She didn’t know what to do with the remnants. Contemplating burying them or feeding them to Llew, she eventually flushed them down the toilet. At last, when she had destroyed her SIM card and taken her mind through every other eventuality, she tried sleeping, but found it impossible to switch off. Hundreds of scenarios raced through her head. What if Free Countries had been responsible? Did that make her a murderer? She didn’t know what she had been thinking when she had considered joining them to be a good idea. She had been seduced by the secrecy, and it had led her blindly into danger.
She awoke several times during the night, something keeping her restless, but not until the early hours of Saturday morning did she realise what. She was chewing slowly on toast with a glass of orange juice, surfing the Internet, when the revelation descended. The unfortunate timing of things determined what she did next. A window popped up. It was Free Countries.
Her reflex was instantaneous. Angry sparks spat from her computer as the orange juice cascaded into it, frothing. Gwenhwyfar squeaked as the glass shattered upon the table. A horrible, twisted noise crooned from the sagging machine. It cracked, a thunderous bellow, and then everything fell silent.
Cowering on the floor, she heard exclamations of surprise sound throughout the house.
‘Gwen, what in God’s name happened? Are you all right?’
She pushed herself up as her father rushed into her bedroom. Immediately he hurried over to the power outlet and snatched the plug out of the socket, swearing as he burnt his fingers.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘Nothing!’
‘It doesn’t look like nothing,’ he contested, waving his arms through the smoke. He opened the bedroom window and tried to waft the fumes outside. ‘Are you hurt?’ He helped her off the floor and sat her on the bed.
Gwenhwyfar shook her head. ‘I’m fine. I dropped my drink. My arm just… I lost my grip.’
‘You lost your grip?’ he repeated, sitting next to her. ‘Which arm?’
She didn’t know which one to choose.
‘Was it the arm you fell on in London?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘Maybe we should get you to a doctor.’
‘I’m fine. Just shaken, that’s all.’
He frowned at her. ‘You didn’t shock yourself, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Try squeezing my hand,’ he instructed sternly.
Gwenhwyfar did so without much effort. ‘Really, I’m fine.’
‘I don’t know what we’re going to do about this.’ He inspected the computer. ‘It’s a mess, Gwen!’
‘I know, Dad.’
‘What on earth were you thinking?’
He wasn’t usually this short with her. ‘It was an accident! It’s not my fault I dropped the drink.’
‘No, but you shouldn’t have had it at your desk to begin with,’ he maintained.
‘I know—I’m sorry.’
Garan sighed. ‘I suppose we can get it fixed.’
‘Fixed? But it almost killed me! Look at it; it’s practically melted anyway. Can’t we just get a new one?’
‘Do you have any idea how expensive they are?’ Garan exclaimed. ‘I’ve told you hundreds of times not to have drinks at your desk, and now look!’
‘But I don’t need that one again, just any sort of thing will do. I don’t care if it’s old or cheap—I only use it for homework.’
‘Oh, do you? And what happened to you wanting the upgrade to this model?’
‘That was before,’ she insisted. ‘Now I know it’s not that good. I mean it’s good, but I don’t need it, really. I’d rather just get something older, they’re more reliable. You say so yourself.’
‘Reliable, yes; waterproof, no.’ He stood up. ‘Look, I might be able to get something through work, but I’m not promising anything. First you’ll have to learn not to keep liquids at your desk, understand?’
Gwenhwyfar nodded furiously.
‘I think it flipped the fuse—the power’s out.’ He ambled stiffly to the door. ‘Don’t touch this,’ he ordered, turning to Gwenhwyfar and pointing at the machine. ‘The last thing I need is you getting electrocuted.’
Gwenhwyfar observed him with glassy eyes. She heard her mother call up the stairs. Garan went into the corridor and told Eve to flip the fuse again. As she did, Gwenhwyfar’s bedroom was once again illuminated.
* * *
Though Free Countries was mentioned often in the news, the further Gwenhwyfar made it into the second week of December the safer she felt. For many, the horrors of the attacks were forgotten as the festive season unfurled, with decorations going up and lessons passing with scores of old movies. Though Gwenhwyfar had successfully destroyed all evidence linking her to Free Countries, news had emerged of members coming forward and trading information in return for clemency. The “terror cell” was disbanding.
The dry winter air froze the earth solid. Any conversations she had with Lancelot were brief, and though Emily still flirted outrageously with him Gwenhwyfar did her best to ignore it. Emily, it seemed, was there to stay; and despite any initial frostiness caused by her presence relations were starting to thaw. Gwenhwyfar took solace in Lancelot’s apparent indifference to the bubbly blonde girl, and even began to enjoy seeing her making a fool of herself.
She found Arthur waiting for her halfway between Badbury and Wormelow. She strode up to him and planted a firm kiss upon his lips. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’ He kissed her again, and for a long while she forgot they were in school. When they finally parted, they strolled towards Wormelow. ‘Did you get up to much last night?’
‘Just a bit of Christmas shopping. I’ve decided what I’m getting my parents. My dad’s needed a new coat for ages, and I’m going to treat my mum to a really nice dress I found.’ She swung his hand with excitement. ‘Have you figured out what you want yet?’
‘You don’t have to get me anything,’ he told her again.
‘But you’re getting me something, you said so. Besides, I want to get you a present. I’ve already got a few ideas.’
‘What are they?’
‘Don’t you trust me?’
He looked at her and smiled. ‘No list, then?’
‘If you think of one, but I like to buy early, and December is late enough for me.’
He lifted her hand to his lips, and then held open the door to New Wormelow.
‘So what did you get up to? You never replied to my text.’
‘Sorry. I had work, then Bedivere came round.’
‘He did?’
Arthur nodded. ‘It made me realise that the last time he came over was in the summer holidays. I hardly see him anymore.’
‘Only because he’s sitting with us,’ Gwenhwyfar pointed out. They passed through the lobby and scaled the stairs to the upper corridors. ‘You can still join him, you know. I mean, I understand if you don’t want to, given what Lance did…’
‘He still sits with you?’
‘Barely. We see him, but usually he’s out on the field with Gavin. I think he’s avoiding me. I had a real go at him for what he said.’
This seemed to surprise Arthur. ‘You did?’
Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘For all the good it did. He didn’t even apologise—he still hasn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter, he’s always been an idiot.’ She could almost feel his approval shower over her. They pushed through a second set of double doors.
‘Bed said that Emily’s sitting with you now, too.’
‘Unfortunately.’ She hesitated, and then sighed. ‘I suppose she did apologise, for everything actually. And I told you about the whole Ellie thing. According to her she only heard it from Charlotte and Hattie, and thought they were telling the truth.’
‘And you believe that?’
‘I don’t know, mostly I just enjoy seeing her make an idiot of herself. Apparently she’s got a thing for Lance. She won’t leave him alone.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Arthur remarked. ‘They
suit one another.’
They came to a stop. A thickset boy blocked them when they tried to pass through the Science corridor. He was stocky, of average height, and had short curly hair that was similar in colour to wet sand. ‘You’re Gwen, right?’
She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Yeah.’
‘Lance’s friend,’ the boy stated.
Arthur moved closer to her. ‘Not really.’
‘Wasn’t talking to you,’ the boy snapped. He set his gaze on Gwenhwyfar. ‘Do you know him or what?’
She shrugged. ‘Sort of, why?’
‘Tell him to watch his back.’
‘What? Why?’
He scrutinised her with beady eyes. ‘Just tell him.’
Arthur stepped forward. ‘Is that all?’
‘No. Tell him to look after his friends, too.’ His rounded cheeks split into a horrible grin. Gwenhwyfar felt a pang of cold fear in her stomach. The comment had to be directed at her. Arthur seemed to think so too, for he put his arm around her shoulders and immediately hurried her away.
* * *
‘He said what?’
Lancelot was crouched in his chair, his elbows pressing into his knees and his hands cupped under his chin. Around him, Emily, Bedivere and Viola listened attentively. Gavin and Tom were playing football, something Lancelot had been eager to participate in. Gwenhwyfar repeated the words again. He stared intently at the floor.
‘And who said it, exactly?’
‘That guy you and Hector always used to fight with,’ Arthur recalled. ‘I thought I recognised him, but I wasn’t sure. You know, the one with the fat neck that looks like a pig.’
Lancelot sat up, clearly surprised. ‘What’s he doing making threats? I haven’t even spoken to him since last term.’ His handsome face turned to a scowl of contemplation.
‘Who’s he hanging around with now?’ Viola asked. She was sitting on the table with her feet on a chair. ‘I doubt the threat would’ve come from him, not unless he had someone to back him up. He’ll be the messenger.’
‘The messenger for whom?’ enquired Arthur.
‘What’s his name?’
Lancelot looked at Bedivere. ‘Edward,’ he responded, ‘but everyone calls him Cooper.’
‘Edward Cooper?’ Bedivere brightened. ‘I know him: he’s in my Science class. He used to be friends with a guy called Jack, but the last few times I’ve seen him, he’s been with Hector.’
‘Hector?’ Lancelot proclaimed. ‘I thought Cooper hated him?’
‘You are talking about Hector Browne, aren’t you?’ Emily’s undiluted attention produced a ruby blush in Bedivere.
‘Yes, it’s definitely Browne. Cooper obviously can’t hate him as much as he hates you, Lance, if he’s willing to side with him just to get to you.’
‘Not just Lance,’ Arthur reminded them all. ‘His friends, too.’
‘Hector hangs around with a lot of people now,’ Bedivere said. ‘There’s four of them—him, Cooper, Lucan Smith and Lyndon Grant. They’re always down at Badbury, hanging by the courts.’
Arthur rubbed his jaw in concern. ‘If Hector’s involved, it’s quite a serious threat.’
‘Lance and his “friends”? That has to mean you, Gwen.’ Viola looked to the group. ‘We should tell someone. He’s completely out of order.’
‘Tell who? Ravioli? Don’t you remember what happened last time? He practically made a joke out of me.’
‘Yes, but this time it’s different,’ Viola contested.
‘Why threaten Lance, anyway?’ asked Arthur. ‘Why not just threaten Gwen? What have you got to do with it?’
The two boys’ eyes met, and Gwenhwyfar felt her heart contract. Suddenly she wished she had told Arthur what had happened.
‘Hector and I used to fight with Cooper all the time,’ Lancelot shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s that?’
‘It’s not that,’ Gwenhwyfar volunteered, suddenly much too warm. ‘Hector went for me at Lance’s birthday party.’ She looked to Arthur and swallowed. ‘That’s why he’s making threats. He tried it on with me, and I sprayed deodorant in his eyes.’
The group went silent. Gwenhwyfar could tell that Arthur was hurt. He obviously understood that he was the only one, save Emily, who hadn’t known. ‘So that’s why Hector was off for so long.’ He frowned, and then his brown eyes rose to question hers. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I knew you’d be upset.’ Now that she voiced it aloud, it seemed a poor excuse. ‘I didn’t want to feel pressured into anything.’
‘Pressured?’
‘I thought you’d tell me to report it. I’m sorry.’
‘Hector attacked you?’ Emily butted in, scandalised.
‘What happened?’ Arthur eyed Gwenhwyfar with renewed concern. ‘Was it just him…?’
‘No, there was another guy,’ Lancelot said. ‘We couldn’t figure out who he was. A friend of Hector’s, we think. Possibly not from Logres.’
‘And they attacked you?’
‘It was mostly talk,’ Gwenhwyfar dismissed.
‘Not just talk,’ Viola objected. ‘Hector was on top of you, you said so.’
Gwenhwyfar felt her face heat up. ‘Yeah, and I blinded him and kicked him in the head and told him I was going to the police. He hasn’t bothered me since.’
‘I still don’t understand why he’d threaten Lance,’ Arthur scowled.
‘Lance was there after it happened,’ Gwenhwyfar explained. ‘I think he made them think twice about pursuing it.’
‘He didn’t hit them?’
‘No,’ Lancelot said sharply. ‘Gwen didn’t want me to.’
‘And you’ve not said anything to them since?’
‘I haven’t touched Hector,’ Lancelot hissed. ‘Or said anything to him, Lucan, Lyndon or Edward. I haven’t even seen them.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Viola interjected. ‘All that matters is that we tell someone. Before this escalates.’
‘Tell who, exactly?’ Gwenhwyfar asked. ‘He’s just trying to intimidate me. This is all this has ever been about. He’s a bully.’
‘I still think—’
‘It’s up to Gwen if she wants to tell the principal or not,’ Arthur interjected. He looked to Gwenhwyfar, and she felt her heart expand. ‘If you’re worried about Ravioli believing you, I can always tell him myself. He might take it better, coming from me.’
‘You would do that?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, touched. She was suddenly sorry that she had underestimated his ability to understand.
‘Of course—should I?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked across the cafeteria, hunting for a glimpse of Hector or Edward. ‘If I do say something it should definitely come from me.’
‘Not that it’ll make much difference,’ Lancelot grumbled. Suddenly all eyes were on him. ‘Hector’s dad is the principal’s first cousin. They grew up together. Hector always used to brag about how he could do anything, because Ravioli wouldn’t stop him. He could shoot someone, he said, and he wouldn’t be expelled.’
‘So they are related, then?’ Arthur asked. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
Lancelot nodded, and Gwenhwyfar’s heart sank.
* * *
With cheeks numbed by the bitter wind, Gwenhwyfar, Emily and Viola clustered together, hurrying through the icy grounds of Logres. The school seemed particularly dull in the absence of sunshine, though its bowels, at least, were warm and decorated excessively with tinsel. With arms interlinked, they discussed what should be done about Hector. Emily abandoned her post to kick open the door to old Wormelow, and Gwenhwyfar’s fingers prickled against the sudden heat.
‘I just feel like this is all my fault.’ Emily pulled her hat away, combing her hands through her hair. ‘I should have never listened to Charlotte. I mean, I know I’m partially responsible for what happened at Tom’s party, Gwen, but if I hadn’t trusted her, then maybe none of this would have happened.’
‘We can’t know that.’ Viola plucked off her gloves and stuffed
them into the pocket of her woollen coat. ‘If Hector wanted to hurt Gwen, he would have done so anyway. Only it would’ve been worse, because we would’ve still trusted him.’
Their shoes clipped across the grey dappled stone. They were late.
‘I wouldn’t trust him.’ Gwenhwyfar said. They ascended the old stairs that had a secret and disused feel to them. ‘I remember the first time I saw him. He just stared at my chest. It was so creepy, you know? Like he was imagining me naked, that sort of look.’
‘Vile,’ contributed Emily.
‘Well then, it’s best he was shown to be a creep sooner rather than later.’ Viola offered them a quick smile, and then they slipped into their lesson apologetically.
They were getting a practice paper back that day, and as they arrived their results were waiting on their desks. This led to a hurried exchange of grades among all students, leaving Viola, and Gwenhwyfar in particular, disappointed that they hadn’t done better. As their classmates complained about the difficulty of the paper, Emily said nothing, and Gwenhwyfar assumed that she had done the worst. This assumption was dashed, however, the moment Viola asked Emily how she had done.
‘Oh, not as well as I’d hoped,’ said Emily, flicking her hair over her shoulder. ‘I only got eighty-five percent. I was hoping for at least ninety. Geography’s my worst subject. I’m so behind.’
It was halfway through the lesson when the lights went out again. Huffing and rising to check the corridor, Miss Barnes vanished for a moment to see that the failure wasn’t just local.
‘So what are you going to do about Hector?’ Viola asked Gwen, as Emily twisted around in her seat to face them. ‘Are you going to talk to Ravioli?’
‘I need to think about it,’ Gwenhwyfar frowned. ‘I haven’t seen him since Lance’s party. This could be nothing. Going to Rav might just give him the satisfaction of getting what he wants—of knowing I’m afraid.’
The Future King: Logres Page 40
