‘Maybe,’ Gavin said after a while, ‘maybe things can be changed from the inside.’
‘You’d need to be top dog, for that.’
‘I could manage it,’ he grinned.
The SSI stalked back towards their end of the line. Gavin had a shift at Bellini’s after this: an evening of dealing with the punters, customers who were inflated with a false sense of their own autonomy; because they had money, because they had comforts, even though they were nothing but small pebbles at the bottom of a vast and unchanging pyramid.
Lancelot sat up to join him, panting with his arms draped over his knees. ‘You’re wasted on the army, Miles,’ he said again. His smile was short and quick, and as they were all told to stand to attention, he sprang obediently to his feet.
Beethoven
It was Tuesday morning, and the sky was still dim in the east. Gwenhwyfar huddled in her coat, her mouth and nose expelling vapour as she hurried down the slight incline to Badbury. The moment she entered the building, warmth enveloped her, and she was grateful that the heating was functioning at a useful hour. She unbuttoned her coat with numb, tingling fingers, pausing by the practice rooms to unwind her scarf. Usually at this time in the morning she could hear the odd wavering note sung by a girl, but today her ear was drawn by the muffled sound of a piano.
She knew the piece, but from where? It was perfect, flawless even. Taunted by the familiar melody, she approached the last door on the right and peered through the small window. Immediately she stepped away. It was Lancelot.
Vaguely she remembered hearing him speak with Tom about music. She looked again. He looked different hunched over the keys. His bruised hands danced. There was sheet music before him though he didn’t seem to need it. She squinted to read the title, but quickly her eyes drew back to him. The room around him blurred, and soon he was all she saw, and for a moment it was as if she were carried with the music.
‘Spying on people, are we?’
She spun around, her heart pounding. The adrenaline rush left her when she realised it was just the Furies. Quickly she moved away from the door. ‘What do you want?’
Emily folded her arms and glanced towards the practice room. ‘Is your boyfriend in there, or something?’
‘Maybe it’s Arthur,’ teased Hattie.
‘Maybe it’s Hector,’ spat Charlotte.
‘Maybe it’s none of your business?’ Gwenhwyfar commented, rolling her eyes. ‘If you stalk me like this, people are going to talk.’
‘Eww! Why would we want to stalk you?’ Emily’s face distorted.
‘I think she fancies us,’ Charlotte muttered, eyes narrowed.
‘Oh, get over yourselves,’ Gwenhwyfar snapped. There was a trip in the flawless music.
‘Better keep away, or she’ll infect us with all sorts,’ pursued Emily. ‘She did catch a lot when she had sex with Hector.’
‘You’re still harping on about that? Please. We all know that if anyone’s got something, it’s Charlotte.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You mean you don’t remember calling her a whore?’
Charlotte’s eyes widened. Her lips were thin. ‘She didn’t.’
‘She did.’
‘That is such a lie!’ Emily screeched. The music faltered again. There was a loud bang of the keys. ‘She’s lying, Charlotte. Gwen’s the one who said that. I told her to stop being so mean.’
‘Oh, and while we’re on the subject of boys… Bedivere was talking about you yesterday, about how crap a kisser you are.’ Emily’s face crashed. ‘He said he never wants to go through anything like it again. What was it he compared you to…? That’s right, it was a fish. A wet, sloppy, slimy fish.’
The music halted again. Emily didn’t have the chance to retaliate. As Hattie and Charlotte revelled in their friend’s misfortune, the blue door was ripped open.
‘Will you lot shut up?’ Lancelot snarled, livid. ‘I’m trying to play the sodding piano here, in case you hadn’t noticed, so how about you all go and have your bitch fest in the bus lane?’
He slammed the door. Emily spun around, striding towards the other staircase. Hattie followed her. Charlotte lingered for a moment, then scurried off. Angrily the piano started up again. Gwenhwyfar listened to the frantic notes for a minute before she made her way up to registration, satisfied that for once, she had given the Furies a taste of their own medicine.
* * *
The power was out again, and there was a problem with the generator. The last time there had been a blackout Gwenhwyfar’s neighbourhood hadn’t been affected, even though many houses had gone without electricity for two full days. The class was restless, unsettled by the lack of lighting. She came to her Science table to find Arthur waiting for her, and felt her heart lift when he returned her smile with equal warmth.
‘Hasn’t Mrs Paxton moved you yet?’ she teased as she climbed onto her stool.
‘You know how she likes to shout at me in front of the entire class,’ Arthur grinned. ‘Besides, I told her I can’t see the board properly from the front. I can sit here, as long as I behave.’
‘And? Are you going to behave?’
They grinned at one another. Gwenhwyfar put her bag on the table, unzipped it, and pulled out her belongings.
‘Ready for some synthetic cells?’ Arthur asked, opening his exercise book.
‘Oh, definitely.’ She plucked a pen from her pencil case. ‘You?’
‘I hope so. Ignore me if I start ranting, though. This sort of thing has the tendency to irritate me.’
‘You were telling me yesterday,’ she recalled. ‘You don’t think such advancements are good?’
‘No. Why, do you?’
‘If they’re for advancing the field of medicine. Synthetic cells and other cellular types of research can only make the world better. Don’t you agree?’
He frowned. ‘I just don’t think that meddling with the foundations of nature can ever truly be good.’
‘But we already meddle with the foundations,’ Gwenhwyfar countered. ‘We meddle when we cure diseases.’
‘And where has that got us?’ Arthur retorted. ‘The world is overpopulated, resources have run out and other species have become extinct. That’s what I mean when I say that it can’t ever be “good”.’
‘But you’re here today because of the advances we’ve made,’ Gwenhwyfar told him. ‘You can guarantee that somewhere in the history of your family, someone will have been saved by such necessary evils. Call it “natural selection” if you like: the smartest being is the most successful and therefore out-competes other species.’
‘I know. But when you start to wipe out what you rely on yourself, your environment and said species in order to maintain and further such advances, you only fuel your own demise. I don’t mean it in an individual sense, just in a wider context of ecological exhaustion.’ He looked to her ruefully. ‘I told you that it irritated me.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Gwenhwyfar replied, favouring him with an affectionate smile. ‘I’m sure we can agree to disagree.’
Mrs Paxton silenced the class in her usual brisk manner and outlined their subject for the day. A while later, when power had finally been restored to their classroom, a twenty minute educational film was inserted into the ancient television device. Still wondering how she could navigate his apparent issue with Lancelot, Gwenhwyfar whispered in Arthur’s ear.
‘Do you want to sit together at lunch?’
He looked at her. ‘Alone?’
She hesitated for a moment. ‘Of course.’
Her heart pounded as he looked away. A moment passed, and he leant towards her again. ‘Can you meet me in our History room? I have to see Marvin about something, first.’
She tried not to scowl. It was something, at least. ‘What time?’
‘Quarter past?’
‘Perfect,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll be there.’
The room went dark and was illuminated by the short documenta
ry about RNA. Gwenhwyfar started a silent correspondence in the back of her school planner, and spent the rest of the film passing it to and fro with Arthur, with the occasional hushed snigger.
‘So how come you work so much?’ she asked once the lights were back on and the film had ended. She copied a complex diagram of RNA into her exercise book. ‘Most people I know have never had a job.’
‘Maybe in this area they haven’t,’ Arthur remarked.
‘I haven’t,’ Gwenhwyfar admitted, as she filled in the blanks. ‘My mam doesn’t work, either.’
‘Does your dad?’ Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘What does he do?’
‘Private security for computer networks… he’s pretty high up. He works in the city. You live with your grandmother, right?’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘What happened to your parents?’
He was caught off guard. Suddenly he seemed unable to meet her gaze. ‘There’s not much to tell. My mother left shortly after I was born. I grew up with my grandparents. My dad died when I was five.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said softly.
‘Don’t be,’ he responded, attempting a smile. ‘I’m lucky to have had them both. My grandfather passed away about a year ago, so now it’s just my grandmother and me. Oh, and Lionel, our cat.’
‘You have a cat?’ She was glad for the chance to change the subject. ‘What sort? I have a dog. He’s called Llew.’
‘A British Shorthair. Llew’s lion in Welsh, right?’
She was pleased that he knew what it meant. ‘Right.’
‘When we first got Lionel, he pulled one of my grandfather’s books off the shelf and tore out a page. My grandfather couldn’t get it off him, because Lionel thought it was a game. He destroyed all of it, apart from one strip. It was a list of the Knights of the Round Table, and the only one spared was Sir Lionel. He’s been known as that ever since.’
‘I’d like to meet Sir Lionel, sometime.’ Gwenhwyfar smiled.
‘I’m sure he’d like to meet you too. You could always come over this weekend, if you want.’
She felt her heart leap. ‘I’d love to. But don’t you need to check with your grandmother first?’
‘She won’t mind. She’s always asking when I’m going to bring a girl home to meet her, anyway,’ he joked.
‘We could go to the cinema, there’s a film on I want to see. It’s called An Inspector Calls. It looks good.’
‘How about Saturday?’ Arthur suggested.
‘Saturday’s perfect,’ Gwenhwyfar told him, wondering if this counted as a date. As he gazed at her his eyes lit up, and she was subjected to the full force of another of his charming smiles.
* * *
Break time came and went with a cloudy sky that threatened rain, but failed to deliver it. The canteen emptied at the sounding of the bell, and Bedivere, Gavin, Tom and Viola all set off to their lessons. As always, Lancelot took his time to get organised and Gwenhwyfar found herself waiting impatiently for him. Refusing to make a comment that would set him off, she remained silent, even when he joined her at an indolent pace.
‘I heard you this morning, you know,’ he drawled, much to her surprise. ‘Telling Emily what Bed said. Does he know?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You know, Lance, it’s none of your business.’
‘It becomes everyone’s business when people like you go shouting it out in the corridors,’ he countered. His dark hair twisted in the wind as they walked, and as her own hair danced about her she reeled it in with persistent fingers.
‘I didn’t shout it out. And no, Bedivere doesn’t know. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him. Judging by the look on Emily’s face, she’s not going to repeat it to anyone, anyway.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ he said. Gwenhwyfar was beginning to notice how other boys went to great lengths to avoid him, while girls drew closer, tittering their schoolgirl giggles. ‘Charlotte’s probably told the whole school.’
‘Why are you so concerned?’ she sniped, dearly wishing that she could swap her lessons and spend French with Arthur instead. ‘I thought you didn’t like Bedivere. Anyway, after all those three did to you, I’m surprised you didn’t tell her yourself.’
He bristled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Aren’t you just a little bit annoyed that they managed to destroy your and Arthur’s friendship?’
She’d struck a nerve—that much was plain—but why she suddenly wanted Arthur and Lancelot to become friends again, she couldn’t fathom.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘Gavin,’ she admitted. ‘I asked why everyone calls them the Furies. That was before I knew you.’
‘I miss those days.’
Gwenhwyfar shoved him. His eyes widened.
‘So now you’re beating me up, too? What happened to Little Miss Pacifist?’
She sent him a sarcastic expression and he retaliated in kind. They came to the entrance to Badbury, next to the Sixth Form block. This time he held the door for her.
‘So that music you were playing earlier, what was it?’
‘You mean that music I was trying to play but couldn’t, thanks to you?’
She doubted she would ever have a civil conversation with him. ‘Yes,’ she retorted flatly. ‘It was pretty good. I didn’t know you could do sophisticated stuff like that.’
‘Sophisticated stuff?’
‘Yeah, anything other than beating the living daylights out of people.’
His dark brows knotted. ‘Is that how you see me?’
‘You mean as a thug?’ This time he pushed her. Scowling, Gwenhwyfar tried to compose herself. She punched him hard on the arm, though doubted his muscles felt it. ‘You’re not supposed to hit women.’
‘I didn’t hit you,’ he mocked. ‘Besides, women aren’t supposed to hit men.’
They both stomped up the stairs, wearing down the old carpet even more.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ said Gwenhwyfar, rubbing her arm. ‘You know, about the music you were trying to play? What was it?’
‘What’s-his-name. Beethoven. Don’t tell me a rich snob like you hasn’t heard it.’
‘Of course I’ve heard it, I just couldn’t remember.’ Her cheeks felt a little rosier than usual. They were in the computer room this week, attempting to learn French by clicking buttons and playing games. ‘What piece was it?’
‘Moonlight something,’ Lancelot shrugged.
‘Sonata?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, remembering.
‘Could be,’ he grunted.
‘So where did you learn it?’ she pursued, as they queued by their room.
‘Learn what?’
He had to be doing it to annoy her. ‘The piano!’
‘My mum taught me, all right? It’s not like I do it for fun, or anything. I do it for the band.’
She gazed at him blankly. ‘The band?’
‘You know, my band? Our band? Tom’s band?’
‘You’re in that?’
‘What?’ Lancelot said, indignant.
‘Nothing.’ She led him into their French room.
‘No, what?’
‘Nothing! I just find it hard to picture you in a band, that’s all.’
‘Why is it so hard to believe?’ he grunted. Violently he pulled out a chair and let his bag thump onto the floor.
‘What do you play?’
‘What?’
‘In your band, what do you play?’
‘Guitar.’ He was beginning to sound Neolithic again.
‘Not the piano?’
‘No, not the piano.’
‘I thought you played it for the band?’ He grumbled. Gwenhwyfar smirked. ‘So who sings?’
‘I do,’ was his black response. He turned on the old computer, waiting for the ancient system to fire up. Gwenhwyfar couldn’t contain her amusement. ‘Oh, what?’
‘Nothing! It’s nothing.’ His aggravated expressions were priceless. ‘So what’s this band of yours called?’
‘So that would be shortened to The Morons, then?’
The scowl on his face was so exaggerated that she had to turn away and snigger.
‘Oh, make fun of it if you want to, Gwenhwyfar.’
She gasped. ‘Where did you learn my name?’
‘Gavin told me,’ he said with some satisfaction. ‘I actually quite like it. I think I’ll call you it more often. Gwenhwyfar.’
‘If you do that, I’ll call you Lancelot, and see how you like it,’ she threatened.
‘You’d better not,’ he warned.
Her eyes narrowed to small slits. ‘Oh, I will.’
‘Fine, Gwenhwyfar,’ he hissed.
‘All right then, Lancelot,’ she jeered.
The two made a point of turning their heads away; both determined to ignore the other.
* * *
Bedivere came to find them all at lunchtime, his face like thunder. ‘You know what I just heard?’ he demanded, looming over their table.
‘What?’ Gavin ventured.
‘That someone told Emily I said she was a crap kisser!’ His pupils danced across the table, accusing each person they fell upon.
‘But you did say that Emily was a crap kisser,’ Lancelot pointed out.
‘It was you, wasn’t it? Oh yes, it sounds like something you’d do, just to be funny. Well, it isn’t funny, Lance. The whole school’s talking about it.’ Lancelot opened his mouth to object, but was cut short. ‘Not to mention the new rumour that’s going around because of you.’
‘What rumour?’ Viola interrupted.
His cheeks reddened. ‘It doesn’t matter exactly—’
‘Yeah it does.’ Lancelot sent a pointed expression to Gwenhwyfar. ‘What rumour? We’re probably going to hear it, anyway.’
‘I’m not repeating it!’ Bedivere snapped, distressed. ‘For her to even know such a thing we’d have to have done more than just kiss, which we definitely did not do.’
The Future King: Logres Page 22
