‘Snooping for what?’
He shrugged, unwilling to speculate. ‘Beats me.’
There was a scuffle at the door. Gavin sat forwards with a huff.
‘That better not be you, Gid,’ he called. ‘What did I say about listening in on people?’
The door swung open, and Gareth appeared in the frame, looking sheepish.
‘How do you turn the oven on?’ His fat bottom lip wobbled, and he looked shyly across to Lancelot. His hair was dark and too long, and he had a plump, soft face matched by his podgy, short frame. ‘Gideon wants to do a pizza.’
‘You’re not having pizza,’ Gavin told him firmly. ‘I’ve already made dinner. Tell Gideon that if he puts that pizza in the oven, I’ll lock him in the cupboard. All right?’
Nodding, Gareth’s blue eyes flittered nervously to Lancelot again, and then he slunk out of the room, anxious with the message he had to bear.
‘We should eat,’ Gavin declared. Lancelot jumped up and eagerly chased him down the stairs.
They stopped the pizza just in time, though Gideon had removed the wrappings. Gavin stuffed it all back into the box and pushed it into the freezer. Cass begged silently for scraps, and as they huddled around the small kitchen table it was all arms and elbows: Lancelot next to Gavin, Gideon next to Lancelot, and Gareth sandwiched between Gavin and his younger brother.
‘Gideon’s in charge when I’m gone. Dad will be home soon, so I want all this cleared up—don’t tease the dog—everything washed up and tidied, you hear me?’
His brothers did little to acknowledge his request, and for the rest of the meal Gavin tried to keep their disorderly behaviour in check. As always, Lancelot took their antics well, only snapping when Gideon tried to squirt chilli sauce on his school uniform. For the rest of the meal Gideon sat in a shocked silence, as if he were surprised to find that a razor was sharp.
‘Gavin,’ Gareth asked, drawing out his name in the babyish manner that their parents adored. ‘When are you going to Cadets?’
‘Half five.’ He snapped a sharp knife out of Gareth’s hand as he prodded his opposite palm with the point.
‘Gavin,’ Gareth said again, ‘when can I come to Cadets?’
‘When you’re old enough,’ Lancelot answered patiently, spooning the last of his seconds into his mouth.
‘Gavin, when will I be old enough?’
The two boys exchanged a glance. ‘Not for a while yet,’ Gavin conceded. ‘You’re only eight.’
‘Anyway, you might not feel like it when you’re older.’
Gareth eyed Lancelot curiously. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s hard work.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you have to do army stuff, stupid,’ Gideon interrupted. Gavin scolded him and told him not to call his brother stupid. ‘I’m old enough to join, but I don’t want to. They teach you how to fight and kill, but I don’t think it’s fair to fight or kill anything.’ He looked to Gareth disapprovingly. ‘And you shouldn’t want to kill, either. Do you want to kill something?’
‘No,’ Gareth insisted, distressed by the question.
‘Gavin will, won’t you? When you join the army. Soldiers kill people all the time.’ Gideon leant forwards, narrowed his eyes, and directed his stare straight at him. ‘But Gavin wants to kill people, because Gavin wants to join the army.’
‘Gideon—’ Gavin warned.
‘It’s true. Gavin wants to kill people.’
His youngest brother shrank away from him at the words.
‘I don’t want to kill anyone, Gid,’ he scowled. ‘I want to help people. People that need helping, and can’t help themselves.’
‘If you want to help people, then maybe you should be a doctor,’ Gideon remarked matter-of-factly.
‘But then he wouldn’t get to shoot things,’ Gareth pointed out.
‘Exactly,’ Gideon argued.
Lancelot was losing patience. ‘Your brother doesn’t want to kill anyone, and you know it.’
‘What about you? Are you going to kill someone?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘But aren’t you joining the army, too?’
‘Going to Cadets doesn’t mean that you have to join the army,’ Lancelot reasoned. With all forks and knives neatly crossed, he stood to clear the plates. ‘I’ve considered it, but with the current government what it is, I’d only be fighting for what I don’t believe in.’
‘What’s government got to do with it?’ asked Gideon.
‘Everything,’ Lancelot said. ‘Ultimately, the government tells the army what to do. If a government wants its army to go and bomb a country for no reason, the army obliges.’
‘Lance,’ Gavin cautioned. ‘He’s thirteen.’
‘So Gavin is going to kill people then,’ Gideon concluded triumphantly. ‘I thought so.’
‘We should go,’ Gavin declared, looking to the clock. Quickly he ran a drink from the tap, gulped it down, and then snatched up his sports bag. He paused in the living room as Gareth followed them to the front door. ‘Remember what I said. Gideon’s in charge. Wash up the plates, and then do your homework. OK?’
Gareth nodded silently. Shouting to Gideon in the other room to remind him he was going, Gavin followed Lancelot over the threshold and slammed the door.
The Disappeared
The first week of October arrived with mild weather more suited to the early days of June. Gwenhwyfar spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday away from her friends, keeping company with Arthur as much as she could when she had established that he didn’t have a pressing reason to be with Marvin. It was Thursday afternoon when she came home to find her mother whispering with her aunt in the kitchen, and sensing that something was wrong, she paused to listen at the half-closed door.
‘Something’s the matter with him, Mel, I know it,’ Eve was saying, her voice fragile and worn thin with tears.
They hadn’t heard her come in, or perhaps they thought they had, for suddenly there was a tense silence. When Llew failed to alert them to her presence, however, the murmuring resumed.
‘He’s probably just stressed. You know how hard this new job’s been for him,’ Melissa said, softly. ‘He’s in a new role, with more responsibilities than he’s ever had before. You said it yourself: he’s probably still adjusting.’
‘Then why won’t he talk to me about it?’ she sniffed. ‘If I ask him what’s wrong, he just shuts down. I’m… I’m going insane here, Mel. I’ve nothing to do, all day, and I just keep thinking—’ there was a moment’s silence, ‘—I keep thinking that he’s… he’s hiding something from me. It’s—it’s a feeling. I can’t quite place it.’
‘What are you thinking?’
The silence that followed was so thick that Gwenhwyfar could almost hear her own heartbeat.
‘I don’t know,’ Eve murmured. ‘He’s been in London all week, he even stayed in the city one night, with no notice, and when he is home he hides in his study. He won’t let me go in, not even when he’s at work. He locks it.’
‘Does he, now?’
‘I think… I think he might be…’
Her mother started to sob again. Gwenhwyfar felt her stomach turn to lead. Another woman, she thought suddenly, and though she felt sickened by the notion it was if she had known all along. It made sense of why her dad was never at home, why he was always working and attending business meetings at strange hours, and the anger that suddenly swept over her was suffocating. How dare he, how dare he do this to them? How dare he hurt her mother like this? The coward, the traitor.
What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t act normally with them after hearing their secret, and it was their secret now. No one had told her, and from the sounds of it, no one was going to.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’ Melissa hushed Eve calmly. ‘It’s easy to get worked up about things when we have too much time on our hands, to blow them out of proportion. Maybe you should come and work for the firm, after all? I think it would be g
ood for you.’ There was a silence, filled with more tears. ‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘No,’ Eve replied miserably. ‘I know if I do, he’ll just deny it. I’m not stupid, Mel, I know something’s going on. I mean why would he need to hide that bank account from me? He’s clearly using it to buy gifts for her. When did he last buy me something? When?’
Gwenhwyfar couldn’t listen to a word more. No one heard her open and close the front door again, and the moment she was out on the porch she drew in a deep, shaking breath. She had to get away from the house, had to walk, had to separate herself from the anger anchored inside her. As she came to Potters Park, she decided that she would go and see Arthur and tell him what she had heard. When she got to the library, however, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, and so lied to him instead and told him that everything was fine.
* * *
The table seemed empty with just four of them filling it. It was Friday; their third session at The Round Table, and this week Marvin had supplied them with crisps and other nibbles. There were party sausages and cheese with pineapple on toothpicks, of which Morgan only ate half, leaving Bedivere to snaffle the rejected lumps of cheddar; and bowls of nuts and dried fruit, which remained largely untouched.
‘Your turn, Arthur,’ Marvin said, his mouth full with a mini sausage roll, which consisted of cheap grey processed meat. ‘Morgan and Bedivere have shown us what they learned—’ He eyed Bedivere, who had mistaken the brief, and Morgan who had gone for something that yielded few results. ‘—What have you got for us?’
Awkwardly, Arthur stood up as the others had done, and looked to the sheets of paper he had before him.
‘Vanishings,’ he muttered. ‘Mentions of homeless people going missing off the streets.’
Flopping into his chair, Marvin crossed his hands over his stomach. ‘And?’
‘And that’s just it. I used a website which publishes amended versions of every newspaper article in the country. Every time an article is corrected, the new version is uploaded against the old. You can see the changes and omissions that the New Nationals make. Here.’
He slid the printouts across the table, the original publication, and the amended version. Bedivere frowned.
‘You’re telling me that the news changes?’
Arthur nodded. ‘It’s rewritten without any acknowledgement that it has been. Why do you think it’s so hard to get a printed paper?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bedivere shrugged. ‘Progress?’
Marvin shook his head. ‘Only particular institutions and New National offices get printed papers, these days. Local tabloids may be easier to find, perhaps, but are probably amended the most. Anything that’s been published can be recalled, redacted and re-issued. That’s why I tell you to always question what you read or hear in the news. It changes with Milton’s policies.’
‘But that’s illegal, surely?’ Morgan asked, an upset scowl darkening her features. ‘They can’t do that. They can change anything?’
‘And unless you happen to have access to the original, you can never be sure what. As Arthur says, there is a website on the Dark Net highlighting most changes, but the New Nationals constantly shut it down. It must have been removed and re-launched at least seventy times now.’
‘What about live broadcasts?’ Bedivere interjected. ‘Everyone sees them, knows what was said. Surely they can’t amend those?’
‘No, but who remembers? You could record such broadcasts illegally, but who would ever think to? It’s physically impossible, unless you use a device severed from the network. The news is trusted by most, and people take it at face value. Would you have thought to question it, before hearing of this?’ He smiled stiffly. ‘I told you you’d be surprised.’ He gestured. ‘Go on, Arthur.’
Arthur cleared his throat. ‘If you read the original article, it mentions homeless children going missing in our area, from the seventeenth of September this year. This is a local paper. Now, if you look at the second sheet… this amendment replaced the old article on the twenty-seventh of September. I chose it, because it’s a drastic change. It’s no longer about missing children, but about a series of thefts and missing animals, in particular pets, which are believed to have been stolen for “sustenance” by these same, no-longer missing children.’
He could tell that his discovery was not going down well, least of all with Morgan, who stared at both copies as if they were a cruel trick.
‘This is what I wanted you to realise. Arthur, I think, already knew it, but you should know it, too. Your government owns the press. Anything and everything they want you to read and believe, you will. Nothing is left untouched. Everything has been tailored for your maximum complicity in a society which is structured and strung together like some nasty, elaborate lie.’
Bedivere and Morgan stared at Marvin in silence. A chill rolled up Arthur’s spine. Yes, he knew it too, but hearing it again pushed him towards the same uncomfortable feeling he had felt when he first stumbled across it.
‘They own technology as well,’ Marvin continued. ‘When I was young there were promises of great things to come, from in-home 3-D printing to teleportation and Mars colonisation. Science and technology have been sidelined due to the near eradication of funding. No one is creating anymore. How can they, when they are watched as they are? Surveillance strangles innovative thinking. Technically we have been in the same place with little-to-no progress for twenty years now. Things are repackaged and old technology is rebranded, but there are no breakthroughs. Medically it is much the same.’
Bedivere shifted. ‘Gavin knows a lot about this sort of stuff,’ he volunteered. ‘He’s always talking about encrypting. I don’t know if he uses the Dark Net or not, but he’s probably heard of it.’
‘If he does use it he wouldn’t admit to it,’ Arthur told him. ‘Use of the Dark Net was made illegal about fifteen years ago. Thankfully they can’t go after everyone who accesses it, so they focus on the hosts, instead.’
‘Ah! That reminds me. Arthur asked if he could invite someone new to join us last week, but I don’t think it fair that only he gets to choose. I’ve thought carefully, and I think we can cope with three more. What do you think?’
‘We can invite people?’ Morgan asked, brightening. ‘Who?’
‘Whoever you like,’ Marvin beamed.
‘George Milton?’ Bedivere joked.
‘Within reason, obviously,’ said Marvin. ‘It must be someone you trust completely, someone who will really benefit from being here. If they mess up, then you’re all out. Understood?’ They nodded, weighed down by the responsibility he had suddenly dropped upon them. ‘Well?’
‘Like I said, Gavin knows a lot about this sort of stuff,’ Bedivere mused. ‘But Gwen…’
‘I’m inviting Gwen,’ Arthur said. ‘If that’s all right.’
‘Gwen,’ Marvin repeated with a nod. ‘Bedivere?’
‘It has to be Gavin then,’ he said, thinking. ‘Yeah, Gavin. I don’t think Vi would have time for this. He’s more likely to say yes.’
‘Morgan?’
‘Lancelot,’ Morgan said after a moment.
‘You can’t ask Lance,’ Arthur protested.
She glared at him. ‘Why not? You’re inviting Gwen.’
‘Yes, but Gwen’s not an idiot.’
‘Neither is Lance.’
‘Lance will just tell everyone, you know he will,’ contested Bedivere.
‘Says who? I happen to think that he’d be perfect for this. And if Gavin is coming he’ll want to be here. I can ask, at least.’
‘But this is Lance we’re talking about—! Come on!’ Arthur appealed to Marvin, but his teacher averted his eyes.
‘I trust him,’ Morgan insisted. ‘Marvin said we could invite who we want.’
‘As long as you’re happy being responsible for us getting kicked out when he goes and tells everyone,’ Arthur muttered.
‘He won’t tell.’
‘We’ll see what he says,�
�� Marvin cut in, ‘we don’t have to give all the details out immediately. If they’re interested, we can reveal a little more.’ He rubbed his dry hands together. ‘We’ll invite them to our next session. How does that sound?’
The room fell into silence, but eventually the three of them nodded. Arthur gazed at Morgan resentfully, his good mood ruined by the prospect of enduring an encroachment by Lancelot into one of his last remaining sanctuaries.
* * *
Viola handed her portfolio to Gwenhwyfar, who opened it up immediately and flicked through the glossy pages to find her latest shots. It was Monday morning of the second week of October, and they were both sitting outside, surprised to find that despite the hour, it was reasonably warm.
‘So what was this for?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, after she had made suitable noises of admiration.
‘Just another test,’ Viola shrugged, leaning over the picnic bench to get another look. ‘I didn’t get paid for it. So far I’ve earned nothing. It’s really expensive going up to London all the time.’ She pointed at the photo on the left. ‘I got that one in the first shot,’ she added proudly.
‘It looks great.’ Gwenhwyfar flicked back and forth between the pages, comparing each picture. ‘This one’s definitely my favourite. I love the make-up.’
They were sitting in the large square of grass by the Design Technology rooms. In the wing behind Viola, opposite the drama studios, was their tutor room, which overlooked both the benches and the narrow strip of grounds between Badbury and the perimeter fence.
‘Think Bedivere will find us here?’ Viola asked, stowing her portfolio away in her schoolbag.
‘He should do. We’ll go inside in a bit, anyway.’ Gwenhwyfar let her gaze drift across the grounds. The bin by the steps down to the Badbury changing rooms was overflowing, picked at by seagulls, and the hedge along the path left little to be seen of the houses beyond, its trimmed top interrupted by long spindles of yew. She realised that Viola had said something, and apologised for missing it. Her friend eyed her with concern.
The Future King: Logres Page 25
