Gwenhwyfar looked to Arthur, who frowned and said nothing.
‘We didn’t know it was Emily though, not until we spoke to her,’ Morgan added. ‘Talk about coincidence.’
‘It’s a small world,’ Gwenhwyfar said, Emily’s presence sitting uneasily with her. ‘I didn’t think you were the sort to go to this kind of thing.’
‘Me neither,’ Gavin admitted.
‘Why not?’ Emily dropped her mask on the floor, and scowled at them all. ‘What they’re doing is terrible.’
‘Did you come by yourself?’
She set her blue, cat-like eyes on Gwenhwyfar. ‘Yes. I couldn’t find anyone else who cared enough to bother. Though I don’t want any of you talking about this to anyone, you hear? I didn’t see you, if you didn’t see me.’
‘We didn’t see you, if you didn’t see us,’ Gavin agreed. Emily sent him an unfriendly smile.
‘Good.’ She pulled off her gloves, and shook out her golden hair. Gwenhwyfar watched her suspiciously, and the dull ache returned, settling deep into her joints.
The engine started, and then they were moving. Percy sat down, nearly falling over, while Lancelot, Gavin and Bedivere were already wedged against the back wall of the van. Lancelot had a shallow head wound and the graze running down Gavin’s left arm was long and angry. Gwenhwyfar settled next to Arthur, linking arms with him so that she wouldn’t slide about, and Emily sat beside her. They were driven out of London in silence like cargo, until at last Marvin dropped them off one by one, and they each hobbled home.
* * *
It was dark by the time Gwenhwyfar got back. She was cold and shaken, but did her best to suppress the fear that was creeping within her as she took off her coat and prepared herself to lie to her parents. She came into the living room to find that they were sitting on the sofa watching the media station, a cushion apart.
‘How was Viola’s?’ Eve asked, looking over her shoulder.
‘OK. We went to the cinema.’ The station was tuned into the period drama that they had been following last year. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Didn’t you eat?’
Gwenhwyfar shook her head. ‘Vi said she wasn’t hungry. I think she’s on some kind of diet.’ She offered her mother a quick smile and went into the kitchen, mindful of her need to check herself for bruises. Getting up, Eve followed her.
‘I hope that doesn’t mean that you’re on one, too. With all that running you do, you need to keep your calories up.’
‘I know, Mam.’ She opened the fridge, at the sound of which Llew clambered up from his chewed old bed.
‘There’s some leftovers on the top shelf. I’ll warm them up. Are you in tomorrow?’
Nodding, Gwenhwyfar took out a glass and poured herself some orange juice. She could feel her back throb, but drew in a deep and long breath to expand her ribs, and was comforted to feel no sharp or stabbing pain. ‘Have you spoken to Dad yet?’
Eve shook her head. ‘Soon,’ she murmured after a moment. ‘He was busy today. He had a lot of work to do.’
‘He always has a lot of work to do,’ Gwenhwyfar complained.
‘I’m a busy man.’
They both looked round as Garan came into the kitchen, offering them an oblivious grin. He pulled a beer from the fridge. ‘Adverts. Horribly long. It’s all drivel to brainwash you into buying this or buying that.’
‘Isn’t Poplar Park just brainwashing you into accepting the ongoing implementation of a class-driven society?’ Gwenhwyfar teased, hurrying out of his way for fear he might sense what she had been up to.
‘We’re British,’ Garan quipped, ‘we’re already conditioned to accept a class-driven society.’
As he exited the room Gwenhwyfar gave her mother an encouraging look, one that she ignored.
Later, she made her parents switch on the news, eager to see the full scale and impact of the march. The countdown to live broadcast began and then the headlines were rolling: a stern voice accompanied by the flashing, eye-catching images.
“Tonight:
Chaos in Central London as an illegal protest orchestrated by separatists turns violent. A police officer has died and several have been seriously injured after protestors opened fire during a march to demonstrate support of separatist dissidence. Eyewitness accounts describe how officers at the scene were forced to engage the offenders, killing two gunmen in the process. Four other protestors were wounded and are also in a critical condition. This was a bloody end to a day of violence sparked by the border row. Derek Peters reports.”
The scene changed to Derek, who stood grim-faced before Parliament, his eyebrows twisted, his brow heavy, his shoulders drenched with rain.
“Earlier today this square was a scene of chaos and destruction. Arson attacks damaged iconic buildings and four New National banners. Water cannons helped to disperse protesters, most of whom were wearing full body suits and head masks to avoid identification by police. Several police officers have been injured, one has died. Police killed two gunmen at the scene and four rioters have been seriously injured. After dark, the rioters turned to looting shops and desecrating monuments. The Metropolitan Police announced earlier today that they have made over two hundred arrests, but that number is still rising.”
‘Do they think we’re stupid?’ Garan asked, pointing his beer bottle at the screen. ‘We all know it was about those Mobilisation Centres, not the separatists.’
‘Does it matter what it was about? They were armed,’ Eve pointed out, ‘they shot at the police. They could have avoided this, if they’d picked people up on route.’
‘There must have been at least five thousand people attending. They couldn’t arrest them all.’
‘They weren’t armed,’ Gwenhwyfar interrupted, upset. ‘The police just fired into the crowd.’ Both her parents looked at her with surprise. ‘That’s what Viola said,’ she added quickly. ‘She heard it on the radio.’
‘Let me guess, on a local station?’ Garan shook his head. ‘They’ll get done for that.’
‘There were more than five thousand, too. I’ve seen photos on Youconnect. There were at least thirty thousand.’
‘That many?’ Eve asked.
Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘Probably more—it could have even been fifty.’
‘I haven’t seen anything online,’ she frowned.
‘The images have all been removed now,’ Gwenhwyfar lied. ‘No one’s reporting it properly. The separatists had nothing to do with it.’
‘It doesn’t matter what it was about,’ Garan said, looking back at the screen. The image changed, and suddenly the newsreader had moved onto the ongoing threat from the Slavic Union. ‘Or how many people attended, or how many people died. This is why I don’t protest. What’s the point? If the news doesn’t cover it, it never happened. If the news only shows ten percent of the crowd, only ten percent went. If the news says it turned violent and a police officer was killed, that’s what the public will hear. That’s it.’
The screen seemed to grow and brighten as Gwenhwyfar stared at it thoughtlessly, her vision blurring the garish colours. Her father said nothing after that, and for a while the three of them sat in silence, watching as they were shown countless reels of how bad things were abroad. Gwenhwyfar always felt unsettled when she watched the news, as if someone was sitting next to her whispering in her ear that she should be very afraid.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she declared sometime after eleven, aching and utterly exhausted. She kissed both her parents goodnight and scratched Llew’s head on her way up to her bedroom. She ended up checking if there were any varied reports about what had happened on the Internet, but all news websites were running the same angle. Free Countries’ site hadn’t been updated, either. She sent Arthur a quick text to see how he was, and after a final check to be sure that her injuries really were just scrapes and bruises, clambered into bed. It didn’t take her long to drift off, and mercifully, her sleep was dreamless.
Casanova
The fina
l weeks of October billowed with blustery winds and indecisive rain. Marked by limited celebrations, Halloween slipped by with small excitement. November appeared with a calmer front, though clear skies and pale sunshine sapped all warmth from the atmosphere; a cold briefly remedied by the blazing bonfires of Guy Fawkes. The Round Table had a week off for half term, and as school commenced Gwenhwyfar continued to divide her time between Arthur and her friends. She hadn’t spoken to Emily since the protest, who, avoided by Charlotte, haunted the grounds like a lonely ghost.
It was the second Saturday in November, and they were gathered at Tom’s house. Tom, Gavin and Lancelot were playing a shoot-out game on the media station. Now bare-skinned and convinced that make-up ruined her complexion, Viola was talking about her latest castings.
‘They were horrible,’ she told Gwenhwyfar, ignoring the spitting machine guns on screen. ‘It took me an hour to get to each one, and there were at least a hundred other girls. They literally just flicked through my book and took a card. It felt like such a waste of time.’
Gwenhwyfar was thinking about Arthur. Despite the weekly experience of The Round Table and the social glue born of the Mobilisation March, he was still reluctant to spend time with her friends.
‘And I had to walk for them, too. I mean, I don’t know if I’m doing it right. How am I supposed to cross my feet in five-inch heels? Stick my hips forward and my shoulders back? No wonder so many girls trip up on the catwalk. Put a hole there and they wouldn’t see it.’
‘I’m sure you did better than you think,’ Gwenhwyfar said, combing her fingers through her hair. ‘You always say that you can never tell with such things. You just have to wait to hear from them.’
Viola huffed. ‘So how did your date with Arthur go?’
‘Good. We ate out.’
‘Did he walk you home?’
Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘He always does.’
‘And…?’ Her eyebrows rose expectantly. ‘Did anything happen?’
It was the same question she’d been getting for a while now. As she didn’t really know what Viola meant by “anything”, she shook her head and glanced to the shooting game. All three boys were absorbed.
‘No,’ she sighed.
‘Well, that’s probably good. It’s only been a few weeks, after all.’
‘More than a month, actually.’ Gwenhwyfar glanced across to Lancelot’s hard profile. He was sitting at the other end of the sofa. ‘That’s not the issue, really.’ Her voice sunk to a murmur. ‘I mean, we haven’t even kissed yet.’
‘You haven’t?’ Viola frowned at her. ‘What, you mean at all?’
She shook her head. ‘Well, I suppose I’ve kissed him on the cheek, but that’s it. I’d have thought that if he wanted to kiss me, he would’ve tried it already. He’s had plenty of opportunities.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know that you want him to?’ Viola tried, propping her chin in her palm.
‘He must know that I want to,’ she murmured, her cheeks colouring. ‘It’s not like it’s not obvious. It’s almost as if we’re just friends.’
‘Maybe he’s gay?’
Both girls glared at Lancelot. Tom sniggered, and Gavin shot his avatar on screen.
‘What? I’m only saying. It’s not like he ever did anything with Ellie, and she was hot.’
‘They kissed,’ Viola argued, indignant.
‘Yeah, but they never did anything else.’ Additional sniggers emanated from Tom. Viola pushed him with her foot with a sound of disgust.
‘That was in year seven, Lance. Don’t be gross.’
‘I would’ve,’ he boasted, looking at Gwenhwyfar.
‘I thought you did,’ Tom said.
‘Shut up,’ he snapped. ‘Besides, that’s my point. He didn’t touch Ellie and he hasn’t had a proper girlfriend since. He must be gay.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Viola remarked.
‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it,’ continued Lancelot, ‘I’m just saying there’s no point waiting for him to kiss you. It’s unnatural to still be a virgin at his age.’
‘I’m a bit worried by how much you seem to know about Arthur’s sex life, Lance,’ Gavin droned.
Lancelot turned a furious shade of red. ‘How come you’re defending him? Do you fancy him or something?’
Gavin snorted. The girls both rolled their eyes.
‘It’s not like you’re any younger than him,’ Gwenhwyfar pointed out.
‘So?’
‘It’s not like you’ve had hundreds of women.’
‘Who says I haven’t?’
‘You’re telling me you’ve slept with someone before?’ she asked sceptically.
‘Yes, actually,’ he snapped. ‘Hundreds.’
‘Hundreds?’ She smiled. ‘How many, exactly?’
His deliberation didn’t last long enough. ‘Five.’
‘Five isn’t hundreds, Lance,’ Viola pointed out.
‘I thought you meant times I’ve done it, which would be hundreds.’
‘Who?’ Gavin asked.
‘What?’
‘I said, who have you slept with?’
This approach seemed to throw him. ‘He doesn’t know! He’s making it up,’ Tom jeered.
‘Of course he’s making it up,’ Viola agreed. ‘All boys do.’
‘Boys who feel they have to brag about such things, at least,’ commented Gwenhwyfar. She hadn’t thought her opinion of Lancelot could sink any lower; but once again he had surprised her.
‘Emily,’ he blurted, unthinking.
‘What?’
‘Emily. I did her, and Charlotte too. And that girl at that party we went to last year. Can’t remember what her name was.’
‘No way did you sleep with Emily and Charlotte,’ Gavin scoffed.
‘Why would anyone?’ Tom remarked.
‘Even if you did, that’s only three. Who else?’ Viola demanded.
‘Juliet, in sixth form,’ was his next boast. Gavin and Tom sounded impressed.
‘Who’s that?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.
‘Just some girl everyone fancies,’ Viola remarked, voice sarcastic. ‘There’s no way. I know her. She wouldn’t touch Lance in a million years.’
‘Four,’ Gavin prompted.
‘And Morgan,’ Lancelot finished, confidence boosted by his acclaim. ‘We grew up together. I was her first.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Gwenhwyfar muttered, suddenly upset. ‘Claiming you’ve slept around just to make yourself sound cool. Well, it doesn’t sound cool. Now I’m just worried about catching something off you.’
His sneer hurt her more than she expected. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not that desperate.’
‘I think I’m going to check your story on Monday,’ Viola commented, twisting a lock of her dark hair. ‘I’m pretty sure Emily, Charlotte, Morgan and Juliet would love to be reminded of such an intimate moment.’
‘Even if you do ask them they won’t admit it.’
Gwenhwyfar felt she’d had enough. ‘Why not?’
‘Two of them had boyfriends. Why do you think?’
‘Now I know why Arthur’s convinced you betrayed him,’ Gwenhwyfar snapped. ‘Your attempts to make yourself feel like more of a man in comparison to him are just sad.’
Her words seemed to stir a firestorm within him, and the look he gave her was cutting. Suddenly the conversation shifted. Tom’s interest had dwindled.
‘So what are we doing for your birthday?’
Lancelot relaxed into the sofa. ‘Nothing: that’s what.’
‘Oh come on, we have to do something. You never celebrate your birthday.’ Viola jumped up to retrieve her juice from the coffee table. ‘It’ll be fun.’
‘How about we just drink ourselves silly?’ Lancelot suggested.
‘We should throw a party. Tom’s found the perfect place. It’s an abandoned warehouse that’s not being demolished for at least another five weeks. The business went bust and they want to convert it into flats.’ Viola
explained. ‘We could spruce it up with lights.’
‘I know someone who could DJ,’ Gavin suggested.
‘We could turn it into a ball,’ Viola ploughed on, enthused. ‘Invite the whole year.’
‘The electrics are all still working,’ Tom added. ‘All we’d have to do is sweep it out.’
‘We should make it fancy dress,’ gushed Viola.
Gwenhwyfar began to thaw from the preceding argument. ‘Fancy dress sounds pretty cool,’ she admitted. ‘It’ll be good to take our mind off things.’
‘I dunno,’ Lancelot fretted. ‘What if no one turns up?’
‘Of course people will turn up!’ Tom chortled. ‘And if they don’t, we’ll have all the solution to ourselves.’
‘Is solution such a good idea after what happened last time?’ Gwenhwyfar reminded him.
‘It’s not like Hector or the Furies will be there.’
‘Can I bring a friend?’
‘Who, Arty?’ Once again Lancelot was observing her with that less than friendly look in his eyes. She returned it in kind.
‘Well, he is my boyfriend,’ she bragged.
Lancelot shook his head roughly. ‘Sorry. My party, my rules.’
‘If Arthur can’t come, then I’m not coming either,’ Gwenhwyfar threatened. Her tactic was less effective than she’d hoped. Lancelot merely shrugged.
‘Gwen has to come,’ Viola demanded. ‘And she can bring whoever she likes. Just like you can bring whoever you like, whether it be Morgan, Emily, Charlotte or Juliet.’
Everyone laughed. The tension compressing the room suddenly lifted. Pleased she’d got her way, Gwenhwyfar leant her head back on her splayed palm.
‘How about a masquerade?’ she suggested. ‘Everyone has to wear a mask. Then we won’t know who’s there.’
‘Not like those horrible things we had to wear for that protest, I hope?’
‘No,’ Gwenhwyfar said, looking to Gavin. ‘Cool ones. Halloween masks, that sort of stuff.’
The Future King: Logres Page 30
