The idea seemed to be well liked by all. There were murmurs of approval, even a nondescript shrug from Lancelot.
‘What’s the dress code?’ Viola enquired.
‘We could make it formal.’ Gwenhwyfar pictured her prospective outfit. ‘When’s your birthday again?’
‘Next weekend,’ muttered Lancelot, as if she should already know.
‘That’s enough time for people to get organised. I’ve got a dress I can wear.’
‘And I’ve got a Venetian mask you can borrow,’ Viola offered.
‘At least if the police make an appearance identifying people won’t be easy,’ grinned Gavin.
‘Exactly,’ Gwenhwyfar beamed, bubbling with excitement. It was settled. Lancelot’s sixteenth birthday party was going to be a masquerade.
* * *
By the time she made it home the smell of supper was wafting throughout the house. It was already dark outside, a curse of the colder months, though thanks to this her father had given her a lift from Tom’s. Llew greeted her enthusiastically and soon she was upstairs winding down in the confines of her bedroom. She hunted online for masks, and decided that she would definitely go for one that was Venetian. She was texting Arthur when her computer bleeped at her. As her eyes rose to meet the screen her heart froze. It was Free Countries.
Hello Omega Iota Eta.
Gwenhwyfar looked down to her phone, calmly finishing the message before pressing hard on send. She could hear her blood pulsating through her ears, and it throbbed in her head.
Did you receive our introductory pack?
Her eyes slunk sideways to the envelope sitting on her desk.
Omega Iota Eta, are you there?
She drew a steadying breath.
Yes, I’m here. I received the pack.
Good. Is it memorised?
Not yet.
You have to memorise it, and then you must destroy it. Understood?
What happens if someone else reads it?
Then we must inform the Alpha immediately.
Gwenhwyfar looked to the brown envelope. The sellotape she had used to reseal it remained intact.
Has someone read it?
No.
Make sure you keep it safe. Destroy it as soon as you can.
Gwenhwyfar wondered why she was being contacted now. It had been weeks since the march, and even longer since she’d spoken to Isolde. She didn’t even know if this was Isolde she was speaking to.
Is this Omega Iota Zeta?
Yes.
What is it you want?
We’ve had interest from a potential member. They visited our site last week and have passed the security check. In five minutes you will be connected to their computer. They’re online now.
Dread swamped her. She didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to meet up with a stranger. She wasn’t ready. What if it was an undercover police officer? What then?
I can’t, she tried.
You have to, was the response.
How?
Just use the pack, and remember how I did it. That should work.
Can’t you help me explain it to them?
The window went blank, wiped from the bottom upwards, and then suddenly there was an empty conversation box with space for her to type. A small timer ticked in the corner. 30:00. She stared apprehensively at the screen. When she next glanced to the clock, it read 27:30. Quickly she opened the envelope, finding the four sheets of paper inside. She pulled them out.
The first was blank, but she knew it was not scrap because when she held it to the light it revealed a strange text comprised of dots and dashes. The second sheet was a numbered universal alphabet that she was still trying to decipher, and the third revealed two code names, Omega Iota Eta and Omega Iota Theta. She cast the unsolved paperwork to one side. The final sheet was a list of what Free Countries believed in. She looked to the ticking clock. Twenty-one minutes.
Fearing what might happen should she fail, Gwenhwyfar typed a rushed hello into the text field. She waited, dearly hoping that, unlike her, the potential recruit wouldn’t switch off their machine. A few precious minutes slipped by, and then:
Hello? Who’s this?
She sighed with relief. She began to type her name, but changed her mind at the last second.
Omega Iota Eta.
This took a while to absorb.
What?
I’m from Free Countries. We said we’d contact you. You visited our website, right?
That was ages ago.
I know, we’re sorry. We had to run a security check to make sure it was safe to contact you.
She referred to the sheet again.
Would you like more information regarding Free Countries?
I suppose.
When can you meet?
Meet?
So we can discuss your interest in Free Countries.
The website never said anything about meeting someone, the potential member objected.
Gwenhwyfar frowned, wondering how she was going to convince them. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to.
So you’re not interested in joining Free Countries?
I never said that. What’s your name?
Omega Iota Eta. How did you hear about Free Countries?
I saw the flyer.
She thought for a moment, considering.
Are you Irish?
What? No. Do I have to be?
What are you? Gwenhwyfar asked.
English. Is that a problem?
The clock was running down. Just eight minutes remained. Gwenhwyfar heard her father call her from the bottom of the stairwell. Supper was ready.
No. Do you want to meet to discuss Free Countries? Don’t have much time.
A long silence followed. Six minutes.
Yes. When?
Tomorrow?
Sure.
At the park by Woodlands Road?
Where’s that?
Logres. In Surrey, Gwenhwyfar explained.
Too far.
Is Southbank good for you?
No, I live in Cornwall.
Oh.
She looked to the other side of the text box. In small letters she noticed the location: Lostwithiel, Cornwall.
When are you next closest?
Time churned by. Her mother yelled for her. She tried again.
Hello?
I’ll be going on a trip to the Natural History Museum in London in a couple of weeks.
Her panic lessened.
Perfect. What date?
Friday the 22nd of November.
What time?
One?
Great, I’ll meet you in the main foyer under the T. Rex at one. I have long brown hair, and will be wearing—
She thought for a moment.
—a navy coat with a red hat.
You’re a girl? What’s your name?
Gwen.
See you there, Gwen.
The window vanished when the timer expired, leaving no evidence of their conversation. She suddenly realised that she had school that Friday. Her mother opened the door. The paperwork from Free Countries billowed across the desk.
‘For the last time, supper is ready! So will you come downstairs and eat it, please!’
‘I’m coming!’ She whipped the secret code off the floor and stuffed it back with the other pages into the brown envelope. ‘Sorry, I was in the middle of my Maths homework.’
Eve stormed off downstairs. Hurriedly Gwenhwyfar shoved the information pack into the first drawer of her desk, flipped the light switch and then slammed her bedroom door.
* * *
It was Thursday afternoon when she dared to broach the subject of Lancelot’s birthday party again.
Her text to Arthur over the weekend had achieved nothing, and though she had tried to talk him into attending on and off throughout the week, he remained reluctant. It had helped Gwenhwyfar greatly to learn that she wasn’t the only one disturbed by what had happened at the Mobilisation March, and for a while during His
tory she and Morgan had something to whisper about. The rapport between them soon came to a natural end, however, and resulted in a mutual silence.
Marvin was marking papers noiselessly at his desk. When the hum of the class was at the right level, Gwenhwyfar leant forwards and prodded Bedivere in the back.
‘Bedivere!’ she tried with a loud whisper. ‘Are you coming to the party on Saturday?’
His face brightened. ‘Lance’s party?’ Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘I wasn’t sure if I was really invited,’ he frowned, keeping his voice low.
‘Why wouldn’t you be? It’s a masquerade, remember, so it’s smart dress with a mask of your choice.’
‘I’ve only got a Halloween mask,’ he fretted.
‘That doesn’t matter. It’s going to be great. The others asked me to double-check that you were still up for it.’
Bedivere shrugged. ‘Yeah, I suppose. Where?’
‘The abandoned warehouse by Flint Park.’
He nodded and then, predictably, turned to Arthur. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘It sounds like it could be fun. My mum can give you a lift, if you like.’
‘I can pick you both up,’ Gwenhwyfar offered.
Arthur glanced at Morgan, who quickly bent her head and pretended she wasn’t listening. ‘I’ll have to talk to my grandmother about it first,’ he said. ‘I doubt it, though. Lance isn’t going to want me there.’
‘You think he wants me there?’ Bedivere remarked, his voice a little louder. ‘I’ll go anyway, even if it’s just to annoy him.’ He set his gaze on Morgan. ‘What about you? Are you going?’
‘Of course I’m going. Lance and I grew up together.’
Gwenhwyfar couldn’t help herself. ‘Is it true the two of you used to go out?’
Morgan looked up at her, obviously surprised. ‘Who on earth told you that?’
‘Lance mentioned it at the weekend,’ Gwenhwyfar said, her tone dismissive. ‘He seemed to think you two dated.’
‘Lance said that?’ Morgan asked, dubiously. ‘Well, it’s not true. We’ve only ever been friends.’
‘I thought so,’ Gwenhwyfar shrugged, wondering why she felt so relieved.
Remembering his cause, Bedivere rounded on Arthur. ‘So are you coming?’
‘I don’t know! Probably not.’ Huffing, Arthur returned to his work. ‘I’m sorry, but spending an evening celebrating the birth of Lance Lake seems counter-intuitive to me.’
‘But it’ll be fun,’ pursued Gwenhwyfar, longing for him to agree. ‘It won’t be any good without you, Arthur. If you’re not going then I won’t want to go, either.’
‘Well, that means we can both do something else Saturday night, doesn’t it?’ he sulked.
‘But I promised Viola I’d go. We won’t have to hang out with Lance. We won’t even see him.’
‘It’s his birthday; of course we’ll see him,’ Arthur muttered. ‘You’ll be hanging out with Viola, anyway. It’s probably better if I don’t go, it’ll just cause a scene.’
‘You’re really going to miss it because of Lance.’
Arthur gave a rough shrug of his shoulders. ‘Sorry.’
Gwenhwyfar felt a flash of anger. Everything always had to be about Lancelot with him. Why didn’t he want to do this for her? Why wouldn’t he kiss her? What was she doing wrong?
As Arthur hunched his shoulders and faced the front of the class, Gwenhwyfar returned to her work. If he didn’t want to attend the party with her, that was fine. She would go anyway and have a fantastic time. No matter what reason he had for refusing her, Gwenhwyfar was not going to let Arthur ruin her fun.
Masquerade
So far the night had been a blur of colour, with sculpted faces that merged into one being, alien and unknown. There were porcelain masks, Venetian masks, Halloween masks and animal disguises, extravagant gowns and smart tailored suits. The old warehouse looked anything but abandoned with the fairy lights dressing the walls, and they twinkled in the dark like the Milky Way. Twisting quickly through the crowd, Gwenhwyfar attempted to catch a glimpse of someone she knew. A long-nosed demon whirled past, his eyebrows twisted and his nostrils flaring. She thought she spotted the hem of Viola’s aubergine dress spin in the colour storm, but her eyes were deceived. Frankenstein’s grimace grinned at her in the spotlight, whilst a long-dead American president sat saggy as someone’s second skin. A burgundy figure tempted her into thinking she’d just seen Morgan, a patchwork cat mask hiding her features; while a candidate for Tom flashed through the crowd, with a long beak of green. Gavin’s frame was perhaps the most recognisable of them all, though his head was the least decipherable; he for the night was half-man half-beast, a Minotaur in the making.
‘Gwen!’
She spun around to face the unknown speaker, and suddenly she was tugged deeper into the throng, stumbling as the mischievous jester danced with her through the grotesques. Solution burned through her limbs, and as they halted she pulled her hand away from the whippet-like boy.
‘I’ve been looking for you all over!’ shouted the jester. It was Bedivere.
‘Great mask!’ she yelled, leaning towards him. ‘Where’d you get it?’
‘My sister picked it up when she went to Italy last year! Said I could use it!’ he yelled back. ‘Yours looks great too!’
‘Thanks!’
‘Where are the others?’
Her curls bounced as her head shook, framing the white and silver façade. ‘I don’t know!’ she admitted, voice sore from shouting. ‘I saw Viola earlier, but that’s it!’
Bedivere began to search, his jester bells ringing with every movement he made. He pointed to the other end of the room. ‘There!’
Gwenhwyfar couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t matter. Her jester was her guide. They passed a dame, a woeful amateur dramatics mask, another pointy-nosed demon and a darker feline. The Minotaur, the green demon and the porcelain-faced Viola were standing by the solution table, mixing and pouring drinks.
‘Great party.’ Bedivere lifted his mask as they joined them, revealing a face glazed in sweat. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Yeah, it’s really amazing,’ Gwenhwyfar enthused. ‘How did you do it?’
‘It’s surprising what a good sweep and a few lights can do,’ Viola grinned, her dark lips framed by the half mask.
The Minotaur removed his head as the long nosed demon handed him a drink. Gavin was suffering from the heat, and he hissed at the potency of the solution. ‘So where’s the birthday boy?’
‘I was wondering that too,’ Gwenhwyfar admitted. Viola and Gavin both exchanged a glance. Feeling the lure of the music, Gwenhwyfar decided to mix a drink. Four girls joined them. Cups were taken, cartons were exchanged, and as Gwenhwyfar lurched for the solution her hand collided with another bound for the same bottle. She looked up. ‘Isolde?’
She stared at her wide-eyed, her mother’s gold necklace hanging beneath her green mask. ‘Gwen? What are you doing here?’
Her friends seemed surprised that she knew someone other than them. She glanced at Viola and then at her secret recruiter for a radical cause. ‘I’m a friend of the guy whose party this is. You?’
‘I know his cousin, Bobby. He’s in my English class in college.’
‘You live round here?’
Isolde nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You?’
‘Yeah, I go to Logres.’
‘I used to go there!’ Isolde exclaimed. ‘Is Mr Caledonensis still teaching History?’
‘Yep!’ Gwenhwyfar replied. ‘He’s my teacher. He’s pretty cool.’
‘Everyone in my class used to love him,’ the Irish girl revealed. On a whim, Gwenhwyfar decided to introduce Isolde to her friends.
‘We go to the same pony club,’ she lied, once names had been exchanged. ‘We should go somewhere quieter to talk,’ Gwenhwyfar gushed, enjoying her connection with Isolde through their association with the forbidden
. ‘I won’t be two seconds.’ She waved to Viola as they edged their way through the crowd. ‘We’re just going to get some air!’
This time her journey through the room was even less lucid. A foreign shadow seemed to stalk her movements, while the garish Frankenstein grinned at her from afar. Isolde hovered ahead of her, ever out of reach. She didn’t realise how hot the premises were until she made it outside. The cold sharp air cleared her mind for a moment, and she inhaled it deeply, letting it harden the warm glow clouding her coordination.
‘I can’t believe we met here.’ They found a low wall to sit on. ‘It’s so surreal.’
‘It’s a pretty surreal party,’ observed Isolde. Neither one of them removed their masks, the colourful veils complementing their sense of secrecy. ‘I’ve never been to anything like it. So how are you getting along with everything?’
‘Good. I’ve arranged to meet with the new recruit, but he won’t be in London until next Friday. I wanted to ask what I should do. I have no idea how to convince him to join Free Countries.’
‘Just do what I did,’ Isolde shrugged. ‘Make sure that his interest is genuine, that he’s not trying to bait you.’
‘And how am I supposed to do that?’
‘I’m not sure, really,’ her superior admitted. ‘You just have to listen to your gut. That’s what I did with you.’ There was a moment of silence. ‘Oh, and exchange numbers. We should have done it before, but I forgot. You can have mine now, if you like.’
‘Sure.’ Gwenhwyfar opened her clutch and pulled out her phone. She handed it to Isolde, who traded their information. ‘So you know Lance’s cousin? Is he here?’
‘He should be. I haven’t seen him since I arrived.’ She handed Gwenhwyfar’s mobile back to her. ‘His brother’s not here, though. He’s too young.’
‘Lance has a brother?’
Isolde shook her head. ‘Bobby’s brother, Luke. Lance is their cousin. I only know about him because he lives with them.’
‘He does? How come?’
‘His parents died when he was young. Bobby’s dad is Lance’s mother’s brother.’ She shrugged. ‘Lance said Bobby could invite people.’
She had thought that the hall seemed busy. Looking out into the dark, Gwenhwyfar’s thoughts turned to Lancelot, and she suddenly wondered why she knew so little about him. ‘How did his parents die?’
The Future King: Logres Page 31
