The Future King: Logres (28 page)

‘Or not profitable enough,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked.

‘I just don’t get why it is so hard to look at things differently,’
Arthur frowned. ‘Everything is a short-term fix. People just keep going. They
change some habits, but not quickly or thoroughly enough, and look where it’s
getting us.’

‘People only change when it becomes too dangerous to stay the way
they are,’ Gwenhwyfar mused. ‘Didn’t Rollo May say that?’

‘Whoever said it was right. Then again, I’d argue that things got too
dangerous some time ago, and still we’ve seen little change.’

‘I think I will borrow that book, if Marvin’s all right with it,’
Gwenhwyfar declared. ‘The one you’re reading at the moment, as well. I’d like
to know more about capitalism.’

‘I’ll ask him.’

There was a moment’s silence as they considered all that had been
said. Eventually Gwenhwyfar looked down to her pizza, and then to Arthur.
‘Would you like the rest?’

Eagerly he swapped their plates so he could finish her food.

‘We should do this again sometime,’ she suggested, pleased that they
had chosen a restaurant instead of the cinema. They had been talking non-stop
for nearly two hours.

‘We will,’ he promised. ‘How about we go for pancakes after school
next week? I think I have one afternoon off.’

‘Sounds great,’ she beamed. The waiter came by to ask how they were
doing, and Gwenhwyfar ordered another drink.

‘So how are you finding Logres?’ Arthur asked when the waiter had
gone. ‘Is it very different from Swansea?’

‘Yeah, completely,’ Gwenhwyfar said. ‘There’s a different vibe here. Everything’s
really busy. The Welsh countryside is wilder, but it’s green here, which is
nice. I don’t think I’d have coped if it was like London.’

‘London’s not so bad,’ Arthur reasoned, polishing off the last of her
pizza. ‘It has some nice parks.’

‘The smog is horrible, though. It makes it nearly impossible to
breathe. They need to plant more trees.’

‘We need more trees everywhere,’ he agreed. ‘I know they say that
this government is the greenest ever, but where’s the proof?’

Gwenhwyfar didn’t know. She looked up with a shrug, her hand resting
on the table, and when Arthur clasped it her heart skipped. She still couldn’t
believe how handsome he was.

‘Pudding?’ he suggested, offering her a lop-sided smile.

Gwenhwyfar nodded, rubbing her thumb across the back of his palm.
‘Pudding.’

‘Arthur! Good to see you.’

Marvin moved aside to let him into the musty hallway, and took his
coat. ‘Can I offer you a drink—? Tea? Coffee? I’m not sure if I should
crack open another bottle of wine just yet. We can’t be drinking it like it’s
water. I can do orange juice?’

‘Orange juice is perfect, thank you,’ he said. After a moment spent
reabsorbing all the artefacts he remembered from his last visit, Arthur followed
Marvin into the kitchen. It was cosy, and nearly as cluttered as the hall, with
several pots and cooking utensils hanging on the walls. ‘Aren’t the others here
yet?’

‘Not yet, you’re the first.’ Grinning, he handed him a cold glass of
orange juice. ‘Did you refresh yourself on Orwell?’

‘I did.’ Arthur took a large gulp. The sugary drink made his mouth
water. ‘I’d forgotten how grim it is. Even now, I was rooting for Winston. I
always choose the wrong characters to back.’

Marvin rubbed his hands together as he leant against the stove.
‘It’ll be interesting to see what the others think,’ he remarked. ‘Though I
don’t want to dwell too long on it. At the moment I’m more interested in what’s
been happening in these Mobilisation Centres.’

‘Those are the institutions that take in the homeless, right?’

‘The homeless, the poor and the less able: those reliant either upon
the state or in breach of quality of life laws. Such places are supposed to be
platforms of reinvention, but… let’s just say that I suspect such a definition
may be far too generous.’

Frowning, Arthur downed the last of his juice, the glass chilling his
fingers. It was cold outside too, though not as cold as it was going to be. Last
winter had been a bitter frost from November until March, with six feet of snow
decimating transport and cutting off supplies.

‘I suppose we’ll soon see what comes of it.’ Marvin busied himself
with clearing away the washed pots. ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on events, that’s
for sure.’

Arthur put his empty glass down on the side. ‘Merlin? I was
wondering… you remember that you originally wanted to invite Gwen? Well, I was
wrong. I think she would be interested in this, very interested. Could I ask
her to join us?’

Marvin’s bushy eyebrows bristled to meet over his hooked nose. ‘I
think it’s best if you don’t, for now.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Morgan and
Bedivere will want to invite someone if you do, and that would double our
group. I would like to get a handle on the members we already have, first.’

‘But what if you were to invite her yourself?’ Arthur tried. ‘Could
that not work?’

‘That doesn’t seem fair on the others,’ he fretted, but upon seeing Arthur’s
disappointment, he offered a more lenient smile. ‘Maybe next week… this is only
our second session, after all. Have you looked into the Eco Party yet? You’ll
want to sign up quickly, before everything shuts down for Christmas.’

Thankfully, Arthur didn’t have to think of a suitable excuse to mask
his laziness. The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of the rest of The
Round Table. Marvin gave a loud exclamation and hurried to let them in.

They discussed
1984
,
though Bedivere seemed to find their
interpretation less engaging than Morgan. Marvin highlighted parallels that
Arthur himself had drawn for his shredded Politics paper, but the topic soon
shifted. Sitting exactly where he had been last week, opposite the window, Bedivere
looked to Marvin curiously.

‘The New Nationals… how is it that they got elected?’

Marvin eyed him sharply. ‘Well, it’s called
voting
, Bedivere.’

‘Yes, I know
that
.’ He blushed
as Arthur and Morgan grinned. ‘I mean,
how
.
How did a party like this get into power? Who voted for them, and why?’

‘Lots of people voted for them,’ Marvin said, still standing from his
speech on Orwell. ‘Despite what people say, I don’t think it’s true that the
New Nationals rigged the elections. What people forget is how frightened
everyone was back then. Milton came along with a hard stance on all things pressing,
pledging this and promising that.’ Stiffly, he lowered himself into his chair. ‘Make
no mistake, he is charming. He seduced people. Everything about the New
Nationals seemed exciting: their uniforms, their policies. People called them
crazy at first, and other parties ridiculed them. Perhaps they were crazy in
the beginning, but soon the jester dropped his façade and revealed a monster.’

‘I don’t even know if the façade has completely fallen,’ Arthur
added, looking to Marvin. ‘Many people will vote for them in May.’

‘I’m sure people will vote… but willingly?’ Marvin gestured at them
all. ‘Morgan,’ he barked. ‘Morgan could vote for the New Nationals in May, but
why would she? Did you know, Morgan, that if you and Arthur were to have the
same job, at the same firm, with the same experience, Arthur would be paid roughly
twenty to thirty percent more than you? How does that make you feel, Morgan,
working for that percentage of the year for free? Would you vote for the New
Nationals? No? What if they called you to ensure that you did? What if they
dropped by your house? Isn’t it right, after all, that women are paid less?
It’s not
feminine
to want to earn as
much as men. Women are
less able
. The
New Nationals have backpedalled on gender equality quickly and effectively, and
now the majority agrees with them, too.’

‘But that’s not fair,’ Bedivere exclaimed.

‘Fair? No, it’s not fair,’ Marvin snapped, wheeling on Bedivere, who
sat bolt upright and retreated into the back of his chair. ‘But what are
you
going to do about it? Gender
equality is your issue, too. Why is it such a horrific thing for you to be seen
as feminine? What is so desirable about what we consider to be masculine? It’s
women that continue to show true strength despite their marks of repression. If
anything the phrase “grow some balls” is entirely misdirected. It should be “grow
some ovaries”.’

‘No,’ Morgan said suddenly. ‘It should be neither. Determining
between men and women in the sense that one is superior to the other is the
root of the problem in the first place.’

‘True,’ Marvin conceded. ‘My point is, there are all kinds of reasons
why people shouldn’t vote for the New Nationals, but people will; either because
they are ignorant and therefore happy, or because they will be too frightened
to vote for anyone else.’

‘Cowards,’ Arthur muttered.

‘Cowards, or sensible?’ Marvin countered. ‘It’s survivalist. If they
themselves are unaffected by New National rule to a liveable extent, then why
would they risk stepping over the line?’

The table fell to silence. Arthur, Morgan and Bedivere all exchanged
a glance as Marvin huffed deeply and then leant into the round table.

‘Our time is nearly up,’ he told them. ‘I think we’ll do something
different this week. You all have your copies of
1984
? Yes? I’ll take those, please. Instead of reading, your task
is to find one event in the news—just one, any you like—and
research it on the Internet. Probe for the truth; compare accounts. See if you
notice anything odd. I think you’ll be surprised.’

He smiled at them all and collected up their books. After they had
taken their empty glasses into the kitchen, he bade them farewell on the
threshold. Arthur left with the others, hurrying out into the night.

Gavin undid his tie the moment he came into his bedroom, throwing it
onto the bed.

‘I hate Mondays,’ he muttered, as Lancelot walked in behind him.
‘English.
Maths
. Cadets, work. Not to
mention feeding Gareth and Gideon.’ He unbuttoned his shirt, whipped it off,
and then pulled an old t-shirt over his head. ‘I mean, how old is Gideon?
Thirteen? When I was his age I was cooking spaghetti for the both of them.’

‘Parents not back?’ As always, Lancelot investigated anything new or
out of place in Gavin’s room. He paused by the bookshelf and extracted the
thickest novel he could find, knocking over a photo frame in the process. ‘You
could always teach him. I don’t know why they have to eat before six, anyway.’

‘Mum’s on a late.’ Gavin kicked off his school trousers and stepped
into some jeans. He bundled up his discarded clothes and threw them on his
chest of drawers. ‘Anyway, she won’t let him use the stove, not since he set
fire to it. I suppose I should count myself lucky that I get to go out at all.’

‘The joys of being the eldest child,’ Lancelot remarked. He righted
the picture and returned the book, and stalked along the perimeter of the room.
‘Though you wouldn’t catch Bobby cooking for Luke. He’s too busy smoking his
brain away to do much of any real use.’

‘Your uncle allows that?’ Gavin scowled, sitting in his desk chair.
Lancelot came to a standstill at the middle of the room. ‘He hardly even lets
you use painkillers.’

‘Not unless we’re dying,’ Lancelot remarked. ‘Of course he doesn’t
allow it, he doesn’t know. He smells it, though. He thinks it’s me. It’s
insulting. It’s my room he searches, not theirs.’

‘He’ll search their rooms too,’ Gavin told him. ‘They just won’t
know. My mum looks in my room all the time—it’s infuriating. I don’t know
if she does it on purpose, but I’ll find she’s moved something, on the top
shelf, or under the bed. Is it that she can’t remember where she found it? Or
is it her way of telling me she’s snooping?’

‘Snooping for what?’

He shrugged, unwilling to speculate. ‘Beats me.’

There was a scuffle at the door. Gavin sat forwards with a huff.

‘That better not be you, Gid,’ he called. ‘What did I say about
listening in on people?’

The door swung open, and Gareth appeared in the frame, looking
sheepish.

‘How do you turn the oven on?’ His fat bottom lip wobbled, and he
looked shyly across to Lancelot. His hair was dark and too long, and he had a
plump, soft face matched by his podgy, short frame. ‘Gideon wants to do a
pizza.’

‘You’re not having pizza,’ Gavin told him firmly. ‘I’ve already made
dinner. Tell Gideon that if he puts that pizza in the oven, I’ll lock him in
the cupboard. All right?’

Nodding, Gareth’s blue eyes flittered nervously to Lancelot again,
and then he slunk out of the room, anxious with the message he had to bear.

‘We should eat,’ Gavin declared. Lancelot jumped up and eagerly
chased him down the stairs.

They stopped the pizza just in time, though Gideon had removed the
wrappings. Gavin stuffed it all back into the box and pushed it into the
freezer. Cass begged silently for scraps, and as they huddled around the small
kitchen table it was all arms and elbows: Lancelot next to Gavin, Gideon next
to Lancelot, and Gareth sandwiched between Gavin and his younger brother.