The Future King: Logres (42 page)

‘Politics,’ Gwenhwyfar stated, a smile playing her lips. ‘Apparently Marv
thinks Arthur should become a politician.’

‘You feel like being Prime Minister? Good luck with that. Milton’s
probably immortal.’

‘Or has access to the elixir of life,’ Arthur added. ‘No, I don’t
think it’s for me. Not that job, at least.’

‘You never know, you might enjoy politics,’ Gwenhwyfar added.

‘Or you can just do it for the money and the five bedroom house like
everyone else,’ suggested Gavin. The others joined the table. Bedivere was clearly
pleased to see Arthur, and greeted him brightly.

‘Money doesn’t interest me,’ Arthur shrugged, once everyone had
settled. ‘Not in that sense, at least.’

‘In what sense?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.

‘In the sense of working merely to earn, living to work. If I had the
choice, I’d rather work to live.’

Gavin unpacked the burger he’d bought himself and took a generous
bite. ‘So did you all see the speech? It’s bloody scary, if you ask me.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.

‘It’s like your dad said,’ Arthur commented. ‘Whose morals? Milton’s
speech was vague for a reason. It’s an anti-extremism cell, and that could mean
anything.’

‘Isn’t it clear?’ Tom interrupted. ‘Anti-extremism means anti-extremism.
They’ll be chasing after the bombers of Saturday.’

‘You’re forgetting what
they
include in their definition of extremism,’ Arthur pointed out. ‘Had any of us
been caught during the Mobilisation March we’d have been charged as terrorists.
They linked it to the separatists; remember? Even though they could’ve just got
us for disrupting the standard order of democracy, or for negatively affecting
the economy.’

‘Arthur’s right,’ Gavin murmured, his burger suspended in one hand. ‘I’ve
been following this for a while, it’s no coincidence. Milton’s been
reorganising his pyramid. The New Morals will eventually replace the police.’

‘The police?’ Viola frowned at him. ‘Why?’

‘Because they’re privatised, but not by him. Milton wants full
control. He
is
in charge of the New
Morals, though; or he will be. He’s planning to replace police chiefs with his
guys, reshuffling so the police will eventually fall under the New Morals’
command. I wouldn’t be surprised if the New Moral Army is somehow connected to
the Army.’

‘That’s why I didn’t march,’ Viola pointed out. ‘What did it achieve?
They did exactly what you said they would, Gav. Blamed it on one institution
and sacked everyone they claimed to be involved.
It doesn’t happen anymore.
Problem solved.’

‘Except it’s not solved, is it?’ Bedivere asked. ‘People are still
vanishing. We never even heard what became of those who disappeared from the
centre that was penalised.’

‘Who cares? They won’t be missed; the New Nationals know it.’ Gavin
wheeled on Viola. ‘And you’re happy with them introducing a new power force to
further implement their human rights violations?’

‘What human rights?’ Arthur looked to Gavin. ‘We lost those when we lost
the EU.’

‘We have a bill of rights,’ Tom contested.

‘It’s not the same,’ Arthur argued. ‘It’s filled with loopholes. It’s
basically a document written to give us the illusion of rights, when in fact,
when push comes to shove, we have none.’

Gwenhwyfar looked at them all, each one becoming more strident in their
own view, and she found herself wondering what Isolde would think. The fear
within her told her that the New Moral Army was a good thing, but everything
she had witnessed over the past few months convinced her otherwise. She turned
on Gavin.

‘Would you still be saying what you are, had Viola and I died
yesterday?’

He seemed taken aback by the question, but then his eyes hardened
under a deep scowl. ‘Sorry, but yes.’

The table erupted in outrage. Gavin struggled to be heard without
raising his voice.

‘Come on—all I mean is there are things in place
already
to prevent this sort of thing
from happening! That’s why we’re all so watched. What good does introducing the
New Morals do other than give Milton more leverage to keep everyone in line?
It’ll be
your morals
that he comes
after next.’

‘You say that,’ Viola remarked, ‘but maybe this
is
just to deal with the bombers on Saturday. Don’t you think they
would have stopped the attacks if existing surveillance was enough?’

‘You’re the one who was terrified about the idea of me giving the New
Nationals reason to label me as a
cyber
terrorist
,’ Gavin retorted hotly.

‘Everyone just calm down—!’ Gwenhwyfar raised her hands, but to
no avail, and had to shout louder. ‘Come on! We can disagree on this. I
don’t
know
if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Given that I was
nearly blown up yesterday, I can see where Viola’s coming from. I can also see
Gavin’s side. With what’s still going on with the Mobilisation Centres, it is
worrying that Milton’s suddenly grasping for even more power.’

‘
Thank you
!’

‘I said I saw both sides,’ she remarked, looking sharply at Gavin. He
sat back in his seat and looked to Arthur, the only one other than Bedivere
clearly on his side. ‘I do find it worrying. Clearly the police aren’t enough
to prevent attacks. They weren’t enough to prevent this.’

‘Do we know who did it yet?’ Tom asked.

‘No,’ Arthur said. Everyone looked at him again. ‘I won’t be
surprised, however, if it turns out to be the
Celtic Rebels
. Separatists have tried to bomb London before.’

‘You think?’ Gavin asked, calmer again. Arthur nodded, and Gavin
shrugged. ‘I don’t know, we can speculate all we like. At the end of the day, until
someone claims responsibility for it, it could have been anyone.’

Gwenhwyfar recalled the noise of the explosion, the heat on her back
and the grit in the air, and wondered why someone would want to cause such devastation,
such absolute hurt. Each of the two hundred and seven fatalities of Saturday
night were people and had been cherished by someone; be it grieving mothers and
fathers, sisters and brothers, friends, or children.

To his great surprise, Arthur thoroughly enjoyed sitting with Gwenhwyfar’s
friends during break, and eagerly rejoined them on Tuesday. Though during lunch
there had been much speculation among the group as to why Lancelot might be absent,
Arthur had kept quiet and refused to offer his opinion.
He
knew why Lancelot was off sick, and judging by Gavin’s silence
on the matter, the other boy did too.

His absence lasted until Wednesday. They were sitting in a loose
cluster at break when his boisterous laugh cut through the hall. Twisting in
his seat, Arthur saw him enter the canteen with Gavin. ‘Here he comes,’ he
muttered to Gwenhwyfar, who turned so suddenly he felt he had announced some
sort of flying wonder.

‘Just ignore him.’ No sooner than the words had left her lips Lancelot
was upon them.

‘Hey Arty.’ It was sarcastic, it was snide, and it was completely
expected. ‘How’s your granny?’

‘Good, thanks. How’s your uncle?’ He didn’t get an answer. The
canteen felt like an overcrowded bus, humid from the rain. Lancelot stalked around
the table. ‘Where’ve you been all week, Lake? We were worried about you.’

‘None of your business,’ he snapped, sitting.

‘Were you poorly?’ Arthur pried.

‘Fuck off,’ he scowled.

Gwenhwyfar glared at Lancelot. ‘No, not poorly?’ Arthur continued.
‘Perhaps you were just scared?’

Lancelot sprang to his feet. Arthur rose to face him, his chair
clattering to the floor. Amid loud protests the two entered a staring contest.

‘Arthur!’ Gwenhwyfar exclaimed. ‘Just
leave
it, would you? He’s not worth the hassle.’ Gavin was already
prying Lancelot away, encouraging him to take his seat at the opposite end of
the table. Arthur couldn’t hear what was murmured, but it sounded calm and
seemed to work. Soon he was left standing feeling rather foolish, with anger to
spare but nowhere to direct it.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered blackly, as Gwenhwyfar helped to right his
chair. He flopped down and glared at the floor.

For a while, normality returned. They were all talking about their
favourite musicians when Lancelot started up again. Arthur didn’t know how it
happened, because all he’d heard was something about some guitarist being a
drug-addict, and then:

‘Hey Arty, wasn’t
your
dad
a drunk?’

His jaw clenched. He refused to look up, though it was almost
impossible not to. Gwenhwyfar squeezed his arm.

‘Arty? God, are you deaf or something? Didn’t he like
die
drink driving? I mean how stupid can
you get?’

‘Lancelot!’ Gavin bellowed.

He jumped in his seat. ‘What? I’m just
saying
.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t,’ Bedivere snapped.

‘Shut it, Beddy. No one asked you.’ Lancelot turned his wolf-like
smile on Arthur. ‘Aww, is he going to cry? Poor Arty. I’d cry too if my mother
was a whore.’

Arthur surged to his feet in a move so powerful it disrupted the
whole table. ‘That’s a bit hypocritical, considering how your mother spawned
one.’ Silence fell. ‘I wouldn’t talk to me about
drunks
and
whores
if I
were you Lancelot—if your father were still alive, your behaviour would
have driven him to alcoholism, and your mother would have been determined to breed
with every single man in sight in an effort to gain more tolerable offspring.’

Lancelot’s face grew dark with anger.

‘How about you go back to mad Marvin so he can molest you some more?’
Tom sneered. Viola smacked him hard around the back of the head.

‘Yeah, go get molested by that freak teacher of yours,’ Lancelot
barked, firmly planted in his chair. ‘No one wants you here, anyway.’

‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ Arthur muttered. Bedivere jumped up
as he walked away, hurrying after his long, troubled strides. Gwenhwyfar sprang
to her feet, fury in her eyes.

‘You’re
pathetic
,’ she
hissed.

She stormed off, snatching her bag roughly from the table. Viola bolted
up and separated herself from Tom. Gavin lingered long enough to remind his
friend that he was an idiot, but despite his best efforts Lancelot exuded the
impression of total indifference.

Gwenhwyfar knew that she couldn’t guarantee anything involving
Lancelot, but with Viola and Bedivere both backing her she tried, insisting to
Arthur that nothing like this would happen again. Their words fell on deaf
ears, however, and Arthur was adamant it would be best if he no longer sat with
them. It was third period. Still furious, Gwenhwyfar decided she would hunt
Lancelot down. When his Maths class produced no trace, she tried the bike shed,
and then hurried out to the strip of grass running behind the sports hall. Her
suspicions were confirmed as she approached the thick bank. There he was,
milling about with two other boys she didn’t know.

‘Gwenhwyfar,’ he exclaimed with some astonishment. ‘Don’t you have Geography?’

She pushed him, hard.

‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ she demanded, feeling
him stumble. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’ His dark brows twisted.
She tried to shove him again, but this time he hardly moved. ‘Why can’t you
just act
normal
?’

The two boys laughed. Gwenhwyfar wheeled round. ‘What do you think
you’re staring at?’ she said, stomping after them. ‘Don’t you have a lesson to
get to? Go on, go!’

They rushed off down the back of the sports hall. ‘I should kill
you!’ she declared, turning on Lancelot. ‘I should! How dare you say those
things! Do you have any idea how horrible that was? How would you like it if
someone started calling your parents that?’

His scowl turned to bewilderment as she slapped at him again and he
failed to block her.

‘I
hate
you! I can’t
believe you
mocked
his father’s
death! When has he ever bullied you for being orphaned? He won’t sit with us
anymore, thanks to you. Are you happy?’

‘Yes.’

Gwenhwyfar couldn’t believe it. Any sympathy, any tenderness she
thought she held for Lancelot vanished in that moment. ‘Why do you do it? You
used to be best friends! Why can’t you just get along?’ When he failed to respond
she slammed her hand into his shoulder. ‘What about me? What about what I want?
I thought you were decent, but you’re not! All you care about is yourself.’

‘That’s not true,’ Lancelot stated, ‘and it’s not fair.’

‘Fair?’ She laughed at him. ‘Fair! What do you know about fair?
You’re the most
un
fair,
un
kind,
un
attractive person I’ve ever met. I hate the way you always sulk
and scowl at people, I hate the way you beat everyone up, I hate the way you
talk about Arthur, and I hate you—!’