The Future King: Logres (33 page)

‘When have you ever known a protest to work in this country?’ Lancelot
argued. Gavin shifted irritably and waved his arms. ‘I suppose the organisers
of this event have got permission to go marching through Central London, have
they? If you go, you’ll be breaking the law.’

‘It’s less than the New Nationals have been doing,’ Bedivere
remarked, still scrolling through Gavin’s phone. ‘I did a bit of research
myself. These “centres” are essentially hard labour camps.’

‘All right, then,’ Lancelot retorted. ‘What’s your plan?’

‘Masks, costumes: everyone will be wearing the same.’

‘It sounds dangerous,’ Viola remarked. ‘If people are anonymous, it could
attract criminals.’

‘I heard there’s a blacklist, and that marching gets you under
heightened surveillance,’ Gwenhwyfar added.

‘Well, if all of you are too
afraid
to stand up for what’s right, then we may as well be responsible for what
they’ve been doing in those centres ourselves,’ Gavin told them all, before
wheeling on Bedivere. ‘I’d have thought
you
would be willing to risk it at least, Bed.’

‘Why?’ Lancelot interrupted, ‘because of Marvin’s afterschool club?
Don’t tell me he’s brainwashed you already.’

‘What club?’ Viola asked.

‘Haven’t you heard?
Marvin’s
been inviting the cream of the crop to attend some fanatical cult on Fridays.’

‘It’s just an extracurricular History club,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked,
rolling her eyes. ‘He’s basically tutoring.’

Viola looked to Gwenhwyfar. ‘You’re going?’

‘No, I haven’t even been to it yet. I might not bother.’ Gwenhwyfar fired
a glance at Lancelot. ‘It’s supposed to be a secret. He’d get in trouble with
Ravioli, if he knew.’

‘Exactly. So no one’s to go around telling anyone about it, you hear?’
They all looked to Bedivere. His face was set. ‘I’ll march with you, Gav. If you’re
sure we won’t be recognised.’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ Gavin promised. His eyes fell on Lancelot,
who shrugged. He looked to Viola. ‘Vi?’

She looked pained to deny him. ‘You know I can’t. I can’t risk it,
not with my father—’

‘That’s understandable.’ Gavin’s blue eyes moved on. ‘Tom?’

Tom looked to Lancelot, and shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ he said helpfully.
Gwenhwyfar felt the pressure of Gavin’s eyes the moment they were upon her.
Isolde’s words about protesting flooded her mind.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know if I can.’

Gavin looked away with a dissatisfied shrug.

‘We should ask Arthur,’ Bedivere said in a low murmur. ‘He’ll want to
be involved in this. Maybe he can talk to Marvin.’

‘I’m definitely not going if Marvin
and
Arthur will be there,’ Lancelot objected loudly. Immediately he
was shushed.

‘The more people who march, the better,’ Gavin told them solemnly.
‘It’ll make those out there who think that what the New Nationals have done is
justifiable realise it’s not the view of the rest of us. I can’t just sit back
while they label people
subhuman
.
They don’t even refer to them as people in their documents. They call them
Lessers
. I won’t stand for it, and
others won’t either. We won’t be alone. There will be thousands.’

‘You’re wasted on the Army, Miles,’ Lancelot remarked again, but
there was no spite in his words. He shook his head and leant into the table to
join the others, offering them a resigned smile. ‘Saturday, then.’

‘Mam?’

She made sure she slammed the door hard again to avoid walking in
unannounced. Llew appeared from the kitchen, slowly wagging his tail as he
padded up to greet her. Gwenhwyfar bent down to fuss him for a moment, and then
followed him into the living room where she removed her bag and coat. She could
hear her mother thumping around upstairs, filling her afternoon with some needless
chore.

‘Mam!’ she shouted again, shuffling through the post. There was the
usual Monday leaflet; information sent to them by the New Nationals about how prosperous
times were, including weekly statistics on immigration, employment and
budgeting. She tossed it to one side, hoping to find something of
interest—shopping vouchers, perhaps, or the points-card she had ordered
from a fledgling cosmetics store. Left with the junk, she stopped on another flyer.
Suddenly, her heart was racing. It was from
Free
Countries
.

‘Gwen?’

She jumped, crumpling the flyer in her fist. Had her mother already
seen it? Her head was pounding, and her blood felt thick. Isolde had made it
explicit to her that
Free Countries
never included themselves in such methods: was this a direct order disguised as
a rallying cry? Immediately she wanted to call her contact, but realised that
she had never been given her number.

‘I’m in the living room!’ Hurrying through to the kitchen, she met
her mother halfway. ‘How was your day? Good?’

‘Busy,’ Eve told her. Gwenhwyfar continued on to the fridge. ‘I’ve
been on my feet all day, rearranging things in the attic. It’s a mess up
there.’

‘Did you get it all done?’

‘Nearly,’ Eve said, sitting on one of the high chairs by the island.
‘How was school?’

‘OK I suppose.’ Gwenhwyfar took a yoghurt pot from the fridge. ‘Did
you see the news? Apparently those Mobilisation Centres are pretty dodgy.’ Her
mind was stuck fast on the flyer. Did this mean she should go on Saturday? A running
thought thumped through the back of her mind. Gavin had known about this before
anyone: was he involved in
Free Countries
,
too?

‘I did hear about that,’ Eve said, as Gwenhwyfar took a teaspoon from
the cutlery drawer. ‘Though so far the documents released haven’t been
verified. They think they might be fake.’

‘Is that what they’re saying?’

‘I don’t see why they would be real; you couldn’t have something like
that and get away with it. People would be outraged.’

‘Actually, I think you’ll find that most people don’t care.’

Eve frowned at her. ‘What makes you say that?’

Gwenhwyfar shrugged. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? The only people who
care, who
really
care, are going to
be those who have family involved.’ She paused for a moment, spooning yoghurt
into her mouth. ‘That boy you bought soup for. Do you think he got picked up
and sent to one of those centres?’

‘I don’t know. He might still be on the street. I haven’t been back
to check on him. Not since…’ she trailed off, and set her eyes on the windows
by the back door.

‘Have you spoken to Dad?’

‘I haven’t found the right moment. I’ll do it soon, don’t worry.
You’re probably right, it’s probably just for work.’

‘And the payment to the jewellers?’

‘He could be picking up something for his boss,’ she theorized. ‘I
don’t know what his day consists of, but he’s had to collect dry cleaning
before when out on a job, so maybe it was something like that?’

‘Probably.’ Gwenhwyfar couldn’t shake the feeling of doubt that was
gnawing away at her. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t place her finger on
it.

‘I still don’t want you to say anything. It would kill him to know
that you thought he was doing something like that, and if this all turns out to
be one huge misunderstanding, he’d never forgive me.’

‘I won’t say anything,’ she promised. She threw the empty yoghurt pot
in the bin, and let the spoon clatter into the sink. ‘I’ll be in my room; I’ve
got some homework to do. I’m thinking of going out on Saturday, just shopping
with Viola. Is that all right?’

Eve nodded. ‘It might be best if you’re out, anyway. If your father is
home, I was thinking of… you know.’ She smiled, but the gesture was cold. ‘This
should all be sorted out by next week, love.’

‘I hope so.’

Gwenhwyfar scaled the stairs to her bedroom, turned on her computer and
sat at her desk. Llew padded in after her and lay stiffly at her side. The
website provided on the flyer wasn’t a
Free
Countries
one, but it seemed secure, and it was there she found the details
for Saturday. For a moment she sat still at her desk, gazing at her screen.
This had to be an order, didn’t it? And if it wasn’t, it was certainly a push.
Adrenaline coursed through her as she made her decision. She knew what she
would do. She would march.

The March

Gwenhwyfar didn’t see much
of Gavin or Lancelot that
week, but managed to spend some time alone with Arthur on occasions. By the
time Friday came around she had agreed to attend The Round Table, promised by
the others that Marvin would be helping them with the protest on Saturday. It
was dark in their History teacher’s study. The curtains were drawn, and the
only light came from a desk lamp in the corner.

‘I don’t know what else we need,’ Gavin was saying. ‘I’ve got
everyone’s outfits already. You all owe me, by the way.’ He emptied his
rucksack onto the table and seven packages slopped out. Each one included
something similar to a fencing mask. ‘I had to pay for these. There was a guy distributing
them last night by the old warehouses. There were a lot of people there.’

‘How much were they?’ Morgan asked as he passed them around.

‘Five quid, so we’ll call it fifteen each, yeah?’

‘Fifteen?’ Percy scowled. ‘You just said it was five.’

‘I went there, didn’t I?’ Gavin huffed. ‘If any of us get caught,
it’ll be me, not you.’ He threw one to Percy, who caught it quickly. ‘I got a
spare one, just in case. I wasn’t sure if you’d need it or not, Marv.’

‘I appreciate the thought, but no, I don’t think I will. Masks and
overalls won’t be enough. We need to make sure there’s no crossover.’

‘Crossover?’ Bedivere asked. He opened the plastic bag and turned the
mask over in his hands. Gwenhwyfar felt uneasy the moment he tried it on. It was
black, and hid his face completely.

‘I need to make sure that none of you can be linked to your actions
tomorrow,’ Marvin explained. ‘If you walk into an alleyway in that gear, then
walk away without it, you may as well wear no disguise at all.’

‘You mean the cameras?’ Gavin said. Marvin nodded.

‘But how?’ Morgan asked, looking at her black overalls.

‘Let me worry about that,’ Marvin assured them. ‘It’s my
responsibility to make sure you take part in this as safely as possible. I know
Gavin was the one to organise it, but I feel that none of you would be marching
were it not for what you’ve heard in our sessions.’

‘Gwen hasn’t been coming here,’ Morgan pointed out curtly. ‘And neither
has Lance. He’s marching tomorrow.’

‘What does Lance care about this?’ Arthur remarked.

‘A lot,’ Gavin interrupted. ‘He’s just
aware of the risks involved. If any of us are identified, we’ll be
arrested for “disrupting democracy” and “disturbing the peace”.’

‘For taking a stand against the government’s treatment of the
vulnerable community?’ Percy asked, appalled. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘There were rumours going around yesterday that we’ve got permission
to protest from the Met, but for an entirely different cause,’ Gavin told them
all. ‘So when we show up with the wrong banners, things might get nasty.’

‘And that’s the best case scenario, right?’ Arthur asked.

‘Worst case scenario is we don’t have permission, and the police will
arrest on sight.’

‘They might do that anyway, if we’re dressed like this,’ Percy
observed. Gwenhwyfar looked to Arthur, who was gazing at the black garments he
held with unease.

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Dark spots.’ Marvin said, standing. He brought a handful of maps
over from his desk, and spread them across the table in no apparent order.
‘These all indicate areas where there are gaps in the CCTV networks. Hard to
find, these days, but they do still exist. The plan is to meet at these garages,
change, and then pair up. I’ll drive you up to London and drop you off here,
here and here. We can avoid the main checkpoints if we drive in from Wimbledon.
You’ll then take these specific routes to Temple. You will have sole
responsibility for your partner. It’s on
you
that they get home safely. That said, I don’t want to hear of two of you being
arrested and going in for questioning together, understood?’

There were varying nods from the table. Gwenhwyfar felt her pulse
quicken. The risk of attending suddenly seemed real.

‘Now, as we don’t know how this is going to go, I’ve drawn out three routes
back to the rendezvous. I’ll be waiting here from six o’clock.’ He pointed to
one of the smaller maps. ‘I want you all back by eight at the latest, you hear
me? From there, I’ll drop you as close to home as I can manage.’ He passed the
directions he had arranged around the table. ‘I think I can guess the pairs,’
he said, looking to Arthur. ‘The only question is, who’s prepared to go as a
three and watch out for Lancelot?’

‘That’ll be me and Bed,’ Gavin volunteered. ‘I’ve already spoken to
him about it.’

Marvin nodded. ‘Good.’

‘Do we know who’s organised this?’ The table looked to Gwenhwyfar,
and her palms began to sweat. ‘I mean, is it an organisation, an individual, a
family member…?’

‘Why do you ask?’

She looked to Marvin. ‘I got another flyer from
Free Countries
in the post on Monday. It was encouraging people to
attend.’

‘So that’s why you changed your mind,’ Bedivere grinned, and though
she knew he was joking, she shook her head.

‘Should we even go if we don’t know who’s behind it? I mean, if it’s
organised by a group like
Free Countries
…
they’re very anti-Milton. The New Nationals will be all over it.’

‘It’s a risk, yes,’ Gavin told her, ‘but that’s what the disguises
are for. If it’s obvious that it’s not safe, we can always just leave. As far
as the New Nationals know, this march has nothing to do with the centres. They’re
expecting it to be small scale.’

‘And what will they do if thousands of people turn up, hiding their
faces, with banners about the centres?’ Bedivere asked.

‘Let’s hope it is thousands,’ Percy murmured. ‘It lowers the risk of
the hundreds who will be arrested being us.’

‘They can’t arrest anyone if the protest is peaceful,’ Morgan argued.

‘They can arrest whoever they like,’ Arthur said. ‘Once they see the
banners and hear the chants…’

‘Which is exactly why I want all of you to leave at the first sign of
something going amiss,’ Marvin said forcefully, his grey eyes bulging out from
beneath his brows. ‘No hanging around, you hear me? Keep away from the edges of
the crowd, if you can. It’ll be the stragglers they’ll pick up. Remember, police
officers have cameras with voice and facial recognition, so keep your mask on
at all times.’ He smiled ironically, and shook his head. ‘Technically, the New
Nationals have the right to arrest everyone for concealing their faces. But
like Percy says, let’s hope it’s thousands that turn up, and not hundreds.’

‘So who
is
behind all
this?’ Gwenhwyfar asked again.

‘I don’t know,’ Gavin admitted, ‘the guy who blew the whistle perhaps?
Families of those vanished? It could be anyone.’

‘We’ll have to be careful.’ Arthur leant into the table, his disguise
before him with the blacked-out mask. ‘Dressed like this, we might not even
make it to Temple.’

‘There’s safety in numbers. If you see others, flock to them. Just as
long as it’s not each other,’ Marvin added. ‘I don’t want all our eggs in one
basket.’

Gwenhwyfar took hold of the veiled mask that sat with her protest
uniform. She wondered who else might be going, whether there would be anyone
from
Free Countries
, and if Isolde
would be there. She took comfort in the anonymity of the event, yet at the same
time it frightened her. Anyone could be there—the very best of humanity,
and the very worst.

‘Meet me here at twelve,’ Marvin said, pointing at the local map. ‘If
you’re late, you’re not going.’

They each acknowledged his order, and then packed their outfits away
into their rucksacks, ready for tomorrow.

They were dressed the part: their faces hidden by the full-head masks,
their clothes cloaked by the anonymous overalls. They marched through London in
ranks, beating drums, blowing whistles, their loudspeakers and placards all
shouting in outrage. New National banners lined Whitehall and Parliament
Square, crimson and angry. Metal fences mapped their way, manned by hundreds of
armed police officers.

‘The water cannons are waiting,’ Arthur shouted to her, as they were
carried with the crowd. He clutched her hand tightly, and bent his head to hers
so he could be heard. ‘I’m surprised they haven’t used them already.’

‘They’re probably keeping an eye on the situation,’ Gwenhwyfar called
back, her voice muffled by the gauze. ‘Think we’re going to try for Parliament
Square?’

‘No,’ he told her, ‘Gavin said they’re avoiding it.’

She nodded, but he couldn’t see the gesture, and soon he was standing
upright again, straining to peer over the heads of the crowd.

The noise was relentless. They stopped for a while in Trafalgar
Square, where many remained, shouting facts and grievances through a megaphone
half-drowned by the cries of solidarity thrown back at it. Despite the advice
broadcast that morning not to march, tens of thousands had turned up and so far
went unchallenged. Most wore the uniform black masks but others wore different
faces, while a brave few wore no mask at all. The throng set off shortly after
the megaphone changed hands. They were supposed to be marching along Pall Mall
and up to Green Park, but the way was cordoned off and they were redirected
down a different route.

‘What’s going on?’ Gwenhwyfar elbowed Arthur in the side. He glanced
down, and then up ahead, jumping to try and see.

‘They’re taking us down another road!’ he called to her, concerned.
‘I don’t know which—I can’t tell. There are too many people!’

They walked on over Charing Cross roundabout, and for a moment
Gwenhwyfar thought they would be heading down The Mall to Buckingham Palace. Instead
they went down Whitehall.

‘Where are we going?’ she called up to Arthur. He didn’t answer. ‘I
thought we weren’t allowed in Parliament Square?’

It was there, near Westminster, that the atmosphere changed. They
came to a halt and the ruckus died a quick death.

‘Cannons!’ Someone yelled. The crowd surged backwards, spray raining
down upon them as those caught in the jet were blown over. Protestors advanced
angrily, shouting words made incomprehensible by the din. The sirens sounded again
and water punched into them, hitting one man in the face. When the panic spread
and people tried to escape through the cattle gates they were beaten back; and then
suddenly the riot vans had descended, with dogs, tear gas and rubber bullets.
Gwenhwyfar didn’t know how it had happened but they were firing into the crowd.

She was knocked out of Arthur’s grasp in a second, pushed aside by
one scrambling body and then another, and suddenly she was being carried along
with a stream of faceless figures, fighting against them, trying to get back.

‘Arthur!’

A tear gas canister propelled past her, splitting the protestors.
Someone pushed her hard in the back. Gwenhwyfar didn’t realise she had fallen
until she was on the tarmac. Instinctively her hands flew up to protect her
head. Someone trod on her leg, another person tripped over her stomach. The
shouting was frightening. Grabbing hands pulled her up, and then another
protestor was asking if she was all right, helping her away from the scene. When
she fought against them they abandoned her.

‘Arthur!’ she yelled again, cutting through the crush. He was tall;
she should be able to find him, and at the same time she half-hunted for Gavin,
who was tallest. She daren’t jump to try and see better; if she did she would
go down again, and this time she might not get back up.

She longed to take her mask off; it was hot and hard to breathe. They
had been told to go to Marvin’s meet-up spot if one of them got separated, but
with her phone at home she was scared to leave when she knew that Arthur was
here somewhere, just a few feet away.

The crowd struggled the only way it could—back into itself.
Gwenhwyfar waited, alone and small as the road around her cleared, but when the
police charged in with handcuffs and batons she shrank away, knowing she
shouldn’t linger. A sudden heat seemed to melt against her with the brightest
of lights. Someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail.