‘Yes, but you don’t need to worry about Gavin,’ she stressed, deeply embarrassed. ‘He walked me home, remember?’
‘No, it’s fine, really,’ Gavin assured, offering a toothy smile. ‘I do work. Only part-time though, two nights a week. At Bellini’s, the Italian in town. Do you know it?’
‘I do actually,’ Garan said brightly. ‘What do you do there?’
‘I just wait tables, but you know, it keeps me in pocket.’
A phone rang. Garan jumped and immediately fished it out of his coat. ‘Sorry,’ he excused, ‘I’ve got to take this. See you again, Gavin.’
He sidestepped away from the path. Gwenhwyfar bit her lip as he hunched under a tree and proceeded to mutter into the receiver. She looked up to Gavin with rosy cheeks.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Gavin said, his voice deep and warm. ‘Actually, I’m surprised I didn’t get any of that when he picked you up on Friday. So how are you?’
‘I’m good. Still recovering from Rav’s grilling session.’
‘Of course, that was yesterday, wasn’t it? How did it go?’
‘I’m not sure. My dad thinks it went all right, but it was pretty horrible. He practically called me a liar.’
‘What a knob.’
‘I know, right?’
Gavin looked down to Cass, who considered her surroundings with a curious sniff. Gwenhwyfar hunted for Llew. She couldn’t see him.
‘Listen, I’d better go, yeah? Got to get this one back to the house and get ready for school. But I’ll see you at break?’
‘Yeah, see you at break,’ she repeated, still smiling. Awkwardly Gavin wandered off, his tall frame towering over the attentive Cass. Gwenhwyfar watched him amble down the hill.
‘Sorry, cariad,’ her father said as he rejoined her. ‘Apparently we have another client to worry about. We should probably get back home. I’ve got a few things to sort out before work.’ He turned on the spot. ‘Llew!’
‘Llew!’ Gwenhwyfar called. The old sheepdog’s head popped out from behind a tree. She called him again and he began a slow, reluctant plod back to the path. They turned to leave.
‘Who’s the new client?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, her breath clouding.
‘No one important,’ her father dismissed. ‘Just another cog in the corporate machine.’
‘Everything’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is,’ he exclaimed, a little too brightly. ‘Why do you ask?’
Gwenhwyfar turned her eyes to the gate far off at the other end of the park. The cold morning sun peered over the buildings in the east. ‘No reason.’
* * *
Gwenhwyfar was finding it hard to concentrate. All three Furies had been absent during registration that morning, probably summoned to Dr Ravioli’s office so that he could trawl over more particulars. Huffing, she flicked through her textbook in an effort to find two compatible poems. Bedivere sat next to her in silence, hunting through his own copy of Poetry: Level Four. Keeping a sharp watch over the class, Ms Appelbauer marked essays at her desk. Bedivere shifted next Gwenhwyfar, bored. As he stretched his bones gave off a loud crack.
‘I’ve never really been one for poetry,’ he admitted, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. ‘I don’t quite get it.’
‘I don’t think you have to get it,’ mused Gwenhwyfar. ‘You just read.’
‘Unfortunately, just reading isn’t enough for exams. It’s not long until our mock Level Fours, you know. I’m dreading the English Language paper. I hear it’s a killer.’
‘I’ll worry about that one after Christmas,’ Gwenhwyfar whispered. Ms Appelbauer looked up, prompting them to a short silence. The moment her eyes returned to her marking, Bedivere abandoned his pen and leant back into his red plastic chair.
‘So how are those meetings with Ravioli going?’
‘Horrible. He’s convinced that I’m making it all up.’ With her chosen verse neatly copied, she flicked back through her textbook.
‘Really?’ Bedivere propped his chin in his palm. ‘When I spoke to him he seemed to take it all very seriously.’
Gwenhwyfar stopped reading. ‘When did you speak to him?’
‘The other day, when he called me in for a meeting.’
‘You never said.’ Ravioli hadn’t, either.
‘It wasn’t a long one or anything. He just wanted to know my involvement.’
‘But he hasn’t even bothered to question Arthur yet,’ she pointed out. ‘So why would he need to question you?’
There was a silence. Bedivere seemed to consider his options, but Gwenhwyfar’s darkening expression soon forced him to panic. Both expelled a huge sigh as suddenly, Bedivere confessed.
‘I’m sorry Gwen, I didn’t mean to, really I didn’t. I just thought it would be best to tell someone!’
‘Don’t you think I would have told someone if I had wanted to?’ she snapped, turning her head to the front. ‘You have no idea how horrible all of this has been! I meant it when I said he doesn’t believe me; he really doesn’t.’
‘Gwen, I’m sorry—!’ he whispered, eyes pleading.
‘Why even tell Ravioli in the first place? You know what he’s like—you’ve been going here for nearly three years!’ Ms Appelbauer glanced up, searching for the disturbance. Gwenhwyfar lowered her voice. ‘I can’t believe you’d betray me like this, Bed.’
‘I only wanted to help, I swear. I thought if something was done about it, Arthur might realise what really happened.’
‘Haven’t you heard? Arthur doesn’t care,’ Gwenhwyfar replied bitterly. ‘He still thinks we were in on it. I mean, how could he actually believe that?’ She returned to her work and angrily flapped through several more pages. It took her a while to calm down.
‘Gwen?’
She was silent for as long as she could manage. ‘What?’
‘I’ll make it up to you. I’ll talk to Ravioli. I’ll even try to explain things to Arthur again, if you want.’
She contemplated his offer, then sighed, her frustration dissolving. Hector had taken enough from her already. ‘No, it’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but I suppose you were only trying to help. Just ask in future, please?’
Bedivere nodded extensively. ‘I will,’ he promised.
‘Bedivere?’
Ms Appelbauer was sitting straight, with her marking pen pointed towards him. Bedivere looked up.
‘The others are managing to keep things to an acceptable level. Would it trouble you to do the same? You too, Gwen.’
‘No, miss.’ Bedivere donned his glasses and resumed his work.
‘Sorry, miss,’ Gwenhwyfar added, wondering how much had been heard. Embarrassed, she returned to her search, flicking through Tennyson, Thomas, and then halting on Auden, trying to make an interesting choice that wouldn’t prove too hard to examine.
* * *
It had to be bad luck that Science was the most frequent lesson in Arthur’s timetable. There was a moment of panic when their teacher split them into pairs, but thankfully Gwenhwyfar was allocated to work with someone else instead. Deciding to spend his break time alone in the library, Arthur found a corner that wasn’t too visible to the main desk and pulled out Marvin’s book. Now gloved in a different book jacket, The Human Condition was disguised as An Unfortunate Encounter with Alfred: an easy and vaguely intellectual crime-thriller. He flicked through the thin leaves, halted by a chapter entitled: ‘The Rise of CCTV.’ Cautiously, Arthur observed his surroundings. The librarian at the main desk was busy. He returned to the book. It read,
It is a little known fact that closed circuit television was first developed by the Nazis during World War II. Mostly used to observe V2 launchings in 1942, it was also utilised in video recording technology, and introduced the idea of surveillance in areas labelled ‘unsafe’ for humans.
He skipped down the page, scanning for key words. The clock behind him ticked quietly. A muffled cough sounded at the other end of
the room.
Widely used, closed circuit television has swiftly become a means of keeping an eye on the masses. Integrated into businesses, coffee shops, public transport and open spaces, it uses the pretext of protecting those on film to gather information and monitor behavioural anomalies. From employee and customer surveillance to crime prevention, closed circuit television has become a controversial addition to daily life, many cameras becoming so discreet that it has become hard to know when one is being watched, by whom, and for what purpose.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Arthur looked up and observed the small glass sphere nestled in the ceiling. He stared at it, and it stared back. His eyes crept along the premises, and he noticed another, and then a third, all placed in strategic positions. Nervously he shrank into his chair, bringing The Human Condition closer to his chest.
… with new technologies such as emails, mobile phones and the Internet, it is sobering to explore how this rise of surveillance has developed. It is well known that governments take liberties with the privacy of most Internet users, tapping into email accounts and online correspondence…
A chorus of pages flapped and wobbled as half a shelf avalanched to the floor. Two aisles down Morgan hurried to tidy up. Arthur jumped to his feet, stuffing The Human Condition into his bag. Morgan looked up as he joined her, her eyes wide with surprise. He helped her gather the laminated books off the floor.
‘You’re not a true library-goer until you’ve annoyed Mrs Paisley,’ he said, glancing to the main desk where the librarian sat scowling, her glasses illuminated by an old-fashioned computer screen. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she murmured, lowering her gaze. ‘My bag just caught.’
Arthur stood and put the books back into their rightful place. ‘Were you looking for something?’
‘I’ve got a study to do for class on the Fauvists. You?’
‘I was just reading.’
‘Anything good?’
He was tempted to tell her, but the urge quickly faded. ‘Not really, just something I picked up from home.’
She bent down and retrieved the last two books. Arthur took one and pushed it back where it belonged.
‘Thanks,’ she smiled, standing again. ‘For the damage control.’
‘You’re welcome.’
A thought suspended her as she turned to leave. ‘Is it true? Bedivere tells me you’re not talking to him. He says he’s not talking to you, either.’
‘He’s not.’
She leant against the end of the shelf unit and observed him with concern. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Arthur muttered. ‘He can stuff it, as far as I’m concerned. He’s been teaming up with Emily.’
‘So that’s why you haven’t been in the canteen all week.’
‘I’m spending lunch with Marvin. It’s better, really,’ he shrugged. ‘I can’t stand the canteen, anyway. It’s too busy.’
‘You can always come and sit with me if you like.’ He thought she went a little pinker as she spoke, and she soon shrugged to look elsewhere. ‘I mean, if Bedivere’s not talking to you and Marvin’s busy, or something.’
‘Thanks.’ He wondered how, after all this time, he and Morgan had hardly spoken. ‘I can’t today though, Marvin’s expecting me.’
‘That’s all right, I’m working in the art rooms anyway.’ Morgan stood straight. ‘I should probably go and find this book. Want to help me? You know, so I don’t destroy half the library.’
He offered her a lop-sided smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage. I’ve got some reading to catch up on. But I’ll see you in History?’
Disappointment shadowed her face, but then the sun came out with a wide smile. ‘Sure, I’ll see you then.’
She turned and headed for the Fine Art section of the library. Arthur watched her for a moment but then returned to his seat, and opened up The Human Condition once again.
* * *
He was pleased to find Marvin in his classroom at lunch. He’d found time to read through a little more of his book during English, and as he discovered the chapter covering hierarchies and the monarchy had realised that the author lived in a time before the abolition. Marvin was halfway through eating a sandwich when Arthur joined him. He nodded to him, still chewing.
‘And—? How are you finding the book? Interesting?’
‘Very.’ Sitting, Arthur pulled his lunch out from his rucksack. ‘I’ve just finished the chapter on CCTV. I’ve been wandering around the school with my eyes open to cameras—I had no idea there were so many of them.’
His teacher nodded to the back of the room. Arthur twisted round and, sure enough, there loomed another tiny black sphere.
‘You know they have microphones on them, these days,’ Marvin mused. ‘The smarter ones have facial recognition, but these models are old. They were designed to pick up key words in suspicious conversations. I mean, what’s a suspicious conversation? Who decides?’ He took another chunk out of his sandwich, ripping the crust from the bread. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he added, swallowing thickly, ‘that one’s been broken for years. My friend Mr Pick, the technician, overlooks it so long as I read through his children’s papers.’
‘Is there one in every classroom?’ Arthur broke into his lunchbox. Marvin nodded. ‘Why?’
‘To keep an eye on things, I suppose. Just in case students bring something dangerous into school. I don’t see the point of the microphones, though. Maybe that’s to keep an eye on the content of our lessons. Speaking of which, have you thought of any names for our afterschool club?’
‘Not yet,’ Arthur admitted. ‘When are we having it?’
‘Friday. What time do you finish work?’
‘Half five.’ He started to eat. ‘I’d like to be home for seven, though.’
‘How about we do quarter to six to quarter to seven? I would have liked to do an hour and a half, but I think an hour is stretching it enough. It’s probably safest if you invite Bedivere and Morgan.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you think that Gwenhwyfar would be interested in something like this?’
‘Probably not.’ Arthur shrugged. ‘She doesn’t seem like the type.’
‘No?’ Marvin crumpled his sandwich bag in his hands, and then dropped it into the open-mouthed bin next to his desk. ‘I thought she might have potential. She seemed like an intelligent girl to me.’
‘Maybe we should wait with the name until we’re all there,’ Arthur suggested, eager to change the subject. ‘Then we can vote on the best one.’
‘Aha! Spoken like a true democrat. Let me know what Bedivere says. You can ask him in History, no?’ Marvin popped open a packet of crisps, and began to crunch. Arthur still didn’t know how to tell him that they were no longer friends.
* * *
‘Good afternoon, class! If we can settle down, that would be good.’
Marvin was peering over the room of noisy students, hands elevated, in an effort to gain their attention. Gradually the pupils began to fill their allocated seats. Arthur did his best to ignore Gwenhwyfar, who sat waiting with her chin propped in her hand. His eyes wandered across the room. Tom was harassing Marvin doggedly.
‘Mr Hareton, if you would please stop using that mouth of yours for one minute, the rest of the class might get the chance to learn something,’ Marvin stressed. He picked up some heavy books and began to do the rounds, dropping one on each desk. ‘We’ll be looking at military history today!’ he exclaimed. ‘One between two, please. You won’t be needing your textbooks.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us that last lesson?’ complained Tom. ‘I’ve done my back in, carrying that brick around all day.’
‘That’s what your lockers are for, Thomas.’ Marvin clapped his hands together twice. ‘Come on! Page forty-seven. Chop chop! We don’t have all day.’ He turned to the board, seemingly deaf to the buzz behind him. Arthur was wondering how to tell Bedivere about the club without him mistaking it for forgiveness.
‘Marvi
n wanted me to speak to you,’ he ventured, already on page forty-seven. He examined the old photographs, garish in their colouring. In one picture, servicemen stood before an iron fence twisted by an exploded missile. Other photographs were of long dead politicians, practising gestures of diplomacy. ‘He’s setting up an after-school club on Fridays, at quarter to six. He wants to know if you want to come.’
‘What sort of club?’ Bedivere responded, surprised he was no longer being ignored.
‘History. We’ll be looking at alternate truths, stuff he can’t teach us in school. The darker side to England and all that. You interested?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bedivere gazed at Marvin’s back as he scraped chalk letters across the dusty board.
Arthur twisted round in his seat. ‘Morgan? Marvin’s setting up an afterschool club about world affairs,’ he murmured. ‘You’re invited too, if you want to come.’ He caught Gwenhwyfar’s eye, felt his chest contract, and quickly looked away.
‘When is it?’
‘Friday, next week at quarter to six,’ Arthur said. Bedivere was still listening. ‘What do you think? We need to come up with a name for it, so if you have any ideas…’
‘I’ll let you know,’ Morgan smiled, playing with a lock of her hair.
‘It’s a secret, though. You can’t tell a soul.’
‘I won’t,’ Morgan promised, glancing to Gwenhwyfar.
‘Can I join?’ Gwenhwyfar interrupted.
Arthur shook his head. ‘No, sorry.’
She scowled. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s by invitation only. If you want to join, you’ll have to ask Marvin.’
‘Why can’t you ask him?’
‘Because you should ask, if you want to join,’ Arthur insisted.
‘Can’t we just ask him now?’ Bedivere tried.
The Future King: Logres Page 12
