The Future King: Logres (9 page)

At about twenty to nine, when most students were still arriving,
Marvin appeared with a mug of coffee that slopped onto the already stained
carpet. ‘Ah! Good morning Arthur,’ he chirped, putting his papers down on his
desk. ‘In early, I see?’

‘I had a paper to finish. It’s for Politics.’

‘Politics?’

‘Could you read it?’

‘I don’t see why not. Did Mr Graham set you some surprise homework?’
He collapsed into his chair. The foam padding protruded through the rips in the
cover.

‘I had to rewrite it,’ Arthur explained. He dropped his essay onto
Marvin’s table. It slid across the slick surface and met his teacher’s curious
hands.

‘Why?’

‘Just read it.’

Marvin’s eyebrows contracted to a thick line as his pupils scanned the
page. After a while he held it out, and Arthur retrieved it expectantly.

‘Well…’ Marvin began, chewing his words. ‘It’s… well-written.’

‘Well-written?’ echoed Arthur. ‘I wouldn’t call it that. I know it’s
rubbish—that’s the whole point.’

‘Not
rubbish
, as such… but
yes… I can’t say I agree with this perception of George Milton. Which
references did you use? Not those propaganda books?’

‘We always have to use those. Either that, or anything else on the
reading list.’

‘And why did you have to rewrite it?’

‘Because I took your advice,’ Arthur shrugged. Marvin stared at him blankly.
‘Remember, to use different sources when writing a paper?’

‘Oh, I see. Mr Graham didn’t like seeing things from another
perspective, then?’ A smile played at the corner of his lips.

‘No, not really.’

‘Well, aren’t you lucky you didn’t decide to experiment for an exam?
I knew you had access to other sources, Arthur, but I thought you were just
reading up on them, not utilising them for school papers.’

‘I got bored of always writing the same nonsense. The amount I’ve
discovered just from looking at other sources is incredible. None of it is
covered in any of my classes. It makes me wonder what else is being kept from
us, and why. Even History—what you teach is better than most, but it’s not
complete, is it? You miss things out, don’t you?’

Marvin leant back in his old chair, and sighed. ‘Not because I want
to, heaven knows! I encourage students like you to read around because I can’t
teach you everything. I’d be out of a job if I didn’t respond to the syllabus.
I sometimes think I should just go back to lecturing. The universities used to
be more lenient.’

‘Wouldn’t it be overlooked, if we all just said what we have to in
the exams?’

‘I can’t control what people write if I start putting alien ideas in
their heads,’ countered Marvin. ‘Besides, Ravioli’s a stickler for doing things
by the rules. He’d crack heads if he discovered any freedom of information in
his classrooms. His brother’s a New National.’

The shrill school bell ended their conversation as it had done so hundreds
of times. Marvin glanced to the clock on the wall, though he knew the time to
the exact minute. ‘By all means read around, Arthur; but for goodness’ sake,
don’t put anything you learn from any external research into your schoolwork.
And watch who you talk to about such things, too,’ he advised. ‘Times aren’t
what they used to be, and you never really know what people are thinking, or
who else might be listening.’

The hallways were riddled with massing students. Arthur, well
practiced in the art of weaving through crowds, picked his way through with
swift expertise. He was halfway up the stairs to the laboratories when someone
called out to him.

‘Hey! Arthur!’

A sharp pain seared through the back of his skull as a half-filled
water bottle hit him squarely on the head. He turned to see who had thrown it.
Tom Hareton was laughing, but he wasn’t the culprit.

‘Where you off to in such a hurry?’ Hector barked. A few
over-stretched strides, and he was standing on the step above him.

‘Science.’ Arthur ascended the stairs. Eagerly, Hector cut him off.

‘Why so fast? You’ve still got time.’

Arthur tried to find a way around, but quickly he was blocked.

‘You know, Art, you shouldn’t be so rude. I’m only trying to talk to
you. I wanted to see how you were doing.’

‘Don’t you have a lesson to get to?’

‘I’m serious. I really did want to talk to you, Art.’

Arthur stopped, resisting the urge to push him.

‘I wanted to apologise,’ Hector continued. ‘I just wanted to say that
I’m sorry Gwen picked me over you.’ A snigger from Tom echoed through the
stairwell. ‘But we have to respect the girl’s wishes, don’t we?’

‘Of course.’ He moved a step up, but Hector persisted.

‘I mean, it can’t have been nice for you to walk in on us like that,
but that sort of thing happens, right?’

‘All the time.’

‘I’d like to think we were still friends, and friends talk about
everything, don’t they?’

Arthur darted around him and stomped up the stairs. Hector shadowed
his steps, snapping at his heels.

‘Am I right? Like Gwen and me. I’d like to think we can talk about
her without the hard feelings.’ More muffled laughter. ‘Like how many times we
did it and how she moaned for more.’ Tom was in hysterics and Hector was
finding it hard to keep a straight face. ‘I just thought I should let you know
that we’re thinking of making it official, now. Like friends with benefits?’

Arthur slammed his hand into the double doors at the top of the
stairs. Hector’s shorter paces soon relented, and the two teenagers fell
behind, whooping like wild dogs. Arthur’s Science room was fast approaching and
immediately he spotted Gwenhwyfar in the queue. She approached him, worrying
her bottom lip between her teeth.

‘Arthur? Please, about Friday—I wanted to explain—’

‘Leave me alone, would you?’ he exploded. ‘I don’t care! I don’t care
what you and Hector got up to, I don’t care how funny you think this is; so
just get lost, and stop pretending you’re any different from
them
.’

She fell back, stunned. Ignoring the leaden silence that had fallen
over his queuing classmates, Arthur hurried into the laboratory and sat at his
old table, the eyes and whisperings of the gossipers pressing hard down upon
him.

Science crawled by in isolation. Sitting alone at the back of the
class, Gwenhwyfar tried to brush away the sting of Arthur’s words before they
rubbed too deep. The memory of Tom’s party had faded into a sickly and
indecipherable blur, interrupted by the ugly rearing of Hector and his cold,
unwelcome lips. Like yesterday, Arthur left abruptly at the sounding of the
bell. Crestfallen, Gwenhwyfar began the slow walk to the cafeteria. Her mind
was lingering on the grinning faces of the grubby, squealing children when she
heard her name echo in the hall.

‘Did you hear? After Arthur left they just kept on kissing. How
cruel
is that?’

Charlotte. Or Megara, as Gavin would say. Trisiphone was with her, as
was Hattie, also known as Alecto. It took Gwenhwyfar a moment to realise that they
were with Viola’s old acquaintances: Rhea Morte and Rebecca Woods. The five
girls swarmed down the corridor like a section of a hive.

‘I heard they did more than that,’ Rebecca contributed, flicking her
thick black hair over her shoulder. ‘I heard they had
sex
.’

‘
No
.’ Rhea gasped.
‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘But he’s so
ugly
,’ Rhea
snorted, her upturned nose wrinkling. ‘I thought it was just supposed to be a
prank?’

‘It was,’ Charlotte told them. ‘It was all Gwen’s idea.’ Gwenhwyfar
noticed that she now walked central to their small group. Emily had been
demoted.

‘Poor Arthur,’ Rebecca sympathised, her arms linked with Hattie and
Rhea’s. ‘He must be
devastated
.’

‘I spoke to Rupert yesterday,’ Charlotte announced. ‘Apparently
Arthur thinks Gwen is absolutely
vile
.
He can’t stand her. He never wants to speak to her again.’

‘
No
.’ Emily’s mouth hung
open.

‘So he doesn’t like Gwen, then?’ Hattie asked.

‘Even if he did like her, it’s too late,’ scoffed Charlotte. ‘It’s
not like he’ll forgive her for what she did, and besides, she’ll have whatever
Hector has now, and I hear he has a lot. He’s slept with practically every girl
in the school.’

Hattie made a sound of disgust. ‘I’m never going to sit near either
of them again.
Gross
.’

Their voices faded as Gwenhwyfar slipped down the nearest staircase,
her fingers tingling with rage. How dare they blame this on her? It took her
longer than usual to make it to the canteen, and all the while she found
herself replaying Charlotte’s words. Would Arthur really believe such a thing
of her? Did he really hate her?

It took her a moment to realise she was being called. Striding
purposefully through the crowded hall, she joined Gavin and cast off her bag
next to Viola’s. ‘Where’s Tom?’

‘Band practice.’ Viola removed her feet from a chair so Gwenhwyfar
could sit. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I just saw the Furies,’ Gwenhwyfar started. She picked at her
half-painted nails. ‘They’re saying that their stupid prank was
my
idea.’

‘No one’s going to believe that,’ Viola told her.

‘No? I think Arthur does. He said so. He told me I was just like
them
.’

‘You spoke to him?’

‘If you can call it that,’ Gwenhwyfar muttered. ‘I tried to apologise,
I tried to explain, but he just shouted at me and told me to leave him alone.
He
hates
me.’

‘Really, he’s the one who should be apologising to you,’ Gavin
remarked. There was a low rumble from above.

‘But he doesn’t know what happened,’ Gwenhwyfar reminded him. ‘It’s
not his fault. I’d be angry at me, if I had only seen what he saw.’

‘I can talk to him. He might listen to me.’ Another rumble caused
Viola to turn her eyes to the window. ‘It’s getting dark, out.’

‘Thunderstorm, probably,’ Gavin observed. He leant forward into their
table. ‘Did you hear? They’ve made fifty arrests in relation to that protest on
Friday. Ridiculous.’

‘How is that ridiculous?’ Gwenhwyfar prickled. ‘I was there,
remember? They practically set fire to half of London.’

‘It’s ridiculous because they didn’t say
who
they arrested. According to some independent news websites they’re
detaining the organisers of the peaceful protest beforehand. The riots were the
perfect excuse.’

There was a moment of silence between them, and then a ripple of
excitement through the hall as the thunder clapped louder.

‘Oh Gwen! I was just telling Gavin. I have news.’

‘News?’ Gwenhwyfar leant a little closer.

‘You can’t tell a soul, though. I don’t want Emily and that lot knowing.’

‘As if I’ll ever speak to them again,’ she assured Viola, glancing
across to where Emily usually sat, where she used to sit. ‘What is it?’

Viola looked to Gavin, and smiled. ‘I’ve been scouted. By a top
London modelling agency, can you believe it?’

‘What? When?’

‘I was in London on Saturday, and a booker stopped me in the street.
They asked me to go to their agency. I just heard that I have a test shoot this
Saturday.’

Gwenhwyfar felt a twinge of jealousy. ‘A test shoot? What’s that?’

‘They take some pictures, and if they’re any good, they sign me. I
might have to start going to castings. They say girls can make a lot of money modelling.
A lot of them have bought their own house and one for their parents by the time
they’re twenty.’

‘What’s the agency called again?’ Gavin questioned. ‘I want to look
it up on my phone.’

‘
Quantum Models
. It’s
supposed to be the best,’ she boasted. ‘All their girls get contracts with the
big names abroad. Like
Supra Models
and
Fashion First
.’

‘But what about school?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.

‘I can work weekends and half terms,’ Viola explained. ‘Besides, it’s
not far to London. I can always go to the occasional appointment if it’s
important.’

‘True.’ Grinning, Gavin held out his mobile. The screen displayed the
agency’s online books. ‘Looks professional.’

‘That’s because it is,’ Viola smirked. A flash of lightning
illuminated the hall. Outside, heavy rain streaked past the windowpanes. Gavin
and Viola flicked through the portfolios of the other models. Gwenhwyfar pictured
herself at a photo shoot, then in a glossy magazine, and she contemplated the
benefits. Why didn’t Viola want Emily to know? She’d be green with envy—they
all would. Another flash flooded the hall, and a few excitable girls screeched.
Something pulled at her attention. From the other side of the cafeteria
Gwenhwyfar saw Hector’s eyes illuminate. He was watching her.