this is the
second time this has happened. She must have done something to encourage it.’

‘What, you mean that she was
asking
for it
?’ Gavin said, appalled.

‘No! Of course not, but—’

‘Then what?’

‘All I’m saying is that she should be more careful. There are things
women can do to avoid it.’

Lancelot shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry, do you walk around
wearing a Kevlar vest?’ he asked, his voice laced with anger. ‘No? Well, I
guess by your logic, it’s
your
fault
if you get murdered, then.’

‘Tom?’

Scowling, Tom looked up. ‘What?’

‘You’re an idiot.’ Gavin pushed him, and Tom shoved him back. Gavin pushed
him again, and this time Tom fell over. As they sat in silence, Lancelot
stalked about with hunched shoulders. Eventually Gavin stood up to rejoin the
game, and stretching, glanced towards Logres, which stood bruised under the
hanging clouds. ‘Who’s that?’

Hawk-like, Lancelot studied the approaching figures. Tom twisted
round in an effort to see, though his frown only thickened. ‘Is it the girls?’

‘Emily,’ Lancelot breathed, his voice filled with dread.

‘Maybe she’s come for a snog?’ Tom’s eyebrows curved up sardonically.

‘Who else?’ Gavin asked.

‘Viola,’ Lancelot added. His voice wavered. ‘And Gwen.’

‘Should I be worried?’ Tom asked as he stood next to Gavin. The three
girls began to run.

‘Something must have happened,’ Lancelot said. ‘Do you think it could
be Hector?’

Exchanging glances, they set off. The girls tore towards them, and
soon Viola was flying ahead. Tom only had a second to brace himself before she
jumped into his arms. Laughing, she let go as Emily and Gwenhwyfar caught up.

‘I can’t believe it,’ she gasped, ‘I just had to tell you!’

‘Tell me what? Is everything OK?’

‘Everything’s fine. It’s brilliant! You’ll never guess.’

‘Guess what?’

‘Do you remember that casting for
Bare
Make-up
? Well, I got it! I got the job! It’s a campaign! They’ll be paying
me twenty-eight
thousand
; can you
believe it? Oh, but you mustn’t tell anyone, you hear me? I’m serious Tom, no
one can know. I don’t want everyone thinking I’m rich now.’

‘But you
are
rich,’ Emily
pointed out. ‘What if this is just the first job of many? You’ll be
loaded
, Vi.’

‘I just wish I had that much!’ Gwenhwyfar exclaimed. ‘You’re so
lucky!’

‘Twenty-eight thousand?’ Gavin repeated, astonished. He looked to
Lancelot, who frowned, but said nothing.

Grinning, Tom snaked his arm around her waist. ‘That’s brilliant, Vi.
I’m proud of you. Well done.’

Viola smiled, and pressed into him with a happy kiss.

‘
Out, out, brief candle! Life’s
but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the
stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound
and fury, signifying nothing.
’

Tom glanced, agitated, at the clock. Julie studied him expectantly,
waiting for him to continue. The eyes of her other students were settled upon
him.

‘
Thou comest to use thy tongue;
thy story quickly
.’

The other reader, red and sweating in anticipation of her turn,
blurted out her line so quickly that no one understood it.

‘Slower please, Charlie,’ Julie interrupted. Charlie took a wavering
breath and started again.

‘
Gracious my lord, I should
report
—’

The bell rang. Immediately Charlie sat down.

‘Aww—!’ Tom exclaimed, lowering his book with impatience. ‘I
didn’t even get to the good bit!’

‘Time’s up!’ Julie declared. ‘I don’t know about everyone else, but
I’d quite like to get to lunch sometime soon, wouldn’t you?’

‘Can I read next lesson?’

She marked the page of her copy and set it to one side. ‘It’s Jack’s
turn to read for Macbeth, next. You’ve already done it twice.’

Grumbling, Tom sat amongst his packing classmates. Julie eyeballed
those already standing.

‘Did I say you were dismissed yet? Homework! I want you all to
examine and translate Tom’s—
Macbeth’s—
last
speech. No minimum word count, just as long as it takes for you to feel you’ve
done all you can. Understood?’

With a few nods and with most students craning in their seats towards
the door, Julie finally let them go. Viola followed Tom into the corridor, but
then turned back towards her as she gathered her belongings at the front of the
class.

‘Miss?’ she asked, once the room was empty. ‘I was wondering if I
could talk to you for a moment.’

Julie hoisted her over-packed satchel onto her shoulder and gathered
up the other papers that wouldn’t fit. ‘Of course. What can I help you with?’

‘Well, I have news.’

She could sense her excitement, and immediately knew what it was that
she was talking about. ‘Do you mind if we walk and talk?’

‘Not at all,’ Viola said casually. She hung her coat over her crossed
arms. ‘It’s nothing important.’

Julie walked her out of the classroom and locked the door in silence,
conscious of the camera looming above their heads. They were usually positioned
at the end of each corridor to cover every corner, but Marvin had told her that
because of this they often failed to catch quiet conversations held in the long
stretches between them—particularly when there were other students still
bustling in the halls.

‘So tell me,’ Julie murmured when it was safe. ‘Is this to do with
your modelling?’

Viola nodded, keeping close to her side. ‘I got a job,’ she
whispered, looking straight ahead. ‘A campaign. It pays a lot, more than you
can imagine.’

‘Oh, brilliant! Well done, I am pleased. What is it for?’

‘Have you heard of
Bare Make-up
?’
Julie nodded. ‘It’s a new product that they’re launching. I completely wasn’t
expecting to get it, but my agency said they were keen on me because I’m
unknown. I know it’s really last minute, but the shoot’s tomorrow. I only just
found out.’

‘You’ll miss class?’

‘Sorry. It’s annoying it’s not over the weekend, but if I don’t do
it, another girl will.’

Julie nudged her as they approached the end of the corridor. They
walked in silence again, until they were a suitable distance away from the
spying black sphere.

‘It is short notice, but you can’t not do it; it sounds like a great
opportunity.’ She offered her a smile. ‘Honestly Viola, I have no problem with
it so long as you keep up with your class work. And it’s only a one-off,
right?’

She nodded. ‘My agency knows that I’m still in school. Fashion week
might be a problem, but I don’t think my dad will let me do it with my exams so
close.’

‘He’s right. You can put off a degree until later in life, but you
only really get one chance at your Levels. You should be careful. It’s great
that you’re doing the whole modelling thing, but I hear girls feel pressured to
smoke to stay thin, and worse. I don’t want you getting sucked into any of
that, or for you to rack up some huge debt with some agency that you can’t pay
off.’

‘I know, miss,’ Viola said dutifully. ‘The money shouldn’t be a
problem though, especially not since I’ve got a job already.’

‘And that’s great, but I wouldn’t go spending any of it until it’s
clear you’re going to get something else. And you remember what I said—the
moment you don’t feel good about yourself because of the modelling—’

‘I’ll stop, I know.’

Julie looked to her imploringly. ‘You promise?’