The Future King: Logres (25 page)

Beethoven

It was Tuesday morning
, and the sky was still dim
in the east. Gwenhwyfar huddled in her coat, her mouth and nose expelling
vapour as she hurried down the slight incline to Badbury. The moment she
entered the building, warmth enveloped her, and she was grateful that the
heating was functioning at a useful hour. She unbuttoned her coat with numb,
tingling fingers, pausing by the practice rooms to unwind her scarf. Usually at
this time in the morning she could hear the odd wavering note sung by a girl,
but today her ear was drawn by the muffled sound of a piano.

She knew the piece, but from where? It was perfect, flawless even.
Taunted by the familiar melody, she approached the last door on the right and
peered through the small window. Immediately she stepped away. It was Lancelot.

Vaguely she remembered hearing him speak with Tom about music. She
looked again. He looked different hunched over the keys. His bruised hands
danced. There was sheet music before him though he didn’t seem to need it. She
squinted to read the title, but quickly her eyes drew back to him. The room
around him blurred, and soon he was all she saw, and for a moment it was as if
she were carried with the music.

‘Spying on people, are we?’

She spun around, her heart pounding. The adrenaline rush left her
when she realised it was just the Furies. Quickly she moved away from the door.
‘What do you want?’

Emily folded her arms and glanced towards the practice room. ‘Is your
boyfriend in there, or something?’

‘Maybe it’s
Arthur
,’ teased
Hattie.

‘Maybe it’s
Hector
,’ spat
Charlotte.

‘Maybe it’s none of your business?’ Gwenhwyfar commented, rolling her
eyes. ‘If you stalk me like this, people are going to talk.’

‘Eww! Why would we want to stalk you?’ Emily’s face distorted.

‘I think she fancies us,’ Charlotte muttered, eyes narrowed.

‘Oh, get over yourselves,’ Gwenhwyfar snapped. There was a trip in
the flawless music.

‘Better keep away, or she’ll infect us with all sorts,’ pursued
Emily. ‘She did catch a lot when she had sex with Hector.’

‘You’re still harping on about that?
Please
. We all know that if anyone’s got something, it’s
Charlotte.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You mean you don’t remember calling her a whore?’

Charlotte’s eyes widened. Her lips were thin. ‘She didn’t.’

‘She did.’

‘That is such a lie!’ Emily screeched. The music faltered again.
There was a loud bang of the keys. ‘She’s lying, Charlotte.
Gwen’s
the one who said that. I told her
to stop being so mean.’

‘Oh, and while we’re on the subject of boys… Bedivere was talking
about you yesterday, about how crap a kisser you are.’ Emily’s face crashed.
‘He said he never wants to go through anything like it again. What was it he
compared you to…? That’s right, it was a fish. A wet, sloppy, slimy fish.’

The music halted again. Emily didn’t have the chance to retaliate. As
Hattie and Charlotte revelled in their friend’s misfortune, the blue door was
ripped open.

‘Will you lot shut up?’ Lancelot snarled, livid. ‘I’m trying to play
the
sodding
piano here, in case you
hadn’t noticed, so how about you all go and have your bitch fest in the bus
lane?’

He slammed the door. Emily spun around, striding towards the other
staircase. Hattie followed her. Charlotte lingered for a moment, then scurried
off. Angrily the piano started up again. Gwenhwyfar listened to the frantic
notes for a minute before she made her way up to registration, satisfied that
for once, she had given the Furies a taste of their own medicine.

The power was out again, and there was a problem with the generator.
The last time there had been a blackout Gwenhwyfar’s neighbourhood hadn’t been
affected, even though many houses had gone without electricity for two full
days. The class was restless, unsettled by the lack of lighting. She came to
her Science table to find Arthur waiting for her, and felt her heart lift when
he returned her smile with equal warmth.

‘Hasn’t Mrs Paxton moved you yet?’ she teased as she climbed onto her
stool.

‘You know how she likes to shout at me in front of the entire class,’
Arthur grinned. ‘Besides, I told her I can’t see the board properly from the
front. I can sit here, as long as I behave.’

‘And? Are you going to behave?’

They grinned at one another. Gwenhwyfar put her bag on the table,
unzipped it, and pulled out her belongings.

‘Ready for some synthetic cells?’ Arthur asked, opening his exercise
book.

‘Oh, definitely.’ She plucked a pen from her pencil case. ‘You?’

‘I hope so. Ignore me if I start ranting, though. This sort of thing
has the tendency to irritate me.’

‘You were telling me yesterday,’ she recalled. ‘You don’t think such
advancements are good?’

‘No. Why, do you?’

‘If they’re for advancing the field of medicine. Synthetic cells and
other cellular types of research can only make the world better. Don’t you
agree?’

He frowned. ‘I just don’t think that meddling with the foundations
of nature can ever truly be good.’

‘But we already meddle with the foundations,’ Gwenhwyfar countered.
‘We meddle when we cure diseases.’

‘And where has that got us?’ Arthur retorted. ‘The world is
overpopulated, resources have run out and other species have become extinct.
That’s what I mean when I say that it can’t ever be “good”.’

‘But you’re here today because of the advances we’ve made,’
Gwenhwyfar told him. ‘You can guarantee that somewhere in the history of your
family, someone will have been saved by such necessary
evils
. Call it “natural selection” if you like: the smartest being
is the most successful and therefore out-competes other species.’

‘I know. But when you start to wipe out what you rely on yourself, your
environment and said species in order to maintain and further such advances, you
only fuel your own demise. I don’t mean it in an individual sense, just in a
wider context of ecological exhaustion.’ He looked to her ruefully. ‘I told you
that it irritated me.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Gwenhwyfar replied, favouring him with an
affectionate smile. ‘I’m sure we can agree to disagree.’

Mrs Paxton silenced the class in her usual brisk manner and outlined
their subject for the day. A while later, when power had finally been restored to
their classroom, a twenty minute educational film was inserted into the ancient
television device. Still wondering how she could navigate his apparent issue
with Lancelot, Gwenhwyfar whispered in Arthur’s ear.

‘Do you want to sit together at lunch?’

He looked at her. ‘Alone?’

She hesitated for a moment. ‘Of course.’

Her heart pounded as he looked away. A moment passed, and he leant
towards her again. ‘Can you meet me in our History room? I have to see Marvin
about something, first.’

She tried not to scowl. It was something, at least. ‘What time?’

‘Quarter past?’

‘Perfect,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll be there.’

The room went dark and was illuminated by the short documentary about
RNA. Gwenhwyfar started a silent correspondence in the back of her school
planner, and spent the rest of the film passing it to and fro with Arthur, with
the occasional hushed snigger.

‘So how come you work so much?’ she asked once the lights were back
on and the film had ended. She copied a complex diagram of RNA into her
exercise book. ‘Most people I know have never had a job.’

‘Maybe in this area they haven’t,’ Arthur remarked.

‘I haven’t,’ Gwenhwyfar admitted, as she filled in the blanks. ‘My mam
doesn’t work, either.’

‘Does your dad?’ Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘What does he do?’

‘Private security for computer networks… he’s pretty high up. He
works in the city. You live with your grandmother, right?’ She hesitated for a
moment. ‘What happened to your parents?’

He was caught off guard. Suddenly he seemed unable to meet her gaze. ‘There’s
not much to tell. My mother left shortly after I was born. I grew up with my
grandparents. My dad died when I was five.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said softly.

‘Don’t be,’ he responded, attempting a smile. ‘I’m lucky to have had
them both. My grandfather passed away about a year ago, so now it’s just my
grandmother and me. Oh, and Lionel, our cat.’

‘You have a cat?’ She was glad for the chance to change the subject.
‘What sort? I have a dog. He’s called Llew.’

‘A British Shorthair. Llew’s lion in Welsh, right?’

She was pleased that he knew what it meant. ‘Right.’

‘When we first got Lionel, he pulled one of my grandfather’s books
off the shelf and tore out a page. My grandfather couldn’t get it off him,
because Lionel thought it was a game. He destroyed all of it, apart from one
strip. It was a list of the Knights of the Round Table, and the only one spared
was Sir Lionel. He’s been known as that ever since.’

‘I’d like to meet Sir Lionel, sometime.’ Gwenhwyfar smiled.

‘I’m sure he’d like to meet you too. You could always come over this
weekend, if you want.’

She felt her heart leap. ‘I’d love to. But don’t you need to check
with your grandmother first?’

‘She won’t mind. She’s always asking when I’m going to bring a girl
home to meet her, anyway,’ he joked.

‘We could go to the cinema, there’s a film on I want to see. It’s
called
An Inspector Calls
. It looks
good.’

‘How about Saturday?’ Arthur suggested.

‘Saturday’s perfect,’ Gwenhwyfar told him, wondering if this counted
as a date. As he gazed at her his eyes lit up, and she was subjected to the
full force of another of his charming smiles.

Break time came and went with a cloudy sky that threatened rain, but
failed to deliver it. The canteen emptied at the sounding of the bell, and Bedivere,
Gavin, Tom and Viola all set off to their lessons. As always, Lancelot took his
time to get organised and Gwenhwyfar found herself waiting impatiently for him.
Refusing to make a comment that would set him off, she remained silent, even
when he joined her at an indolent pace.

‘I heard you this morning, you know,’ he drawled, much to her
surprise. ‘Telling Emily what Bed said. Does he know?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You know, Lance, it’s none of your business.’

‘It becomes everyone’s business when people like you go shouting it
out in the corridors,’ he countered. His dark hair twisted in the wind as they
walked, and as her own hair danced about her she reeled it in with persistent
fingers.

‘I didn’t shout it out. And no, Bedivere doesn’t know. So I’d
appreciate it if you didn’t tell him. Judging by the look on Emily’s face,
she’s not going to repeat it to anyone, anyway.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ he said. Gwenhwyfar was beginning to notice
how other boys went to great lengths to avoid him, while girls drew closer,
tittering their schoolgirl giggles. ‘Charlotte’s probably told the whole
school.’

‘Why are you so concerned?’ she sniped, dearly wishing that she could
swap her lessons and spend French with Arthur instead. ‘I thought you didn’t
like Bedivere. Anyway, after all those three did to you, I’m surprised you
didn’t tell her yourself.’

He bristled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Aren’t you just a little bit annoyed that they managed to destroy
your and Arthur’s friendship?’

She’d struck a nerve—that much was plain—but why she
suddenly wanted Arthur and Lancelot to become friends again, she couldn’t
fathom.

‘How do you know about that?’

‘Gavin,’ she admitted. ‘I asked why everyone calls them the Furies.
That was before I knew you.’

‘I miss those days.’