Queen's Gambit - Chapter 6

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

Polly traded her anxious look for one of relief when I rounded the corner.

“I thought you might have forgotten,” she said.

“No, just got caught up talking to my parents.” I led her into the cafeteria and over to where Marie, Elaine and Abby were sitting.

“Why on earth did you bring Polident?” Marie asked as we sat.

I looked at Polly in confusion. She shrugged, looking embarrassed. “It’s a sort of nickname I have here. I think it’s a cleaning solution for dentures, but you know, polly, kind of my name but also means many, and dent, teeth. I don’t mind it really.”

“No,” I said. “I mean why would you? It’s such a small thing.” My voice was saying the exact opposite to my mouth. “Except it wears away at your soul, like drips of water, just a tiny bit at a time until even you find it hard to think of yourself as anything other than that stupid name.

“I mean, how would you like it if we all started calling you bitch queen? It doesn’t even have to be clever, except...” A thought occurred to me and I dug out my phone and searched Spotify until it was playing one of my dad’s old favourites by Redbone. I took over singing part of the chorus. “Marie, Marie la voodoo veuve. She’s the bitch queen...”

“Alright,” she said, evidently unhappy at the way everyone else was enjoying her discomfort.

“Just making a point,” I said, relenting a little. “But imagine what that would be like several times a day every day with no expectations of it ever coming to an end ”

She looked across at Polly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I really didn’t think.”

“It’s okay, I guess,” Polly said. “Except the way Gwen put it, not really. I hadn’t thought about it that much. You know, it’s such a stupid little thing, it hardly felt like complaining about, but I do feel that it has affected me all the time it’s been going on.

“So, er, thanks for the apology, I suppose.”

Lance appeared in the doorway with a bunch of his friends in tow. I waved at them and started shuffling people about so that we could alternate boy girl.

“Hey,” Barry said as he settled into a seat, “how come Polident’s here.”

“Not cool, Barry,” I said with Marie and her friends adding angry faces to support my words. “Polly’s a friend of mine, so if you want to remain one, you can keep from calling her stupid names.”

“Whatever she says goes for me too,” Lance said. “Apologise to the lady, Barry.”

“Sorry, Gwen,” Barry said.

“I think he meant...” I nodded in Polly’s direction.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, erm, Polly.”

“It’s okay. My name’s actually Pauline, but my parents always called me Polly, so that’s what I’ve always gone with.”

“So which do you prefer?”

“I’m good with Polly. Just not, you know.”

“It’s not even a good nickname,” Barry said. “I mean, you don’t have any more teeth than the rest of us, just... er...”

“Bigger ones? You’re right. My mum likes to say my mouth is too small for my teeth, which is technically true, except my mouth isn’t especially small.”

“A mixture of the two,” I suggested. “Anyway, nothing to talk about there, unless I hear any of you using that nickname, in which case I will separate you from your favourite piece of anatomy, after which we’ll have a new name for you.”

“Hey! Lance, your girlfriend’s being mean.”

“Yeah, well, on the plus side, you’d have a legitimate complaint if we told you not to be such a dick.”

“Oh come on guys, no fair.”

“You’re probably right,” I said through the laughter. “General ruling everyone. As long as any of us is trying to be better, they’re off limits for potentially hurtful remarks.”

“Are you trying to turn us all into saints or something?” Elaine asked.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s just I was on the receiving end of a whole lot of unpleasantness in my last school and I want to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Not to me and not to any of my friends. You reap what you sow though, so I think we should all... hang on, there’s a saying I came across a while back. Or maybe it was two sayings, I don’t know. ‘Be the change you want to see in the world, and ‘be the person you’d like to meet.’ Something like that. If we want the world to be a better place, we need to start with ourselves.

“We’re going to screw it up, I mean everyone makes mistakes, but that’s no excuse to stop trying. What do you say?”

There was a lot of thoughtful silence around the table. Eventually Lance broke it. “I like it,” he said, “and not just because I’ve got a thing going for the person who just said it.

“My mum and dad are all about privilege and how it makes them better than anyone else, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes them worse.”

“There’s a bloke spoke at our church some time back,” Abby said. “He said that privilege and responsibility go hand in hand. The more privilege you’re given, the more responsibility you have, to use your privilege for others.”

“Yeah, my dad wouldn’t like that.”

“Not sure it matters whether or not he likes it,” I said. “It’s people like him who are bringing this country to its knees, because all they care about is working the system for their own benefit.”

“You’re talking about most of our parents,” Marie said with a scowl. “I don’t think you’re going to make many friends doing that.”

“Maybe so, but what should I do? Keep quiet because I want friends? Or be honest and help you guys see something you’re currently trying to avoid?

“We did a project on apartheid in South Africa in my last school. I’m intrigued to know what you guys think about it?”

Lance shrugged and looked at his mates. “Not sure we know enough about it to comment.” The girls nodded along with a chorus of, “what he said.”

“Okay, so South Africa was originally black. No arguments?” Multiple head shakes. “Then sometime in the middle of the seventeenth century, Dutch and British settlers moved in, displacing the indigenous population. We had guns against the locals with their spears and animal skin shields. They had loads more people, at least at first, but eventually they admitted defeat.

“There was segregation between whites and blacks for a long time, then in nineteen forty-eight it was formalised with a framework to enforce the separation.

“South Africa is immensely rich. Rare and precious metals, diamonds, not to mention really good farm land, and the local whites decided it was theirs and the blacks didn’t deserve any of it. Whites kept getting richer and the blacks got poorer. The fact that they were poor was used as evidence that they didn’t deserve any of the country’s wealth, because they obviously didn’t know how to generate it.”

“I don’t see a problem with that logic,” Abby said, sliding down in my estimation a few steps.

“If you lived in a shanty town, built from scrap metal, with open sewers, no running water – you have to walk several miles to the nearest water pump. If the government decrees that you are not entitled to apply for a high level job because you’re black, and even if you were allowed to apply, you wouldn’t be offered the job because you weren’t the right colour.

“Still think there’s nothing wrong?”

Abby hung her head and shook it.

“One of the things we looked at while we were going through this was a YouTube video about a race for a hundred dollars.” I pulled it up on my phone and showed it to them. It had the rather cumbersome title of ‘Social inequalities explained in a hundred dollar race. The guy organising it started off with a bunch of questions, saying, “Take two steps forward if...” then listing off, “if your parents are still married,” “if you grew up with a father figure in the home,” “if you had access to a private education,” “a free tutor”. The list went on until mainly the white runners had a head start of a quarter of the field over the rest, who were predominantly darker skinned. The organiser went on to talk about how those with the advantage had done nothing to earn it, that they would be more likely to win in life, not because they were better, but because they had an unearned privilege.

“The same sort of thing happened over slavery. The ones in power enjoyed the wealth they had, so convinced themselves that the situation was fair, even when it blatantly wasn’t.

“It took the rest of the world boycotting South African trade for years to get them to change. It took decades of wealthy, righteous men and women arguing against slavery before it was abolished. It took a civil war in America to do the same. What’s it going to take to rebalance the widening differences in our modern world?”

“It’s hardly the same,” Barry said.

“Isn’t it? Where does the government get its money from?”

“Er...”

“Mostly it’s tax money which we all pay...”

“Yeah, our parents more than most,” another of Lance’s friends – Adrian, I think – said.

“Potentially true, unless your parents have a means of tax avoidance. The more the rich contrive not to pay what’s fair, the less the government has to work with, so they look for other revenue streams, like fining people for breaking sometimes quite arbitrary rules, and withdrawing payments that some people need.’

“Like heating allowance for the elderly,” Lance said.

“Like... yeah, that.”

“Seriously?” Barry asked. “I mean isn’t that just the old folks problem for not working hard enough when they had the chance?”

“What, growing up, as many of them did, during the second world war, and the period after it when we were paying the cost of six years of warfare? Bullets aren’t free, you know, and tanks, aircraft and battleships definitely aren’t. Then there was the cost of rebuilding everything that was destroyed, and not just in our country.

“Then there’s the difference in what most of them were paid. Quick straw pole. Who’s the breadwinner in your family and what do they do?”

Mostly the dads with two bankers, three lawyers – including Lance’s dad – quite a few company executives and Polly’s parents who were both doctors.

“First question, what would happen if everyone in the country decided to do those jobs?”

“It wouldn’t work,” Adrian said. “If there weren’t people to fix the roads, we’d have nowhere to drive the mercs.”

It got a laugh, but it made a point. “Exactly,” I said. “Without builders, we’d have no homes. Without plumbers and electricians we’d have a much more primitive home life. The list goes on. Second question, what makes what your parents do worth so much more than anyone else? My dad is senior IT administrator for a large hospital up where I live. Do you think maintaining a secure patient record and safeguarding it against both hackers and mechanical failure is any less complex than what a banker does, or a lawyer?”

Slow shakes of the head.

“So how come your dad’s annual take-home pay is more than ten times what my dad earns? Is it because what he does is more important than keeping a large regional hospital running, from an IT perspective at least?”

Lance shook his head.

“What your dad does benefits the minority of people who own most of the UK’s wealth, so it’s worth their while forking out a significant chunk of their annual income to protect their wealth. And what do they do that benefits the people of our country?”

“Sod all,” Lance mumbled.

“I had a stronger word in mind, so thank you for keeping this conversation age appropriate. So how different do you think our current situation is than apartheid South Africa, or the southern states of America in the eighteenth century? We have more people than ever relying on food banks to survive, and these are the manual workers you’ve already agreed we need in our country.”

“Yeah, but what are we supposed to do about it?” This from Mike, who’d been one of Barry’s trio of idiots on dance night.

“Well, as I see it, we have two choices. Either we pretend we don’t really care what’s happening and choose to become just like them – actually, that applies to everyone except Polly and me since we’re both pretty okay with what our parents are doing in this world – or we decide what our values truly are and make a stand. It’ll be tough to start with, because we’ll be pretty small fish in a sea full of sharks, some of them disturbingly large, but eventually the world will be ours, and then we’ll be judged on what we do with what we have.”

“Which is?” Mike persisted.

“Not for me to say on my own, but I have faith in what we can decide between us.”

“Democracy?” Adrian asked.

“I hope not. Democracy gives everyone the vote and the less well off are just as capable of voting in their own best interest as the movers and shakers of this world. My history teacher used to quote Churchill all the time, ‘democracy is the worst form of government, except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.’”

“So what’s your alternative?”

“I rather think that Arthur’s idea was better than most.”

“Arthur?” There was a fair bit of confusion around the table.

“The Round Table gave every knight of Camelot an equal voice with the king. They had to prove their commitment to goodness and the welfare of the kingdom first, but once they had earned their place, they had the right to cast their vote with the others.”

“An oligarchy?” His name was Rupert. He was the third of the trio of knights at the medieval dance.

“That’s what we have now. It’s made to look like a democracy to help keep the peace, but essentially, it’s the rich and powerful who decide what happens here. I’m talking about an altruistic oligarchy where anyone who is added to the ruling council has to prove themselves first, and – because this is where I think Arthur went wrong – all those who sit at the round table must agree to be accountable for everything they do. We choose to trust each other for the most part, otherwise we hamstring ourselves, but any time we begin to doubt the intentions of anyone in our number, the person under question willingly submits to an intervention.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they’re out of the circle and have to prove themselves again if they want back in. The strength of it all relies on the majority maintaining a greater commitment to the people than to themselves.”

“This sounds like something that’s bigger than just a bunch of school kids doing stuff,” Lance said. “I mean where do we go from here?”

“Well, any of us who’re interested in taking this further, we work on becoming the sort of people who deserves to be a part of the circle. We agree a date in the future where we talk about the things we value, and we see if we can settle on a working consensus from there.”

“Men and women?” Marie asked.

“Of course. There’s nothing about gender that sets one over the other. We both have our strengths and weaknesses, which means we complement one another, and either ignores the other at considerable peril to our goal.”

“Which is?” Lance asked.

“The well being of everyone in Albion.”

“Albion?” Abby asked. “Where did that come from?”

“It means White Land, most likely named for the Dover cliffs, which would be the first thing any explorer saw in coming over here. It’s what Arthur named the kingdoms he was able to unite, and it’s what I think we should call our group, which will hopefully become a growing force for good within our broken country.”

“You should join the debating society,” Mike said. “You’d wipe the floor with everyone.”

“Not exactly a good reason for joining, though I would like the practice. I was going to join the politics society too. Better to know your enemy and all that.”

“This is all a bit much over dinner,” Mike said. “Any chance we can talk this through somewhere else?”

Everyone thought it was a good idea, so I nodded. “Sure. I’ll sort out a time and place. Does next Friday evening work for you guys?” Nods all round. “Between now and then, think about what we’ve spoken about here. If you disagree with any of it, come ready to put forward your challenge. If you have other ideas, come ready to share them. If you know someone you think would be an asset to the group, invite them along.”

Somehow in the course of our discussion, we’d ploughed our way through a fairly substantial meal. All except me. I’d taken the smallest portion and still hadn’t eaten a half of it. I felt replete, which was all that mattered.

We went our separate ways, all except Lance and me. He kept a possessive arm around my shoulder, which was enough of a hint to anyone else who wanted a piece of me.

Slowest to take the hint was Polly.

“Join us for breakfast tomorrow?” I asked.

She gave me a toothy grin and nodded.

“Any chance you can persuade her to tutor me on maths?” Lance asked.

“Really?”

“She has a reputation for more than teeth.”

“Lance!”

“Just saying. I think she’s the best mathematician at Marlborough, apart from Mr Kline of course.” – head of maths.

“I’ll mention it to her, but it’s going to be up to you to sell it.”

“Good enough. Where should we go, as if I didn’t know?”

“It is where we first met.”

“Where I was an arsehole to you for the first time, you mean?”

“Well, yeah, but look how far you’ve come? I do have a brief stop to make on the way though.”

I paused at the teacher’s table to ask about introducing my parents to the mound the following day, and about booking a room for a student discussion group. The answer was no problem to the first and to book the second at reception.

We made our way to the top of the mound. Half way round, as far as the grotto, then up the stairs. No stupid shoes or long skirts to hamper me this time, and I almost beat him to the summit. I was definitely less out of breath.

I leaned against his chest – so strong and unyielding, so much a source of strength.

“Do you think I’m mad?” I asked.

“Definitely.”

“What?”

“You need to be mad if you think you’ve a chance to change the world. Then again, yours is the kind of insanity that could maybe do it.”

“Will you stand by me?”

“Every step of the way, win or lose.”

“You think we’ll lose?”

“No, but good to prepare for all eventualities.”

“And if it sets you against your father?”

“That ship sailed a long time ago. I mean, I only jumped overboard today, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“Probably cut off my allowance. He’s done it in the past.”

“Did it work in the past?”

“Yeees. But that was back when I cared about money as much as he does. I can get by without.”

“How do you feel about being my boy toy?”

“What?”

“Actually that came out horribly wrong.” I changed my tone to a regal one, “Sir knight, would you accept my retainer for your services?”

He dropped to a knee. “My service to you requires no retainer, my queen. I am yours now and forever in any and all ways with nothing asked in return.”

“And so Queen Gwendolyn of Albion secures the services of her first knight, and takes a step towards establishing the New Albion.”

I used my mind to tell Merlin to go see if it was possible to make mini Merlins through self impregnation, only using considerably fewer words. Merlin chuckled and withdrew.

“Then my first command to my first knight is that he permit me use what wealth I have to alleviate his poverty. What allowance does your father give you?”

He stood back up and shrugged. “I have an account with five grand in it. Once a month my dad checks it and tops it up when he needs to. I don’t usually have much of a use for it during term time, but I’ll admit I like knowing it’s there.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. I feel I owe you something for your sacrifice.”

“Where you’re involved there is no sacrifice,” he said.

“Oh good grief,” I said staggering dramatically. “I need to sit down.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He eased me down onto a grassy bank.

“Hyperglycaemic attack. Give me a second.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Then we need to get you reading a bit more. It means too much sugar. Honestly, some of the things you say are enough to give someone diabetes.”

“You’re okay though?”

“I’m fine you lummox, but you do overdo it sometimes.”

“You love it really.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Well, you do, don’t you?”

“Actually, yeah.” Clumsy he may have been, but there was no questioning his sincerity.

“So what next?”

“We could sit here and admire the stars.”

“There aren’t any stars.”

“Yes there are. They’re all on the other side of all that cloud up there.”

“So, how do you admire them?”

I pointed at a random patch of cloud. “Over there is a star about the size of our Sun, but it’s so far away you can barely see it with the naked eye. It looks down on a planet, called Laramand by the natives. From space, it looks like a marble turned on a lathe with a narrow band of silver white spiralling around in an azure ocean. To anyone on the planet’s surface, the world is an endless beach, tall shade trees in the middle of each strip of land and a half mile of shallow, sandy bottomed ocean separating you from the next strip of land.

The natives never bother with clothes, partly because there’s nothing much to make them from, but mainly because they’re afraid of tan lines. They tell a story of a young boy and girl who fell asleep in the sunshine with leaves from the shade trees lying across their bodies. They woke to find their skin under the leaves had turned a sickly white, like the grubs that burrowed into the roots of the shade trees. They ran out into the sunshine but it was too late. Where their skin had turned pale, reddened and blistered in the sun, and they were forced to spend the rest of their days hiding among the shade trees.”

“You just made that up?”

“Mmhm. It’s not that hard. You try.”

He pointed in a random direction. “There’s a star over there shaped like a rugby ball. Er... I don’t know.”

“Because it’s positioned equidistant between two nearby black holes,” I chipped in. “Go on.”

“Er... No, I don’t know. You finish it.”

“No-one knows quite how it started, but the star began to spin. Maybe it was sentient in some way and was embarrassed about being such an unusual shape. Whatever the reason, the two extended parts of it became the axis of its rotation, and the faster it span, the more its equator spread out until it was almost the desired spherical shape, only that last little bit seemed to elude it. It span faster and faster making less and less progress with more and more effort until the forces holding it together couldn’t endure and the star burst into a nebula.

“For a short while it took on the spherical shape and so died contented, only now the wisps of gas that remain are being drawn into the black holes and soon nothing will remain of what was.”

“You’re really good at that, you know. I mean it’s new and unusual and makes sense.”

“Thanks.”

“Do me.”

“I’m sorry?” Variation on ‘what,’ you understand.

“Do a story about me.”

“Okaaaay. There was once a young man named Lance.”

“Young man is good. I like that.”

“Through all his life he was told any fresh idea he had was worthless. This continued until he finally left home to attend school. By then his imagination had been so stifled that he struggled to coax any life from it.

“His future might have been bleak, except that he made friends who were prepared to support and encourage him...”

“One in particular who showed him kindness despite him being an utter arsehole...”

“Which was only the case because of the negative influences in his life. When he discovered that there was someone prepared to meet his aggression with a firm but fair and open mind he realised that maybe that inner part of himself that had been suppressed for so long might have a place in the world.

“He was brave enough to draw it to the surface, despite fears that it might be just as thoroughly crushed as it had been through all his life, and his courage was rewarded.

“From that day he grew a little with each sunrise, even to the extent that he found the strength to stand against the most negative and critical elements in his life.

“It was a hard thing to do, to stand firm and alone against the onslaught of aggression with no-one to offer him encouragement, but he did so, and in so doing he earned the love and admiration of yet another timid and damaged soul...”

“A beautiful and elegant young woman of his recent acquaintance who had long since stolen his heart.”

“She didn’t think of it as stolen, but rather given freely and cherished for the gift it was. Her own seemed such a shrivelled thing by comparison to the strength in his, and she worried what he might think should she offer it in return.”

“Not shrivelled, but formed under great pressure into a precious gem, the worth of which might ransom kingdoms. He did not consider himself worthy to be the recipient of such a gift and only found satisfaction that she should value his own so highly.”

It was all a little saccharine sweet, but he’d meant every word, I could tell. He’d made himself vulnerable and I didn’t dare respond by making light of it all.

I removed the aquamarine pendant in its Celtic knot setting from around my neck and pressed it into his hand.

“It’s only a gewgaw, but let it represent my heart. I don’t expect you to wear it or even carry it around with you, but I do want you to have something of mine, at least until I have something else to give you that expresses my feelings for you.”

“I don’t know what to say. I was afraid you’d laugh at me, but this... this is... I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to. But, I mean, you could show me if you like.”

So he did.

It wasn’t that warm an evening and I was a little underdressed. The spaghetti strap camie and short skirt had been just right for summer’s last hurrah, but it hadn’t lasted much past sunset. Lance didn’t have anything to offer me so instead we cut our visit to the mound short and headed for our respective dorms.

Where I still hadn’t unpacked. Marie, Abigail and Elaine helped me do so. I’d been expecting a few extras by now, but apparently we had the place to ourselves. It had just been the three of them before I came along, which made it a little more understandable why they’d not liked having me foisted on them. Understandable but unreasonable. The dorms were the schools budget accommodation – I qualified since the school was paying mine – and might have been a lot more cramped had most other parents not been a little snobbish about how their little darlings were cared for. Only the super posh, like Lance, we’re fortunate enough to have a room to themselves, but for the rest, double rooms were only a little dearer than the old style dorms, so they tended to be undersubscribed meaning we had space to make up for the lack of privacy.

Showers were communal, which meant my three dorm mates were the first people from the school population, to see I had nothing to hide.

We chatted quietly till lights out at eleven, and carried on an even quieter whispered conversation for another half hour before the matron’s footsteps outside our door shut us up.

Which meant we had enough sleep to wake up in good time for breakfast. I missed the amounts I had eaten, but consoled myself by choosing as wide a variety of flavours as was available. If I wasn’t going to put much quantity away anymore, I was damned well going to enjoy the little I got, which meant largely a variety of fruit with a little yoghurt and some nuts. The nuts didn’t add much to the flavour, but it bulked things out and provided proteins and fibre.

Polly waved us over, which gave me the opportunity to ask if she’d tutor Lance in maths. Polly wasn’t as good at English as she wanted to be, so I agreed to help her out in exchange for the maths boost. She asked if I’d be joining as well, which I’d have liked to, but for one, I didn’t want to distract Lance, and for two, I suspected he was quite a bit further behind than me, so I said maybe later once he’d caught up a bit.

With the meal done, I begged my leave and rushed off to find Mum and Dad, pausing only to say good morning to Lance who’d just arrived late. The school had rules about intimate relationships, permitting them but frowning upon displays of affection in public places, so we were a bit restricted in how far we could go.

I suggested catching up with each other after lunch and he said he was likely to be busy with his folks till dinner.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll see you at dinner. Don’t let them bully you.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah, I know.” I risked a little disapproval by squeezing his hand briefly. “Nil illegitimi carborundum.”

“Don’t let Mr Phillips hear you say that. You won’t believe how much he hates it.” Mr Phillips was the Latin teacher, which subject was likely to feature in my near future.

I left him to his day and walked as swiftly as I dared to the front entrance. My parents hadn't arrived yet so I took out my phone and did a bit of Googling.

I led them to the mound and up the spiral path, showing them the more direct route as we passed it.

“Take the picturesque route up,” Dad said, “then maybe the more direct route down.”

Mum and I exchanged a look and a shrug. The picturesque route wasn’t very, but neither was it entirely rubbish. Each circuit of the mound took us higher and gave us clearer views of the surroundings. The summit should have given the best views, but there were a lot of trees getting in the way. The dip in the middle with the foundation for the old water tank didn’t add much to the ambiance.

“Well,” Dad said, “it’s not what I was expecting.”

“It’s been through a lot since it was first constructed,” I said. “Part of a big country estate for most of the last few centuries with no real preservation orders until recently.

“The spiral path was built in the mid seventeenth century, the grotto in the mid eighteenth and that lump of concrete was the foundation for a water tower that went up in the mid nineteenth. That went at the end of the twentieth century, but the rest is being preserved despite having nothing to do with the original mound, which was constructed around twenty-four hundred BC.

"The modifications are part of our history too, so they're being preserved – maybe not the water tower – even though they kind of mask the original mound. That's kind of why I suggested going to see Silbury Hill. There's a carpark nearby which is free to English Heritage members and gives decent views of the hill. You can't go on the site, but it's not been messed about as much as this place."

"You're going to Silbury?" My friendly ghost mage murmured in my ear.

I nodded unobtrusively.

"I'll come with you."

That's all he said. I looked around, but he was no-where to be seen. Mental shrug. He'd turn up later or not. I turned back to Dad.

"If you want to make a day of it, We could go to the Alexander Keiller Museum in Avebury and learn about the other prehistoric sites around the place, like The Sanctuary, Windmill Hill, West Kennet Avenue and West Kennet Long Barrow. I mean it's all nearby and dates from the same sort of time."

"Why don't we go see this Silbury Hill first? I'm not sure how interested your mum is in all this, so maybe look for something else to do after seeing what’s there.”

“Knowing Mum, that’ll involve shopping.”

“In which case it all balances out, except for you, because I get the impression you enjoy both those things now.”

“Guilty as charged. Okay, we’ll do whatever you want, Dad.”

“Well, the car’s back at the hotel, which is just over there.” He pointed through a gap in the trees at a relatively nearby building.

We made our way down the stairs, coming out beside the entrance to the grotto. I couldn’t help doing my anorak thing.

“You see those three pools outside the entrance? They were filled in until the grotto was renovated recently. That’s when it was discovered they were deliberately placed there so that sunlight falling on them would reflect into the grotto and give it this watery flickering lighting.”

“You know a lot about it for having spent just the one week here,” Mum said.

“I kind of researched the place before I came. You know, suggestions of links with Merlin and all that. Too tempting for someone who writes fantasy, like me.”

“Didn’t they disprove the link with Merlin?” Dad asked.

My grey haired old man stepped into view beside me and raised an eyebrow.

“The mound has been dated to twenty four hundred BC,” I said, “whereas Merlin was about in the fifth and sixth centuries AD, so it’s probably safe to say the mound wasn’t built as a burial mound for him. Arthurian legend does talk about Merlin being trapped somewhere by Nimue, so why not an ancient monument like this one? The name Marlborough probably means Merlin’s barrow, and the town’s crest does have a Latin inscription which translates as ‘Where now lie the bones of wise Merlin.’ That only dates back to the twelfth century, but it may well come from earlier legends of this area.

“The ‘disproof’,” finger quotes felt so much more of a girly thing, “is largely about the idea that the mound was constructed thousands of years before Merlin, but I don’t see why that means he couldn’t have ended up here.”

“Like I said,” Mum smiled at me. “You know a lot about it.”

We reached the car and drove off into the countryside. Just ten minutes later, Silbury Hill appeared beside the road.

“Now that’s a bit more like it!” Dad said.

“The parking area is a little way past it on the right,” I said.

“Nimue could have imprisoned me here,” Merlin said from beside me, “but she wanted to keep this place for herself.”

“Nimue’s here?” I said out loud without thinking.

“What was that?” Dad asked.

“Just had an idea for a story I’m writing,” I said. Not entirely a lie since it would feature well in the less believable version of what had happened to me.

“The mounds are places of ancient magic, where creatures of legend sleep.”

Dragons? I thought.

“Some are the resting place of dragons, other of stone giants...”

The sword in the stone.

“I placed Excalibur in the grasp of a stone giant and bade him not to release his grip on the blade until I asked him to do so.”

And what lies here?

He sighed. “The folklore of the druidic religion speaks of a time when the magic of the great sky beasts was used against them to bind them to the earth and place them into an eternal slumber, whereupon the mounds were constructed over them, at the same time sealing the spell and hiding the beasts.”

I was right?

“You were lucky, and your story had the dragons choosing to sleep for however long their lives should be, and becoming buried over time. In the legends of my forbears, the dragons were fewer in number but fierce and unrelenting. They were defeated by cunning and buried by man’s efforts. The size of the mounds speaks to the size of the creatures themselves, and it took a great many years to build up the mounds over them.

“That being said, it was the essence of truth within your story that called me from my own long slumber, so in a sense, I suppose you may claim some victory in the matter.”

So how did you and Nimue end up buried here too?

“Wait a while. The story will come soon enough.”

We drove past the mound in respectful awe. It was twice the height of the one at Marlborough, in fact more than twice the size in all directions giving it a volume eight to ten times bigger, and it was largely untouched. No spiral path, no grotto, no signs of human habitation close to it.

The car park wasn’t a long way past it. We parked up and walked the short distance to the viewing area. Mum and Dad were being all touchy feely which gave me an excuse to separate myself from them.

We couldn’t get closer than about two hundred and fifty yards, but the view was still considerably more impressive than that of Marlborough

“Nimue’s is bigger than yours,” I said quietly enough for my parents not to hear.

“If it is your intention to goad me into making some fatuous observation about the inconsequentialities of size, then don’t bother.”

“But you’re right,” a new voice said, light and musical. We turned to find a stunningly beautiful woman, aged no more than thirty with a cascade of raven hair tumbling to her waist. She wore a simple, white shift dress that left her arms and legs bare and showed off the golden luminosity of her skin to stunning effect. She smiled at Merlin. “Hello lover.”

He didn’t respond directly, but turned to me. “Gwen, may I present to you the Lady Viviane. The self styled Nimue, Lady of the Lake.”

I bobbed a quick curtsey, glancing nervously over in Mum and Dad’s direction, only to find them a little engrossed in one another.

“They are unlikely to notice us,” Merlin said. “I thought we might enjoy a little privacy.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Merely encouraged their natural propensities. It delights me to encounter two people who share such mutual affection. I... suggested to them that this was a secluded enough spot that they might indulge themselves a little.”

“You always were a romantic.”

“There are all together too few of us in the world.”

“Aw, Merlin, do you still feel I used you so badly? He’s such a petulant child, Gwen, did he say your name was?”

“He did, Lady Nimue. Forgive my curiosity, but how did you come to be known as the Lady of the Lake?”

She looked over at Merlin. “She is a delight, my lover. Wherever did you find her?”

“Through casting dreams. How else?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You didn’t tell her? Merlin! For shame!

“Lady Gwen...”

“Your majesty,” Merlin interrupted.

“Your pardon, lover?”

“She acceded to become queen of Albion, and will you desist from calling me that.”

“But were we not lovers you and I?”

“I may once have loved you, but I doubt you ever knew the meaning of the word.”

She gave him a long look as if reappraising something, then turned back to me.

“Your Majesty is so cumbersome, may we not do away with formality?”

Merlin gave me a warning look, which I took on board, sort of. “Perhaps this once.”

Her face stiffened briefly. Not the concession she’d been looking for, apparently.

“My Lady Gwen, you must know that Merlin and I persist merely as spirits.”

“That seems evident. Even the Bible makes no claim to a human living more than a thousand years, and no-one else I know has seen Merlin, even when he is standing beside me.”

She grimaced at my mention of the good book but said nothing about it. “It is the same with me. Very rarely, a true child of Albion will possess the gift to see into the realm of spirits, but they are becoming rarer in this age and harder to find.

“Dream casting is an old magic in which a sorcerer – or sorceress – may cast a dream out into the world, as a fisherman casts his nets. Any who are sensitive, such as you, will share in the dream.”

“So you threw out a dream of dragons sleeping beneath the earth,” I suggested to Merlin.

“I did,” he said, “in the hope that someone such as yourself would write into this silly competition with a story incorporating such an idea. I stood ready to influence the judges should such a tale appear, but I had no need; your entry was quite the best in the competition.”

“That was the challenge though,” Nimue continued. “In our time, a dream held more significance, and were anyone to dream of this place, for instance,” she waved gracefully at the hill behind her, “the dreamer would feel compelled to come here, but no longer. I have been dream casting for a sensitive to come to me for centuries with not the least success. It seems my old mentor has surpassed me again, if not in his magic, then with the agility of his mind.”

“Does this mean the old stories are true?” I asked Merlin. “You fell in love with Lady Nimue and taught her your magic.”

“And in return, she tricked me into the mound at Marlborough and used the dragon’s magic to bind me to it. My bones now do lie there and my spirit persists as you see.”

“It was no trick, Merlin, or not intended as such. You were already old and losing the sharpness of your mind, otherwise I doubt you would have fallen so easily for my charms. It seemed to me far more fitting that you should endure in all your strength for the future of this land than fade into a doddering fool, only to be remembered for the follies of your old age.”

“Your actions cost this land its greatest king.”

“Arthur’s reign was doomed and would have fallen with or without you. You taught him well enough, but like all men of that age, and all ages since, he was prideful and his arrogance tainted the purity of your dream of Albion.

“Were the prospect of enduring as a spirit bound to a place such as this so terrible, do you truly think I would have inflicted the same fate upon myself?

“What would you have of me, Merlin? We were lovers once and I have lost none of my affection for you...”

“As evidenced by your betrayal.”

“It was no betrayal, but an act of love.”

“As this is a demonstration of your true feelings rather than an attempt to manipulate me. No, I’ll grant that imprisoning me at Marlborough restored my intellect, but that only serves to enable me to see more readily through your subterfuge.”

“Then why did you come? Why did you bring this one to me?”

“I did not. She is a free agent and travels where she will. It was her choice to come here to Silbury, and mine only to ensure that in her first encounter with you that she not be alone and defenceless.”

“Such a charmer, is he not? Can you see why I fell for him?”

“I can see well enough why he fell for you, my lady.”

Her smile turned from charming innocence to amused acceptance. “And he has already armoured you somewhat against me.”

“He barely mentioned your name before we arrived here. Your reputation already speaks for itself in Arthurian legend.”

“You trust such stories?”

“Enough to make me wary.”

“Brava, my lady. Brava. Did you know Merlin and I worked together for a while? You asked how I became the Lady of the Lake? How else but by the magic Merlin taught me?”

I looked to Merlin, who shrugged and conceded the point with a nod.

“It was my idea to deliver Excalibur to Arthur from the depths of the lake.”

“I though he drew Excalibur from the stone. He did this to prove himself the true born king of England.”

“He did, and then he broke it in a duel against Pellinore. Merlin reforged it in dragon flame, under this very hill as it happens, then I returned it to Arthur from the depths of the lake.”

“Where is the lake?”

“It is no more. What little remains of it is the Avalon Marshes near Glastonbury. My spirit wanders there on rare occasions, but it is too much changed to bring me much pleasure.”

“So you’re not tied to your mound?”

“Is Merlin bound to his?”

“He told me has freedom to come to me.”

“Ah! Queen Gwendolyn of Albion. In accepting this role you have bound yourself to him, and him to you. Once more you show your genius, old man.

“I could offer you the same, your majesty, and so share my own power with you as well.”

“I’ll consider you offer, Lady Nimue.”

“You would turn me down?”

“I’m not sure I can afford the price you would ask, my lady.”

“You think you can afford his?”

“That bargain is made, and has given me something I’m not sure I could easily surrender, so even if I could take it back, I doubt I would. Even so, I am a little more wary of making another so soon.”

“Ah. Wisdom. You did well to choose a woman this time, Merlin. Perhaps you would hear my story, your majesty? With Merlin here to keep me honest?”

“I would indeed, but perhaps not now. I’m worried that my parents have been like that for a while now.”

“No harm will befall them,” Merlin said, a little too abruptly for my liking.

“Perhaps,” I said, “but when they rouse and discover they’ve been snuggling and starting at that thing for half an hour, they’re going to worry.”

“It hasn’t been half an hour yet.”

“No, only a quarter, but that is already more than long enough. Lady Nimue, I would like to hear the story of your life with Merlin, and yes, I believe it would be a truer account if he were present to add his perspective. Perhaps we might come again some day soon.”

“I shall await your return eagerly. Merlin and I have freedom to wander the places we once lived, but we meet all to infrequently, and life without someone to speak to, who can speak back in turn, is bleak beyond telling.”

“Then we shall return to you when we may,” Merlin said. “Gwen, all you need do is touch one or both of your parents and the spell will be broken.”

I went over to them and squeezed into their snuggle.

“You looked so happy, I wasn’t sure I should interrupt.”

“Never an interruption when it’s you, kiddo,” Dad said, easing his hold on Mum to let me in. “It’s quite something, isn’t it? What can you tell us about it?”

“Not a lot, I don’t think. It was built around the same time as Marlborough, but obviously larger. It’s the biggest structure of its kind in Europe and about the same size as Egyptian pyramids built four and a half thousand years ago. Nobody really has much of a clue why it was constructed, but that hasn’t stopped people from speculating.

“There’s a walk we can do around the hill if you want, but I’m not sure Mum or I have the best shoes for it.”

“Well, let’s not then,” Dad said, to Mum’s evident relief. “Why don’t we go and see what the shops in Avebury have to offer, and should you tire of such mundanity, we can always go see what the Alex Keiller Museum has to offer.”

So we did, and the shops proved to be enough of a distraction to get us through to lunchtime. After an agreeably tasty pub meal, Mum relented enough to let us have a go at the museum, then totally monopolised the visit by taking us around the sculpture exhibition in the manor gardens. It was different, which is all Dad and I look for at times, so we decidedly didn’t mind. One or two of the sculptures gave me ideas for stories, so I took photos and made notes on my phone.

We made it back to Marlborough in good time for dinner. Parents of new arrivals were invited to join the dinner crowd, and the kitchen went all out to produce something special. It did mean I didn’t get to sit with Lance or any of my other new friends, but that wasn’t too great a hardship. I’d have time to catch up with them once school started.

Saturday night was more or less a repeat of Friday with quiet chatting into the night, with the added bonus of sweets and drinks until the time came to snuggle into bed. Mum had bought me a Victorian style white cotton nightdress which was so voluminous I felt I was inhabiting it rather than wearing it, but just another pleasure to add to being a girl. Now that I had no mixed messages interrupting my transformation into young adulthood, I was growing in all sorts of directions and at quite a rate, so having something a little on the big side seemed sensible.

Sunday morning I just about made breakfast then headed out into Marlborough to say goodbye to my parents. They were in the final stages of packing up the car by the time I got to their hotel, which meant we had time to find a café for a drink and a piece of cake before before I waved them off.

It felt oddly different to when I had taken the train to Marlborough, probably in part because this was going to be longer, the first term running for seven long weeks, but also partly because I was the one being left behind this time.

Merlin appeared at my elbow. I hadn’t seen him since I’d broken the spell holding my parents earlier in the morning.

“I thought you might appreciate some company,” he said.

“That’s thoughtful, thank you. Perhaps you’d come with me to Mr Hongs.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’d like to buy something for Lance, and I’d like you to make sure he accepts enough in payment to cover the cost of my aquamarine pendant and earrings as well.”

“I told you, I’d take care of that.”

“And have you?”

“Well, no, not yet.”

“Then let’s get it done now. And let’s see how useful your magic can be?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d like to know Lance’s birthday and ring size.”

“And how should I do that?”

“I have no idea. You’re the wizard.”

“August the eleventh,” he said as we approached the small jewellery shop.

“What?”

“”Lance’s Birthday according to school records. We’ll have to wait until we’re in the shop for the rest.”

Mr Hong had a chart of astrology signs and birthstones, which said Lance was a Leo with onyx or ruby as a birthstone. From there it was simple enough to pick out a white gold signet ring with a square cut ruby and lions etched into the metal either side of the stone. It wasn’t cheap, but I’d never intended it to be. He slipped it onto a cone shaped ring sizing rod and Merlin indicated a couple of ring sizes larger. I pointed and he went into his back room, returning with an identical ring of the right size.

Well okay, if it’s a different size, it can’t be identical, can it. Fine! Be pedantic if you must.

Mr Hong wouldn’t accept more than the ticket price for the ring, in fact, he insisted it qualified for the prettiest customer of the day discount, so I wasn’t able to pay him back.

I gave Merlin an angry looks as we left the shop, at which point he shrugged and vanished.

I found Lance on the top of the mound looking a little down.

I sat next to him and leaned on his shoulder. I was so small compared to him and it felt wonderful.

“Penny for them?” Weird saying that. Weirdest being that it had survived into a time when we had neither pennies nor the habit of using them to enquire after what someone was thinking about.

“Oh, just, you know. Dad’s withdrawn my allowance until he hears that I’ve ended it with you.”

“That sucks. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Tell him where he can stick his f... his money. I can survive well enough without it, whereas I’m pretty sure I can’t survive without you.”

“I like that answer. You know that pendant I gave you the other day?”

“Yeah, I have it right here.” He pulled it out of his shirt. “What about it?”

“Well, you remember I said I wanted you to have something of mine, until I had something else to give you that expressed my feelings for you?”

“Yeah?”

I pulled out the ring box and opened it. “Can I have it back?”

He took the box out of my hand and stared at it. “Gwen, this is too much.”

I pulled the ring out and slid it onto his left pinkie. It fit perfectly.

“No, I think it’s just about right.”

“How did you know my ring size?”

“Magic.” I did a kind of sparkly jazz hands.

“The stone, it’s not...”

“A ruby? It is. I mean that’s your birthstone, isn’t it?”

“How would you know?”

“August eleven? Leo?”

“There’s no way you could know that.”

“Why? Like you’ve never told anyone when your birthday is?”

“Gwen, I can’t accept this. I mean my family’s the rich one.”

“You did hear I’m soon to be a published author?”

“I may have heard something of the sort, yeah “

“You won’t believe how much of a retainer they paid me.”

“How much?”

“Enough to be able to afford this. I’ll also be setting up an account in both our names as soon as I have a chance to talk to my bank tomorrow. It’ll have five thousand pounds in it, and it’s there for either of us to use as we like. I probably won’t be able to do much about topping it up before Christmas, so please don’t spend it all at once.”

“Gwen, no.”

“I am not going to be the reason you are out of pocket. Nobody needs to know where it comes from...”

“I’ll know.”

“Look, I can’t do anything about your dad being an arsehole, but I can do this much. Call it a loan if you want, and as soon as you make up with your family, you can pay me back out of what he gives you.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then that’ll be on me, so it’s only fair that I foot the bill.”

He looked at me stubbornly.

“Okay, if you hate it that much, no bank account, but I pay for our dates, because I’m getting a taste for fine things, and if I hear that you’ve tried to pawn any of your shit to pay for your high maintenance girlfriend, I’ll kick you so hard in the nuts, you’ll be singing falsetto till you graduate.”

“Hey, what did I do to make you so mad?”

“Nothing.” I punched him in the arm as hard as I could, which I doubt came anywhere near to hurting him.

“Then what?”

“This was supposed to be me doing something nice for you and you being grateful and everything, but your so bloody prideful!

“You know, when you insist on being the one who pays for everything and refuse to let me do so every now and again, it comes across as bloody sexist.”

“I’m sorry, but can you imagine how it makes me feel? It’s emasculating when your girlfriend offers to take over paying for everything.”

“And having access to your dad’s money makes you such a paragon of masculinity!”

“Hey! No fair! I just gave that up for you. You could give me a little time to figure out how to fix the problem myself.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. But what can you do? You’re at school and you should be focusing on getting the best grades you can, not finding a job to pay for the occasional date. I’d rather you focussed on being the best student you can be, so that when you’re ready to find yourself a job, employers are going to want to hire you because of what you’re capable of rather than because you’ve got a rich and influential daddy they don’t want to piss off.

“I lucked out. I happened to write a story people are interested in publishing, which means I have money available. I earned it doing something I love, which means I don’t feel I earned it any more than you earn your father’s allowance, so why is it so hard for us to enjoy my windfall now that you don’t have yours for a while? What’s the big difference between me paying for us because I happen to have written a story someone wants to buy rather than you doing it with your dad’s allowance which he’s evidently attached strings to in an attempt to control you?”

“That’s not fair either.”

“What?”

“You’re not supposed to win arguments based on logic.” He had a wry smile on his face.

“I can do emotional if you prefer.” I punched him in the arm again. Another pathetic attempt, but accurate enough to land it on the exact same spot as last time.

“Ow!” he said.

“I can do tears as well. I’m warning you “

“No, it’s okay. I surrender. Gwen, this is... amazing. No-one gave me anything that meant so much.”

“So, can I have my pendant back then?”

“Shit!” He clipped it back around my neck while I held my hair out of the way. “It looks better on you anyway. Fine, we’ll try it your way. Set up the account, but I’m paying you back.”

“Alright. My price is that you don’t turn into as much of an arsehole as your dad.”

“On that you have my word.”

I snuggled into his side. “I never asked before. What do you want to do when you’re done with all this education nonsense?”

He smiled and wrapped an arm around me. “You’re going to hate it.”

“What, why?”

“I’ve always like the idea of being a lawyer.”

I leaned away from him and stared into his face. “Say it’s not so!”

“No, my dad was a bit surprised too. What he doesn’t know is what motivates me.”

“Which is?”

“Listening to him bragging to Mum about how much money he’s made and for what, which is usually making sure his rich and powerful friends get richer and more powerful. I’ve decided that the one thing I want more than anything in life is to be in the same courtroom as him, but on the other side, and to rub his face in how badly I’m going to beat his ass.”

“Now that’s an ambition I can get behind. Here’s a question for you, do you have any idea why he’s invited my parents to his Christmas shindig?”

“Has he now? That’s not good.”

“I didn’t think it was, but why?”

“It’s his annual networking event. He bills it to the firm and gets his accountant to mark it as something vaguely legitimate. The people he invites are previous and potential clients, all of them multimillionaires or highly influential in their chosen fields. Basically anyone who’s likely to need someone like Dad to make sure they get richer rather than poorer and don’t end up with some lawsuit against them to damage their social standing.”

“So why invite my parents?”

“At a guess to humiliate them. I doubt there will be a wife present sporting less than ten grand’s worth of bling and Paris haute couture, and like I said, the men will all be top earners and well known politicians, artists, god knows what else, so when he introduces your dad it’ll be after a long list of high powered jobs and then he’ll say something like, ‘And what was it you did again?’ He’s only doing it because we’re together.”

“Okay. Well forewarned is forearmed. I’ll just have to make sure we have a bit of weaponry on hand before we turn up.”

“Count me in on the planning phase. At the very least I’ll be able to tell you what will work and what won’t.”

“Okay, I will. Do kids get to go to this thing?”

“As long as they’re on best behaviour. They’ll expect me to be there, and you of course, so they can belittle you properly. I don’t know about any others.”

“That’s okay, just as long as I get to be there.

“Okay, local kid, what does anybody do for fun around here on a Sunday afternoon.”

So we played tennis for a bit until he realised I didn’t have a clue, then he coached me for a while and I had the inevitable kick that you get out of getting better at something, plus the mmmm closeness whenever he snuggled up behind me and guided me through the different movements.

The first week was an eye-opener after my last school. Expectations were that much higher than I was used to and I ended up with catch-up work in almost all my subjects, including maths which I thought I’d been not terrible at. I ended up joining Lance for his sessions with Polly and taking every opportunity to improve that any of my friends were able to arrange. Mr Phillips declared me a lost cause, so at least I had Latin periods to use for personal study. I used them all and most of my evenings working hard to improve my... well, everything.

English was the only subject where I was ahead of the class, and by so much, Mr Ambrose had me doing A level equivalent exercises on my own while he slogged away at improving the rest of the higher class. The best lessons were the ones where he set us some creative writing exercises to do in class. Those were the times I didn’t have to try, but could simply let the passion flow.

Thursday was my last lesson of the week with him. He caught me as I was filing out with the rest of the class.

“Jenny and I were wondering if you’d care to join us for dinner tomorrow.”

“I’d really like to,” I said, “but I have so much catch up work to do, I don’t think I have the time.”

“Hang on, what’s this?”

It didn’t take much more. The dam had been brimming for several days. It burst and for ten minutes I poured out how hard I’d been struggling all week. I was making myself late for history, where I had a couple of make up essays in my bag waiting to be handed in. It didn’t matter to Peter. He directed his next class to their seats and set them some bookwork while he marched me down to the headmaster’s office.

“Tell him what you told me,” he said when we were called in. “Leave nothing out. I’ll come back after my current class.”

So I repeated my tale of woes in a slightly more controlled manner, with Mr Cavendish’s expression growing grimmer by the minute.

“Sit right there,” he said when he was done and tapped away at his computer for a couple of minutes. When he was done, he asked to see both my school diary and the two history essays I’d prepared. Once he’d skimmed through them all, he looked up at my worried expression. “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “Tea or... no, not coffee. Water or fruit juice perhaps?”

“Some water would be appreciated, sir.”

He pressed his intercom. “Kate, a bottle of cold water and a coffee, please. I’m expecting a few of the masters after this present period. Just have them sit outside my office when they get here. I’ll let you know when I want to see them.”

The drinks arrived, and the water was so very welcome. I sat nervously and asked, “Am I in trouble sir?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“I get the impression someone is.”

“You’d be right there. I just need to decide precisely who and how much.”

“Might this have something to do with Lance’s father?”

“Why would you say something like that?”

“Well, when I went to say hello to Lance on the Friday when we arrived here, he said some unpleasant things to me. He gave me the impression he wasn’t particularly pleased that Lance and I are becoming rather, er, close.”

“What did he say to you?”

“I’m sorry sir, but I rather think that’s between him and me.”

“Not when it affects one of the pupils under my care, and not when it occurs on school grounds. Now please.”

I recounted the conversation I’d had with Lance’s dad as well as I could remember it. He grinned for the first time since I’d arrived in his office, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.

The noise level outside the office was increasing gently, with a vague interrogative quality to it. Mr Cavendish stood.

“Gwen, if you would be good enough to take your chair over to that corner and sit quietly for a while.”

I did and he opened his office door, ushering in most of my teachers, Mr Phillips included.

“So, gentlemen,” they were all gentlemen. There were female teachers in the school, but none of them taught me, “perhaps you would like to tell me what Quentin Girling said to each of you that convinced you it was in your best interests to make one of our newest students first week at Marlborough such a trial.”

Nearly a dozen pairs of eyes swivelled around to look at me, then bedlam erupted as everyone tried to speak at the same time. It lasted half a minute before Mr Cavendish raised his voice and said “Enough!” loud enough to bring the place back to order.

“Mr Phillips. Why is Miss Llewellyn not studying Latin with you?”

“She’s in year ten and hasn’t studied it before...”

“Didn’t you have an American student join you in year eleven a couple of years ago? What was his name?”

“Polanski.”

“Yes. Also no Latin when he came to us. He didn’t take a GCSE in the end, but he was a little competent when he left as I recall. Gwen, you’re studying a foreign language, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, French sir.”

“Any good?”

“The French teacher in my last school put me in the top set.”

“Mr Lambert?”

“Er, she made a lot of mistakes in the essay I asked her to write?”

“By comparison to the rest of your class, how many?”

“Erm, quite a few.”

“Not comparative in my mind. Think of a student in your year ten class who’s working at a similar level. Which set?”

“Er, s-second, headmaster.”

“And now that she’s done all the extra homework you’ve set her?”

“Prob, er, probably just about top set.”

“So put her in top set and stop overloading her with unnecessary extra work, unless you intend to do the same to all your classes, in which case you’d better make sure it’s marked in good time and you’re prepared to justify the extra work to any parent who’s child complains.”

“Yes, headmaster.”

“Mr Phillips. Gwen is a top set student in a Latin based modern language. I expect you can do something with that, otherwise what the hell am I paying you for?”

Mr Phillips didn’t like being talked to in that manner. He looked at me with poison in his eyes.

“Mr Phillips, Miss Llewellyn did not come to me over this matter. In fact she was somewhat reluctant to speak to me. I’m the one who’s angry with you, and I am this close,” fingers pinched together, “to writing you a formal reprimand. I can find another Latin master. How confident are you that you can find a job teaching your subject with the reference I am in a mind to write for you?”

The Latin master deflated almost entirely.

“That’s better. If you have a problem, with anything that’s said in this room here and now, you come and talk to me,” he slammed a fist down on his desk, “because it’s me you have a problem with. If I hear about any of you taking out your frustration on any of my students, you’d better already have your belongings packed, because you will be leaving this place with my size eleven boot up your arses.

“Mr Lee, these make up essays, which I believe Gwen was to give you today. How long did you give her to write them? I’m assuming you were expecting her to research them first.”

“Er, Tuesday, headmaster, and yes.”

“Did you specify the length?”

“Two thousand words is standard, sir.”

“For two essays to be written in just two days alongside what your colleagues have been asking of her?”

“Er...”

“These look a damned site better than a lot of the material I’ve seen on your wall on open evenings.”

Mutterings of “AI generated.”

“Do you think I’m incapable of picking out when something’s been written by a machine? Gwen, did you use AI?”

“Er, I did to start with to get an overview and links to relevant websites, but I read through all of those sites and a few they linked to, then I summarised the information in my own words. Sir.”

“You’re supposed to write them without using AI,” Mr Lee said, feeling vindicated.

“Yes sir, and I did. I only used the AI as a sort of librarian to find the most relevant sources of information first.”

“Give me the name of one student in your class who doesn’t make more use of the new technology, Mr Lee. I don’t believe you have much to complain about here.” He handed the essays across. “You have until tomorrow to justify the need for any further catch-up work. Either that or stop overloading her.”

He went through the rest of the teachers in much the same way. Science and maths came closest to having good reason for the extra work, except I was already working at a level equivalent to the one I’d managed at my previous school. The extra work had shown me capable of working at a higher level, so cautious approval was given to keep an extra workload going, though not at the punishing level they’d applied.

“Alright,” he said with a resigned tone. This had already taken far longer than he’d wanted. “So, tell me again, any of you, why a request made by any parent, regardless of how wealthy and influential, should take precedence over your professional judgements.”

None of them responded.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t put a verbal reprimand in each of your files.”

That had them looking up in alarm, but still none of them had a response.

“Sir,” I said. “What exactly would that mean? I mean, how long does a reprimand like that stay on their records, and what does it mean?”

“It varies with the school, Gwen. Here the reprimand stays in place for six months, but even once it’s removed, a record remains to show that one had been issued. In the private school sector, any indication of a reprimand works against a teacher’s likelihood of being offered a job elsewhere. If I were looking to employ someone here, any mention that a teacher had a reprimand of any sort would be a red flag.”

“That sounds a bit extreme. I mean, it hasn’t been a fun week, but it’s not like anything bad happened. If anything, I managed to raise my game a little.”

“There needs to be a consequence. I don’t want my staff thinking they can get away this sort of thing.”

“Does there have to be a record of the reprimand? I mean if it’s minor enough only to be a verbal, and verbal warnings are only meant to be temporary, then it seems unfair to leave any sort of permanent record.”

“Alright, six months then no residual record, unless you give me any reason to reconsider. That applies to all of you.

“Mr Phillips, I expect to see an appropriate, personalised program by the end of tomorrow. Messer’s Matthews, Proctor, Jameson and Pauli, you can keep on with the extra work if you believe it will continue to help, but make sure to keep it at a reasonable level. I will be checking.

“Enough. Buzz off the lot of you, and don’t give me a reason to call you in again. Not you, Gwen. You should stay.”

“Sir?” I asked once we were alone.

“Yes. There’s one more person involved here, and I’m limited in what sanctions I can bring against him.”

“If you’re going to suggest that he find another school for his son, that wouldn’t be particularly fair.”

“Yes, I understand you’ve become quite attached to the young man.”

“It’s not that sir. Lance had nothing to do with this.”

“Are you sure? You do have a tendency to overlook the less pleasant aspects of the people you encounter.”

“It’s more that I choose to believe people are better than they seem rather than worse, and I’m prepared to live with the consequences if I’m wrong. As for Lance, I know he has something of a checkered history here, but I’m as certain as I can be that he’s not a part of this.”

“Would you object if I called him in and spoke to him?”

“I suppose not.”

“Is there anything you can tell me that might help me make up my mind about him?”

“Nothing that isn’t his to decide whether he shares it or not.”

“Very well. Do you need anything else? Another bottle of water perhaps?”

I held up the half finished bottle in my hand and shook my head.

Five minutes later, Lance arrived looking worried.

“Mr Girling,” the headmaster said gravely

“Sir,” Lance replied.

“Do you know why I’ve called you in today?”

“No sir. I mean, I’ve given you cause in the past, but I really am trying, sir.”

“So you know nothing about what’s been going on with this young lady?”

He turned in the direction indicated, towards me.

“Gwen?”

I gave him an embarrassed fluttery fingered wave.

“Hi Lance.”

“What’s happening? Are you alright?”

“I’ve been asked not to say anything.” Not entirely true, but it got me off the hook. “Just be honest.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Gwen’s been overloaded with extra work this week. It transpires that your father may be behind it.”

“What! I’ll kill the bastard. Gwen, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It was maybe a bit rough, but no real harm.”

“You knew nothing about this?”

“No! Well, I’d noticed Gwen was a little stressed maybe, and she cancelled a thing we were planning for tomorrow evening, but I had no idea... You have to believe me.”

“I do. At least, I don’t remember your thespian skills been this well developed. What do you think I should do about it?”

“You’re asking if you should threaten to expel me and see if you can get him to put a little more in the school fund? I’m not sure that would work this time. I think he’d be only too glad of an excuse to get me out of here.”

“Because of your involvement with Gwen here?”

“Yes sir.”

“What else might you suggest?”

“Can you deny him access to the campus sir? Make it public so that everyone knows the reason? He won’t like what that does to his reputation. And deny him access to any teacher on campus unless he arranges it through you first, at which point the interview would be conducted with you present. If he complains, call in the national press and explain to them why you’re taking those measures.”

“He may withdraw you from the school anyway.”

“He can try. I’ll threaten to contest it publicly. He won’t want the publicity. Of course, if it comes down to funding...”

“Then I could offer to pay Lance’s fees,” I said.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have to explain why one of our scholarship students is paying the fees for one of our wealthiest.”

“Then let Lance have my scholarship and I’ll pay my own way.”

“Again, that will be hard to sell to the trustees. Scholarships are usually given to those with exceptional talent. That’s easy enough to demonstrate in your case.”

“Then just threaten to make it all public," Lance said. "Dad relies on his reputation and something like this will wreck it big time.”

“At which point he probably won’t be in a position to afford your fees.”

“Mutually assured destruction. It’s up to him if he wants his world to come down around his ears. I’ll happily accept the consequences to me.”

“Lance.”

“As long as he leaves you alone, it’ll be worth it.”

“You won’t think that if you end up in a school like the one I came from.”

“It won’t come to that. Tell him he and a Mum are banned from coming on the campus and talking to staff members without you being present, and if he wants to complain, you’ll happily call a press conference and explain to everyone your reasons for taking the action. He’ll fold like a deck chair.”

“Is that acceptable to you, Gwen?”

“I don’t like what it might mean for Lance, but.. well, sure.”

Mr Cavendish picked up his phone and dialled. It didn’t say much for Lance’s reputation that he didn’t need to consult a directory.

“Mrs Girling. David Cavendish here, from Marlborough College... No, no, Lance has been doing much better. This is on another matter. Yes please, if your husband could call me back at his earliest convenience... I suspect he will know what this is about. Just let him know. Thank you.”

The bell for the end of the day rang.

“I believe Mr Ambrose said he would come back for you, Gwen. If you’d rather Lance waited with you, that will be fine.”

“Thank you sir.”

There wasn’t much waiting involved. Peter was there within minutes.