The Future King: Logres (49 page)

Gwenhwyfar nodded in silence.

‘I put my computer’s drive in the microwave last night along with my
phone. My parents went crazy. I had to make up some excuse about a Science
project.’

Suddenly Gwenhwyfar felt an urgency to do the same, but it was too
late. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m out, Isolde. That guy I met is gone too. We’re
both escaping while we still have the chance.’

‘I suppose it’s best. I’m thinking of starting something new with
those other contacts, but we’re going to wait until this has all settled down.’

Gwenhwyfar thought she was insane.

‘In the meantime we’ll just have to lay low, pretend that we’re not
afraid, act as if nothing’s happened.’ Her fingers toyed with the gold necklace
around her throat. ‘Then they won’t suspect us.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me what to do,’ Gwenhwyfar said stiffly,
rising to her feet. Llew barked by the back door.

‘I wanted to ask if you’d be a part of it,’ she dared.

‘I think you should leave.’

‘We can’t let them win, Gwen. Doesn’t it make you angry that they can
just lie like this?’

‘You can’t prove they’re lying,’ she countered, ushering her towards
the door.

‘No, but they can’t prove that they’re not.’ Llew yapped again and
then proceeded to expel a long series of whines.

‘You should go—I have to let Llew out.’

‘You won’t even consider it?’

‘I’m not interested.’

‘But—’

‘Go, would you? It’s too dangerous. You need to leave before my
parents get home. I don’t want to lie to them again.’ Gwenhwyfar pushed past
Isolde and opened the door.

‘Just think about it, that’s all I’m asking,’ she said, clutching her
bag.

‘Leave, now.’

She slammed the door shut the moment Isolde was through it. As Llew
whimpered again from the kitchen Gwenhwyfar let out a cry of vexation. Striding
to the back door with hard stomps, she ripped it open and let him loose into
the murk.

The
Oxymorons

The winter air nipped
at his lips. Hanging within
a pale sky, the sun bled meekly through the thick fog that sat heavy on the
ground. Arthur sucked in a deep breath, feeling the bitter moisture chill his
lungs. He was glad to be outside. As he blew on his hands for warmth, his
thoughts turned to the holidays ahead, anticipating a quiet Christmas with his
grandmother. He eyed the old entrance to Wormelow, hoping to catch Gwenhwyfar
on her way out from class.

‘Arthur?’ Morgan appeared through the double doors. She was wearing a
thick woollen hat that folded over her ears, and her chestnut hair was neatly
plaited in a single braid. ‘Marvin’s looking for you. He wants to know if you’ve
joined that political party.’

He didn’t appreciate being pressured. ‘Not yet, I was going to do it
this weekend. I’ll let him know tonight.’

‘But I told him I’d come and get you,’ Morgan objected.

‘Well, he’ll just have to wait, won’t he? I’m meeting Gwen for break.
I promised I’d sit with her.’

‘Oh.’ Morgan’s thick eyebrows met in a frown, and she looked back to
the building. ‘Well, you might have just missed her. I saw her with Viola. They
were talking about meeting Lance in the canteen.’

‘I hear you’re taking life drawing classes?’ Arthur smiled politely.

‘Actually, I’m meeting Percy for break. I usually sit with him now.’
She sent him a brief smile. ‘And his friends. They’re really nice.’

‘I’m sure they are.’

‘I think you’d like them.’

‘You do?’ Morgan nodded. Arthur searched past the cars and bikes,
hoping to catch a glimpse of Gwenhwyfar.

‘Percy’s taking me to Lance’s gig tonight,’ Morgan said, her breath
clouding about her lips. Her squared face brightened. ‘You know, the one in the
warehouse?’

Arthur frowned, turning to her suddenly. ‘What about the club?’

‘I’ve already asked Marvin if we can miss it. He doesn’t mind.’

There was an awkward silence. ‘So how’s it going with Percy?’

Morgan coloured. ‘Good. He’s really nice, don’t you think?’

Despite himself, Arthur nodded. ‘Marvin seems to like him.’ He
stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘So you won’t be at the club? That’s fine. I’m
sure Gwen, Bed and I will cope without you for one week.’

‘Actually, Bedivere’s not going either.’ She smiled up at him
apologetically. ‘Neither is Gavin. We’re all going to see Lance play.’

‘Don’t tell me it’s cancelled?’

‘Not if Gwenhwyfar’s still going.’ She gave him a look, and Arthur
wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.

‘Well, does Marvin know that we’ll be there, at least?’

‘Ask him,’ Morgan shrugged, turning her head away to gaze across the
car park. The second bell rang. ‘I’d better go; Percy will be waiting for me.
I’ll see you on Monday?’

Arthur nodded, but said nothing. His mouth had gone dry.

‘Want to walk with me?’

‘Actually, I think I’ll go and see Marvin,’ he excused, offering an
empty smile. ‘Have fun tonight.’

‘I will.’ Grinning, Morgan left him on his own and joined the crowd
of students streaming out of Wormelow. Arthur waited for a few moments before
walking on behind her, mindful to keep out of sight.

Determined that she shouldn’t be left on her own, Arthur managed to
meet with Gwenhwyfar, but only just. Lancelot annoyed him with every word he
uttered, but wasn’t unpleasant enough to warrant getting into an argument.
Throughout Psychology he found himself wondering why Morgan’s attachment to
Percy bothered him, eventually settling on the theory that he merely felt she
could do better. When he arrived at the benches by the mobile classrooms for
lunch to find Lancelot and Gwenhwyfar talking amicably, his irritation
increased.

‘Hey,’ Gwenhwyfar beamed. Arthur dropped his bag and sat down
opposite them. ‘We were just talking about Vi. I got a text from her—apparently
the shoot’s going really well.’

‘Good.’ Arthur unpacked his lunch. The air was bitter, but now that
the fog had cleared the sun warmed him slightly. ‘Have you decided if you’re
going to speak to Ravioli yet?’

Gwenhwyfar shook her head. ‘I’m not sure if I should.’

Arthur frowned. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t think it’ll do any good. Even if Ravioli does take it
seriously, Hector’s not going to admit to threatening me. We can’t prove it was
him. It’s just speculation.’

‘Well-founded speculation,’ Arthur argued.

‘I know. But Lance thinks it’s all just talk.’

‘Does he, now?’

‘Yeah,’ Lancelot confirmed. ‘They used to say this sort of thing all
the time, Edward and that lot. Nothing ever came from it then, either.’

Arthur appealed to Gwenhwyfar. ‘I still think it would be worth
mentioning it to a member of staff. Even if you just tell them what he did at
Lance’s party.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Lancelot dismissed. ‘We’ll make sure that Hector doesn’t
get anywhere near her. Won’t we?’

Arthur struggled to keep his temper in check. ‘And how are
we
going to do that, exactly?’

‘It’s not hard. We just make sure Gwen’s never alone.’

He didn’t know why, but this upset him. ‘What—here, there and
everywhere? What about when she’s walking home? With all his friends involved?’

Lancelot shrugged. ‘I can handle them.’

‘What’s your plan?’ Arthur bit. ‘Violence?’

‘It’s worked for me so far.’

Arthur looked to Gwenhwyfar. ‘Can you believe this? It’s that sort of
attitude that made Hector threaten you all in the first place.’

‘What sort of attitude?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, already scowling.

‘The kind where people gallivant around smashing each other’s teeth
in!’

‘I’m still here,’ Lancelot growled.

‘Unfortunately,’ snapped Arthur.

‘I said I’d handle it.’

‘So I heard.’

‘I can protect her.’

Arthur rose abruptly. ‘She’s not yours to protect!’

Lancelot sprung up to match him. ‘Well,
someone
has to do it. You seem to be clueless.’

‘Clueless about what—? Beating people to a pulp?’

His mouth distorted to bare his teeth. ‘In a way.’

‘If you’re offering yourself as practice, Lake, I’d be more than
happy to learn.’

Gwenhwyfar snapped. ‘Stop it! Just sit down, the both of you! You’re
behaving like children.’

Arthur stared stubbornly at Lancelot. It seemed as if he didn’t want
to sit first, either.

‘
Sit!
’

‘You should probably listen to him, Gwen,’ Lancelot remarked,
snidely. He sat down after Arthur did. ‘Arty knows best.’

‘I don’t want to tell the principal, all right? This is
my
choice. It doesn’t mean I’m never
going to tell someone. If I see Hector again, or if he comes even the slightest
bit near me, I’m going straight to Ravioli—and the police—immediately.
I’m not
stupid
.’

Huffing, she picked up her bag and separated herself from the table. When
Arthur rose to follow her, he realised that Lancelot did too.

‘No,’ she scolded. ‘I need some time to think by myself. The last
thing I want is you two bickering around me. It’s insufferable.’

They sank back down as she stormed off to Badbury. Arthur glared at
Lancelot. ‘Idiot,’ he muttered.

‘Berk,’ Lancelot retorted, gathering up his bag. Determined not to be
the one left on his own, Arthur grabbed his belongings and jumped up as
Lancelot did, striding back up to Wormelow. Gwenhwyfar would want to tell if it
weren’t for Lancelot, he thought blackly. What was she afraid of? Abruptly he
resolved to talk to her about it over the weekend. If she still refused he
would tell the principal himself first thing on Monday, before Hector made good
on his word.

The gathering dusk had sucked all light from the sky. It was colder
now, cold and dark, but the streetlights half-lit the way home with their weak
homage to the stars. She caught him just outside the school gates; his dark
curls restlessly twisting in the wind.

‘Lance!’ Gwenhwyfar hurried towards him as he waited, the cold
stealing her breath. ‘I was hoping I’d run into you.’

Her enthusiasm threw him. ‘You were? Why?’

‘Want to walk home together?’

‘Where’s home?’

‘Near Potters Park. Do you know it?’

‘Of course I know it,’ snorted Lancelot. ‘Let me guess, you live on
Upper Well Street? In one of those massive houses?’

‘No,’ she smiled, ‘on High Oak Lane. It’s a few streets away.’ The
two walked together. ‘Actually, compared to High Oak, Upper Well is a bit of a
dive.’

‘All right, all right, I get it. You’re a rich snob,’ Lancelot
smiled. ‘At least it’s kind of on the way to mine. I’ll drop you off.’

Gwenhwyfar pulled her hat down to better cover her ears. ‘Where do you
live?’

‘Like I’m telling you, Miss High Society. My house is probably a shed
compared to yours. I’ll bet your bedroom is as big as the whole of our
downstairs.’

‘It is not,’ Gwenhwyfar gasped, pushing him on the arm.

‘How do you know?’ He maintained his balance effortlessly. ‘God,
you’re not still stalking me, are you?’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing now. I’m stalking you.’

‘Lucky me.’

‘Shut up, Lake.’

His lips curled up into half a grin. ‘So how’s Arty?’

‘Arthur,’ she corrected, gazing at him. ‘You know how he is. He’s
fine.’

‘Still having a wobbly over telling someone about Hector?’ he teased.

‘He’s just worried. To him it would make sense.’ She huddled further
into her coat. They were quite far from the school now, and turned another corner
on the approach to Potters Park. ‘It’s a shock to him, that’s all. He didn’t
know.’

‘You probably should have told him,’ Lancelot agreed. ‘But I can see
why you didn’t. He had a proper hissy fit when you said you didn’t want to tell
the Nutcracker.’

‘That’s because you wound him up,’ she huffed.

‘He wound himself up,’ Lancelot dismissed. ‘Besides, he’s right. You
probably should listen to him. He is your
boyfriend
,
after all.’

Gwenhwyfar scowled. For a long while they walked in silence. They
passed the park and came into the smarter neighbourhoods, with cleaner streets
and tidier buildings, and tree-lined avenues that were naked for the winter.
She found herself thinking about the day that Lancelot had asked her out, and
wondered if he still had feelings for her.

He knew that she was looking at him, she could tell. There was a hint
of self-awareness in his countenance. ‘What?’

She tugged her eyes away. Now he was staring at her. His arms were
bare, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She wondered how he could endure
the cold. ‘Nothing.’

‘No, what?’

‘Nothing!’ she expelled. Frowning, he looked away. ‘It’s nothing,
really. I was just wondering.’

‘Wondering what?’ he asked. ‘Gwenhwyfar?’

She couldn’t get out of it now. ‘I probably shouldn’t say.’ She bit
her lip. ‘Do you like Emily?’

She almost wished she had gone with what was on her mind. Lancelot
surveyed her as if he were a wolf assessing a kill, but his eyes held
amusement, as if he suddenly knew her deepest secret.

‘Do I fancy Emily?’ he repeated. His eyes cut through her. ‘Why?’

His question was much too loaded. ‘No reason.’

‘No?’ he asked.

Gwenhwyfar flushed. ‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, strengthening. She looked him in the eye. ‘So you
do like her.’

His eyebrows only arched. ‘Jealous?’

She shot him a sarcastic smile and ploughed ahead. ‘Don’t be
ridiculous.’