The Future King: Logres (22 page)

Morgan nodded. ‘I have to leave early, I’m afraid. I can’t be late.’

‘A shame! Let’s not waste any more time, then.’ He frowned at
Arthur’s empty hands. ‘What am I going to give you?
Animal Farm
, perhaps?’

‘I’ve already read it,’ Arthur confessed. ‘I felt particularly sorry
for Boxer.’

‘As did I,’ Marvin remarked. ‘But I trust you’re still on the other
read I lent you?’ Arthur nodded. ‘Well, perhaps you can keep going with that.
Or refresh yourself with
1984
instead.
We’ll be discussing it next week.’

‘You mean we have to finish this in a
week
?’ Bedivere asked, flicking through the discoloured pages.

‘It’s only a book,’ Morgan told him. ‘I could read it in an evening.’

‘Now!’ Marvin interjected. ‘You must all be wondering why I invited
you here. Well, you know why you’re here, Arthur; and I assume you’ve explained
a little about the club to our members—’

‘We’re looking at alternative truths, right?’ Bedivere asked. ‘The
darker side to Britain, and all that.’

‘Yes, yes, Bedivere, we shall cover that. We shall look at Europe, why
we left and why ultimately the EU was disbanded; we shall look at the tragic
situation in the United States, and we shall look at the abandonment of the
Commonwealth states and the blight of Indonesia. But as well as that we shall
also be looking closer to home, at our own histories, and I use the plural
intentionally; at the rising rebels in the old Celtic countries, at the
redefinition of New National Britain’s borders, and at our absolute ruler
himself, George Milton, who thus far has used all his electoral power to claw
hold of democratic immunity, whose Party has long since been a change-hand, change-face
game of musical chairs with the same policies and people from one party to the
next. This brings me to my former point of why I invited you here: because I
believe that you three are the smartest, the most open, the most questioning,
and that you will benefit most from hearing things from an alternative
viewpoint—not always my own, and not always comfortable—that the
three of you may one day take what you have learned here and remember it when
the world darkens, and this country truly forgets that which it once was.’

There was a deep silence. Even Arthur, who was used to Marvin’s
tangential speeches, was momentarily confounded, and in the quiet that followed
he observed Bedivere to see what he thought of this side to their teacher. His
eyes then slipped to Morgan, and he was surprised to find that she was
transfixed.

‘But I must stress to all of you, it is my job at risk in doing this,
my life at stake. So when you speak of this, speak only amongst yourselves, and
tell no one what it is we discuss here. Understood?’

There was a series of dumbstruck nods of consent. Bedivere cleared
his throat with a small cough.

‘And here I thought this was just going to be an extracurricular
History club,’ he joked.

Morgan’s phone beeped. She jumped to her feet and looked to Marvin
apologetically. ‘Sorry, I have to go. Are we still doing this next week?’

Marvin nodded. ‘If you’re willing to come.’

‘I’ll be here.’

He grinned at her, and followed her out of the room to fetch her coat.
Bedivere left soon after, and then it was just Arthur, watching the clock
apprehensively and mindful of his need to get home.

‘I don’t think Morgan took to the wine, do you?’ Marvin remarked, as
he rejoined Arthur at the depleted table. There were twelve seats, ten of which
now sat empty, though most of the chairs were squashed together in a space
which was definitely too small. ‘I suppose it could be quite distressing to be encouraged
to break the law, but I didn’t really think of it at the time. Do you think she
minds?’

‘I think she was just concerned about holding a sober slur for her
music exam,’ Arthur grinned, rubbing the brim of his empty glass with his thumb.
‘I don’t think she took to the taste, either.’

‘I did say that it takes some getting used to.’ Leaning back into the
soft leather of his chair, Marvin cradled his wine in his palm. ‘I think we
wasted most of our time coming up with
The
Round Table
. So how are you finding
The
Human Condition
?’

‘Good. I’m not reading it in the right order, though. I’m on the
chapter exploring the need for social hierarchies at the moment.’

‘Ah yes, that’s a good one,’ Marvin reminisced. Suddenly he leant
towards Arthur and set his drink aside. ‘Now, before you go, I was hoping to
gauge your interest in something. Do you remember that conversation we had before
the summer holidays? When you asked about going into politics?’

Arthur nodded.

‘There’s an emerging political party that’s looking for people to
join: young applicants in particular. They’re too small for the current
government to worry about.’ He got to his feet and went to the desk in the
corner of the room, which was surrounded by stacks of boxes and files. ‘Their
policies are relatively safe. It’ll be a good thing to have on your record,
especially if you’re still thinking of applying for a scholarship.’ He
scribbled something down and passed it to him. ‘All you have to do is hand out
leaflets and get to know the people higher up. You’ll have to complete
voluntary service for the New Nationals, to counter your unfriendly interest,
but if you’re keen you can then apply to be a prospective parliamentary
candidate.’

Arthur took the paper from him and read Marvin’s messy handwriting as
best he could. It read,
The Eco Party
.

‘The hours are flexible—you could even do a couple at the
weekend. I’ll help you if you get stuck, but I think it’s worth you looking
into.’

‘Thanks, Marv.’

‘Please. Merlin.’

‘Merlin,’ he corrected, crumpling the note into his pocket. He looked
at the clock once again, and this time Marvin did too.

‘We’ve run over our hour!’ he exclaimed, immediately clearing away
the glasses. Rising to help, Arthur followed Marvin into the kitchen. ‘Give
your regards to your grandmother for me, would you? Will you be coming next
week?’

‘Of course.’ Arthur smiled. Marvin led him into the hall and then
vanished to retrieve his coat. ‘This stuff, Merlin… where did you get it all
from?’

‘These? Abroad, mostly. I travelled in my younger years, but most of
it belonged to my father and grandfather. They were much bigger explorers at
heart than me.’ His face stretched into another crooked smile as he helped
Arthur into his sleeves. ‘This is a greatcoat, unless I’m mistaken.’

‘It was my grandfather’s,’ Arthur responded with some pride. ‘He left
it to me when he died. It’s been in the family for years.’

‘It must be ancient,’ Marvin admired, enthused.

‘It was never really worn before he got it. Between us we’ve had it
repaired dozens of times.’ He looked down at the old, woollen green. Marvin
unlatched the door.

‘Thank you for coming tonight, Arthur. Do you think our first session
went well, all things considered?’

‘I think it was very interesting,’ he said, even though he had learnt
little. ‘I’m sure we’ll get down to things next Friday.’

The two exchanged their farewells. Marvin stood waiting at his doorstep
until Arthur had disappeared from sight, his oversized greatcoat billowing
behind him in the gloom.

The house greeted him in the cold, its windows gazing out into the
dark with open lids. The lights were on, and as he closed the front door he
heard sounds in the kitchen.

‘Arthur! Is that you?’

His grandmother appeared in the doorframe, her lilac jumper rolled up
to her elbows and her slim jeans muddied at the knees. Her clothes were never
age-appropriate for a seventy-two year old; they were worn for practicality’s
sake, for digging in the garden, for working on her jewellery and for the
Alexander Technique, which she no longer taught. Her hair was dyed red with
home-dye kits, and her nose was proud and not like his at all. She came towards
him with her arms extended and kissed him on the cheek.

‘How was it? You must tell me how it was. How is Bedivere? Did he
like the club?’

He took off his coat and hung it on the stand. ‘He did, and he’s
fine. The club was good. We talked about books,’ he added, thinking it was
mostly true. ‘I invited Morgan, too. Do you remember Morgan?’

‘Of course I remember Morgan!’ She led him into the kitchen. ‘She’s
the blonde girl, isn’t she? The one you had a crush on last summer?’

‘No, that was Catherine. Morgan’s got brown hair. She’s interested in
books, too.’

She frowned at him. ‘What’s her surname?’

‘Faye.’

‘I’m sure she was blonde.’

He could smell smoke. ‘You’ve left the hob on.’ Arthur hurried over
to the stove and snatched up the smouldering wooden spoon. ‘What did you have
the hob on for?’

‘I had to cook, didn’t I?’ his grandmother snapped. He ran the cold
tap to cool the wood. ‘Have you eaten? I made lasagne earlier, just for you.’

‘You shouldn’t have made anything,’ he said, turning off the tap and
drying the spoon. ‘There’s food in the fridge so you don’t have to cook.’

‘I like cooking,’ she objected. She went to busy herself at the
kitchen counter. ‘I’ll make you some tea.’ Hissing, she retracted her hand from
the stove. ‘Why is that thing on?’

‘What did you do?’ Arthur said, rushing over to her.

‘It’s nothing.’ She waved her hand away. ‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not fine—you’ve burnt yourself. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine! Really.’ She yanked her hand away from him when he tried
to inspect it. ‘Don’t fuss.’

‘Run it under the cold tap,’ insisted Arthur, turning it on again.

‘I know what to do.’ She stuck her hand under the water willingly,
and kept it there.

‘I’ll heat up that lasagne. Would you like some?’

‘I already had some. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re making such a
fuss. It only took five minutes.’ She turned the tap off, dried her hands, and
went to peer out the back window. ‘Damn cat scared off the woodpecker this
morning,’ she muttered. ‘It’s such a beast. It’s left three heads on the
kitchen floor this week. I’d kick it out, if your grandfather hadn’t loved it
so much.’

‘He needs a bell,’ Arthur said for the hundredth time. ‘I can buy him
one, if you like.’

‘And have him tinkling about the house all day? It’d drive me mad.’

‘Are you sure you’re not hungry?’ he asked again. ‘I can warm you
some up anyway, just in case.’

‘All right then,’ she relented.

Relieved, Arthur hunted in the fridge for what she had made, finding
that though she had cooked a lasagne, she hadn’t eaten any of it at all.
He pushed it into the oven, grateful that they had
power. ‘So where is Lionel?’

‘Outside. I haven’t seen him all day.’ She frowned at him, waiting for
the kettle to boil. ‘How was the library? You don’t have to work, you know. I
can give you money if you need it. Where’s my wallet?’ Searching her
surroundings, she found it on the kitchen table and pulled out an old, crumpled
note. ‘Here, you must take it. No Arthur, I insist. Go on.’

Reluctantly, but with a grateful smile, Arthur folded the ten new-pounds
and stuffed it into his pocket. ‘Thanks Gran. I know I don’t have to work. I
work because I enjoy it.’

‘I know what you’re like. I don’t want you paying my bills for me. I
mean it. Your grandfather left me with enough when he died. I can manage it.’

‘I know.’ Arthur checked the clock. The last time he had failed to
pay a bill on time their water had been cut off. ‘I spend my earnings on junk I
don’t need, don’t worry. I even bought these shoes last week.’

He showed her his school shoes, which looked fairly new, and she was
appeased. Soon they were sitting at the small kitchen table with cups of tea in
their hands, waiting for their supper to be ready.

‘I was thinking… maybe after my shift tomorrow we could go to the
supermarket and get something nice for lunch on Sunday,’ he said after a
silence. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you should be spending your weekends with your friends,
that’s what I think,’ his grandmother told him. ‘What about that girl from
Wales? What happened to her?’

‘Nothing happened to her. We’ve been hanging out at school, when
she’s not with her friends. She’s nice.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I thought you’d forgotten about her.’

‘I haven’t forgotten. I just hang around with Bedivere as well,’ he
lied, not wanting to get into the particulars about Marvin. ‘But I’m seeing
Gwen after school, too.’

‘What about Lance?’

‘What about him?’

‘How’s he doing?’

‘He just got back from another suspension. For slashing the
principal’s tyres, remember?’

‘Lance? Little Lance?’ She looked at him disbelievingly. ‘But he was
always such a lovely boy. Why would he do such a thing?’