The Future King: Logres (50 page)

They were approaching her street now. Lancelot was looking around. ‘So
this is your neighbourhood? It’s nice.’

‘I hate it,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked.

‘Hate it? Why?’

She shrugged, coming to a drawn out halt. ‘I just do.’ They stood for
a moment in an awkward silence.

‘So I guess you’re not inviting me in, then.’

‘I can’t,’ she smiled. ‘I have to get ready.’

For a moment he seemed to brighten. ‘For the gig?’

She shook her head. ‘For Arthur. We’re going to Marvin’s club.’

His eyes darkened at this. Turning his head away, he exposed the line
of his neck. Gwenhwyfar’s eyes trailed his throat, slinking down to the collar
of his shirt. ‘Sorry.’

‘For what?’ he muttered, bored.

‘For not coming tonight. I really would have loved to see you play.’ She
didn’t know what to say next. ‘Lancelot?’

He turned to look at her. Biting her lip, she stepped towards him. He
was still, his whole body taut. She could smell his shower gel from P.E., could
detect his muskier undertone masked beneath. He was frowning. He was always
frowning.

‘Thanks. For walking me.’

He stared at her.

‘And good luck. For tonight.’

She left first, and glancing over her shoulder offered a wave too
casual for the way she felt. Lancelot lingered for a while, but when she looked
again he had turned away, and soon vanished onto the adjoining street.

The venue was a large hall in an estate connected to larger
warehouses, with a temporary bar that wouldn’t sell to those under twenty-five.
The Oxymorons weren’t headlining, but their set was in the perfect hour when
the crowd was at its freshest. The air was thick, and Tom and Lancelot’s foreheads
glistened under the spotlights. The crowd lapped up the unusual music, dancing
to it nonsensically. Lyrics were sparse but interlinked so expertly that they
became one with the sound.

Bedivere couldn’t admit to liking the style, but he did appreciate that,
musically, they were skilled. Gavin stood next to him, his huge hands clapping
out a booming applause, while Emily was on his right, screaming and whooping
between each number and the next.

‘Did you see that?’ she shouted breathlessly, eyes wild. ‘Oh my God,
they’re
amazing
.’

He caught her as she fell into him, helping her find her feet.
Someone had been selling solution on the sly.

‘What do you think? Do you like them?’ she asked, brushing her hair
away from her flushed face.

Bedivere nodded and said he did.

‘Sorry?’ she yelled.

‘I said, yes—they’re good!’

‘Great!’

Gavin bent down towards him and shouted in his ear. ‘I’m going to the
bar! Want anything?’

He shook his head, already dizzy. Gavin leaned across him.

‘Em—?’

‘No thanks!’ Nodding, Gavin moved off to the bar. ‘It’s a shame Gwen
couldn’t make it!’ Emily said, as the next song started. ‘Where did you say she
was again?’

‘Out with Arthur!’ His throat hurt. Shouting over the sound of the
bass was too much. ‘On a date!’ he lied.

‘I’m sorry!’

‘What?’

‘I said I’m sorry! For what I did!’

He felt his face heat up rapidly, and he was suddenly grateful that
it was dark. He didn’t like being reminded of Tom’s party; still felt like an
idiot for falling for what had ultimately been a practical joke. ‘Don’t worry
about it!’

She smiled up at him and nodded, and then waved her arms as she
danced to the beat. Bedivere, however, found that he could not move on.

‘Why did you do it?’ he yelled.

‘Do what?’

‘Kiss me!’

She looked at him as if he were violating some social norm. ‘It was
just a kiss,’ she shrugged. ‘Didn’t you like it?’

‘Of course, but—’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ She sent him a pink smile. ‘I said I was
sorry about all that.’ She applauded mid-song and then turned, searching.
‘Where’s Gavin? He’s taking ages!’

‘Still queuing at the bar,’ Bedivere said, unsatisfied. He caught
sight of Charlotte some way off in the crowd. Edward Cooper pushed past them,
his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. ‘So you like Lance?’

She ignored him and looked to the stage.

‘Did you really sleep with him?’

‘I said I did, didn’t I?’ she remarked. ‘Anyway, what’s it to you?’

‘I’m going to get some air,’ he told her, deafened by the speakers.

‘You’re going?’

‘I’ll be back in a bit.’

‘You can’t leave me on my own,’ she protested.

‘Come with me, then!’

She frowned at him. ‘But they’re not done yet!’

‘Gavin’s over there. Go and find him!’

Bedivere pointed, and Emily turned, looking for the tall boy. He shouldered
his way through the tightly packed audience and heard an eruption of cheers as
he made it through the door.

It was cooler in the hallway. How could she be so callous?
Just a kiss
. It had been more than that.
Bedivere didn’t understand how she could have done something so intimate if her
heart wasn’t in it. But it had just been a joke.
She had slept with Lance
.

The music started up again as the applause faded, and mindlessly he
collected his coat from the cloakroom. He came out into the night, scrolling
through his contacts. Maybe he should just call his mother and get her to pick
him up now. He halted in the middle of the road. He would text Arthur. He and
Gwenhwyfar should have left The Round Table by now. They should go out and do
something. They hadn’t been out in ages.

The lot was almost deserted, filled with empty alleys and storage
houses locked up for the night. He waited for a response from Arthur, but there
was none. He checked the time. Gavin, he would go back and get Gavin. They
could go out, they could leave Emily with Lancelot. She would be happy with
that, he thought. He turned around to head back into the venue. A fist to his
stomach: a knife through butter. The masked figure held him upright, whispered
coldly in his ear.

‘
Pop goes the weasel
.’

New
Moral Army

Blood. A raw taste
:
beaten copper across his tongue.
Hector held his shoulder, pinching. The knife came out: the hand was gone. A
voice barked. Not Hector’s. He fell forwards. The barbed fist struck again.

In, out. His phone slipped from his fingers and cracked on the
concrete. Another hand, pushed. Folding on yielding knees.

He didn’t catch himself. Yelling, and Hector was gone. Backwards he
fell, backwards and over, and for a moment he was falling eternally. Is this
death? A trip, the trap below. Creeping darkness. A warm blanket on a cold
night. A mother’s kiss. He saw the sky, but no stars. Blackness: above and
below. Hitting the ground, falling through it. A crack. The back of his head on
the concrete.

The Round Table was quite relaxed, and
as it was just with the three of them, Marvin’s topic choices were much less
political. They still touched on the New Moral Army and listened to Marvin
remark on the press’ handling of the Mobilisation Centre scandal, but much of
the session was spent discussing their futures and listening to tales of events
before their time.

They were encouraged to leave early, gifting them extra time alone.
As soon as the door was closed and they were shut out into the night, Gwenhwyfar
felt Arthur snake his arm about her waist.

‘Do you think Marvin’s right about medical school?’ she mused. ‘I
mean, I was thinking about it, but I have no idea if I’ll do well enough in my
Level Fives and Sixes
for that.’

‘You should try,’ encouraged Arthur. ‘How long does it take in total?
Seven years?’

‘Something like that,’ Gwenhwyfar said. ‘It can even be twelve or
thirteen, depending on what it is you want to do.’

‘And what is it that you want to do?’ he queried, walking beside her
with mismatched steps.

‘I don’t know. I’m looking at taking a first aid course. They do them
at school as an extracurricular module. It would be brilliant to go to medical
school,’ Gwenhwyfar enthused, bubbling with alcohol-induced excitement. ‘I’ve
been doing some research, and they all recommend getting experience as early as
possible. Going to study in London would be fantastic.’

‘You’ll have to start with the work experience right away, then. Most
people who want to become medics are already storming ahead by the time they’re
fourteen.’

‘But that’s just ridiculous. How can anyone know what they want to do
for the rest of their life when they’re fourteen?’

For a while they walked in silence, passing through the quieter
streets and onto the busier roads.

‘Do you want to go to university?’

‘If I can afford it.’ Arthur squeezed her middle and then let go. They
held hands instead. ‘I’ll apply for a scholarship next year. There are other
bursaries as well. The problem is, Bedivere wants them too. The competition is
going to be tough.’

‘You’ll get one,’ Gwenhwyfar encouraged. She found herself wondering
if Tristan had ever heard about his scholarship. Now that she seemed to be safe
from arrest, she wished she had asked. ‘Where do you want to go?’

‘Oxbridge: whichever will have me. The people who go there have the
best prospects.’ They turned onto the end of Gwenhwyfar’s street, a quiet
cul-de-sac with grand townhouses that seemed imposing in the moonlight. ‘I’m
not even sure what I want to study yet.’

Gwenhwyfar kissed him. She drew him closer and tasted his tongue
until they both pulled away, smiling in the streetlight.

‘That was unexpected,’ Arthur breathed.

She bit her lip, eying him mischievously. ‘I couldn’t help myself.’

He stooped to kiss her again. Her heart drummed as his fingers pressed
gently over her cheeks. ‘I have something to give you,’ he murmured, holding
his head near hers. ‘An early Christmas present—I hope you don’t mind.’

He produced a small packet from his coat pocket. It was simply
wrapped, a rectangle of some sort, and as he handed it to her Gwenhwyfar felt a
pang of guilt.

‘But I haven’t got you yours yet.’

‘That’s why it’s early,’ he grinned.

She peeled the paper apart carefully, finding that it separated with
little persuasion. Another small packet was revealed, still wrapped. She turned
it about in her hands. ‘Chocolate?’

‘Not just any chocolate,’ Arthur stressed, ‘real chocolate. The kind
you can’t get. It’s seventy percent. That means that seventy percent of it is
made up of the cocoa bean.’

Gwenhwyfar’s eyes rose to meet his, comprehending.

‘I know it’s a bit of a strange present,’ Arthur continued, ‘but I thought
you might like to try some.’

She moved to press their bodies closer. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

He smiled with relief. ‘I was going to give you some of ours, but it
seems my grandmother’s been nibbling it away over the years. There’s not much
left.’

‘How did you get it?’ She hunted for the ingredients and sure enough,
in place of
cocoa substitute
was
printed
cocoa beans.

‘Marvin,’ he boasted. ‘The guy he usually buys his wine off had a
contact that just intercepted a shipment of chocolate. He mentioned it in
passing a few weeks back, and I asked if he could get me some.’

Gwenhwyfar was stunned. Surely she wasn’t worthy of this. ‘You won’t
get into trouble, will you?’

‘That’s the wonderful thing about chocolate.’ Arthur took her hands.
‘Once you eat it, it’s gone.’

‘Here.’ Smiling, she carefully opened the paper wrapping and pulled
back the silver foil. She snapped off a piece and handed it to him delicately.

‘Are you sure?’

Gwenhwyfar nodded. Arthur placed it on his tongue, and she did the
same. Packing the chocolate away and clutching the bar in her hands, she began
to stroll thoughtfully down the street.

‘It’s best if you let it melt,’ Arthur advised.

She found it hard not to chew. It was very bitter, and at first she
wasn’t sure if she liked it, but eventually her tastebuds adjusted and she
began to savour the rarity of the flavour.

‘What do you think?’

‘Delicious.’ Gwenhwyfar rubbed it around her mouth and then swallowed,
pleased to find a sweeter taste lingering. They stopped by the foot of her
drive. She gazed up at him tenderly. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He kissed her again.

‘I suppose supper’s nearly ready,’ Gwenhwyfar said after a while.

‘I hope the chocolate hasn’t ruined your appetite,’ he murmured.

‘Not at all.’ Their lips connected again and then once more, before
eventually they resigned themselves to being parted.

The rattle of the door reverberated around the house.

All the lights were off, casting the furniture into a gloom
interrupted only by the distant glow from the street. The curtains were partially
drawn and the clock by the mantelpiece announced the time with its own tune.

Unsure how she was going to top Arthur’s Christmas present, Gwenhwyfar
slipped the bar of chocolate into her pocket and draped her coat over the
nearest chair. She called out to see who was in. There was no answer. She found
a note from her mother on the kitchen table. She had gone to the supermarket
nearly two hours ago.

With the house deserted and her father probably working late,
Gwenhwyfar wished she had invited Arthur in. She opened the fridge to hunt for
a snack, but with the taste of chocolate still strong in her mouth, soon
reconsidered. It was then she heard a high whimper.

Llew snuffled and snorted at her feet through the crack in the bottom
of the back door. It was locked. Fumbling, she found the key. Soon he was upon
her, panting and shaking his rear end about gratefully. When Gwenhwyfar asked
him why he had been outside, the old dog whined, and there was a sound of
movement upstairs. His ears pricked.

‘Mam? Dad?’

There was someone upstairs. Suddenly the thought came to her that
there might have been a break-in. Llew could easily have been tempted into the
garden with a slice of cooked meat. The feeling that she was in danger grew as
she ascended the stairs. Her heart pulsed, and she strained to hear above the
sound of her own breathing.

Another thud. For a while she froze. The disturbance seemed to be
coming from her parents’ bedroom. When she came to a stop outside the closed
door, her suspicions were aroused. Llew whined, and gazed up at her with
concerned eyes. The lights were off.

She took a breath and flung the door open. The imposter froze.

‘
Dad
?’

Her father stared back at her, his hands filled with clothes and her
mother’s jewellery. ‘Cariad,’ he breathed, swiftly resuming what he was doing.
Llew padded into the room, wagging his tail. When Gwenhwyfar’s eyes fell upon
the large suitcase on the bed her stomach folded.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Packing,’ he remarked, briskly stuffing the bundles into the case.
He shoved them down.

‘In the dark?’

‘The power’s out,’ he excused.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Just away for a few days.’ He hurried to the wardrobe and flung it
open. Splitting the clothes on the rail, Garan bent to a safe concealed at the
back. Gwenhwyfar hadn’t known it was there.

‘How long is a few days?’

The safe clicked open. He pulled out five thick rolls of money. Most
of it went into his briefcase, but then he hesitated, crushing two packets into
Gwenhwyfar’s hands. ‘Be a darling, would you, and go put that under the stairs?
There’s a hatch under the floorboards. Tell your mother it’s there when she
gets home. It’s for emergencies.’

Alarmed, she clutched the heavy bundles to her chest. ‘Why are you
going?’

‘Business trip.’

‘At a weekend?’

‘A colleague’s been taken sick,’ he explained. ‘I’m already late—my
plane is leaving in a few hours.’

‘You’re going abroad? Does Mam know about this?’

‘I’ve tried calling her. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.’ He zipped
the case up and closed his briefcase. He was taking more than he needed for
just a few days. Garan pulled his bags off the bed, kneed Llew to one side and
then attempted to get past her. They were at the bottom of the stairs when he
put his cases down again. Thinking they were going somewhere, Llew cantered
past them, ready for adventure.

‘I’m sorry Gwen—I know this is a bit of a shock, but it can’t
be helped.’ He closed his hands around the money she held, nervously striding
to hide it himself. ‘Remember, under the stairs in the hatch. Llew needs
feeding too. Tell your mother I’m sorry, that I love her, and that I’ll speak
to her soon.’

She watched as her father vanished into the cupboard beneath the
stairs and then emerged to grab his coat. Her suspicion of his extramarital
affair immediately resurfaced. She expelled a terrified sob.

‘Are you leaving us?’

‘No, of course not.’ He came to her briefly, offering a short hug
that gave her little comfort. ‘Don’t be silly. And don’t cry, either. I’ll be
back. I’ll call you when I get there. I promise.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I love you, cariad.’

A firm kiss on the forehead was all he left her with. She stood
tear-stricken as he struggled with his case to the front door. She barely heard
the tyres crackle over the driveway. Suddenly he flew back past her with his
briefcase, through the kitchen and out the back door.

The sound of splintering wood crashed through the house.

‘New Morals!’ Torch beams lanced through the dark. ‘New Morals!’ they
roared again, their camouflage turning them to shadows. They swarmed through
the house, stripping curtains and upturning cabinets. A gunman marked her. She
raised her hands to the ceiling. He shouted and jerked his gun, and she knelt
in the middle of the kitchen floor, trembling.

Her father reappeared, bound and blindfolded. Llew yelped, his howls
silenced with the butt of a gun. Gwenhwyfar cried for her father from the floor.
He shouted back, his voice frantic through his shroud.