‘I suppose,’ he murmured.
‘You don’t have any questions?’
Tristan shrugged and rattled his spoon around in the emptied pot. ‘It all sounds pretty straightforward. So what happens if I join?’
‘I tell the person who recruited me, and they pass the message on to the guy in charge, the Alpha. I suppose you’ve already guessed that we have code names, indicating what rank we are. You’ll get one too, and then when another member wants to join Free Countries, you’ll be contacted by me and told to go and meet them, just like I came to meet you. You’ll also get an information pack with further details. Most orders come through in code, though I did get an indirect one once in the form of a flyer. They sent it to everyone. You know, about the—’ she leant forwards to whisper, ‘—Mobilisation March.’
He frowned at her. ‘The what?’
She refrained from elaborating, fearing she had already said too much. ‘Just something political Free Countries wanted me to get involved in. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you’ll be sent the translation for the code with your information pack. You’ll have to decode it to learn it. I’m still trying to figure it out myself.’
‘So you’ve been with Free Countries for how long?’
She shrugged. ‘About two months.’
His brows knotted. ‘Is that all?’
She didn’t really know what to say to that. The noise from the café seemed to amplify. ‘I know it’s not been long, but so far I’m glad I joined. I feel like I’m a part of something, doing something worthwhile, you know?’
He bit into an apple. Gwenhwyfar glanced to the large clock displayed on the opposite wall.
‘So what happens after I get the information pack?’
‘You wait for the instructions to come through. I’m not sure about that part, really,’ she admitted. ‘All I know is they’re waiting until they get enough people recruited, and then they’ll make a move.’
‘What kind of move?’
‘I don’t know. We have to wait until we get a message from the Alpha. He’ll tell us what to do. We can still be politically active in our own time and go to things like protests,’ Gwenhwyfar added, ‘but that would be separate from Free Countries, unless they specify otherwise. Oh, and it’s like a grapevine,’ she suddenly remembered. ‘You’ll only be in contact with me, and the person you recruit. News travels from member to member, until the information reaches the person at the top, or the person at the bottom.’
He seemed to think this over for a while.
‘The person who recruited me is very nice,’ she added in an effort to convince him. ‘I think it’s legitimate. Obviously there’s a risk involved, but as far as objectives go I think we’re just gathering members until we have enough people to stand against Milton and the New Nationals,’ she considered.
‘How many members are there?’ asked Tristan.
‘I’m not sure. Isol—the girl who recruited me seemed to think it was at least five thousand.’
He dropped the apple core back into his lunch box. ‘That many?’
‘She thinks so,’ Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘But I’m not so sure.’
‘And that’s not enough to “make a stand” with?’
All she could do was shrug. How was she supposed to know what it was that the Alpha intended? ‘I think they’re probably aiming for at least twice that.’
‘That’s a lot of people,’ Tristan murmured.
‘Most of them are citizens of Scotland, Wales or Ireland. Or like you,’ she concocted, ‘from Cornwall. They want independence from Milton.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re in league with the Celtic Rebels?’
She smiled, and shook her head. ‘I asked that, too. There may be things that Free Countries agree with, as far as the separatists go, but they definitely disagree with their methods. Free Countries has nothing to do with the border struggles in Ireland and Scotland.’
He propped his ankle on his knee and observed her closely. ‘So what made a schoolgirl like you join? Do you want independence, too?’
‘Like I said, it’s good to be part of something. Independence from England can’t be a bad thing: Scotland and Wales are perfectly capable of going it alone.’ She flicked the ends of her hair over her shoulder with freshly painted nails.
‘How old are you?’ he queried.
‘Seventeen,’ she lied. He clearly didn’t believe her. ‘Why, how old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘Are you going to university next year?’
‘If I get a scholarship,’ he said.
Their detour led to another drawn-out silence. Gwenhwyfar’s eyes returned to the clock.
‘I have to go,’ Tristan declared, rising.
She jumped up, and gathered her coat and hat. ‘Are you interested, then?’ She fell into step beside him. ‘In joining Free Countries?’
He stuffed his lunch box back into his bag, and struggled to get the straps around his shoulders. ‘I suppose. Yeah, why not? I’ll join.’
She felt a strong sense of accomplishment. ‘Great, that’s perfect. You won’t regret it.’ The panda and polar bear passed them once again. Gwenhwyfar glanced at a poorly stuffed lion, snarling at them from beyond the glass. ‘I’ll give you your code name and let the Alpha know you’re joining. An information pack should arrive shortly.’ She pulled the sheet from her bag that revealed both their codenames, and followed him through to the main hall.
‘How will they know where to send the pack?’ he frowned.
She hadn’t thought of that. They paused by one of the grand archways, and she handed him the crumpled paper.
‘What’s this?’
‘Your code name, it’s the one under mine. Hold it up to the light.’
He read Omega Iota Theta, and then returned it to her. He glanced to an older man who strode past them, bound for the Tyrannosaurus Rex.
‘I have to go.’
‘Wait! I should give you my number.’ Gwenhwyfar ripped off a corner from the codenames, and scribbled it down against the wall. ‘Text me yours so we can keep in touch.’
Nodding, he stuffed the note into his trouser pocket. ‘I will. I really have to go.’
‘No problem.’ She followed him slowly, forging a route to the door. ‘Thanks for meeting me here. We’ll contact you in a few weeks.’
He offered a quick, discreet wave, and then joined the small group of college students gathering at the centre of the entrance hall. Feeling rather pleased with herself, Gwenhwyfar exited the building and fished for her mobile as she hurried down the museum road. She had to get home, and fast, before her mother returned. It didn’t take long for her call to be answered. She ducked into a doorway to let the rushing Londoners past.
‘Isolde? It’s Gwen. I just met the new guy, and he’s in.’
* * *
Her walks to school were twinned with Arthur’s, but she could not convince him to share her break times, even though he seemed to get on well with Gavin at The Round Table. December was creeping up on them, showing no sign of a snowy reprieve from the constant drizzle. The miserable weather lingered on well into the fourth week of November, making times of recess humid and unpleasant in an overly crowded canteen.
Their Science room smelt of old sawdust. Wet shoes produced a chorus of squeaks on the metal bars supporting tables and chairs, a baritone of conversation turning it into a clamour. Gwenhwyfar pulled at the zip of her bag, opening the damp canvas to find her books still dry inside. Beside her, Arthur did the same. Students removed raincoats and shook out umbrellas. Mrs Paxton was shouting.
‘Settle down, please!’ she bellowed, snapping a wooden ruler against her desk. ‘We’ll be revising the syllabus today, given that your Level Fours are fast approaching. By the end of the term I want you all to have structured a revision plan for over the holidays, because January will be here faster than you know it!’ She printed “Level Fours” across the board. They were the two words that now commenced
every lesson.
‘So I was thinking.’ Arthur tugged the lid off his pen and neatly inscribed the date. ‘How about you come over to my house this weekend? We might have to eat with my grandmother, but we could go out and see another film afterwards. What do you think?’
She recalled the last time she had been there. Though his cat, Lionel, had been more than welcoming, the atmosphere with his grandmother had been fraught, particularly as Arthur kept having to remind her who their guest was. ‘There is another film out that looks quite good,’ she agreed. ‘But wait, I can’t! I promised Viola I’d go to her modelling party with her. It’s the first one she’s been invited to. She’s really nervous about it.’
Arthur frowned. ‘Never mind, we can always do it some other time.’
‘Sunday?’ she suggested.
‘Sunday’s no good for me—I have to take my gran to visit my grandfather’s grave and finish my homework for the week. Sorry.’
‘Some other time then,’ she agreed.
For a while they worked in a silence that was surprisingly comfortable. Towards the end of the lesson Gwenhwyfar felt Arthur’s hand coil around hers beneath the table. She looked up and smiled. He returned her warmth in kind.
‘So what are you doing at break?’ she asked. The room was growing restless.
‘I’m going to see Marvin. He says he has another book for me to read.’
‘What is it?’
‘Something called The Lord of the Flies. They don’t teach it anymore: it’s too shocking.’
She combed her right hand idly through her hair. It snagged, the ends still damp. ‘You can always spend break with us, you know.’
As he shrugged, Gwenhwyfar repressed a surge of annoyance. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. ‘You know I can’t stand Lance.’
‘He’s not that bad. You just have to ignore the irritating things he says, and then he stops. Surely you can put up with him for a little while?’
He scowled and dropped her hand. He always grew irritable whenever she said something that could, in a twisted way, be considered praise of Lancelot.
‘You don’t have to,’ she huffed. ‘I just thought it would be nice. He probably won’t even be there—he’ll be playing football.’
‘Why don’t you come and sit with me?’ he challenged.
‘Because! I don’t feel like spending all my lunches with Marvin Caledonensis. We spend enough time with him as it is.’
Arthur dumped his chin in his upturned hand. Mrs Paxton looked up from her desk.
‘Why do you dislike Lance so much, anyway?’ Her arms folded across the table. ‘What Emily and Charlotte said about him and Ellie is obviously not true.’ Mrs Paxton made a harsh hushing sound. Gwenhwyfar lowered her voice. ‘Gavin said that you were best friends, once.’
‘So—? It doesn’t matter if what they said is true or not. That’s not the point.’
‘Then what is the point?’ she asked, incensed.
‘Quiet!’ They jerked upright at the snap of the ruler. Mrs Paxton was glaring at them dangerously, daring them to continue. Gwenhwyfar had intended not to let this setback stop her, but Arthur quickly bent over his book and resumed their classwork. Realising that he was ignoring her again, Gwenhwyfar decided to return the favour. The lesson ended with the setting of homework and the shrill call of the bell.
* * *
Arthur walked with Gwenhwyfar to their History room, where they parted in the corridor with a lingering kiss. Once she was gone, he irritably pushed his way into the room to find Marvin reading a tattered book with a sickly chocolate bar in his hand.
‘Arthur!’ he exclaimed, mouth full, ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be spending break with Gwenhwyfar or not. I trust it’s going well?’
He dumped his bag on a desk and found a chair. ‘You wanted to give me a book?’
‘Yes: The Lord of the Flies. Quite disturbing. One of the many reasons why I decided never to have children.’ Marvin pulled a copy from his satchel. The cover was old and plain; green, discoloured fabric with the title and author embossed in black. Arthur flicked through to find the synopsis. In places the language was hard to decipher.
‘It’s not quite banned,’ Marvin remarked, swallowing down the last bite of chocolate, ‘but it’s controversial enough for a restriction to be in place for classrooms.’
Arthur looked back to the front page. Again, in the corner it read Merlin Ambrosius Caledonensis. He smiled. ‘Thanks. I’ll start reading it tonight.’
‘I think I’ll dig out some more copies and give it to the others as homework tomorrow,’ Marvin mused.
‘Good idea,’ Arthur agreed. He put the book down on the table and scowled. ‘Do you think, Merlin, that it’s unreasonable for me to not want to sit with Lance at break times? It’s just that Gwen keeps asking me to spend lunch with her friends, with him, even though she knows I don’t want to.’
‘Why don’t you want to sit with Lance?’
‘Because he’s an idiot?’ Arthur suggested.
Marvin set a packet of crisps on his desk and smacked his hands together, drying the grease and chocolate into his skin. ‘You’re not still stuck on that Ellie circus, are you? The whole thing was a classic example of gossip gone wrong.’
‘It’s not just that,’ Arthur muttered.
‘You still think he did it? Isn’t that a bit unfair on Ellie?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, if she never actually gave you reason to doubt her, you shouldn’t have doubted her. You and Lancelot were good friends, too. Why would he betray you like that?’
‘I know he probably didn’t do it: that’s not the point. It was the principle of things,’ Arthur bristled.
Marvin’s expression was not one of comprehension. ‘The principle of what?’
‘Of the way everyone always liked him more!’ he exploded, kicking the chair on which his feet rested. ‘Ellie was the first girl who didn’t, and in the end even she ended up siding with him. Now Gwen is hanging around with him, too. I hate it, and I hate him.’
He got nowhere with his outburst, and as Marvin wiped the dust away from a disused textbook, his bitter words left him empty.
‘It’s not as if you actually have to sit with him,’ Marvin pointed out mildly. ‘You’ll be sitting with Gwen, and if she keeps asking you to spend time with her so that you can get to know her friends, that implies that she likes you more than Lance, wouldn’t you say?’
Arthur knew he couldn’t argue, despite his urge to.
‘How about a compromise?’ Marvin suggested. ‘You say you’ll sit at her table one day, if she spends lunch away with you the other. I can’t see the issue here, really.’
‘But it’s not that easy. Lance hates me.’ His brown eyes followed Marvin back to his desk. The older man collapsed into his chair.
‘If Lance doesn’t like it, I rather think that Lance can move. It’s been what, three years? And you’re still letting him affect your life? Do what you want, Arthur; don’t blame others for the way you act. Life is too short for such trivialities.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Have you thought about joining that political party? With the elections coming up in May, now would be a particularly interesting time to jump in.’ Marvin stuffed his mouth with a handful of crisps and crunched noisily as he ate. ‘I’m sure the Eco Party would benefit from your involvement.’
‘I’m sure they’d benefit from anyone’s involvement,’ Arthur remarked.
‘Quite,’ Marvin agreed. He opened his book, turning to the right page. There was a long silence. Arthur opened up The Lord of the Flies again and flicked through it for a bit, but then he abandoned it, rubbing his eyes.
‘You seem distracted,’ Marvin observed.
‘I’m fine,’ he insisted.
‘You’re not still thinking about Lancelot?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ Marvin sounded sceptical.
‘No.’ Arthur turned his gaze out of the window.
‘
You know, I read your latest paper yesterday. It’s not quite what I would expect.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, it wasn’t exactly your best. It’s completely fine for the syllabus, of course, but I rather felt you were somewhere else whilst writing it. I would just hate for you to suddenly lose your balance, especially when you’ve been doing so well.’
He’d had enough. ‘I’m going to get some air,’ Arthur declared darkly, swiping up his book and bag. He strode out into the corridor, hating that Marvin just nodded unperturbed and resumed his reading; hating that all would be forgotten later, that he would return to him, and they would talk as if they had never disagreed over anything. He ended up in the library, not out on the grounds, and as he settled down in an empty chair and opened up his new read the name Merlin gazed out at him forebodingly.
Emily Mary Rose
Had she not needed to pop into the girls’ toilets, Gwenhwyfar would have been walking to lunch with Lancelot. Cold water spewed over her wrists as she washed her hands and massaged them with soap. The mirrors of old Wormelow were flaking with the graffiti of lipstick and gloss, written opaque with love hearts, initials and profanities. Scowling, Gwenhwyfar snatched a towel from the dispenser and smeared the professions into the glass to clear her own reflection. The letters lingered. Behind her a flush sounded from the only closed cubicle. Quickly she threw the stained towel into the bin.
Footsteps shuffled towards her. Checking herself in the mirror, Gwenhwyfar glanced sideways as she was joined at the sinks. It was Emily. Her eyes were swollen and her mascara was bleeding. As the flow from the tap dried out, she let out a loud sob. She was crying. Gwenhwyfar felt a spiteful satisfaction. Finally, the first of the Furies was getting what she deserved, and whatever it was, it was making her miserable.
Quickly she turned for the door. Emily swallowed down another sob and sniffed pathetically. Unexpected pity pried its way into Gwenhwyfar’s heart. Emily didn’t even seem to care that she was there.
The Future King: Logres Page 34
