‘I’m not defending him, trust me,’ Eve implored, her face ashen, her voice faint. ‘I’m not—’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Gwenhwyfar hissed. ‘You’ve been lying to me all week, pretending like everything’s normal when it’s not. How could you?’
‘Gwenhwyfar Taliesin, don’t you dare shift this onto me,’ Eve snapped, her voice low. ‘I didn’t tell you because I don’t want you to think badly of him. I don’t even know if he is having an affair. What sort of mother would I be if I came running to you with this? This is something I need to work out. You shouldn’t know. You shouldn’t have heard.’
Shaking her head, Eve tried to lift her coffee, but when her hands trembled too much she set it back down.
‘You shouldn’t know. What am I supposed to do, now that I have you judging me?’
‘I’m not judging you—’
‘Well, it certainly feels like it. If you get off that high horse of yours for just one minute you might realise that I don’t know anything but what I saw and that it was none of your business to go snooping around like you did. Why didn’t you announce yourself when you heard us talking?’
‘I didn’t get the chance!’ she snapped, her face burning. ‘I heard it as soon as I came through the door. It’s not like I closed it quietly. I wasn’t snooping, if that’s what you think.’
It seemed that Eve was no longer listening, for her head fell into her hands, and for a moment Gwenhwyfar feared she was crying.
‘What am I supposed to do?’
She didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ she tried. ‘It’s like you say, you don’t know… you can’t be sure.’ She watched her for a moment, forlorn. ‘Can’t you ask him about it?’
Eve rose from her palms, and shook her head. ‘I went into his study. The door was locked, but I found the key. I was… I was just looking for some old documents. I thought they might have been put there during the move by accident. But I found all these files… a whole folder of receipts and transactions. An account, hotels… odd bookings, large withdrawals, restaurants…’
‘Are you sure it’s not just for work? He might have a separate account that they reimburse.’
‘Jewellers,’ she added, through a sudden sob. ‘Florists. I’ve never seen any flowers, not since my birthday last year.’
Gwenhwyfar jumped up and sat next to her mother, and wrapped her arms around her, furious to see her so heartbroken. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ she decided. ‘I’ll ask him about it and see what he has to say for himself.’
‘No, don’t. I don’t want you to.’
‘Just let me talk to him. There’ll be a logical explanation, just you see.’
‘No Gwen, I’ll do it. I want you to forget about this, do you hear me? I don’t want you thinking that your father is some sleaze.’ She took her by the hand, and squeezed it with her cold fingers. ‘You’re right, you’re both right; it probably is nothing. I’ve just… let my imagination run away with me. It’s that house; it’s being at home all day with nothing to do. Mel’s right. I need to start work again.’
Gwenhwyfar lingered next to her, reluctant to move.
‘I’m fine, darling, really. I’ll talk to your father when the time’s right. I’ll push Mel about the firm. George thinks they’re doing well enough to take me on.’
The smile she gave her daughter wobbled, but as she dried her tears it became more concrete. The waiter reappeared with their lunch, so Gwenhwyfar moved back to her own place, and watched her mother anxiously as he set down their pasta and waltzed off.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she asked, picking up her fork.
‘Yes, cariad,’ she murmured in her awkward Welsh, ‘I’m fine.’
* * *
‘It’s out, it’s on the news.’
Gwenhwyfar looked up as Gavin joined them, his shoulders hunched and his head low. ‘What is?’
‘The Mobilisation Centres: it was on the six o’ clock news this morning. Didn’t you see it?’ He pulled his phone out, tapped and swiped, and then slid it into the middle of the table. ‘It’s everywhere. As soon as the Eyewatch website published, the main news sites had to acknowledge the story. They’re still playing it down as much as they can, but it’s out. So much for Milton’s great firewall.’
They were in the cafeteria for break. During registration that morning Gwenhwyfar had reassured Bedivere that her mother was fine, and that it was nothing to worry about, wishing she’d given Arthur another excuse for missing Friday. Viola reached for the phone first.
‘No—’ she said, still disbelieving.
‘What did they say?’ Bedivere asked.
Gavin sat back. ‘The usual. These reports are not yet confirmed, we are uncertain as to the source; it is likely to only be an isolated case. That’s what they’ll go with, I reckon: that the abuse and disappearances have just been happening in one centre, and only a few heads will roll. Enough to convince us all that they think it’s terrible too, and to show us that they’re doing something about it.’
‘Surely they can’t get away with that now,’ Viola said, handing the phone back to Gavin. Bedivere intercepted it, and Tom craned to read over his shoulder. ‘They’ll have to admit to everything if there are documents.’
‘It’s horrific,’ Gavin admitted, ‘but as far as they’re concerned, there’s too much at stake. They’ll only admit to what they have to. They’ll trim the weed and leave the roots.’
Tom’s face darkened as he scanned the article. ‘It says here it’s just one centre.’
‘Of course it does,’ Gavin remarked.
Once again Gwenhwyfar thought of the boy that her mother had been worrying about, the one that she had given soup. ‘How many?’
‘All of them—it’s what they’re for. Obviously they weren’t killing themselves quickly enough. The rehabilitation thing is a farce; it has to be.’
Gwenhwyfar waved for his attention. ‘Wait, what? Killing themselves?’
‘Cut funds, skeleton support from the state… there have been nearly a hundred suicides in relation to poverty this year alone, and that’s not counting the deaths of those below the quality of life line. Though that’s something else you won’t hear about.’
‘These people, these disappearances… where do they go?’ Viola asked, her porcelain face paler. ‘Do you think…?’
‘I don’t know what I think,’ Gavin muttered. ‘No one knows. There are theories, of course. All we can be sure of is that they’re getting sent somewhere.’ Scowling, he looked around. ‘Where’s Lance?’
‘I haven’t seen him,’ Viola said quietly. ‘Are you still thinking of… you know…’
Gavin shook his head. ‘You were right—it’s not smart and it won’t help.’ His blue eyes flitted left and right, and then he leant further into the table. ‘I’ve heard there’s a protest being organised for this weekend,’ he murmured. ‘It’s in London. I’m going to that instead.’
There was a crash at the other end of the hall. All five of them looked up to see Lancelot shaking himself off as he disentangled himself from another boy in their year. Shouts were exchanged. Gwenhwyfar let her eyes linger on him as he loped towards them, shaking his head. She noticed Emily by one of the vending machines, sitting on her own.
‘Clumsy idiot wasn’t looking where he was going,’ Lancelot said as he came upon them, twisting out of his bag and dropping it on the floor. ‘Stupid phones.’
‘That’s still no reason to push him,’ Viola scolded as he sat.
‘I didn’t touch him!’ Lancelot elevated his hands. His dark eyes slunk around the group. ‘What’s the matter with you lot?’
‘You haven’t heard?’ said Gavin.
‘Heard what?’
‘The Mobilisation Centres. It’s on the news, the New National news. There’s a protest about it on Saturday. We should go.’
Everyone exchanged a look.
‘Hang on, Miles. You know what happens to protesters, right
?’
Gavin remained still, and said nothing. Lancelot leant towards him.
‘You do want to join the Marines after school, don’t you? If you go on Saturday, and someone recognises you, that’s your chance of a military career gone.’
‘I know that, Lake,’ he snapped, ‘but I’m not going to sit back while they bury this in more lies and corrections. Are you?’
‘When have you ever known a protest to work in this country?’ Lancelot argued. Gavin shifted irritably and waved his arms. ‘I suppose the organisers of this event have got permission to go marching through Central London, have they? If you go, you’ll be breaking the law.’
‘It’s less than the New Nationals have been doing,’ Bedivere remarked, still scrolling through Gavin’s phone. ‘I did a bit of research myself. These “centres” are essentially hard labour camps.’
‘All right, then,’ Lancelot retorted. ‘What’s your plan?’
‘Masks, costumes: everyone will be wearing the same.’
‘It sounds dangerous,’ Viola remarked. ‘If people are anonymous, it could attract criminals.’
‘I heard there’s a blacklist, and that marching gets you under heightened surveillance,’ Gwenhwyfar added.
‘Well, if all of you are too afraid to stand up for what’s right, then we may as well be responsible for what they’ve been doing in those centres ourselves,’ Gavin told them all, before wheeling on Bedivere. ‘I’d have thought you would be willing to risk it at least, Bed.’
‘Why?’ Lancelot interrupted, ‘because of Marvin’s afterschool club? Don’t tell me he’s brainwashed you already.’
‘What club?’ Viola asked.
‘Haven’t you heard? Marvin’s been inviting the cream of the crop to attend some fanatical cult on Fridays.’
‘It’s just an extracurricular History club,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked, rolling her eyes. ‘He’s basically tutoring.’
Viola looked to Gwenhwyfar. ‘You’re going?’
‘No, I haven’t even been to it yet. I might not bother.’ Gwenhwyfar fired a glance at Lancelot. ‘It’s supposed to be a secret. He’d get in trouble with Ravioli, if he knew.’
‘Exactly. So no one’s to go around telling anyone about it, you hear?’ They all looked to Bedivere. His face was set. ‘I’ll march with you, Gav. If you’re sure we won’t be recognised.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ Gavin promised. His eyes fell on Lancelot, who shrugged. He looked to Viola. ‘Vi?’
She looked pained to deny him. ‘You know I can’t. I can’t risk it, not with my father—’
‘That’s understandable.’ Gavin’s blue eyes moved on. ‘Tom?’
Tom looked to Lancelot, and shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ he said helpfully. Gwenhwyfar felt the pressure of Gavin’s eyes the moment they were upon her. Isolde’s words about protesting flooded her mind.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know if I can.’
Gavin looked away with a dissatisfied shrug.
‘We should ask Arthur,’ Bedivere said in a low murmur. ‘He’ll want to be involved in this. Maybe he can talk to Marvin.’
‘I’m definitely not going if Marvin and Arthur will be there,’ Lancelot objected loudly. Immediately he was shushed.
‘The more people who march, the better,’ Gavin told them solemnly. ‘It’ll make those out there who think that what the New Nationals have done is justifiable realise it’s not the view of the rest of us. I can’t just sit back while they label people subhuman. They don’t even refer to them as people in their documents. They call them Lessers. I won’t stand for it, and others won’t either. We won’t be alone. There will be thousands.’
‘You’re wasted on the Army, Miles,’ Lancelot remarked again, but there was no spite in his words. He shook his head and leant into the table to join the others, offering them a resigned smile. ‘Saturday, then.’
* * *
‘Mam?’
She made sure she slammed the door hard again to avoid walking in unannounced. Llew appeared from the kitchen, slowly wagging his tail as he padded up to greet her. Gwenhwyfar bent down to fuss him for a moment, and then followed him into the living room where she removed her bag and coat. She could hear her mother thumping around upstairs, filling her afternoon with some needless chore.
‘Mam!’ she shouted again, shuffling through the post. There was the usual Monday leaflet; information sent to them by the New Nationals about how prosperous times were, including weekly statistics on immigration, employment and budgeting. She tossed it to one side, hoping to find something of interest—shopping vouchers, perhaps, or the points-card she had ordered from a fledgling cosmetics store. Left with the junk, she stopped on another flyer. Suddenly, her heart was racing. It was from Free Countries.
19.10.2052: The Mobilisation March
You may have heard that the Mobilisation Centres the New Nationals introduced to give vulnerable people a platform for reintegrating into society are, in fact, hard labour camps.
You may have heard that these institutions systematically abuse people whom society would class as addicts, disabled or homeless.
You may have heard that since the enrolment of loved ones, families have been told their relatives have reintegrated successfully, with no links for contact, and no proof.
What you have heard is true.
These lost people have not reintegrated. These people have been disappeared.
Those who have not been disappeared are locked into an institution that places a lower value on their lives, labelling them Lessers.
Our government believes that the most vulnerable in our society are “lesser people” and therefore deserving of such treatment. We at Free Countries think this is wrong.
We do not usually partake in protests, but in this we find that Milton has gone too far. March with us in London from Temple on Saturday the 19th of October.
Please see the following website for instructions on how to participate safely.
Rising against the regime.
‘Gwen?’
She jumped, crumpling the flyer in her fist. Had her mother already seen it? Her head was pounding, and her blood felt thick. Isolde had made it explicit to her that Free Countries never included themselves in such methods: was this a direct order disguised as a rallying cry? Immediately she wanted to call her contact, but realised that she had never been given her number.
‘I’m in the living room!’ Hurrying through to the kitchen, she met her mother halfway. ‘How was your day? Good?’
‘Busy,’ Eve told her. Gwenhwyfar continued on to the fridge. ‘I’ve been on my feet all day, rearranging things in the attic. It’s a mess up there.’
‘Did you get it all done?’
‘Nearly,’ Eve said, sitting on one of the high chairs by the island. ‘How was school?’
‘OK I suppose.’ Gwenhwyfar took a yoghurt pot from the fridge. ‘Did you see the news? Apparently those Mobilisation Centres are pretty dodgy.’ Her mind was stuck fast on the flyer. Did this mean she should go on Saturday? A running thought thumped through the back of her mind. Gavin had known about this before anyone: was he involved in Free Countries, too?
‘I did hear about that,’ Eve said, as Gwenhwyfar took a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer. ‘Though so far the documents released haven’t been verified. They think they might be fake.’
‘Is that what they’re saying?’
‘I don’t see why they would be real; you couldn’t have something like that and get away with it. People would be outraged.’
‘Actually, I think you’ll find that most people don’t care.’
Eve frowned at her. ‘What makes you say that?’
Gwenhwyfar shrugged. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? The only people who care, who really care, are going to be those who have family involved.’ She paused for a moment, spooning yoghurt into her mouth. ‘That boy you bought soup for. Do you think he got picked up and sent to one of those centres?’
‘I don’t know. He might still be on the street. I haven’t been back to check on him. Not since…’ she trailed off, and set her eyes on the windows by the back door.
‘Have you spoken to Dad?’
‘I haven’t found the right moment. I’ll do it soon, don’t worry. You’re probably right, it’s probably just for work.’
‘And the payment to the jewellers?’
‘He could be picking up something for his boss,’ she theorized. ‘I don’t know what his day consists of, but he’s had to collect dry cleaning before when out on a job, so maybe it was something like that?’
‘Probably.’ Gwenhwyfar couldn’t shake the feeling of doubt that was gnawing away at her. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t place her finger on it.
‘I still don’t want you to say anything. It would kill him to know that you thought he was doing something like that, and if this all turns out to be one huge misunderstanding, he’d never forgive me.’
‘I won’t say anything,’ she promised. She threw the empty yoghurt pot in the bin, and let the spoon clatter into the sink. ‘I’ll be in my room; I’ve got some homework to do. I’m thinking of going out on Saturday, just shopping with Viola. Is that all right?’
Eve nodded. ‘It might be best if you’re out, anyway. If your father is home, I was thinking of… you know.’ She smiled, but the gesture was cold. ‘This should all be sorted out by next week, love.’
‘I hope so.’
Gwenhwyfar scaled the stairs to her bedroom, turned on her computer and sat at her desk. Llew padded in after her and lay stiffly at her side. The website provided on the flyer wasn’t a Free Countries one, but it seemed secure, and it was there she found the details for Saturday. For a moment she sat still at her desk, gazing at her screen. This had to be an order, didn’t it? And if it wasn’t, it was certainly a push. Adrenaline coursed through her as she made her decision. She knew what she would do. She would march.
The March
Gwenhwyfar didn’t see much of Gavin or Lancelot that week, but managed to spend some time alone with Arthur on occasions. By the time Friday came around she had agreed to attend The Round Table, promised by the others that Marvin would be helping them with the protest on Saturday. It was dark in their History teacher’s study. The curtains were drawn, and the only light came from a desk lamp in the corner.
The Future King: Logres Page 28
