Queen's Gambit - Chapter 1

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

What is a story?

I imagine there’s a ton of ways you could answer that, but to me it’s kind of a snippet from a life – fictional or otherwise. The once upon a time rarely starts with the birth of the main character, and when it does, there’s usually a fast forward to a point where the child has grown up before the action really starts. Likewise, the happily ever after rarely ends with the MC’s death – I guess not a lot of ever after to be happy in if it did.

So, what defines the snippet? A story usually focuses on a particular set of related events. It starts with the first event that changes the course of a life and ends with the resolution of all the changes that happen. Either the situation is fixed, or the characters come to terms with the new reality.

I’m kind of into stories.

My own starts the day I won a prize for writing one.

It was one of those sorts of “voluntary” competition that you get in schools, you know where everyone is “encouraged” to take part, and generally there are consequences if you don’t. It didn’t bother me much, but then I was probably one of a small minority who enjoyed the challenge.

Yeah, it was a writing competition. One of the school’s attempts to improve literacy, an area where the last OFSTED visit had said they were failing. It wasn’t the greatest of successes given that probably a third of the kids in my class still struggled to write much more than their names – well okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but most of them genuinely couldn’t fill much more than a page in a lesson.

They thought they’d encourage us by letting us write about whatever we liked, fiction or fact, local or global (or beyond). If anything, that helped contribute to the overall failure of the venture, because not only were most of my contemporaries lacking in will and skill when it came to writing, but they also had seriously underdeveloped imaginations.

Some of the least awful entries, as I understand it, where attempts to recreate favourite TV shows or computer games. Most couldn’t even be called fan fiction given that they didn’t stray beyond the existing story line.

In the end, out of the two hundred or so students in my year there were only a couple of dozen entries that were in with even a vague chance of winning.

And mine outshone them all – apparently.

“Take a risk,” we’d been told. “Write about the things you’re passionate about, write about something new, something different.”

So, I did, and I did. Not so much the last one, but I did allow someone to read what I’d written which was probably the biggest risk of all.

It was a fantasy adventure I’d been thinking about for some time where the brave knight is transformed by an evil magician into a beautiful damsel and forced to be his consort. She learns the secret of his power and succeeds in destroying it, sacrificing her only chance of ever being changed back, but saving the land from the sorcerer’s tyranny. The story ends with her coming to terms with her new self and discovering that she’s gained more than she’s lost.

I called it “Knight in White Satin”. Kind of after the Moody Blue’s song, but not with the same meaning, obviously.

So yeah, there’s another thing about me, and this is where the risk came in. I have a kind of trans thing going, which for all sorts of reasons has never surfaced, the main one being that it would be the end of my life at school if anyone ever found out.

There was this kid a couple of years ago came out as trans. He started coming to school in a skirt and insisted on being called Jenny. I don’t think she made it through a whole day the rest of the year. The girls resented her and wouldn’t talk to her, the boys in her year would beat her up whenever they could, and even the kids in the younger years would laugh at her and call her names. I felt sorry for her, but there was no way I could talk to her without becoming a target as well. Besides, I was a couple of years younger than her and she probably wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me. She lasted half a term before her parents withdrew her from the school.

I never did find out what happened to her. I can only hope she found a kinder part of the world to live in. It was enough of a warning though, so I kept my own confused thoughts bottled up and only let them out through my writing.

I’m not sure what I was thinking handing in a piece of TG fiction, but I had a good relationship with Mrs Meredith, my English teacher, and I trusted her to be discreet.

It turns out that wasn’t so much an option for the competition winner, and my offering was so much better than anything else that was handed in. It was about fifty thousand words for one thing, which made it five times longer than the next longest offering, and to use my teacher’s words, “it was a real page turner, a genuine pleasure to read, unlike most of the other submissions.”

She wanted to play down the content of the story, but she wasn’t the only teacher on the judging panel. Somehow the head heard about it, and with LGBTQ rights being the current major focus of political correctness in the education system, he insisted on announcing my win at the last assembly of the year.

He actually read an excerpt from my story to the whole school body, and said how proud he was that a pupil in his school should write a story with an LGBTQ character in the leading role. I think maybe he was overcompensating for the way things had gone with Jenny, but whatever his misguided reasons, he ended up hammering a fistful of nails in my coffin with his address.

I cringed through it all, but I was well aware of the evil glares directed my way from pretty much everyone sitting around me. Fortunately, the assembly was the last thing that happened before we were let loose on the world for the summer. I was called up on to the stage to accept my prize, then ushered out of the hall by Mrs Meredith.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to me. “I tried to tell him it was a bad idea, but he just wouldn’t listen.

“It’s a slight bending of the rules, but you should go now. Grab your bag and go home. Hopefully by the time the summer’s over everyone will have forgotten. In the meantime, I hope the prize will make up for at least some of this. It really was a good story, Gavin.”

Yeah, as if I didn’t have enough to live down without a name like that. We don’t have anyone named Stacey in the school, but it seems that’s not enough of an obstacle to the truly moronic, and I’ve spent most of my time at school enduring a more or less constant onslaught of, “Where’s Stacey, Gavin?” and similar.

I told you the school population isn’t long on imagination.

I have to accept some responsibility for my predicament. I’ve never been confrontational and could probably have saved myself a fair amount of heartache if I’d simply stood up to the taunts on my first day, but I just don’t have it in me.

I mean it isn’t even an insult. What gets me is the incessant repetition. I’ve no personal experience with Chinese water torture, but I have to believe it works on the same principle. It left me screaming inside, but I was convinced that if I did fight back, especially after all this time, it would escalate the hostilities directed my way.

Mind you, that ship had now officially sailed. However much Mrs M might hope for this to blow over, I couldn’t share her optimism.

The head start wasn’t that much use. My bus left the same time regardless, but with some luck there would be other people waiting when I reached the bus stop, and that might be enough to keep any of my Neanderthal peer group from getting physical at least.

My luck did hold that far. I was awarded a few suspicious looks from the half dozen or so older people already waiting, but they turned somewhat sympathetic when a mob of numpties from my year came charging up a few minutes later. Not all of them rode the bus, but they arranged themselves around me and started with a variation on their usual jibes.

“Hey Gavin, or do you prefer Stacey?”

“Yeah, Gavin is Stacey, who knew? Hur, hur.”

I mean who laughs like that?

“Enjoy your Summer, Stavin, or do you prefer Gacey?”

“Yeah, Gacey. Gay-cey, get it? Hur hur.”

“You are dead meat, hear me? Dead. Meat.”

Those last two words were accompanied by a shove each. It was enough to prompt a response from the other’s waiting in the queue. Not much more than a slight shift in position and a distinct glower – I mean this is England after all, what do you expect? It was enough to get the haters to back off though.

“Hey, Gacey-Stacey, what did you win?”

Fortunately, I’d made use of my short reprieve at the stop to tuck the envelope into my bag, otherwise I’m sure I’d have been playing piggy in the middle with it. I ignored the question and prayed for the bus to arrive soon.

“Hey Gavin, I asked you a question.”

The arrival of the bus saved me having to respond. I endured a couple more half-hearted death threats while I waited my turn to board. The downstairs was full, apart from one aisle seat next to a middle-aged lady of substantial girth. I would normally prefer to go to the upper deck for this ride, but today I was glad of any opportunity to avoid my peers. I apologised and settled on what remained of the seat next to her. She gave me a withering look and graciously offered me a couple of additional inches. The rest of my class headed upstairs leaving me to my somewhat cramped but very welcome peace.

The next challenge would be getting off the bus. Wayne Barnes lived around the corner from me and would get off at the same time. There was unlikely to be anyone at the bus stop when I got off, which meant he’d have his chance then. I could stay on to the next stop, but then he might do the same just to spite me, then he’d have the whole half mile walk back to make my life misery. The stop before wasn’t an option as it was a full two miles from home.

Wayne came down well ahead of the stop just to make sure I was still there. The look he gave me didn’t bode well for my immediate future. All I could do was endure the onslaught for however long it took to get home.

Except there was someone waiting at the stop. Not much of a reprieve as I imagined they’d be getting on. I made my way to the front of the bus where Wayne stood close enough to be intimidating and to stop me from making a break for it as I’d been hoping.

Then I recognised who was waiting at the bus stop and I wasn’t sure if I was more relieved or mortified. For some reason, my mum had come to meet me.

The door opened and Mum smiled at me as I stepped down. “Hello Sweetie,” she said, “Mrs Meredith phoned to say you had some good news. I know you don’t like me doing this, but I was just so curious, I had to come down.”

Wayne stepped off behind me and walked past, making throat slitting actions behind Mum’s back.

I let out a sigh, unaware I’d been holding my breath. I had my reprieve after all. I forced a smile for my saviour and tried for some enthusiasm.

“I won a prize for a writing competition at school. The head presented it to me at assembly.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s in an envelope. I thought I’d wait till I was home before opening it.”

“Well, let’s get you home then. I’m proud of you Gavin. I know you don’t like it much at that school.”

Master of the understatement my mum.

I stared at the letter with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I’d read through it three times so far and it still hadn’t sunk in.

Mum plonked a mug of tea in front of me, along with a plate of biscuits – it seemed this really did merit a celebration.

“Well?” She picked up a biscuit and nibbled at it delicately.

I’ve always wondered what it must be like to eat a biscuit like that, but it’s not really something I could try in public without someone passing comment. I took one of my own, bit off half of it and swallowed it down with a mouthful of tea – still a little too hot.

“It’s a week’s summer school in creative writing at Marlborough College. All expenses paid. They have other activities going on that I can do if I want, but that would be extra.”

“Marlborough, that’s in Wiltshire I think.” Mum reached for her tablet and tapped away. “Wow, it looks rather up market. Are you sure that says all expenses paid?”

I passed the letter over and let her read for herself.

“This isn’t for a few weeks yet,” she said. She looked up at me and melted into a smile. “I’ll talk it through with your dad. It doesn’t look like it’ll mess up our holiday plans, but we’ll have to make arrangements to get you there and back. I don’t need to ask of it’s something you want to do, do I?”

I shook my head. For the first time in a long time, the smile on my face reached all the way up to my eyes. This might even be worth what I had to look forward to when I went back to school.

“So, can I see this piece of writing that everyone’s so impressed with?”

Some joys are short lived. My veins filled with ice and my brain went into overdrive.

“Mrs Meredith has it,” I said. It was something of the truth. She definitely had a copy, but the original was sitting on my computer upstairs.

“Don’t you have it on your computer?”

“I deleted it.” Okay, that wasn’t so much brain in overdrive as in panic mode.

“Why would you…”

“Mum, it’s really not that good.”

“Your teacher seemed to think it was, and they wouldn’t be sending you to this place if they didn’t think you deserved it.”

“Mum, please.”

She can be slow to take the hint sometimes, but she does take it eventually, usually. She did this time.

I buried the chance of her looking for a different approach by stuffing down the rest of the biscuits.

“Gavin, don’t spoil your appetite.”

As if I could. I spend most of my life hungry. Both Mum and Dad comment regularly on how much food I eat and how little there is to show for it. Probably another reason for trying to keep my head down at school – I’m something of a scrawny runt.

I finished my tea and headed for my room. The summer started here, and I didn’t really want to be stuck in my school uniform for any longer than I needed.

I felt in too good a mood to write, so I fired up the Playtendo Box for a bit of escapism. Most of my stories grow from my discontentment, and I felt anything but that at the moment. For all that I wasn’t looking forward to going back to school, that was six weeks away and not a problem for the present.

I’m more of a puzzle games person. I don’t have the aggression for first person shooters, unless it’s Lara Croft of course, and even then, I mainly play the game for the thinking side of it. Whenever I have a combat challenge, I usually end up looking for walkthroughs to get me past them. Yeah, it’s cheating I know, but I kind of freeze up and fail hopelessly while the grizzly bear or T-rex or whatever tears me apart. I’d reached one of the good bits though, where it was all about climbing around a largely deserted ruin, looking for all the hidden passages and secrets. I kind of lost myself in it for over an hour before Mum called up the fifteen-minute warning for tea.

It’s a fair compromise. Mum gives me enough warning to reach a save point and I keep to the time limit she sets, that way she doesn’t get mad because tea’s getting cold while I’m still playing, and I don’t get mad because she comes upstairs and pulls the plug on me losing half an hour’s progress.

Yeah, it took us a while to reach the compromise, but things are better now we both talked it out.

Mum and I talk through most things.

Not my stories – that’s kind of private. I’m not ready to talk to them about the trans bit of me, not yet – maybe never.

“I hear you’re a budding J K Rowling,” Dad greeted me as I came into the kitchen.

Yeah, we eat in the kitchen. The house isn’t that big and we prefer to keep the lounge/diner as a large lounge. The kitchen’s fine, means the food hasn’t got so far to go, and it’s big enough for the three of us.

J K Rowling? I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t know if my stuff would have such a wide appeal. Besides, with all her recent terf rhetoric, I’m not sure I particularly want to be associated with her.

I was ready to eat, and managed to shovel a few forkfuls of bangers and mash into my face before Dad switched from declarative to interrogative.

“So, what’s it about, this story of yours?” At a guess Mum had put him up to the fishing expedition.

“Kind of fantasy,” I managed with as much nonchalance as I could squeeze past my mouthful of food. “Brave knight fights the evil magician, wins the day, lives happily ever after. That sort of thing.”

“Oh come on, there has to be more to it than that.” Yeah, Mum definitely had him fishing.

So, I switched to my first line of defence. I started going into some fairly tedious detail about how the magic was supposed to work in this story. I talked about my concept of the dragons of old, that rather than dying they all went to sleep, and when the last and youngest of them became too lonely, she settled into her own final resting place. I described how millennia later, the magician dug the foundations for his castle into the hill where aeons of time had buried her, and discovered one of her tears, which became the source of his power and the means he used to overthrow and oppress the land around him.

I could see both parents beginning to glaze over and I wasn’t even close to introducing the more embarrassing bit. I took pity on them. “Anyway, more like that,” I said, “until the brave knight comes along, faces the perils of the magician’s magic and wins the day.”

You could see Dad was happy to be off the hook. Mum had a look about her like she’d been duped but couldn’t figure out how. I kind of bit back the smile which was fighting to take over my face and eased the conversation down new, if vaguely related, lines.

“So, do you think I could go on this course, Dad? I’d really like to.”

Dad looked to Mum, diplomatically sharing the responsibility. She shrugged, so all was well. “I don’t see why not. We’ll have to figure out how to get you there and back…”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” I said. “I could take the train. The one to Marlborough leaves from King’s Cross which is the same station I’d get into going from here, so the change would be easy.”

Okay, I confess, I didn’t spend all my time playing games. I read up a bit on Marlborough College – including how to get there – before firing up my console. Marlborough Mound had me intrigued, and I wondered what my favourite archaeologist/tomb raider might have made of it.

“Well… I suppose.”

“It would make things easier,” Mum added her approval to the idea, which more or less sealed it. Not that it wasn’t pretty much a done deal anyway.

“Your Mum and I have been talking,” Dad added. “We won’t have to feed you for the week, so we should be able to afford a little extra. If you can see anything else going on there during the week, we should be able to subsidise one or two additional activities if you like.”

“Really?” The excitement was back, no need to fake anything, and I’m guessing from their smiles it was pretty obvious.

The hard thing was getting through the next few weeks. We had a couple of weeks camping in the south of France, which was exciting enough, but I was filled up with the prospect of spending a whole week in a place like Marlborough College, living in the shadow of Merlin’s final resting place.

Okay, that was probably just wishful thinking, but it was still food for a fantasy writer. I found myself exploring different ideas in my head. I’d read a piece of TG fiction online at some time in the past about a place called the Hemlock Stone. The writer had suggested it as the location of Morgan le Fay’s tomb. In the story the witch had reawaken and turned the main character into a young girl before being defeated.

My head swam with different ideas. I loved the thought of Albion’s heritage including some form of powerful magic. The sensible side of me insisted it was all make-believe, but I’ve learned that a healthy dose of fantasy helps you to survive if you’re stuck between worlds like me.

I enjoyed France, swam, surfed and soaked up a ton of sunlight, tried my first taste of wine – not overly keen – ate all sorts of weird things – again not keen on snails or frog’s legs – overall did all the things you do on holidays and came back feeling as rested and relaxed as my mum and dad seemed to be.

I know they worried about me not having friends. They kept suggesting I invite some of them round, which I countered by saying they lived a long way away. I did head out most days once we made it back home, saying I’d arranged to meet with friends in town. That was as bald a faced lie as I ever told though. If I’d been unfortunate enough to meet anyone from school, I’d have done anything to make sure they didn’t spot me. Fortunately, they were pretty much all glued to their computers and consoles, so I had the town to myself most days. It wasn’t time wasted, I got to wander around the shops dreaming impossible dreams and putting together ideas for stories, some of which I started once I was home and in front of my computer. I had them all in a hidden directory, which was no major piece of security, but beyond the technical capacity of my Mum at least, and hopefully not something Dad would think to look for. On one of my shopping expeditions I’d invested a lump of accumulated pocket money in a decent sized memory stick. One of the features I liked about it was that it had an application on it that allowed me to encrypt part of the memory. My more personal stories went in there and a few less incriminating ones went into the open area, just in case snooping eyes came anywhere near.

Finally, the day arrived. Mum lent me her tablet, which was an amazing sacrifice on her part. It had a separate keyboard so I could use it as a computer. Apart from that I had clothes enough to make it through the week, washing things, and a selection of extra things they suggested on the off chance I had an opportunity to try something new and different while I was there. Dad gave me a stack of spending money, which he said was for addition activities if I found anything I was interested in, and they sent me off with my phone charged and topped up. No excuse not to call.

The train journey was relatively uneventful. I had the packed lunch Mum had sent me off with, along with a few packets of biscuits (wouldn’t melt in the summer heat like chocolate) so I had supplies enough to see me through till I reached my destination. It was a typical train journey on Britain’s railways, which is to say long, tedious, dirty to the point of being disgusting, but otherwise endurable. There was a minibus waiting at Marlborough train station, which was where I found I’d actually been sharing a carriage with several other kids going to the summer school. They seemed to know each other though and kept to their clique, so I let them and stayed in my clique of one.

My room was clean if a little sparse. The view from my window looked out on a central, immaculately maintained lawn. Once I’d unpacked and called Mum to let her know I’d arrived, I headed out to explore the grounds. I knew when and where to go for dinner as they called it – tea in my household – and I’d been told my time was my own until then.

It didn’t take long for my feet to find their way to the foot of the Marlborough Mound. It wasn’t as impressive as I’d hoped, but it was still pretty cool. Definitely round in shape, maybe sixty feet to the top (actually I already knew from my research that it was nineteen metres tall). There was a path spiralling round the base and up the side to a circular path at the top. It only took a half hour or so to explore the whole thing, including finding the grotto entrance on the South East side (can something that’s circular have a side?). The grotto entrance had a locked grill in front of it, so no exploration possible. Besides, it only dated back to the seventeenth or eighteenth century whereas the mound dated back to the same sort of age as Stonehenge, twice as long ago as when Jesus was around, and I can’t even get my head around that long a time.

I made my way to the top and found a quiet place to sit and look out over the Wiltshire countryside.

“Hey lads, what do we have here?”

I looked over my shoulder to find a group of boys of about my age but substantially more than my size. I’ve already mentioned, that’s not hard, but these guys were solidly built even for kids our age. They wore Marlborough College uniforms, which made this their territory and not mine. I did wonder what they were still doing here, but it was a passing thought since they had ideas of their own regarding me.

I sighed and stood up. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Well you should have thought of that before coming here, shouldn’t you?”

Why did I always seem to attract people like this?

“I’m here for the summer school,” I offered.

“Well duh! We all are. What are you here for, weightlifting? Or no, maybe it’s the ballet. Did you remember to pack your tutu?”

As usual there was just the one of them speaking. The rest seemed to be there for the cheap laughs and to act as a sort of human barrier. In next to no time they had me surrounded.

“Please, let me go.”

“He’s not very friendly is he lads?” The alpha gave me a gentle shove. It acted as a signal to the others who joined in.

There was only one thing to do under circumstances like these. I crouched down and wrapped my arms around my chest. That and try not to cry of course. Blood in the water that was.

“Ah, he’s not worth it,” chief among the nasties said. “There’s nothing left of him to pick on.” He gave me a shove with his boot and I dutifully rolled over, tucking into a foetal position.

They sauntered off and I stayed where I was until I was sure they’d gone.

“Why do you let them push you around like that?”

It wasn’t a young voice. I rolled away from it and onto my feet, brushing down the dead leaves and bits of grass that clung to me. The man was old, but I couldn’t tell how old. Old enough to be retired, definitely. His hair fell over his shoulders in a silvery cascade, his eyes were grey, watery and kind, his clothes old but clean and well kept.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Only politicians and statesmen answer one question with another. You, I don’t think, are so impolite usually.”

“Erm,” It took a moment to remember what his question had been. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t like fighting. It seems easier just to let them have their fun.”

“Even though it upsets you?”

“They didn’t seem particularly bothered about that. I did ask them to stop.”

“Yes, you did, didn’t you? There are times when it’s not enough to ask though. Sometimes you have to command.”

“And why would they obey me?”

“A good question. I knew someone a little like you once. He started off a scrawny little pup. He was much the same, did whatever he was told, suffered the abuse of those who sought to have fun at his expense.”

“What happened to him?”

“He grew up. Learned to be strong, to command.”

I hugged my arms to me and looked down at the ground.

“I don’t see that in you though. It’s always been a problem with young boys. I’ve seen it time and again. The sooner they find their strength, the sooner they find their arrogance and conceit. It was the same with the young man I mentioned, though it took him longer. I wonder if you’ll be different.”

“You still haven’t told me who you are.”

“You’re right. Would you believe me if I told you I was a friend?”

“I’d prefer it if you told me your name.”

“Why? Would it make that much difference to you? You haven’t told me yours.”

“It’s Gavin.”

“Ah, Gawain. A fine name indeed.”

“No, I said Gavin.”

“Gawain is it’s original form. It’s Welsh, for what that’s worth. It means white hawk, or sometimes God-send, though quite why it should have two such different meanings is beyond me. Well Gavin, I believe it is nearly time for your evening meal. You should run along if you don’t want to be late, and it would be impolite to be late on your first evening here don’t you think. We’ll see each other again soon enough, now off you go.”

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“You’re definitely more astute than most. Good evening to you, Gavin.”

He wandered off down the hill muttering my name. It almost sounded like echoes distorting. “Gavin, Gawain, Gwen, ah, Gwen.”

The refectory was easy enough to find. Getting through the door was another matter. I stood in the doorway staring at a vast room filled with row upon row of tables and chairs, most occupied by eagerly chattering boys and girls of different ages. I caught sight of the group I’d encountered earlier on the mound. One of them sneered at me and shook his head slowly. No welcome there, not that I’d expected one.

“You must be Gavin.”

I near jumped out of my skin causing the man who’d spoken to me to step back holding up his hands disarmingly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He dropped one hand and held the other out. “My name’s Peter Ambrose. I’ll be running the creative writing course this week. I apologise for not being there to welcome you from the train. Something came up that needed my attention.”

“It’s alright. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“But I wanted to meet you. Your teacher, Mrs Meredith sent me the piece you wrote that earned you your place here.”

If I’d felt like a deer in the headlights before, it was nothing by comparison. “She did?”

“Yes, but Gavin, please don’t worry.”

Easy to say.

“Really, don’t worry. I’m the only person here to have seen it, and so things will remain unless and until you feel happy to share it with others. For my part, I don’t judge other than to say it was a captivating piece of writing. If you wrote it from the heart, it shows great courage, if as a piece of pure fiction, it shows great insight. Either way, I’m impressed and that’s not easily done.

“Now I imagine you won’t know anyone here. I get the feeling you’ve met Lance and his cronies,” he waved vaguely towards the idiots from earlier, “which is unfortunate because they are in no way representative of what we’re trying to achieve here. I’ve been trying to gather all the creative writers together on one table. You’ll meet them in class tomorrow, but you may want to join us so we can make a start on getting to know each other. If you head over to the servery over there, you’ll find a stack of trays. Load up with as much as you want to eat and join us. Cutlery’s on the table as are glasses and water. If you want anything else to drink, add it to your tray.”

He gave me a gentle push in the right direction, and taking it for the permission it evidently was, I headed over. I piled my tray perhaps a little higher than might be considered polite, but I was hungry, and made my way back to the table where Mr Ambrose sat with a dozen or so people my age. At first glance it looked like I was the only boy there which left me blushing more than a little, especially when I heard a snicker from the direction of Lance and his friends.

“I might have known he was one of the girls,” Lance said loud enough for me to hear. Mr Ambrose looked ready to storm over, but I caught his eye and shook my head. He subsided, but from his exoression, he was not ready to let it go. Lance must have caught sight of it as well because he quietened down.

Two of the girls shuffled apart making space for me. No escape, not that I really wanted one. It felt oddly pleasant to be invited into the group.

“I’m Alicia,” the girl to my right said. From there they went around the table. “Mandy,” “Judith,” “Myfanwy,” “Gillian,” “Sarah,” “Also Sarah,” “Helen”, “Gretchen, Gretch,” “Zoe,” “Stacey.”

Of course, there had to be a Stacey.

“I’m, erm. I’m Gavin.” I felt my face turn beet red and I couldn’t face the girl to my left. Everyone else seemed to find the contents of their plates of particular interest.

“Fair enough, we have a Gavin and Stacey in our midst.” Mr Ambrose said. He’d obviously been aware of our names before this evening, so he at least was forewarned. “It’s nothing but a coincidence and things like this happen more often than you might imagine. Just because the two names are linked in the title of a fairly mediocre sitcom doesn’t mean that they have to be here. What do you say ladies? Gentleman?”

“I get the Gavin and Stacey thing a lot at school,” I said, “Even though we don’t have anyone named Stacey. I can’t say I’ve ever felt like watching the program.”

Stacey smiled. It was a ghostly thing and it didn’t look like it haunted her face often. “I get the same,” she mumbled. “I would think it’s worse for you though. My name’s a lot more common than yours.”

“I get Alicia in Wonderland,” Alicia offered.

“Mandy Pandy,” From, well from Mandy evidently.

“Wanamaker for me,” Zoe said.

“People kind of mime bucked teeth and glasses to me,” Gretchen chipped in. “You ever watch Recess?”

Gretchen didn’t look anything like her namesake. Blond curls and one of the prettiest faces sitting around the table.

“Fine,” Mr Ambrose said. “For this week you get to choose what names you want to be called by. If it’s your actual name that’s all well and good, but if you’d like to reinvent yourself for the week that also is fine by me. I for one will only settle for you calling me Peter. This is a voluntary class after all. You’re here because you want to be, at least I hope so, so let’s break the mould a little.”

“Would you mind calling me Aly?” Alicia asked.

“Amanda,” Mandy said.

“Gretch is fine,” Gretchen said. “Just no face pulling.”

“I don’t mind Zoe, but no Madam Hooch references.” This unsurprisingly from Zoe.

“There’s not much you can do with Stacey,” Stacey said. “I know some people shorten it to Stace, but that’s not me.”

“You can have any name you like,” Peter encouraged.

“No, I’m good thanks. How about you Gavin?”

The last muttered words I’d heard from the old man were reverberating in my head. Almost involuntarily I opened my mouth.

“Gwen.”

Everyone stared at me, Peter with no small amount of concern.

“Gawain,” I said, feeling like a coward. Gwen had felt right, but I couldn’t. “I believe it’s the Welsh equivalent to Gavin.”

“You have quite the appetite Gawain,” Stacey said. Her smile was less of a ghost now, more genuine. Gawain and Stacey were definitely not a thing.

“I’m kind of hungry all the time,” I said, the redness returning to my features. “It never seems to go anywhere though.”

“You’re lucky,” one of the Sarah’s said. “I’d love to be able to eat that much, but I’d be the size of a Zeppelin before the end of the week.”

“I don’t know if he feels that lucky, do you Gawain?” This was Helen. “I mean you could do with a bit more meat on your bones.”

The ice was broken. We’d bonded. It was an unusual and exciting feeling for me, marred only slightly by the odd sense that I should have stuck with my first choice of name. Peter seemed happier with me as Gawain, so maybe it was as well to let the cards fall as they may.

For now.

It was a spectre of a thought, whispering at the back of my mind, so quietly I wasn’t even sure I heard it.

We'd all had a long day's travel. Myfanwy was the first to yawn, I think, and started before I'd quarried my way through my mountain of food. The yawns became contagious though and quickly made their way around the table.

Peter bit back on a smile and suggested we might want an early night, especially as breakfast started at the ungodly hour of seven-thirty. None of us argued.

I heard a few indistinct noises from behind doors on the way back to my room, but otherwise saw no-one. It didn't take long to get ready for bed and, despite the summer sun still being well above the horizon when I put my head down, I didn't last long before zonking out completely.

At least that meant I was well rested when my alarm went off and made it down to breakfast in good time. Not that I was the first to get there.

“Gawain!” I turned to see Alicia – Aly – waving at me from a table. Most of the rest of the girls were already there. Peter wasn’t, but that just made the invitation all the more special.

I heard a laugh from the middle of the room and there was Lance and co mouthing my adopted name and rolling about like they’d heard the funniest joke ever. I felt my face flush red and hated that it would betray my emotions like this. I waved an acknowledgment to Aly and went to load up a tray with breakfast. I restrained myself a little in what I took, but still ended up with more than twice the amount of any of my table companions.

On my way past Lance’s table, it came as no surprise when a leg shot out in front of me just as I approached. Something rebellious in me wanted to stamp down on it, but I quelled the feeling and stepped over the leg without so much as breaking stride.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with idiots like that,” Myfanwy said as I settled into my place.

“What do you suggest I do?” I asked. “If I try to stand up to them, they’ll just pick on me more. It’s easier just to ignore them.”

“They’ll keep picking on you until you give them a reason to respect you,” Gretchen said.

“And how might I achieve that?” She was echoing the words of the old man the previous day, and she was right. It still didn’t help much. “Neanderthals like that only respect strength and I don’t have any.”

“Neither do we,” Judith said.

“It’s different for you.”

“Because we’re girls?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So why do you think they respect us?”

“I think they’re scared of you. Girls talk to each other, and if just one said something to give a guy a bad reputation that pretty much nixes any chance he might have of getting a date, at least within a particular group of girls.”

“Well,” blonde Sarah said, “We could let them know that the same applies to them if they don’t leave you alone.”

“Listen, I appreciate that you’re trying to help but it just wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?” This time it was curly Sarah. For some unfathomable reason the two Sarahs had bonded.

“Because I’m not a girl.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Stacey asked.

“Guys are supposed to stand up for themselves. You think they don’t respect me now, wait until they find out I’m hiding behind the skirts of a group of girls.”

“That’s stupid!” Amanda said.

“I know, but I didn’t make the rules. I don’t even want to play the game, but I don’t have any other option.”

“So, what will you do?” Myfanwy wanted to know.

“I don’t know. Same as usual I suppose, keep my head down and try and keep out of their way.”

“What do you mean?” Zoe asked.

“The world's full of idiots like that lot,” I replied with a shrug. “You get used to it.”

“Well, you shouldn't have to!”

“And you won’t have to this week, right girls?” Aly said. “I mean you'll be with us during the day all this week. We were going to hang together outside the classes anyway, so you should join us.”

“Yes, we could even make you an honorary girl for the week if you like... Gwen.”

“Judy!”

The others had shocked expressions, but it was Aly who voiced the outrage.

“It’s Judith if you don’t mind, and what?” Even raising her voice she was so quiet she couldn’t be heard beyond our table. The mischievous twinkle in her eye identified her as the dangerous sort of quiet person rather than the shy type. “You'd be okay with that, wouldn’t you?” She directed the question my way with such credible innocence that I doubt anyone suspected the deliberateness of her intent.

I'm sure she didn’t mean it maliciously, but whatever her motivations, her actions were effective. Her first question turned my blood to ice, her second paradoxically set my face aflame. I blushed bright red and tried to focus on my breakfast, not trusting myself to make any response that didn’t incriminate me more than the colour in my skin.

“Leave him alone,” Myfanwy said. “I thought we were trying to help him.”

“I thought we were helping him.” Judith placed a hand on my arm and left it there till I looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” she said so quietly I don’t think anyone else heard her.

I gave her a weak smile before pulling my arm free and emptying another spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

“Morning ladies.” Peter arrived at our table. “Er, and gentleman. Sorry Gawain, I didn’t notice you there.”

“It’s alright Mr Ambrose,” I said.

“Peter, please. We're not in school here. Not in the normal sense of the word.”

“I know, sir. It’s just, you’re still a teacher and it seems disrespectful...”

“That’s because you see me as being your superior and that's really not the case. I’ve read every one of your stories – the ones you wrote to earn yourselves a place on this course – and they're all as good as anything I could write, better in some cases.

“I’m really excited about this week you know. I don’t see it as me teaching a dozen budding authors, but rather an opportunity for us all to explore the unknown territory of our imaginations. I see myself as being only nominally in charge, offering my experience as a guide. It’s you lot that are going to take us into virgin territory.

“So what do you say? If you're done with breakfast, we can go get started.”

Everyone else had long since finished. I scooped in my last couple of mouthfuls and joined the rest of the girls in disposing of our trays.

“Alright you lovely people, welcome,” Mr Ambrose said as we followed him into an empty classroom, and I mean empty. All the desks and chairs had been stacked against one wall, apart from a small circle of seats over near the window. “Park yourselves and we’ll get started.

“As I said yesterday, I will only settle for you calling me Peter. I may be a teacher, but I’m on holiday as much as the rest of you. Now if I remember correctly, we have Aly, Amanda, Gretch, Stacey, Zoe, Myfanwy, Judith, Helen, Gillian, Gawain and two Sarah’s, are you alright with Sarah B and Sarah J?” I suspected related to surnames. They exchanged glances, shrugged and nodded. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a change for this week? Gawain has already picked up on Marlborough’s link to Merlin of Arthurian legend. Quite apart from Guinevere, we have Morgana, Nimue or Viviane – you could each take one of those – Elaine or Isolde becoming progressively more obscure...”

Again the exchange of looks and the combined shake of the heads. For a couple of girls who’d only met the previous evening, they definitely had a pseudo twins thing going.

“Oh well, can’t blame a man for trying.

“Alright, so we’re here to challenge ourselves, am I right? Since we’re here so close to Merlin’s fabled final resting place – you may have seen the town’s motto somewhere in the research I’m sure you all did before coming here; ‘Ubi nunc sapientis ossa Merlin,’ which means? Anyone here with enough Latin to give it a go?”

We were all from comprehensive schools as far as I could tell, which meant no. Except Myfanwy put up her hand.

“Yes, yes. No need to stand on ceremony, Myfanwy.”

“I think ossa may mean bones,” she said uncertainly.

“Excellent, excellent. Exactly right. Anyone else want to hazard a guess?”

“Sapientis sounds like sapient,” Judith offered, “like homo sapiens, but I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means wise. Homo sapiens, our species, means wise man, which is a little ironic given what we’ve become in the modern age. The full translation is, ‘Where now lie the bones of wise Merlin.’

“I’ll admit a lot of what inspired me to this first challenge was Gawain’s choice of name. I want you girls to choose a knight of the round table – you have quite a lot of choice, but, including Arthur, there are twelve who stand out. Kay, Percival, Bedivere, Lancelot, Gawain,” he waved in my direction, “Gareth, Agravain, Mordred – Arthur’s bastard son who betrayed and overthrew him – Tristan, Palemedes and Galahad.

“I want you girls to pick one name each. You don’t have to know anything about your chosen knight, even Mordred and his darker purpose, because I want you to imagine and write a typical day in the life of your chosen. For one thing I want you girls writing from the perspective of a man. Try to get inside the head of a dominant male living in a strongly patriarchal society, think about the way life might have been in the sixth century and how your attitudes would have been. Yes I know it’s tough being a liberated woman and writing about being a man in a male dominated world, but that’s what this week is about: taking a step outside of your comfort zone.

“Gawain, I suspect you’d find this less of a challenge, so I have something different in mind for you.”

“Guinevere?” I asked with mixed excitement and trepidation. I’m not sure which showed through most.

“No, I suspect you’d handle that quite well. Have you heard of the Questing Beast?”

Whatever intrigue might have been sparked to life regarding my gender sputtered and died with this new focus.

“I’ve heard of it,” Judith said, which was more than I could say. Several of the other girls had as well but knew nothing more than some vague reference to King Pellinore’s quest to hunt it down.

“Legends vary greatly, but according to Merlin, a princess – unnamed unfortunately – who lusted after her brother, slept with a demon who promised to make the boy love her, but instead the evil creature manipulated her into accusing her brother of raping her, for which crime he was torn apart by a pack of dogs.

“Before he died, the brother cursed his sister to give birth to a monster that would make the same sound as the hounds that tore apart his flesh.

“And so the Questing Beast was born, with the head and neck of a serpent, the body of a leopard, the forelimbs of a lion and the hind quarters of a stag. A creature that made the sound of a pack of baying hounds.

“I’d like you to put yourself into the mind of this creature, Gawain. Born from sin and cast out to live or die as best you could in the wilderness.

“Some legends speak of how it killed indiscriminately, but most tell of it as having neither need nor desire to feed, but instead it passes without leaving any trace through the forest, evading capture but gaining a reputation as the harbinger of change and destruction.

“In Arthur’s story, he sleeps with Morgause without realising she’s his half sister. Shortly afterwards, she conceives Mordred and he – Arthur – dreams of the Questing Beast. This is generally taken as a portent of the coming fall of Camelot.

“In other stories, the Questing Beast is depicted as a gentle and kind natured creature that assists the knights in their quest for the Holy Grail. In still others it is unreasoningly violent, destroying crops, animals and innocent people.

“Again, take your pick of backgrounds or make up one of your own. Write a day in the life of the creature. Imagine it as having some capacity for reason but none for speech. It’s trapped inside its own mind with no way of understanding how it came into existence, why it is feared and fought by any but the most unusual of men. You up for that?”

I nodded eagerly. It would be so different from what I was used to, and this was what the course was about. He’d guessed right that writing from a woman’s perspective would probably have been easier for me than taking up the girls’ challenge.

“Can I get on the Internet?” I asked holding up Mum’s tablet.

“Of course. There’s a guest account, the details of which are...” he proceeded to write them up on a nearby whiteboard. “You have until lunchtime. Before we break to eat, I’m going to want a little feedback from each of you on your progress.”

“That’s not long,” Sarah B (or was it J) said.

“No, it’s not. I’m not expecting a finished story by then, but at least an outline of what you have in mind. You then get to brainstorm and give each other pointers on how you can make your story stand out.”

Which sent us to various corners of the classroom. Those without computers were given access to school machines, those with, like myself, were given freedom to work as we liked. For my part, that meant finding a quiet, comfortable corner in the common area just outside the classroom. Close enough to an electrical point that I didn’t need to worry about draining Mum’s battery.

Most, if not all, the girls stayed in the classroom, at least to begin with. I had the common area to myself and was deep into reading up on the background of my subject when a familiar voice sounded behind me.

“There never was a creature I felt more deserving of pity,” the old man said from over my shoulder.

I craned my neck to look up at him. Long grey hair, long grey beard, long face very reminiscent of Ian McKellen’s Gandalf.

“Hello again, sir,” I said.

“Gwen,” he said with a gentle smile.

“It’s, er, Gavin sir. Or Gawain this week.”

“Is it, now? Well, I suppose one of us must be mistaken.”

“Well, it’s not me. My name is actually Gavin, but for this week we were invited to choose any name we wanted and I chose Gawain.”

“Did you? That’s the one you wanted, is it? Interesting.”

“Listen mister, just who the hell do you think you are?”

“Hell? I’ll have nothing to do with hell, my friend. That’s a fabrication of the new religion and doesn’t interest me at all. As for the rest, I don’t think. I know exactly who I am.”

“Yeah? And just who is that then?”

“Someone who knows that the Questing Beast was an unfortunate soul, cast into a life it didn’t choose through circumstances over which it had no control. It ran in an attempt to escape its fate, and along the way it tried to show something of the goodness it possessed within, but in the end it knew it would only ever be judged by its horrific appearance.

“It is said that the beast was finally killed by Sir Pelamedes after he trapped it in a lake with the aid of Sir Galahad and Sir Percival, but it had tired of life, such as it possessed, and permitted Pelamedes to run it through with his lance. It sank into the depths of the lake and was never seen again.”

“You make it sound as though you were there,” I said, all the ire drained from me.

“And you make it sound as though such a thing we’re not possible.”

“But...”

“Come, young one. You have a tale to write, do you not? Best be about your business.”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“Let us leave that for another time, Gwen, when you’re ready to hear such things.”

“Who are you talking to?” Judith appeared from somewhere. Presumably the classroom, but I hadn’t heard her come through the door.

“I was...” I turned towards the old professor but he wasn’t there. How had he disappeared so quickly? Come to think of it, he’d appeared out of nowhere too. From Judith’s expression, she was still waiting for an answer. “I was talking to my character,” I said, cringing inwardly at the nonsense I was saying, “trying to find out what he had to say to me.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I do the same things sometimes, only usually they’re people I understand better. Not like these ancient misogynists.”

“Is that how you see them? You do know what the word means?”

“Hey! That’s not so cool. You’re not that smart, you know?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean... I mean, okay. So how do you see Arthur’s knights as misogynistic?”

“Do you know how they treated women back then?”

“Yeah, at least I’ve read about it, but there’s no dislike or prejudice. I mean who did you get?”

“Kay. I mean I never heard of him.”

“Did you try... I mean, I suppose you tried Googling him?”

“Nice save. You know you’re not like most boys in that regard.”

“What do you mean?” I knew what she meant.

“Pretty much every guy I know would have gone with your first instinct there; kind of assumed I wouldn’t have the brains to use the tools at my disposal. So yeah, Kay was Arthur’s foster brother and became his seneschal or steward.”

“So Arthur, who is supposed to be this famous king who unites the tribes of Albion and stops all the widespread fighting between them, knows Kay from his childhood and trusts the guy enough to make him one of his knights of the round table – effectively and equal with the king – and puts him in charge of the royal household. I’m guessing they had a pretty solid relationship.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make him a saint when it comes to women though.”

“What do you expect of him? Okay, if it helps, put yourself in the position of one of the women back then. Let’s be generous and make you the daughter of a tribal chief. What would your life be like?”

“I don’t know. Not a lot of freedom I’m guessing?”

“Why not? Dad being an arsehole?”

“No. I’m guessing it wouldn’t be safe to go out and about alone.”

“’Cos every man works hard enough to build a decent set of muscles, and most of them begrudge the kind of shit life they have – sorry for the language.”

“No it’s good. I think I see where you’re going with this, but go on.”

“So the only place you’re safe from some labourer or soldier taking advantage of you is at home where most folks respect your father too much to do anything to his daughter. You’re still at risk of being abducted by rival tribes though, who could use you to bargain with your dad. The only way to keep you safe is to keep you home and, when you’re old enough, marry you to someone who can do the same. Maybe through marriage turn another tribal chief into a family member through marriage.

“It feels like they’re treating you like property, so I suppose I can see where the misogyny accusation comes from, but it’s really the only way of keeping someone precious safe in a dangerous world.

“Then along comes Arthur and his knights trying to make the place safer, trying to introduce ideas of chivalry and goodness into a bunch of feuding arseholes so that, instead of trying to bash each other’s skulls in, everyone is working together to make the world a better place, preferably even for the little guy.

“They’re not going to start off with the emancipation of women, in fact with the status quo being what it was, I doubt they even considered a world where women would be treated any differently. It doesn’t mean they didn’t like them or they were prejudiced against them. If anything, Arthur’s code of chivalry was a major step towards women being treated with respect.”

“Wow! Peter’s right, you really are good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some of the girls thought it wasn’t fair you getting a different assignment to the rest of us.”

“You mean they’d rather try and get inside the head of some mythological monster?”

“No, more the opposite. I guess some of us thought it was unfair you having to do something that tough, and a few of us were interested to see what you’d come up with putting yourself in a woman’s place.

“From the sound of it, you’d have done a bloody good job – sorry about the language – and you wouldn’t even break a sweat. This is all about challenging us all as writers, and I can see what Peter gave you is going to push you as much as the knight thing is going to push us.

“Thanks for the ideas, they really helped. I’m going to go back and talk with the others a bit about what we’re working on. Just, I don’t know, I was wondering if you want some company or something.”

“I usually write on my own.” I could tell it wasn’t the right thing to say from the moment I said it. “But this week is all about trying new things, isn’t it? I mean don’t expect me to say much; I kind of shut the world out when I get in the zone, but having some company might be nice, thanks.”

“Might be nice?” Emphasis on the first word there. Once again, Gavin opens his mouth only to change feet.

“I can’t say for sure ‘cos I’ve never had the chance to try it. I’d like to find out, if I haven’t screwed things up already.”

She smiled a shy and friendly smile. “Took a bit of work, but no you didn’t screw anything up. I’ll be back in a bit.”

I kind of noticed when she came back with Gillian and Zoe in tow. I was already in the zone though. I’d scoured through a few different websites, reading a mixture of contradictory ideas and close copies of the more generally accepted tales, and I had the outline of my story in my head, influenced largely by the old man’s words. I acknowledged the arrival of the girls, but apart from the occasional whispered comment and suppressed giggle, I didn’t really notice them. Back home my built in paranoia would have me wondering if they were laughing at me, but I didn’t get that vibe from any of my current companions, so it didn’t bother me.

Lunchtime approached and Peter stuck his head out of the classroom to call us in.

“Could we have five minutes to reach a convenient stopping point?” I asked.

He cocked his head for a moment then nodded. “Sounds fair,” he said, “but no longer. The cafeteria runs out of choices quite quickly over the summer.”

It meant our synopses had to be a little shorter, but five minutes divided between thirteen of us didn’t make a lot of difference.

I kept mine short anyway. “I’ve decided to write about the Questing Beast’s last day, when it is finally killed,” I said.

“I’m not sure that’s what I asked for,” Peter said. “This is supposed to be a day in the life of the creature, exploring what it’s like to be the beast.”

“It will work, I think,” I said. “I’m writing it from the creature’s perspective, reflecting on its life and how it feels about all that it’s gone through.”

“Okay, I’ll trust you, but I’m expecting good things, Gawain.”

The name didn’t feel right. It hadn’t since he’d started using it. I knew what I wanted. I suppose I’d known before the old man had said anything. This was scary, but after this week what would it matter? I wasn’t likely to see any of these people again.

“Gwen, sir,” I said, my heart skipping a beat or two.

“I’m sorry?”

“While we’re in here and among friends, could I be Gwen. Out in public I’ll be Gavin or Gawain or whatever, but while it’s just us...”

I petered out. The girls were all looking at each other and smiling, Judith in particular. Peter gave us all a concerned look, me in particular.

“Can I ask why?” he asked.

“I don’t know, it just kind of feels right, like Gawain feels wrong.”

“You girls okay with it?” he asked nervously. “Only to be used when there’s no-one else about.”

There were nods all round. I’d been the last to give my progress report which, because I’d kept it short, meant we made it to the refectory just as it opened, so we all had the best of what was on offer.

Lance and his cronies turned up shortly after we’d sat down. They looked like they wanted to comment, but since Peter was sitting with us they thought better of it.

“So, any of you girls thought about what else you might want to do while you’re here?” Peter asked.

The girls giggled and even I couldn’t help smiling.

“What?” he asked.

“Only when there’s no-one else around?” Judith asked quietly.

“Oh dear,” he said. “Sorry Gawain, I didn’t think.”

“It’s alright sir.”

“Peter.”

“Sir Peter then. I was wondering about having a go at the archery.”

“Yeah, that looks kinda cool,” Gillian said with pretty much all the girls nodding. “Then there’s a workshop on medieval costume design that looks kind of fun.” Everyone nodded at that too. “You should come as well Gw...ain.”

“You’ll likely be the only boy there if you do,” Peter warned.

“Not much different from the rest of the week then,” I said. “It all kind of depends on how much it costs. I have a bit of spending money, but that sounds like it might be a little expensive. You know, with material and stuff?”

“Well, don’t let yourself be talked into it unless it’s something you really want to do.”

I shrugged. “If nothing else, it’ll give me a new experience I can write about. Besides which, I’m not sure it really matters what you do as long as you do it with friends.”

That earned me a round of smiles from the girls and a resigned sigh from Peter. “Well, if you’re sure. My wife, Jenny, runs the workshop, so I’m sure we could come to some accommodation to make it more affordable if necessary.”

“That’s really kind, sir...”

“Peter.”

“Yes, Sir Peter. Sorry. Only it feels a bit weird. Sort of disrespectful.”

“And it seems like I’m making it weird for everybody. Would you like me to leave you on your own for lunch?”

None of us wanted to say so, but the collection of embarrassed looks answered for him.

He picked up his tray, fighting to keep back a grin. “I’ll see you all back in the classroom at one o’clock.”

We gave him a chorus of “Thank you Sir Peter,” almost as if we’d planned it and burst into our own bout of giggles as he walked away. I unashamedly giggled along with the rest of my friends, pointedly ignoring the angry looks Lance and his group directed my way. Yet again, I only had to endure him for a week, and that would be easier done if I had friends around me.

We finished lunch together, or rather the girls sat around patiently while I finished filling my face, and headed off to explore the grounds. Lance and co followed at a distance, though whether it was with a mind to ambushing me or maybe chatting up the girls we never found out, because they kept their distance all the time we made our way around the school. The girls kept me in their midst for the rest of the lunch hour, including me in their banter right up to the point when we made it back to the classroom. Lance and co had been somewhere in the periphery the whole time, but girls, I found had mad skills in ignoring boys they wanted nothing to do with, and boys seemed to be intimidated by girls who ignored them.

By entered the classroom still chatting and giggling, with Gretch bringing up the rear saying, “They’re still there.”

Peter stuck his head out the classroom door in time to catch them loitering and suggested they would be late for their next lesson if they didn’t go now.

“They’re from this school, aren’t they?” Gillian asked as we settled into the circle for the afternoon briefing. “Do you mind me asking why they’re here in the holidays?”

“Sports camp and academic catch-up,” Peter said. “They’re all looking at sports scholarships of one sort or another – football, rugby, tennis, badminton one of them, I think – and they all thought they could get away without making an effort in other areas, which they are currently learning is not the case.

“Are they bothering you?” he asked looking pointedly at me, “Because I could have a word with their teachers if you like. We could easily find them enough work to keep them out of mischief.”

“It’s no problem, sir,” I looked at the others who nodded. “No intervention needed.”

“Well, if you change your mind. You are our guests here and I would hate for any of you not to feel entirely welcomed.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Alright then, back to this afternoon. Gwen has the Questing Beast’s last stand, Myfanwy has Lancelot’s first encounter with Guinevere, which I’m really excited to hear, Judith had Sir Kay mediating a dispute between one of Arthur’s lesser knights and a serving girl who she claimed had accosted her. Interesting take, let’s see where you go with that one. The two Sarah’s are collaborating on Sir Gareth and Sir Agravain enjoying an evening’s carousing, Gillian has Tristan escorting Isolde to marry his uncle and falling in love with her on the way. Passion overrides duty.

“This is taking too long. You all know what you’re doing. What are the chances you’ll have them done by four?”

There were general sounds of dismay throughout which Peter held up his hands.

“I know it’s quite an ask, but I’m not expecting a novel out of any of you. If you keep your offerings to just a few thousand words, long enough to read through in ten minutes or so, then we should be able to get through listening to you all in good time to get changed for dinner. There are no activities this evening, but the different activity leaders will be inviting you to talk to them and sign up after you’ve eaten. How does that sound?”

It actually sounded pretty good. Disappointing about the archery, but otherwise doable and worth doing. I had my story finished by three-thirty which gave me half an hour to read it through and tweak it.

Of course I then got to sit through everyone else’s stories first, so it was just as well they were pretty good. There was quite a lot to be said about how the girls voiced their male characters, most of which fell to me as the only person present with a Y chromosome, apart from Peter of course, but he recused himself on the grounds of wanting this to be a peer review. I tried to keep my comments short and supportive, but it was hard work, so it was almost a relief when it came to my turn to read.

I tend to be fairly reticent about sharing my offerings, largely because they tend to show a side of my nature I’m not comfortable sharing. This was different though. Nothing trans about the Questing Beast, but quite a lot to relate to in so far as being unfairly ostracised, and I knew a lot about that.

“I’m tired of running,” I began. “I’ve run all my life, and never really understood why.”

I won’t bore you with the full tale, but I must have captured something of the futility and tragedy of the creature’s existence because once I’d done describing its last stand in the shallows of Lake Avalon, standing proud as Palamedes charged it down and struck it through the breast with his lance. The momentary agony, the encroaching darkness as it sank down into Nimue’s arms.

“And so it seems at the end of my days, I have found the goal of my own questing. As the last of my life ebbs, enfolded in my lady’s embrace, here at last I find peace.”

The room was silent. Was it really so bad? Couldn’t anyone think of anything to say? I looked up to find not a dry eye in the place. Even Peter had his glasses off and was unashamedly wiping tears away.

“That was perfect,” Stacey said in her smallest of voices, as though she didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the moment.

Judith nodded and came over to give me a hug. Before I knew it the rest of the girls had gathered round and joined in.

“I agree,” Peter said, having regained most of his composure. “Don’t change a word, but please send me a copy. In fact, if you would all send me your work when you have a moment.

“Not right now though. We’ve overrun a little so you only have fifteen minutes to change before dinner.

“Then, as I say, when you’re done eating, come along to the assembly hall – it’ll be signposted – and I’ll be happy to introduce you to a few of my colleagues, my wife included.”

We didn’t waste any time, at least I didn’t. A quick shower and a change of tee shirt did it for me. It took the girls more than twenty minutes to reappear with transformations that generally involved some sort of dress, a little makeup and something done to their hair. They all looked amazing – and a little disappointed in me – but I had to wonder what was so special about dinner in a school cafeteria that merited the extra effort.

I’d been camped at our usual table, defending it from the massing hoards who invaded the cafeteria. Not really; there were a few groups other than ours staying the week, but the tables had to be less than half filled. The only blot on the landscape was Lance who paused long enough to ask if I’d been stood up by my girlfriends. I wondered if he and his would try to take over our table, but he had his own favourite and it wasn’t worth giving it up just to mess with me.

With handbags and other paraphernalia claiming the table, we joined the queue for food. Lasagne the first choice tonight. The serving lady took one look at my scrawny form and took pity on me, loading me up with an extra half portion, for which I gave her a grateful smile.

Conversation was a little slow to start with, which gave me a chance to make some progress on my mountain of food, but I gradually became aware of the unspoken conversation going on around me. I didn’t speak meaningful glance though so eventually I broke into the quiet.

“Am I missing something?” I asked.

The girls exchanged a few more glances, apparently picking their spokesperson, then Judith spoke up.

“It’s just that... I mean if you’re going to be an honorary girl this week, it’d be nice if you, you know, made a bit more effort?” She waved a fork at me. “I mean, did you even comb your hair?”

I have to admit I hadn’t, and it probably could have done with some attention given that it was down to my shoulders. As to the honorary girl thing, it probably shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise, given my choice of name for the week, but it did.

“Sorry, I kind of packed light. Tee shirts, underwear, socks and a hoody in case it gets cold. No party frocks or anything, and these are the only jeans I have.” I was being defensive and I knew it, but I wasn’t sure how far I wanted the Gwen thing to go. I may have been miles from home, but that was the kind of news that crossed distances and I really didn’t want to do that to my folks.

“It’s okay, I guess,” Zoe said. She was one of only two who’d foregone skirts in favour of, in her case, skinny jeans. “I mean you weren’t expecting to do anything like this before you came, where you?”

“Maybe we can help a bit,” Amanda said. She’d gone for shorts and a strappy top. “I mean nothing obvious or anything, but...”

I wasn’t sure. “You could show me what you’ve got I suppose,” I said, “but I don’t know if I’m up for trying that much. Not in public.”

It helped the conversation to start flowing again as they toyed with ideas of what they might do with me. I wasn’t going to have much say in it all apparently, which meant I had time to finish off my substantial meal while they chatted over their now meagre rations. We were done about the same time and filtered out, following signage and other groups towards the assembly hall.

Where tables had been laid out with different bits of information on them and one member of staff or another offered to talk us into anything we found even vaguely interesting. We spent a while looking at what was on offer, but in the end there were only two things that interested us. The archery, which would run for about an hour between the end of the working day and dinner time, and the costume design, which would run after the evening meal.

“I’m not sure I have any patterns for men’s costumes,” Jenny, Peter’s wife, said apologetically. “It’s not the sort of thing boys tend to sign up for, so I’ve never really felt the need to include it before.”

“It’s alright Mrs Ambrose,” somehow I dragged the surname up from my first encounter with Peter, “I don’t really mind what I make as long as I get to join in.”

“Besides,” Judith said interlocking arms with me, “we’ve made Gwen an honorary girl for the week, so she should fit right in.”

Jenny gave her husband a concerned look which he met with a helpless shrug. He’d read my competition entry, so he knew this wasn’t entirely unknown territory for me.

“Alright, I’ll sign you up, but let’s make tomorrow a taster session. If you don’t feel comfortable by the end of it, you can go join one of the other groups.”

Queen's Gambit - Chapter 2

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

I agreed on the basis that it was the easiest way to move things on. There really wasn’t anything else on offer that particularly interested me so I had a vested interest in trying to enjoy the costume making.

Which wasn’t that hard in the end. Jenny gave us a loose leaf folder with a mixture of photographs and drawings of period costumes to look through, and to be honest, I hadn’t expected to be that keen on any medieval dress designs – I had this image of long and fairly shapeless outfits with ridiculous cone shaped hats and chiffon scarves – but there was one that just leapt off the page at me.

Ankle length and open necked with long flowing sleeves, golden embroidery around the décolletage, tight bodice and loosely draped skirts. The picture wasn’t clear about the material, either silk or satin, or maybe some sort of felt material in a colour the girls assure me was a deep crystal teal. A golden sash belt finished it off with an end that draped almost the full length of the skirt. I fell in love with it at first sight.

I was vaguely aware of the girls sharing glances and knowing grins. They left me to staring at that one image while they made their selections, then we headed back over to Jenny and handed her what we’d chosen.

“Er, this is...” Jenny began when she saw my choice.

“It’s alright Mrs Ambrose,” Judith said and murmured something in her ear.

If I’d known what the girls intended, I’d never have let them, or at least I’d have tried not to. I’ve never been great at arguing and I doubt I could have held my own against twelve well-meaning teenagers, especially of the cute and curvy variety.

Jenny made a few calculations and handed each of us an estimate for the cost of making our chosen costumes. Mine came to a very reasonable sixty pounds. I’d have probably been able to stretch to twice that, possibly if I dropped the archery, and would have been ready to do so. No need apparently, especially with archery running at just five quid a session, so twenty pounds for the rest of the week.

The extracurricular sessions only ran on weekdays, which meant with Monday out, just four sessions to work with. Saturday would be a kind of celebration of what we’d achieved with a party to end it all – a costume party no less – then goodbyes and a train ride home on the Sunday. Since we were so short on time and it was only the thirteen of us writers who’d signed up to Jenny’s course, she asked if we might want to start a day early. The girls were keen, so I kind of went along with the consensus. To be honest, I was intrigued and happy enough to make an early start.

She had us measuring out and cutting pieces of cloth, though nothing that looked like my chosen piece. She must have caught a glimpse of my confusion because she settled down next to me.

“This is really good,” she said. “Have you done anything like it before?”

I shook my head and was about to ask my question when she forestalled me.

“I thought it best to start everyone off on some of the plainer material that’s going into your friends’ dresses. Yours I’m going to have to special order, and it’s a lot more delicate and easy to mess up, so best to practice first.”

“When will it get here?”

“I doubt it’ll be here tomorrow, but Wednesday definitely.”

“That won’t give me a lot of time.”

“I know, which is why you’re helping your friends with theirs today and tomorrow, then they’ll help you with yours later in the week. We’re going to have to cheat a little with your friends’ outfits as we just don’t have time to do it all by hand. The embroidery, definitely, and it’ll be good practice for later, but most of theirs will be done on sewing machines.”

“Not mine?”

She shook her head. “Again too delicate. We could machine sew it, but it never looks as good. It’ll be good experience for everyone though. It’s not often you get a chance to hand sew quality silk, so an experience for you and your friends, then you get to benefit from it in the end.”

A niggle settled into my rather dense brain. “It sounds considerably more expensive than just sixty quid.”

“Oh, it is, but don’t worry, it’s covered. Peter and I have a private fund we use for special cases like this, and your friends all chipped in a bit. They get their money’s worth from having an opportunity to work on such an elegant project, as well as the pleasure of seeing your reaction at the end of it all.” She must have noticed my concerned expression. “Peter showed me your piece,” she said. “The competition entry? I hope you won’t take that as a betrayal of confidence, but we’re both open minded individuals, and he knows he can trust me to be discreet.”

“I suppose I don’t mind, but I’d hate to see all this effort and expense go to waste.”

“So would we. The girls were all planning on wearing their costumes to the party on Saturday, and I suppose we were all hoping you’d be okay doing the same.”

Headlights. Rabbit. Fight or flight, except like the Questing Beast I’d never been one for confrontations. Neither did I have anywhere to run, so option three. Freeze.

“You don’t have to if it makes you feel this terrified, but give it a few days to settle in. The party is Saturday evening and you leave the next day, so if anything goes wrong – and I doubt it will – you’re out of here within hours.”

“And my parents?”

“Won’t have to know anything, although it’ll be a shame if you don’t take your gown home with you.”

My heart wouldn’t slow down. Jenny gave me a square of cloth to practice hemming and I made a mess of my first however many attempts. She eventually took pity on me and settled next to me.

“Blank out everything that’s worrying you and focus only on the work at hand.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“And not so difficult to do. Sure, you’ve just had a big thing landed in front of you, but I doubt it’s worse than the mess of small things girls get to deal with all the time. Try it and see how you get on.”

So I did. The horror of Lance and his entourage laughing at me, grabbing hold of me and beating me to a pulp, tearing the delicate fabric of the dress, all receded and I was able to do good enough work that she let me loose on the hem of a real skirt. By the end of the evening, my fingers were cramping, but the hemline was complete and considered to be definitely good enough.

“Who wants to come back to our room for a nightcap?” Amanda asked. Apparently she was sharing with Stacey. Yet again the general consensus was an enthusiastic yes with a dozen pairs of eyes turning my way to see how I would react.

“I don’t know that the school would be too happy about me spending time in a girl’s room, especially not this late.”

“We’d better make sure they don’t find out then, hadn’t we, girls?” Amanda’s grin was less reassuring than it might have been, and the rest of them were downright scary, but like I say, I don’t do confrontation, so they crowded around me so I was all but invisible, then as soon as we were in the room, Amanda hunted out a handful of clothes and threw them at me, pointing at the bathroom while Stacey leant on the door.

So that’s how come I found myself wearing a short skirt, halter top and a pair of soft, cotton boycuts with lace trim when the matron knocked on the door.

She looked around at us all – me a little closer than the rest, I felt – then made a comment about us all going back to our rooms by eleven-thirty, which seemed fair.

Nightcaps in Amanda’s vocabulary were teas or hot chocolates. The rest of the time involved chatting about the dressmaking, and me being treated to a freshly painted set of toe nails in a sort of aquamarine they all thought would offset my dress really well. They wanted to do my fingers as well, but I wasn’t ready for that yet. They did insist on doing something with my hair which mainly meant trimming the split ends and spraying some stuff on it to give it more body or something.

As eleven-thirty approached, Amanda offered me a pair of white sandals with flowers on them. I looked at them quizzically for a minute until Stacey offered me a sports bag with my shoes and socks, jeans and tee shirt neatly folded.

“What are the chances the matron’s going to be waiting nearby to watch you as you leave?” Amanda said. “Judith and Zoe are in the next block over, so stick with them. They’ll find you a convenient bush and stand guard while you change.”

It worked much as planned, except they had security patrolling the grounds and we bumped into a couple of them just seconds after I came out from behind the bush.

Back in my room – a single fortunately – I couldn’t help changing back into the skirt and top. The reflection in the mirror looked more girl than boy and left me with a warm feeling. I slept in Amanda’s things, which felt right somehow.

The following morning I woke early and showered before any of the other boys staying in my block had a chance to comment on my hair and toenails. At breakfast I gave Amanda her bag back and Zoe offered me a different one in return.

“We thought you might want to change before this evening’s late night get together. Judith found a place behind our block where you can do so without being disturbed, and it’ll be easier if you look like one of us when you turn up. We’re doing it at ours tonight, and our matron’s a bit strict by comparison, so make sure you get your girl on before you turn up.”

This rabbit hole was getting deeper by the minute. Still, nothing had gone wrong so far...

I dropped the bag off in my room before heading to class, arriving just a minute or two late. Peter wasn’t bothered and waved me over to join the others.

Collaborative writing today. Names out of a hat. Three trios and a couple of pairs. I was matched up with Gillian and one of the Sarahs (B I think) and topics out of a different hat. Contemporary topics this time. We ended up with ’My Best Friend’s Birthday’ which we started off by pooling stories from parties we’d been too, and trying to make it a funny. I didn’t have much to add in the planning phase since the few parties I’d attended ended up with me as the butt of the jokes, and not of the sort which made for funny stories.

I did have a fair sense of the ridiculous though, and was able to take their ideas and stretch them beyond all reasonable limits. We read it back to the group as a sort of radio play, with me providing a dry commentary and Gill and Sarah taking on a half dozen roles each, hamming up the voices and having us all in stitches. I know, not very professional corpsing at your own jokes, but this was a writing class not an acting one.

It gave Peter an idea for the following day and he dismissed us early with an assignment to look into screenwriting, which he planned to give us as our focus.

Archery was surprisingly fun. I ended up with a girl’s bow as I didn’t have the strength to pull even the lightest of the boys’ weapons. What I lacked in brute force, I made up for in finesse though, and once I had the feel of the equipment, most of my arrows ended up within the yellow bit (gold, our instructor insisted) with the rest going in the red.

One or two of the girls had done something of the sort before, but even they couldn’t keep up with me.

Before tea I checked out the contents of Zoe’s bag, finding a cute summer dress with puff sleeves and more sandals. She’d also packed a tin of hairspray, apparently guessing that I’d wash the body out of my newly trimmed hair.

She’d also left me a seriously cute nightdress.

The nighty I tucked beneath my pillow. The rest came with me.

Dressmaking had us all working on sewing machines. A totally new experience for me but, once I had the hang of it, so much quicker and neater. By the end of the session, twelve dresses looked well on the way to completion.

Judith and Zoe stood guard while I changed behind their block, then Zoe did something magic with my hair before taking me by the hand.

“You there, where do you think you’re going?” The voice came from a formidably built woman.

“To our room,” Judith replied, skirting the edge of incivility.

“I don’t recognise you,” she said to me. “Who are you?”

I softened my voice as much as I could, though given she sounded a lot like a man herself, I’m not sure she’d have been in a position to pass judgement. “Gwen, Miss.” I didn’t need to push the quaver in my voice.

“I don’t recognise you.”

“No Miss, I’m staying in one of the other halls.”

“Which one?”

“Er...” I pointed vaguely towards where the rest of the girls were staying.

Amanda rescued me at that point, appearing at the head of the rest of our little troupe, announcing the name of the residence which hadn’t registered with me.

“And what are you lot doing here?”

“I invited them for a bedtime drink,” Judith said.

“Bedtime drink, eh? And what exactly would I find if I were to come looking in your room right now, young lady?”

“Er, well it’s a bit of a mess I’m afraid, but... Oh the drinks? Tea, hot chocolate, milk. If you look, you’ll see everyone’s brought a mug. Almost everyone.” She glowered at me.

“I’m sorry Judith, I didn’t think.”

“Hmph,” the old harridan spouted. “See you don’t make too much noise, and you need to be out by...”

“Eleven-thirty,” Judith said before the old woman could set an earlier time. “Yes miss, we will.”

The focus of conversation for the evening was screenplays. None of us had written one and they looked to be something of a novel challenge. The focus on me was bling. They tried me with rings and bracelets, necklaces and god knows what. They even pierced my ears before I could figure out what they were about. It didn’t really hurt, and when they left me with a pair of almost invisible silicone studs, I couldn’t even find any reason to object. Through most of the evening they tried me with different earrings until I settled on a pair I really liked – jade coloured enamel dragons.

We chose not to push our luck and left five minutes ahead of curfew, after the girls had reclaimed their jewellery and I had my invisible plastic studs in my ears. Zoe threw me my bag of clothes just as we were all ready.

The two Sarahs followed me to my secluded changing spot and waited for me to change my appearance before we parted ways.

That night I slept in a Hello Kitty tee shirt nightdress and floral boy cut knickers. I wasn’t that generously endowed and they had enough stretch in them to accommodate me comfortably.

The following day was a near repeat of the one before. Bags exchanged at the breakfast table, teams and topics chosen from a hat and me teamed up with Gretch and Judith to produce a ghost story. I suggested writing about the mysterious grey bearded stranger I’d encountered a couple of times since our arrival, thinking, if nothing else, that Peter might offer some clues as to who he might be. Neither of my partners had heard of him, but liked the idea of Merlin’s ghost haunting the mound. We brought the piece up to date by making our main character a victim of cyber bullying, and opened the play with her sitting and crying at the top of the mound.

Through several encounters and the old ghost’s encouragement, she changed from being isolated, desperate and on the verge of suicide to someone who has enough confidence to stand up for herself, and against her peers.

In the closing scene, as the bullies are led away to be dealt with by the police, the young girl asks her teacher who the old man was and is told there is no such man on staff.

A bit derivative perhaps, but difficult to do more in a day with a topic only given at the beginning of the session.

We left the screenplays with Peter to read over during the evening.

“I liked yours particularly,” he said to Gretch, Judith and me, “especially that you leave it to the audience to decide who the grey bearded man is. I mean no real surprise there. I imagine it’s supposed to be Merlin. You know there’s a story about his spirit or ghost or something haunting the mound. The appearance people give him isn’t far off how you depicted him here.”

“How was ours different,” I asked. I don’t really believe in the supernatural, so I wasn’t ready to accept I’d met the old wizard.

“Let’s see. Long grey hair, long grey beard, long grey robes, tall with a gentle demeanour. You put me in mind of Gandalf, but I suppose that is what’s been described. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just intrigued that we managed to recreate a local legend without meaning to.”

Gretch and Judith exchanged glances. Sometimes the girls’ capacity for noticing subtle details could be annoying. I didn’t really want to tell them what had been happening to me because I could guess their reaction, however, I knew that nothing short of the truth would pass muster.

Archery had been moved into a larger field which challenged my shooting to the limit. The weak bow meant I had to aim high just to reach the target. Judging the angle right proved difficult with small variations producing large changes to where the arrow landed. I still managed to keep most of the arrows in line with the gold, but enough landed above and below where I was aiming to mean I was landing most within the blue with a few drifting into the black and white. I managed to tighten my grouping with time and my last few ends were all within the blue.

The other girls found the whole session frustrating. I suggested picking out a reference point along the arc of the bow and aiming for consistency in draw length, which helped some of them get a little better, but I think I was the only person there who felt I’d improved by the end of the session.

Over dinner I was given the third degree by Judith and Gretchen with the others joining in as I revealed my experiences. They wanted me to report the creepy old bugger to the headmaster, or at least to Peter, but I insisted there was nothing to report. The old bugger, as they’d called him, had been anything but creepy. He’d kept a respectable distance – well maybe not the second time – and he’d not been intimidating in any way, just the opposite if anything. On both occasions I’d felt uplifted by his words, and he’d even inspired my story about the Questing Beast.

In the end I persuaded them to leave it alone, but only on the understanding that I was to tell them the next time I saw him. I didn’t mind that. If they could confirm his existence to me, that would help me keep a hold on reality, and if they thought he was a danger, I’d allow myself to be led by them.

Dressmaking saw the girls’ outfits completed enough for them to try on. There was a little adjustment necessary in a few cases, but for the most part they looked stunning, very much the part and quite delighted with the results. Just the lengthy, fiddly decorating to do.

Halfway through the session, Jenny brought out a length of shimmering blue green material. It was cool and so smooth to the touch.

“This must have cost a fortune,” I said.”

“Within budget. Alright, Gwen, remember what I said about measure twice, cut once?”

“My dad says the same when it comes to DIY.”

“Okay, well you cut out your patterns a couple of days ago. Are you sure they’re right?”

“I am, but I’ll check them again.”

“Good girl.”

I’m not sure if she noticed, but it gave me a warm fuzzy. I took out my notes, had Stacey measure me one last time – everything checked – then translated those measurements into all the different shapes we were going to cut out. It didn’t take long, but we were thorough and nothing needed redoing. I brought the different pieces to the table.

“Alright, gather round everyone. We don’t want to pin anything because the holes won’t heal completely, which is why I had you cut out the patterns on this stuff. It has a very light adhesive on the back, like you find on post-its.

“Let me help you position the patterns so we have the grain of the material falling right. I’ll show you what I mean, then you can all have a go.

“Once we have all the patterns in place, you can all take turns with my sharpest scissors and cut all the shapes out. We may not get much further than that today apart from practicing your hand stitching on the cut offs. Tomorrow is all hands on deck. There will be times when you’re between jobs and you can work on decorating your own dresses, but you drop what you’re doing to get back to this when you’re needed, clear?”

We were clear. The placing of the patterns was done with more precision than I could easily follow, and the cutting was nerve wracking. Fortunately there was only one accident and that was on a small piece that was easy enough to recreate on a spare bit of material.

Hand stitching the fine silk using thinner needles and finer thread meant using smaller stitches which took longer and showed up even the slightest carelessness. We were determined though, and had our skills up to scratch in time to start stitching pieces together. By the end of the session my dress still looked like a lot of bits, but some of them were attached to others with the stitching meeting Jenny’s high standards.

The late-night gabble took place in Helen and Gillian’s. Same routine of changing outside Judith and Zoe’s block. I thought I noticed a few sneaky glances passing back and forth between them, which made me nervous, but we reached the room without incident.

We were too tired to say much after the hours of close needlework, but apparently not tired enough for me to avoid lessons in make-up and sorting out my hair. With all the precision work I’d been doing in dress making, it didn’t take long to pick up on the subtleties that made make-up work or not. The final results were too good just to wipe off and I hadn’t encountered anyone else in my block getting back as late as I had, so I figured I’d take a chance and leave it on.

Judith and Zoe still had that conspiratorial look as they handed me my bag of clothes and led me out to the changing area.

They weren’t my jeans. I mean they were stretchy so they fit, but they weren’t mine. In the darkness I had no idea what they looked like on me. Not that I had much choice since the alternative was the skirt and strappy top I’d been lent for the evening. The tee shirt wasn’t mine either. It smelt of Zoe’s perfume. Again it fit well enough and again I couldn’t see any details. I could feel what I thought had to be sequins, not that I had much experience with such things. The shoes were mine, but instead of my socks, I had knee-high, sheer stockings which felt weird. For one thing the shoes felt too big.

I emerged from my hiding place to be confronted with a camera flash. Judith and Zoe ran off giggling before I could say anything leaving me with a nervous walk back to my dorm, fortunately without unwelcome encounters.

My phone buzzed and the WhatsApp group we’d created for us girls popped up with a photograph of a not unattractive young girl in tight jeans with a sequinned ‘Girl Power’ tee shirt. The caption read ‘Gwen heading home’. It took a moment to realise that the girl was me. A quick check in the mirror showed the same girl. Make-up, skinny jeans, pink tee shirt, hair subtly styled. It took an effort to see the old me in there.

I texted Zoe, ‘Need my jeans.’

The reply came back, ‘Left them round Helen and Gill’s. No response from them. Think they went to bed.’

‘What am I going to wear in the morning?”

‘You looked really cute in that skirt and top.’

Not helpful.

‘Only one pair of jeans, remember?’

‘Oh shit! Sorry, didn’t think.’

Well duh.

‘Will try the other girls in their block.’

Then a few minutes later.

‘Sorry, no joy. Try again in the morning.’

Nothing much to do but go to bed. Zoe had included some wipes in her packing so I could deal with the make-up before hunting out Hello Kitty.

I slept well. I had done ever since that first night in Amanda’s clothes. Morning came early enough to get me into the shower before anyone else roused. That dealt with the last of the make-up and took the shape out of my hair. It did nothing for the toenails though which earned me an odd look from the one guy I passed on the way back to my room.

I messaged Zoe, ‘?’

She sent back, ‘Zzzz!’

I pulled Gill and Helen’s details from the group membership and sent them, ‘Zoe left my one pair of jeans round yours last night. Can you get them to me?’

The reply from Gillian a few minutes later, ‘We’ve looked everywhere. Can’t find them. Soz.’

So this was getting better and better.

My least worst option was Zoe’s tight jeans. They didn’t look right with my underwear, so I switched to the previous night’s boy cuts. The whole lot felt good but didn’t look that masculine, even with one of my tee shirts. Still, it was the best I could do under the circumstances. Breakfast was calling to me and there were some greater priorities than looking like a pillock. The shirt didn’t look right, but the alternatives were girl power pink or the strappy top. The strappy top was at least a plain white, and it felt less like I was trying to hide something. I went with it. Go big or go home.

Lance couldn’t keep from laughing the moment he laid eyes on me, not that he tried much. His cronies joined in, since that’s what cronies do.

The girls looked upset, Zoe in particular, but I gave them all a smile and sat down with my breakfast.

“It was all going to come out on Saturday anyway, wasn’t it?”

“That wouldn’t have been so bad,” Amanda said. “No time to do anything about it. As it is, they could send us home early. Maybe Peter will get in trouble for encouraging it.”

Zoe handed me a bag similar to the one she’d given me the previous night. “We switched bags. Put your shoes in this one. Gill and Helen didn’t think to look in the bag.”

“Thanks.” I carried on eating. If someone was going to kick me out, I was going to go on a full stomach.

I was nearly done when Peter approached our table. He looked worried.

“The headmaster wants to see us. All of us.”

“Do I have time to change?”

“He sounded rather impatient, so let’s go with no.”

“Are we in trouble?” Zoe asked.

“That remains to be seen. May I suggest complete candour?”

We nodded and collected our things, following Peter into a different part of the school where a rather stern looking older gentleman sat behind a large desk. He was talking to his computer where Mum and Dad’s concerned faces looked back out. Shaky images, both using their phones.

“Peter,” the head greeted his staff member first, “ladies,” then his gaze fell on me, evidently not intending to include me in the previous grouping, “and Gavin, I believe.”

“Yes sir,” I said, aware that I was the only one of us who had responded. “May I speak first? Hopefully try to clear a few things up?”

“I would certainly be grateful if you would.”

I’d been trying to put things together in my mind all the way up here. I took a breath and began.

“I suppose it started with my competition entry,” I said. “I wrote a story called Knight in White Satin.”

“Like the Moody Blues song?” asked a voice from the computer.

“Hi Dad. Hi Mum. Yeah, kind of, but not quite. This is knight, K-N-I-G-H-T, but the song did give me the mental nudge for the story idea. Mum, Dad, I never wanted you to find out quite like this, but I’m guessing it’s a little late to pretend nothing happened.”

I went on to outline the story. The headmaster looked oddly at Peter who said, “It really is one of the best pieces of fiction I’ve read in all my years doing this job, even without the transgender element which is told with remarkable insight and sensitivity.”

I reclaimed the narrative. “Mr Ambrose was very open and understanding right from the start. I could tell from how he spoke he suspected I was talking about myself, but he left me room to deny or confirm, or even ignore his suggestion. He was very sensitive about the subject, sir. I know it’s a teacher’s job to be these days, but Mr Ambrose handled it better than any teacher I’ve met, including my English teacher, Mrs Meredith, who has always been pretty cool about the whole thing.”

From the camera wobble I could see Mum had just sat down with a bit of a thump. Dad was holding it together, but I could tell he was bursting with questions.

“When Peter – that’s Mr Ambrose; he’s been encouraging us to use his first name this week – introduced us as a group, it just turned out there was a Stacey in the group – you know the sitcom Gavin and Stacey?” Sometimes you have to be obvious with adults. I’m not sure the head had heard of it. Anyway I mentioned all the issues we each had with our names at school and Peter’s suggestion that, just for the week we could reinvent ourselves if we wanted. When it came to me, I mention both my slip of the tongue and my attempted recovery. Too little and too late since the girls were quick to pick up on my Freudian slap (literally what my dad calls it). We got to the point where I agreed I’d prefer to be Gwen when it was just our little group and Gawain otherwise. It didn’t make much difference to the numpties as they’d pick on me regardless.

The headmaster wanted to know which numpties. I was reluctant to name anyone but Peter mentioned having noticed Lance and his gang picking on me.

“The girls kind of adopted me into their temporary sisterhood...”

“She’s a natural sir,” Judith chipped in then subsided into a mumbled, “Well I’m only saying” when everyone turned and gave her a look.

“When it came down to extra curricular activities, I wanted to have a go at the archery, which they all seemed pretty keen on, then they got all excited over medical costume design...”

“That’s the one your wife runs, isn’t it?” the head asked Peter who nodded and turned back to me, encouraging me to continue.

“I wasn’t that interested in anything else, and Mum’s always told me it doesn’t matter what you do as long as you’re with friends.” Mum offered up a wane smile. “I’m not sure it’s quite that simple because you need the common ground to make a friend. Empathy, understanding, interest. Then when you have those, whatever you choose to do together ends up being fun because you have this unspoken mutual commitment to whatever it is.

“Anyway, it’s meant that I’ve been spending pretty much all my time during the day with these twelve wonderful people. We eat together, we work together and we play together, whether it’s shooting arrows at a target or sewing medieval costumes, so when we got to the end of the day on Monday, one of the girls suggested getting together in one of the shared rooms for a hot chocolate and a chat before bed.”

“Nothing wrong with that as far as we could tell,” Zoe piped up, “as long as we kept the noise down and kept to the eleven-thirty curfew.”

The head nodded cautiously.

“Only we didn’t want Gwen to be left out. We knew there was a ban on boys in girl’s rooms, but by then I suppose we all looked on him, or her, as just another one of us girls. We knew it wasn’t the same as sneaking someone like, say, Lance in, but at the same time we knew the school wouldn’t agree with us and you’d object on principle. ‘It would send the wrong kind of message,’ sort of thing or, ‘it would set a precedent that could be too easily exploited.’ Am I right, sir.”

“Of course you’re right, young lady. The rules are there for a reason.”

“And with respect sir, the reason doesn’t apply in Gwen’s case. She’s as much a girl as the rest of us, except for having that thing between her legs.”

“So anyway,” Amanda took over before Zoe could dig herself too deep, “my dad always told me it’s easier to get forgiveness than to get permission, so we smuggled her in, got her to change into some of our clothes in case the house matron should stick her head in, and went ahead and had our late night chat.

“I could say Gwen was a perfect gentleman, but that wouldn’t be quite right, but she was a perfect lady.”

“Anyway, the girls wanted me to join in with them. We knew what the school rules were, but we also had a pretty good idea why that particular one was in place. I know we disregarded the letter of the law, sir, but we were careful to keep to its spirit. The girls were only trying not to exclude me from that one last activity of the day. They didn’t mean any harm by it, and I certainly had no intention of taking advantage.”

“I’ll take that under advisement. Now are we any closer to understanding what this is about?” he waved at my clothing.

“Nearly there sir. After Monday, the girls started bringing me a bag of clothes I could change into so I’d be a more convincing girl going in and out of their rooms. While I was with them, my clothing would be hidden away in a bag, then I’d find some quiet corner to change in on my way back to my room.

“Last night, a few of the girls decided to pull a prank and switch bags so I only had Zoe’s jeans to change into, except they didn’t realise I only bought the one pair of jeans with me.”

“Oh Gavin!” Mum murmured.

“I prefer to travel light. I have changes of socks, underwear and tee shirts for a week but I didn’t think I’d need a spare pair of jeans.

“Anyway, for a number of silly little reasons, my friends couldn’t find my things before breakfast, so I put on Zoe’s jeans. I tried them with one of my tee shirts, but I didn’t look right, like I was pretending everything was alright when it obviously wasn’t. My alternatives from the clothes the girls had given me were a shocking pink tee shirt with Girl Power picked out in black sequins, or this. I kind of liked this the best so... here I am.

“We really didn’t mean any harm, sir, and Mr and Mrs Ambrose knew nothing about what we were doing last thing at night. We’re sorry we disregarded your rules, only would you have understood if we’d come to you and asked?”

The headmaster’s expression had softened quite considerably during the telling. He looked from me to the pleading expressions on all the girls’ faces, then to Peter whose look of worry had been replaced by one of mild amusement and admiration. Mum and Dad looked like the wind had been knocked well and truly out of their sails, but what remained was the usual exasperation and love.

“Mr and Mrs Llewelyn, what would you like me to do?”

“I don’t really know,” Dad said, speaking for Mum too as he usually did. “Gavin?”

“I’d really like to finish the week Dad, with my friends. It’s been really good. Mr Ambrose is a great teacher and I’m learning a ton of stuff, from the girls too. And I’ve made some really great friends.”

Mum let out a sob, but it was happy crying.

“Well I’ve no objection to that, but I want a family video conference this evening. We’ve a few things we need to discuss that I’m not sure will wait for the weekend.”

“Okay Dad.” I’d thought about Daddy, but maybe it was too soon for that.

“That is, of course, if it’s agreeable to you, Mr Cavendish.”

Of course the head of a prestigious school like Marlborough would come from a prestigious family.

“I’ve no objection, but with a few changes. Firstly, no more late night gatherings.”

“Yes sir,” the girls and I agreed demurely.

Mr Cavendish struggled to hide his smile, giving Peter an opening.

“Actually sir, I’ve been thinking about that. Jenny and I could chaperone a short gathering in one of the student’s common rooms after the costume design sessions. It wouldn’t be much trouble and we’d be glad to do it.”

“Very well, I’m prepared to accept that. The second condition is, with Mr and Mrs Llewelyn’ permission, I don’t think this neither one thing nor the other is particularly good for you Gavin, so for the rest of the week I want you to commit to being either Gavin, or Gawain I think you said, didn’t you? Or Gwen.”

I looked towards the computer screen, begging for understanding.

Dad was first to reply. With a catch in his voice he said, “Whatever you want son, er no, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s alright Daddy,” I said, feeling it was now no longer too soon.

“That feels like a decision then. I’m sure you girls will be able to supply your friend with what she needs?”

They were all smiles and nods and excitedly almost jumping up and down.

“I’ll have to sort out some alternate accommodation for the rest of the week. You won’t be able to stay in the boys dorm and the same objection applies to your being in with the girls.”

“Jenny and I have a spare room sir,” Peter offered.

“Thirdly, we have a few scholarships to hand out at this school. Gwen, I’d like you to seriously consider accepting one.”

“Er, I don’t know what to say, sir. At the risk of sounding rude, may I ask why?”

“At the risk of giving you an inflated view of yourself, I can’t recall the last time any young person conducted themselves with the sort of dignity, honesty and consideration for your friends as you did just now. You are just the sort of pupil I would wish to see at Marlborough. You also seem to have impressed my head of English and that’s not an easy thing to do.

“Now go on, I’ve wasted enough of your morning. Go and be exceptional, all of you.”

We were too excited to work, and Peter recognised that. “Take half an hour,” he said. “Gwen, I doubt you’ll have much to do, but I’d like you to pack up your things. Girls, perhaps you would hunt through your wardrobes and pick out some clothes you wouldn’t mind lending your friend for the rest of this week. Once you’ve managed to get all this... whatever this is out of your system, come back here and we’ll see what we can salvage of the morning.”

We didn’t need telling twice. The girls more or less heralded me out of the classroom and towards my dorm, keeping up an excited prattle along the way. Apparently I looked divine the way I was, except I really needed a different pair of shoes. Did I prefer trainers, because Gretch had a gorgeous pair with pink highlights. Zoe suggested a pair of flats which were pretty open at the top, and would look amazing as long as I was wearing the sheer knee highs she’d left me last night. I paused long enough to show her I was. The rest of the way they suggested different outfits they had. I remembered most of them and agreed to the majority of their suggestions, except the sheer amount of clothing they were coming up with would give me a half dozen changes a day for the time we had left. I didn’t mind being a clothes horse, but I really didn’t know when I would find the time to change.

We reached my dorm and I pealed off, suggesting I’d meet them at the top of the mound when they were ready.

I really didn’t have a lot to pack. Tee shirts, socks, pants, some worn, others not. Toothbrush, toothpaste, shower gel and shampoo into the wash bag, wash bag into my shoulder bag and I was ready. Mum’s tablet and my phone were in a small rucksack I kept with me all the time. One last hunt around the room uncovered a rebel sock which I incarcerated with the rest of my used clothing, then I stripped the bed which uncovered the nightdress that I’d tucked under the pillow and forgotten about. Ten minutes all in and the room was as bare as I’d found it.

The walk up to the top of the mound felt different. The strappy top left my arms and shoulders exposed to the cool breeze and the way the jeans and knee highs stretched and flexed over my skin felt delicious. I felt invigorated and filled with more pleasure at being alive than I had in... forever.

I found a bench and sat to enjoy the view. I hadn’t been there long when I heard a twig snap behind me. I sighed and steeled myself for whatever was to come. It wasn’t as if any of my friends would try sneaking up on me, not after their last attempt at a prank had gone so wrong.

“So I was right, you really are a poofta.”

Lance of course.

“Shouldn’t you be in a lesson right now?” I asked without turning.

“Toilet break. You planning on squealing on me again?”

“No, not that I’ve squealed on anyone since I came here.”

He came around into my field of vision, his face heavy with rage. “So you’re a sodding liar and a poofta,” he growled.”

I sighed again. “That word was invented by a bigot for use by other bigots. It doesn’t bother me because it says more about you for using it than anything. As for the rest, if you and your mates are daft enough to follow me and mine for a whole lunchtime, then hang about long enough for our teacher to see you, then I can’t help you. Believe what you want, it makes no difference to me.”

“It will when me and my mates catch up with you and show you exactly what we think of you.”

“That’s up to you, but bruises and even broken bones will heal. I suspect expulsion from a fancy school like this and a criminal record for assault is likely to follow you around for a lot longer.”

“And you say you don’t squeal,” he sneered.

“I said I haven’t yet, and that’s because you haven’t done anything to deserve it. Physical assault’s a different matter, especially when it’s a gang of you against just little old me.

“Look, you have an issue with me, that’s obvious. We could talk it through, maybe reach an understanding. You know most conflict happens because people don’t take the time to see things from each other’s point of view.”

“What would you know about it?”

“You don’t think I’ve had people objecting to my existence before now?”

“You go around pretending to be a girl, what do you expect?”

“This is the first time I’ve ever done anything of the sort, and it wasn’t entirely my idea.”

“Yeah, right!”

“Ask any of my friends, they’ll tell you the same. It seems I get picked on whether I try to be what you expect me to be or I decide to be who I feel I am inside, so tell me why should I care what you think?”

That silenced him.

“You should be getting back to class if you don’t want your teacher yelling at you.”

He checked his watch and turned away down the path.

“You want to talk it through, just say. My friends and I will be happy to listen to what upsets you about me and respond.”

He grunted and ran off.

“That was admirably handled,” another familiar voice said from behind me. No surprise that I hadn’t heard him approach.

“Are you the actual Merlin?” I asked.

He chuckled and, like Lance before him, stepped into my field of view. His face was a mess of laughter lines. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s unlikely that anyone could survive fifteen hundred years.”

“And you don’t believe in ghosts?”

“I don’t have enough evidence to decide either way.”

“A true empiricist,” he chuckled. “Well, I shall leave you to gather more evidence, Gwen. Once again, that was well done. Neither Gavin nor Gawain would have faired so well, I feel.”

He vanished like a whisper on the wind.

“Who were you talking to?” Aly asked. She stood at the head of a procession of all my friends, each carrying a substantial bag.

“Merlin’s ghost,” I said since I’d promised I’d tell them the next time he approached me. “I’m only here till the weekend, what am I going to do with all this stuff, and what are you lot going to wear if you lend me all your things? I only have the one pair of jeans, you know. I don’t think you can all wear them at the same time.”

They giggled appreciatively.

“We figured you should have a choice,” Aly said. “We all kind of over packed.”

“So you’re offloading all the rubbish you don’t want on me?”

“Something like that,” Judith said. “Why did we have to come up here, it’s such a hike.”

“You should wear sensible shoes then,” I said looking at her espadrilles. They had to have three inch block heels

“Speaking of which,” Zoe said and dug in her bag for the promised pair of flats.

I slipped out of my trainers and put them on. The soles were thin enough to feel individual stones on the path, but they were lighter and cooler and looked so much better.

“Thanks,” I said. “They’re just right.”

“We should get back to class,” Myfanwy said. “Were you serious about talking to the creepy old man?”

“Once again, not creepy. He stood as far away as Gretch is right now, well out of threatening range.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Mainly how I handled Lance.”

“Lance was here?” Now Amanda really was concerned. “I mean, there’s a real creep. We should tell Peter.”

“We shouldn’t,” I said. “He’s a bit of a dick, but he’s not done anything to earn any more trouble from us.”

“If you’re sure.”

I was.

“How come we didn’t see him on the way up?” Gillian asked.

“He probably used the stairs” I said.

“Stairs? There’s stairs?” Judith said. “Why didn’t we use the stairs?”

“We could have,” Zoe said. “We passed then a few times. You know, near the grotto.”

“Oh yes. They looked kind of steep.”

“We can try them on the way down,” Stacey said. “Probably easier going down and we should be getting back to class.”

Quicker definitely, easier not so much, at least not for Judith and her heels. We made it back to class by ten thirty to find Peter out in the common area with a bunch of comfy chairs arranged in a rough circle and a kettle boiling on the side.

“Tea, coffee, chocolate?” he asked as we turned up.

“How did you know we were coming?” Sarah J asked. “And tea please, milk and no sugar.”

“You’re not exactly quiet you know? I heard you when you came into the building.”

We added our own drinks requests and settled into the seats, piling all our bags in one corner.

He handed out mugs of steaming goodness and settled into the one unoccupied seat, close enough for me to smell his coffee. Ugh! Not a fan.

“So, I read through all your screenplays. I already knew I liked them from yesterday’s performances, but I have a few technical comments to make. Before I get into them, I want to remind you all that this is a discussion, so if there’s anything you disagree with, let me know and I’ll be happy to tell you why you’re wrong.”

Dad joke, obligatory polite laughter, then into the meat of the morning. We all became so involved in the give and take that we almost missed lunch. My grumbling stomach alerted us with a few minutes to spare.

“It’s a bit hot for jeans, don’t you think?” Gretch asked.

I’d been about to help clear up the mugs, but I had been feeling more uncomfortable as the morning had warmed up. Gretch held up a skater skirt and a pair of sandals with more of a heel than I’d tried up until now.

I followed her into the ladies and changed into the cooler clothes. She messed with my hair a little. Not for the first time I was glad I’d fought my parents to keep it long. I mean not into conflicts, me, but some things are worth fighting for.

She handed me a make-up case and I added a bit of eye liner and lipstick. Not much, just enough to take away any doubt that there was a boy here.

Everyone was ready and nodding happily at my minor transformation. Even Peter gave me an approving if slightly astonished smile.

He hovered nearby while we served ourselves and settled into our seats, but no-one seemed to bat an eye at the new girl on the block, so he left us to our chatting and our food. Mine looked alarmingly big now that I was fully into the girl thing, but I was hungry and made relatively short work of it all.

We’d just about finished when Lance and his entourage loomed. Peter looked ready to intervene, but I shook my head at him across the room then turned to my nemesis.

“We understand you’re doing archery this week,” he said.

“Yes,” I answered. “What about it?”

“We’d like to propose a competition. Us lot against you. Top scorers get to choose who goes to Saturday’s dance with them.”

I looked at the girls who all shrugged and nodded.

“Okay, you’re on,” I smiled. So was this a pulling the pig tails of the girl you fancied sort of thing? “We’ll have a word with the instructor this afternoon and set it up. You okay with a handicap if he thinks it’s fair?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Okay, see you in the field tomorrow.”

“What are you doing,” Amanda hissed in my ear loud enough to tickle.

“Playing a hunch,” I whispered back loud enough for everyone on our table to hear.

“So we have women’s intuition now, do we?” Judith asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I reckon I’m girl enough to qualify.”

A few of the girls snorted.

“Well, you definitely found your inner bitch, girl.” Judith sounded impressed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I...”

“Don’t you dare ruin it with an apology,” she said. “Come on, we should get back to class.”

Peter was ready with our drinks when we arrived back. “I have a confession,” he said. “This morning’s distraction messed with my planning. What I had in mind for today was going to have kept you busy for the whole day. I had planned to give you feedback on the screenplays in written form for you to read for yourselves. This morning’s discussion was worth doing, I hope you’ll agree, but I’m struggling to figure out what to do next.”

“Couldn’t we do this morning’s bit of what you had planned then finish it off tomorrow morning?” Stacey asked.

“We could, if I didn’t already have tomorrow’s activity planned out. It’ll be our last day, so I have something special in mind.”

“What is it?” Amanda got the question in first. “Maybe we can do something in preparation.”

“I’m afraid not.” Peter smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“What were we going to do today?” I asked. “Maybe we can do something similar but shorter.”

He shook his head. “It wouldn’t work. It’s like we’ve done a few times already. Planning in the morning then putting it together in the afternoon.”

“Could we go through our competition entries?” Aly suggested. “I mean, I know I asked about this before and you said some of us might not be happy about sharing, but maybe those of us who don’t mind?”

“These are all great ideas,” Peter said shaking his head again, “but for reasons I can’t go into right now, even that’s not an option. We need something short that you can do without much planning.”

“So pick a topic and get us all to write something on it,” Myfanwy said. “Call it a flash writing challenge or something.”

“Okay, but what topic?”

“I have a couple of ideas,” I said.

“So?” Peter said. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Well, I think Myfanwy has the right idea. I did a few writing challenges a while back that had to be seven hundred and fifty words or less. It’s quite a challenge writing a complete story and being so concise.”

The girls were nodding.

“Or we could up the ante even more and write a leet piece.”

“A what?” Myfanwy wanted to know.

“Leet speak among hackers back in the early days of the Internet. To confuse word recognition programs, people used to substitute numbers for letters. Ones for i’s or l’s, zeroes for o’s and so on. I don’t know why they didn’t just go all numbers with elite which would be three one one seven three – three being a kind of backwards e and seven being a capital t with one of its bars missing. They changed the word around though so it became leet – apostrophe optional, and maybe misspelling it to further confuse the word scanners. A leet challenge in writing is to write a story that is exactly one thousand three hundred and thirty-seven words long.”

The girls looked around the room and shook their heads. “Nah,” was the considered opinion delivered in unison.

“Seven hundred and fifty words or less is going to be enough of a challenge, “ Gillian said. “What topic though?”

“Yeah, two choices. Either we put our names into a hat and pick someone at random, then each of us gets to set the challenge for the other person.”

“Still doesn’t help any of us pick a subject,” Sarah B said.

“Well I was thinking maybe knowing who you were setting the challenge for might trick something off. The other idea is we each come up with a random topic. One word or a short phrase. A colour maybe, or a season, or whatever random piece of nonsense comes to you first, then we put them in a hat and draw one at random.”

“What if you pick your own?” Judith asked.

“Peter writes a different number on each of thirteen pieces of paper and hands them out at random. Once we’ve written our topic, we fold the paper and remember our number. When we pick, we make sure we pick someone else’s number.”

“And if the last person to pick has only her number left?”

“She takes a piece of paper from anyone in the room and that person gets the last one in the hat.”

“Or we could just hand our piece of paper to the person on the left,” Sarah J said.

“That would be like Gwen’s first idea where we set a challenge for one particular person, only there’s no randomness.”

“I like Gwen’s idea,” Peter said, already writing numbers on pieces of paper. “I’m going to include myself in this challenge, and can I make one more stipulation? Keep it light? I don’t want to pick up a piece of paper that says Nazi politics in the early nineteen thirties or something like that. This week is supposed to be fun, and I hope it has been so far.”

A chorus of yeses met that comment.

“One last thing. You email me your pieces when you’re done and I read them all out. You get to score your five favourites, and I’ll trust you not to vote for yourselves. The winner gets a prize.”

That got everyone excited. Nothing like a little competition to get people going.

As the afternoon wore on I couldn’t help smiling at the number of exasperated mutterings going on about me. When you’re used to writing lengthy stories, condensing something meaningful down to just a few hundred words becomes nearly impossible. Nearly, but not quite.

It was painful stripping away all those delightful turns of phrase that came to me as I wrote, but the trick was to cut and paste them into a second document where I could resurrect them if I decided to rewrite the piece. I doubted I would. My random topic had been ‘Take that back’ which I’m guessing was intended to be about an argument gone too far, but I chose to make it about a sad, lonely man working in a cube farm. He shared a first initial and surname with one of the girls working in the secretarial pool and at Christmas they ended up with each other’s Secret Santa gifts, which he discovered when he opened his present to find it contained some very sexy lingerie. All his co-workers told him he should take it back to the organiser, which he eventually did despite secretly wanting to keep it. The organiser hadn’t wanted to get involved but gave him the secretary’s name so he could sort it out himself. When he finally found her and showed her the gift that had been meant for her, she was disappointed because she’d been delighted with the inductive phone charger she’d received.

“We don’t have to swap you know,” he’d said.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked in return.

“Of course not,” he said. “These probably would look better on me than you anyway.”

At which she glowered at him and said, “You take that back.”

I got a few chuckles and a few votes for it. I suspect most people guessed it was mine given the vague gender bending aspect, but I’ll be the first to admit it wasn’t my best piece of work.

Peter’s ranked higher than mine – higher than most of ours as it happened, showing he wasn’t just a teacher but had mad skills in writing to back him up. He graciously ceded the crown to Judith though, who wrote a truly hysterical piece based on ‘a comedy of errors.’ She didn’t base it at all on Shakespeare, but wove a fantastic story of one small mistake leading to progressively greater ones until it climaxed with all of us holding our sides for the pain of laughing. She didn’t quite win everyone’s top vote, but twelve out of fourteen was a pretty good showing.

We finished in time for me to do a quick change before archery. If the previous few days were anything to go by, the temperatures would be dropping before we were done, so I chose a longer skirt and tight-fitting long-sleeved top. I didn’t want any frills or bows getting caught up in the bowstring.

Our instructor tried me on a heavier bow which gave me better accuracy over long distance but tired me out more quickly. He was happy to run the competition the following day and suggested I use the lighter bow for short distances and switch to the heavier poundage for the long targets. Apparently, there weren’t any rules against switching equipment.

He stopped me ten minutes before our usual time.

“Sorry,” he said. “Mr Cavendish asked me to remind you to call your parents.”

He was right and I hadn’t really thought about it all day. I headed to the top of the mound and used my phone to call through to Dad.

He was home early, which is kind of unusual for Dad. He and Mum were sitting together on our living room couch, holding hands. Dad had a glass of scotch to hand. Mum stroked his arm and smiled encouragement at him. She preferred to let him take the lead and only chip in if he missed something she thought was important.

“We’re here to listen, sweetheart,” Dad said. Not a term of endearment he’d used with me for quite a while, but it was a good start.

“Okay,” I said nervously. “Firstly, I didn’t plan for any of this, and I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did.”

“Don’t worry about us, darling,” Mum said. “We just want to make sure you’re alright.”

A lot had been said in the headmaster’s office, but the story started earlier. I told them about how I’d figured things out, the first clues being when I’d started writing stories with main characters discovering in a number of different ways that they would be better off as a girl.

“I guess it was my subconscious telling me what I’d started noticing elsewhere, that I didn’t really get along with boys. I’ve never been interested in sports, and the way guys always are with each other, isn’t the way I feel I want to be around people. I see a couple of girls walking down the street smiling and chatting and I think, ‘Why can’t I have that?’”

“You could always get yourself a girlfriend,” Dad said, which earned him a punch in the arm from Mum.

I smiled. “I think Mum gets it. The way things are between a boy and a girl in a relationship are different from two girls being friends. No commitment to exclusivity for one thing, no expectation of there being anything deeper than just friendship. I don’t know, am I making sense?”

“You are to me, sweetie,” Mum said. “I’ll explain it to your dad later.”

“What about the clothes?” Dad asked. “I mean, you look so different.”

“I’ll admit I love the clothes, Dad, but it’s not about putting on a dress, except that it helps me to feel more comfortable, more sort of the me that’s been screwed up inside all this time. It’s about how other people see me, and wearing a skirt helps them see the me inside. Most of them anyway. There are always going to be people who have a problem with me, but they seem to have that problem whether I’m trying to be a guy or a girl. If this week’s taught me anything, it’s that I’m better off being what works for me, because nothing’s going to change the way the arseholes react. Sorry about the language.

“The thing that’s been worrying me the most is the way this is going to affect the people I care about, by which I mean you two especially.”

“Don’t worry about us, sweetheart,” there was that word again. Dad was trying really hard. “We just want what’s best for you, which brings us to a number of things.

“First and foremost, I’m guessing this is a thing now, and that you don’t plan to go back to being our son when you get home.”

“I’m not sure I could if I tried, Dad.”

“We’re not asking you to. Your Mum will get you a few things today, just to tide you over until you can go shopping. Second, we need to do this right, which means getting you to talk to someone who knows about this sort of thing. There’s no provision for this within the NHS anymore, but there are a few private clinics. It’ll cost a bit, but that just means cheaper holidays for a while, plus there’s the bonus that we won’t have a waiting list. Are you okay if I book you in for an evaluation session with a specialist?”

“Sure. I’d prefer a lady if you you can arrange it, Daddy. I get a sense it’ll be easier talking about these sorts of things woman to woman.”

“Okay, I’m sure we can arrange that. I think it would be a good time to talk to an endocrinologist as well. Your Mum and I have been a little worried about your, er...”

“My small stature and the way I seem to be eating all the time. I agree. If there is anything else going on with me it would be better to know before I talk to the other doctor about what other drugs I might want to take.”

“Er...”

“I’m kind of little and skinny, Dad. It works for me because it means I can pass more easily as a girl right now, but there’s always a chance my body’s gearing up for a change, and I’d like to make sure that doesn’t happen if I can help it.”

“Okay, we’ll talk more on that after you’ve seen the doctors.”

“Fine by me.”

“The last thing for now is Mr Cavendish’s generous offer of a scholarship to go to Marlborough. We want to know what your feelings are on that. Bear in mind none of the friends you’ve made this week will be joining you.”

“I realise that, Dad. I do like it here, and if I’m going to be living as a girl from here on, it’ll be easier doing it here than somewhere everyone knows me.”

“Don’t you have a a number of boys from Marlborough who already know about you.”

“Yeah, but I’m kind of handling it, at least I hope I am.”

“You won’t have us to come home to at the end of the day.”

“You’ll always be on the other end of a video call, and Mr and Mrs Ambrose have done pretty well this week.”

“Okay. We don’t have to make up our minds definitively on that until you get home, but at least we have your feeling on the matter.

“One thing to go away with. I get that we did you no favours naming you Gavin. We had our reasons, so I won’t apologise. If you’re going to be out daughter from now on, you’re going to need a new name. I know you’ve been going by Gwen, but that feels like just a variation on Gavin, so if there’s any other name you’d prefer, give it some thought, eh?”

“Thanks Dad, Mum. I will. My stomach’s telling me it’s dinner time, so I should probably go. Love you loads.”

“Love you too sweetie. See you in a few days.”

I disconnected the call and sat quietly trying to take in all they’d said. I’d never expected them to be so understanding. I got the hint they were struggling to come to terms with it, but they were winning.

“Gwendolyn is a fine name for a future queen,” my familiar elderly stalker said quietly over my shoulder.

“I do kind of like it,” I said with a smile, “but I don’t see how I can become queen. We already have a royal family in England.”

“I’m talking about Albion, young lady. You are destined to become queen of Albion.”

“Isn’t that just a different name for our country?”

“England is named for the Angles who invaded this country around the time Arthur sat on the throne at Camelot. England’s current king is descended from those people.

“Arthur was named the once and future king, but in order for him to return, he needs a kingdom to return to. You have Celtic blood in you, and the time is drawing near for Albion to rise again. Gwendolyn has a number of translations, but one of them is circle of white. The circle of Arthur’s round table, the white of Albion. You know it was named for the chalk cliffs at Dover?”

“I didn’t, but it makes sense.”

“Your time approaches, Gwendolyn. You won’t understand just yet, but you will soon. Be patient just a little longer.”

I stood and turned to face him, but he was gone again. My stomach growled, so I set about dealing with more urgent matters.

Queen's Gambit - Chapter 3

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

Dinner consisted of – on my plate at least – a veritable mountain of bangers and mash with rivers of gravy flowing down the slopes like lava. Of course there were veg in there as well, I mean we are omnivores after all.

Then the longest slog ever sewing my dress for the party. The girls worked like troopers and so did I, putting in that extra bit of effort to lead by example. The last half hour I acted as a dressmaker’s dummy, perched on three inch heels while they all stuck pins into me. Well, I may be exaggerating a little, but I had some insight into how a voodoo doll must feel by the time we were done. It was worth it though, the hem was the right length and the bodice fit like a glove.

Tomorrow would involve us all adding finishing touches to our own costumes and Jenny helping me with all the last little things that still needed doing to mine. When we were done, Jenny led us through to the common room outside our usual classroom with Peter, where he had a tray full of hot drinks waiting for us. He and Jenny withdrew a little and let us get on with our gabbling. This time I had no choice about having my finger nails tended to properly. I mean we could have waited one more evening, but I wasn’t pretending to be a boy anymore, so why wait?

Peter insisted that the girls reduce their offerings to fit in one bag, which meant we were all late going to bed as choosing which outfits I’d be taking wasn’t a task that could be undertaken in just a few minutes. Peter and Jenny lived near enough to the school to walk, which had me regretting the heels by the time we arrived at their home. I helped Jenny make up the spare room, neither of them having had the opportunity to do anything about it during the day, ran through my bedtime preparations – which now included make-up removal and moisturising – and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I woke up in what dad liked to refer to as a blue funk, which is an old expression even for him. I mean we weren’t leaving for a couple of days yet and we had enough to look forward to with Peters surprise, the archery competition, and final fittings and dance practice to end the day, but it was still our last day of teaching which gave it a strong feeling of things coming to an end. Jenny greeted me with a cup of tea in bed which was a rare luxury, but didn’t last long as we had to be up and out for the quick walk to school where we’d have our breakfast.

I went for a short skirt and tee shirt with light cardigan and thigh highs against the morning chill. Flats of course, but I packed my heels for the fitting at the end of the day and a few specially selected items for the archery.

The other girls were a bit subdued over breakfast which only served to reinforce my mood. I didn’t eat half as much as usual prompting Lance to murmur something about my doing girl portions now.

The opportunity was too good to waste. I smiled sweetly at him and said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to lose my figure now, would I? Honestly, you boys don’t realise what sacrifices we make.”

It was enough to set the girls to giggling, which only upset him more. He stormed out, steam pouring from his ears, and our collective mood was mended.

We were still laughing when we made it to class.

“I’m glad to see you all smiling again,” Peter said with genuine pleasure. “What happened?”

Zoe told him with Amanda chipping in at the end, “Gwen’s Kung Fu is stronger than his.”

Peter looked at me and I shrugged and looked away. “He should know better than to keep poking the bear,” I said, “but I’m not sure I should have responded as I did.”

“It doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong, and I’m just glad you’re in better moods now, because I’ve been speaking to some people I know in the publishing industry, and they’ve all agreed to join us today on Zoom. I’ve set up thirteen computers around the room with headphones so each of you can have a little privacy. You’ll see that each computer has your name on it.

“Authors write all different kinds of material, so it’s important to find an agent who deals with your kind of writing, who can then approach the kinds of publisher who’re most likely to be interested in your work.

“I know we started off the week with at least one of you not wanting to share what you’d written.” He looked at me. “I’m hoping circumstances have changed enough that you no longer feel that way.”

I shrugged and shook my head.

“Good, because you’re unlikely to have another opportunity like this for a long while. What they have to say may be a little tough at times, but they know you’re all young writers, and they also read through your work and they’re eager to speak to you.

“I can pretty much guarantee that there will be some tough love in there, so I’m guessing there’ll be a few tears by the time you’re done with your meetings, which makes this a bit of a risk on my part, however, what you hear today is going to be some of the best advice any of you will get this week. You all have potential, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, otherwise these people wouldn’t be as keen as they are to speak with you, so listen to what they have to say and try to take it on board.

“They’ve each sent me back edited copies of your work. I’m not going to lie, there’s a fair bit of red ink, but proportion wise considerably less than was on my first manuscript. We create on our own, that’s where the magic comes from and it’s important not to criticise at the time, but I hope we all know that there are going to be bits that we write that could be better. That’s what editors do, they pick up on little mistakes in spelling – hopefully not many of those – grammar and punctuation, and they highlight bits that don’t quite work. These are not done to attack your egos, but rather to show areas where you, and only you since this is ultimately your work, can improve.

“Once you’ve had your interviews this morning, I’ll hand you back the reviewed pieces and you’ll have the morning to do what you can with them. I’ll send them back before lunchtime, and after lunch you’ll have a second opportunity to speak with the same person.

“I know I don’t have to ask you to be polite and respectful, and I dearly hope that each of you will come away from this with something special.

“This afternoon, as many of you as want to will be invited to read your piece, or an excerpt from those that are too long, to the rest of the class. If you want, you can ask for a little peer review after each reading.

“Then, when we’re done, I’ve asked Mr Cavendish and a friend of mine to come and make a few presentations on behalf of the school.

“Now, do what you can to get in the right head space. I know you’re going to feel nervous, and that’s okay, but take this with you. You have each and every one of you earned this as much as you earned your place in this course. The people who are waiting to speak to you are doing so because they see the same potential I do. Are we good?”

Nervous nods all round. A few exchanged glances. A lot of exchanged hugs, for me too. It took a moment to realise they were seeking support as much as offering it, so I started murmuring things like, “You have this,” and ,”You’ll be amazing.” They gave as good as they got, and by the time I sat in front of my designated computer with my headphones on, I was cautiously ready.

“Miss Llewelyn,” a smiling, middle aged woman greeted me. “I’ve been looking forward to this since Peter sent me your story last night. I have to say, I was a little daunted by the length of it, but it was so worth the effort. How long have you been writing?”

The interview went on from there, covering my aspirations, my being trans and inviting me to talk her through the events of my coming out. We eventually got to the business of my story. She was quite brutal in talking me through the bits she felt needed changing. I needed a little persuading in some cases, and even managed to change her mind on a couple of things once I’d explained my intentions. It didn’t mean they didn’t need changing, just that the changes took a different direction. I was sweating by the end of it and felt like I’d been run over by a truck. I was also the last to finish by quite a long time. When the call finally ended, I headed out to find a very subdued group of friends, supping at drinks and chatting quietly.

“Well, that was brutal,” I announced my presence.

Peter had already noticed me coming and handed me a hot chocolate which did wonders for my frayed nerves.

We chatted quietly for a while longer, but the general feeling was of introspection. The girls all had printouts of their stories with as much red as black ink on the pages. Peter also handed me my manuscript – so much bigger than anyone else’s. He let us reflect for a while longer, but the morning was wasting and we had revisions to attend to. He eventually chivvied us into action and we set about our revisions.

My agent had told me to concentrate on the first three chapters since she didn’t think I’d get much further in just one morning. Between her suggestions and my rereading the start of the story, I began to hear my muse singing to me and I dived into my inner space and set to work.

It took Peter’s arm on my shoulder to bring me back to the world, by which time I’d actually managed to work through six chapters. He gave me an appreciative nod, showed me how to send my revisions on to my agent for the day and ushered me out for lunch.

The day’s offering was fisherman’s pie. Not a favourite with most people, but it’s a regular in our household and something I’ve learned to enjoy, so not only did I put my own substantial portion away, but I also helped clear most of my friends’ plates.

We’d been given a long lunch break, which we spent wandering around the grounds as usual. Also as usual, we picked up our tale of stalkers.

“Not these guys again,” Judith said in a loud enough voice for them to hear. I put my hand on her arm though and paused, looking at the group of boys who apparently weren’t used to their prey inviting them to join them.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” I said to Lance, “but you did kind of leave yourself open.”

He surprised me with a smile. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

“Do you want to join us? This is Judith, and Amanda, Zoe...” I made introductions which Lance matched with a list of names of his own group and, with a wariness more associated with rival gangs invited to an impromptu cease fire, the groups started to circulate.”

“You know we’re going to wipe the floor with you this afternoon,” Lance said by way of firing across my bows.

“Quite an unusual opening line if you’re hoping to impress me,” I said with a smile.

“Who said I was hoping to impress you?”

“Alright, why don’t we raise the stakes? If we beat you overall this afternoon, you come to the evening meal wearing pink tutus. I’m pretty sure we can find enough to fit you all.”

“And if we win, you sit at our table this evening.”

Lance’s friends didn’t much care for the risk, but he grinned at them. “It’s not as if we’re going to lose, right?”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t they do something embarrassing if they lose?” I think Lance had said his name was Barry.

Lance looked at me, so I shrugged. “If we lose, we come to dinner in our nightclothes, and we sit with you.” I checked with the girls who all shrugged and nodded.

It was enough to satisfy Barry, but he stuck a finger in Lance’s face. “We’d better not lose,” he said.

The conversation became a little more friendly after that and we actually spent a pleasant hour together. Lance admitted to being pretty awful at both English and Maths, which was why he’d had to come in for the summer study session. My own maths was fairly middling, but I offered to help him with what I could when I started at Marlborough in September. That came as news to him and put a thoughtful expression on his face.

It was also enough of a hint to the girls who, reminded that I’d be coming back here, decided to be more pleasant towards a bunch of guys who were going to be my future co-students.

We reached the time when we were due back at the classroom and almost reluctantly parted company with our guides.

“Do you fancy him?” Zoe asked me quietly as we headed back towards Peter’s domain.

“Who, Lance? Give me a break. I’m only just getting my head around becoming one of you lot. I’m not sure I’m ready for that sort of complication in my life just yet.” The blush on my face betrayed something of the lie, which was weird because I hadn’t meant it as a lie.

Zoe gave me a knowing grin, but let the sleeping dog alone.

The afternoon session with our agents went so much better. We’d all worked on the suggested changes, even when we’d been a little unsure of them, and were all told that with attitudes like ours we had great futures in the industry. All the others were offered the chance to publish their stories in various magazines and periodicals, which they jumped at with delight. There wouldn’t be much money involved, but to have your name out there at this stage in the game was a definite rung on the ladder to success. My agent had a different idea for me.

“Fifty thousand words is a little short for a book,” she said, “but I’ve been wondering if there was scope to extend the story arc a little. I can offer a few suggestions, but I’d be interested in seeing what you might come up with on your own. I don’t want you to pad it – that never works – but if there’s somewhere else you can take the story, some extra bit or bits you can add in that would take it up to eighty thou, I think I could get you a book deal. Interested?”

It took me a few seconds to get my breath back. “Er, hell yeah,” I said, the grin splitting my face like early morning sunshine peeping through a gap in the curtains.

“Great. Take a week to see what you can come up with, then email me the outline. If you need a suggestion or two, just ask. I’ll expect to hear from you by next Friday.”

She disconnected, leaving me staring blankly at an equally blank screen.

Stacey gently removed my headphones and peered into my eyes. “You alright?”

“I...” I closed my eyes and gulped down a deep breath. “I may have a book deal,” I said, “If I can find a way of adding thirty thousand words to the story.”

The last bit was lost in the woops and cheers as everyone rushed in for a hug. Of course that upended the whole afternoon plan because everyone wanted to hear my story, so I read. First the revised six chapters, then the rest of the story which I hadn’t yet touched.

The last line was met with a stunned silence, then everyone started talking at once. Ideas came flooding in almost too fast for me to jot them down. Some were things I’d been thinking about anyway, but you don’t upend the creative process when it’s in full flow. By the time they petered out, I had enough ideas to push the story to an easy hundred thousand words.

“You know what this means?” I said. “It means I’m going to have to credit you lot as contributors.”

Peter, who’d snuck out in the middle of the bedlam, came back in with a bottle of bubbles and a tray full of glasses.

“Fizzy fruit juice only I’m afraid. Mr Cavendish would definitely have a word or two to say if he found me feeding you alcohol on school grounds. This was going to be for later, but we can’t let a moment like this pass by without due celebration.”

We really couldn’t, and we didn’t. When Mr Cavendish arrived an hour later, he found us still chatting excitedly about the day.

“Is there any of that left for me and our guest?” he asked, pointing at the dead bottle lying upside down in a bucket of ice.

Peter had evidently come fully prepared because he disappeared for a minute and returned with a fresh bottle and two glasses.

One of the girls – one of the Sarahs I think – recognised the guest as a local author and mentioned a few of her books. They weren’t my usual genre, but most of the other’s recognised her.

The presentation that followed was short and informal, consisting of the guest congratulating us all, presenting us with a certificate of completion for the course and a signed copy of her most recent novel, which would give me something to read on the train if nothing else. The head then toasted us all and left us to mingling. The girls were full of questions for the guest author. I felt I’d had my excitement for the day so stood back and talked to Peter.

“Looking forward to going home?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. This has been an amazing week, for which thank you so much.”

“If it was amazing it was because I had some amazing students. I take it you don’t have much waiting for you at home?”

“Mum wants to take her new daughter shopping and I have a few appointments lined up with psychologists and assorted doctors. I’m not sure how fun it will be.”

“Friends?”

“Not like this lot. I’m going to miss them most of all.”

“So stay in touch. I noticed you already set up a WhatsApp group. Keep posting to it. You’ll either stick together or you won’t, and if the latter, it wasn’t as amazing as you first thought.

“Given any thought to the headmaster’s offer?”

“I think I’m inclined to accept it.”

“Good. I was hoping I’d be able to keep teaching you. Your, er, special circumstances might make boarding a bit of a challenge, so I have another offer to make. I’ve talked it through with Jenny and we’d like you to consider staying with us.”

“Really?”

“Oh, it won’t be all sunshine and roses. You won’t be able to get away with half-hearted attempts at homework. One of the downsides of living with a member of the faculty.”

“I think I can live with that. Thank you so much.”

“I’ll have to clear it with Mr Cavendish first, but it’ll likely save the school a few bob, so I don’t think he’ll mind.

“Right, I think maybe we should wind this up, don’t you? I understand you have an archery contest to win.”

“It’s not winning so much as playing,” I said, which comment earned me a nod and a wink.

Lance and his friends were good. They accepted the handicap suggested by our instructor with remarkably good grace. Very sporting of them considering the stakes.

They couldn’t match the girls’ accuracy at close quarters and fell behind at thirty and forty yards, but they started to claw back a bit of the difference at the longer ranges with their stronger arms and heavier bows. When I also switched to a heavier one, there were a few cries of foul play, but Lance held up his hand and agreed with the instructor that there was no ruling against it. We were pretty much neck and neck by the final end. Lance put his last two in the red which meant all I needed was a red to win. The boys all looked resigned to an evening in pink taffeta and were giving their leader filthy looks. I glanced at the girls who were all eagerly anticipating the win. A few of them caught me looking and calmed themselves, giving me a resigned look and a shrug.

Girls were amazing, I thought as I took a breath, drew, aimed carefully and very deliberately put my last arrow into the blue at precisely three o’clock, splitting the narrow line in the middle of the colour.

Exactly where I’d been aiming.

“Tournament over. Boys win,” the instructor called as the boys went wild.

Amanda leaned her head on my shoulder and murmured. “You are going to pay for that.”

With individual scores totted up, the top half of the group were split relatively evenly between boys and girls. As outright winner, Lance got to choose first.

“I’d like you to accompany me to the dance tomorrow,” he said to me, earning him more than a few surprised looks from boys and girls alike.

“Are you sure?” I asked cautiously. I’m not gay, you know?”

“All well and good then. I’d hate to see you on the arm of another girl.”

“Well, if you’re absolutely sure. I wouldn’t want you to feel like I’m leading you somewhere you’ll regret.”

“It’s just a dance, and with no offense intended to any of your friends, there’s no-one I’d rather go with.”

“Alright then.”

With me spoken for, the next went to the third place and so on until everyone was paired up. Nobody seemed particularly unhappy with their match, especially the boys who were pleased that none of them had been saddles with the boy in a dress, as I’m sure they saw me.

The lads headed off and the girls rounded on me.

“Really?” Zoe asked.

“I kind of felt sorry for them,” I said a little lamely.

“Really!” Zoe’s retort was all disbelief.

“Come on girls,” Amanda said, taking me by the hand. “Nightclothes isn’t so bad, and nobody’s going to be looking at us once I get Gwen kitted out.”

I’d kind of earned whatever Amanda had in mind and meekly followed her into her room, changing into the baby doll nightie without complaining. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, but since I had nothing much to put on display it wasn’t really worth making a noise about. Just a little chilly, even with the sheer chiffon gown that went with it.

We turned quite a few heads coming into the cafeteria. Most of the girls were well covered in flannelette, so it was just me showing off all that skin.

It was no less shocking than my first appearance wearing Zoe’s jeans and the strappy top. It was also the end of the week, so not much they could do about it. I gave the teacher’s table and apologetic shrug and sat next to Lance.

“Like what you see?” I asked him.

“Erk!” he replied with remarkable eloquence given the circumstances.

One of the teachers came over looking concerned.

“We lost a bet,” Gretch explained. “An inch to the left with that last arrow and the boys here would have been paying the forfeit.” I gave her a grateful look that she hadn’t given specifics of what that forfeit would have been, but she was getting on remarkably well with Barry, who’d come fourth in the rankings and asked her to the dance.

The food was good and plentiful. Lance took pity on me and collected plates for both of us, with mine looking maybe a little bigger than his.

I gave him a questioning look and he grinned. “I don’t really like it when girls want to take a bite from my food, so I figured I’d give you enough to keep you going.”

I grinned back and forked a chip from his plate. When he glowered back at me I invited him to do the same from mine, which he did. After that I left his food alone, even though I finished ahead of him.

“Would you like to take a walk around the grounds?” he asked gathering our emptied crockery.

“Ordinarily I’d say yes, but we have our costumes to finish for tomorrow night. If yesterday was anything to go by, we won’t be done much before midnight.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you at the dance tomorrow. Thank you. For this afternoon. You could have won.”

“I rather think I did.”

He smiled and shook his head.

We didn’t have time to change, but went to dress making in our night things. We didn’t stay in them for long as most of the evening involved trying our costumes on and pinning in some last minute changes, then changing into the bags of clothing Zoe and Judith collected from their dorm – the closest to the needlework classroom. They’d even put together a few things for me. Like I say, girls are the best.

We finished the last of the dresses – mine as it happened – by eleven, which gave us time for a quick nightcap before heading to our beds. In parting, Amanda pushed the baby doll into my arms.

“You might as well sleep in it,” she said. “You can have too much of Hello Kitty.

“We’re planning on going into town tomorrow morning, hit all the charity shops and see what we can buy with thirty-nine pence.”

“Is that all you have left after chipping in to my dress?”

“We all paid for the opportunity to work with material like that. You just lucked out having to wear something put together with our lousy stitching. And no, we have a bit more than a few pennies left, just not enough to buy any haute couture at local prices. We’re assuming you’re in?”

“Hell yeah! I’ll see you at breakfast, or after if Peter and Jenny offer me something different. I’ll message the group if there’s any change.”

“Sounds good. You know, I didn’t really get a chance to get to know you as a boy, so I can’t really make a comparison, but you do make an awesome girl. We all think so.”

“That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I’m guessing you’ve got better to come. Lance seems okay, but if you need bailing out at all tomorrow night, just let us know.”

“I will. You guys are amazing. I never had friends like you lot, and after only a week.”

The baby doll was satin which made sleeping in it something special. I could get used to silks, except I probably wouldn’t be able to afford them.

Morning was as expected. Tea in bed with pancakes on the table. Peter and Jenny let me get away with wearing the baby doll to the table since the food would have gone cold if I’d washed and dressed first, but they told me not to make a habit of it.

After we’d eaten, I messaged the girls to say I’d breakfasted and to collect me from Peter’s as they came past. The weather was gloriously sunny and just screamed summer dress and sandals. Between sorting my hair and adding a little make-up I was just about ready when the doorbell rang. Jenny leant me a handbag which was just the right size for wallet, phone, lippy, compact, tissues. Since when did I need all this crap?

Marlborough was an easy walk away and had enough charity shops to keep our attention for the whole morning. We lunched on fish and chips rather than head back to the school, sharing a couple of large cod and chips between us to conserve the dwindling funds. In the afternoon we window shopped the proper stores and salivated over all the things we couldn’t afford. My eye was especially taken by a silver chain and pendant in the style of a Celtic trinity knot, inset with aquamarines. It was absolutely gorgeous and well out of my budget.

The girls were about to drag me away when the door opened and the elderly man with silver grey hair, beard and robes stood in the doorway. He ushered us in but I shook my head.

“I really can’t afford anything, sir,” I said.

“You can afford a little time, I think.”

I looked at the others who shrugged and followed me into the shop. Safety in numbers meant we should be okay as long as we stayed together.

“It’s a slow morning,” he explained as we followed him into his shop, “and you can’t blame an old man for seeking to brighten it a little with a bit of charming company.” He reached into the window and retrieved the pendant. “Now, I believe you were looking at this.”

“Yes sir, but I really can’t afford it.”

“Quite so, but we have to ask ourselves if you can afford not to have it. Try it on.”

I did with Judith holding my hair out of the way.

“It comes with matching earrings,” he said, “all included in the price.” He held out a separate cushion with matching Celtic knot earrings, complete with aquamarines in the centre. Between them they looked amazing.

The man peered at my reflection over my shoulder, still somehow far enough away that I didn’t feel intimidated.

“Fit for a queen, wouldn’t you say?”

“They’re beautiful, but I only have ten pounds left. These are worth so much more.”

He tutted. “Royalty doesn’t deal in money, my dear. They are a gift. If you choose to offer me patronage then all the better.”

“I couldn’t possibly, sir.”

“And if I were to tell you that to refuse a gift would be to give offense in return?”

“I wouldn’t want to do that, sir, really, but it’s a lot of money and a don’t feel comfortable just taking them.”

“Then an exchange? Before the end of today I will ask you a question. You probably won’t understand it, but my price for these baubles is that you answer my question in the affirmative. Would you do that for me?”

“If it’s nothing illegal or immoral then I suppose. Maybe.”

“Have I given you cause to question my morals?”

“No, sorry sir, that was unworthy of me.”

“You do well to be cautious. Now please, they look so much better on you than I can have imagined. Take them with my blessing and remember your agreement.”

We tumbled out onto the street.

“Can you believe that guy?” Aly said. “What an oddball.”

“How is it you get all the luck,” Judith planted her wrists on her hips. “Book deal, hunkiest guy at school and now free jewellery. If you weren’t so easy to like, it would be so easy to hate you.”

“What do you think his deal was?” Zoe looked back at the shop. “I mean weird or what?”

“I suppose you’re going to develop a few eccentricities if you go around looking like Gandalf.”

“Gandalf?” Zoe responded, the rest of the girls looking at me oddly. “More like Gollum you mean.”

I looked back at the shop where a short bald man of vaguely oriental background looked at me, smiling and waving.

The girls pulled me on before I could investigate further. Time was rolling on and we needed to get ready for the party, which they said would probably take us a couple of hours, minimum.

They deposited me back at the Ambrose residence, still in a daze.

“Oh, that’s lovely dear,” Jennifer said lifting up the pendant to examine it more closely. “Where did you get it?”

“The jewellers in the high street.”

“Oh, Mr Hong. Such a sweet old man.”

“Yes, but he gave it to me, pretty much insisted.”

“Yes, he does that on occasions. We wish he wouldn’t because it has upset some of the girls. He just insists it’s one of the few pleasures he has left in life, bringing joy to beautiful young girls.”

“But the ticket price was seventy pounds!”

“Wiltshire prices, sweetie. You’d probably pick the exact same thing up online for half that. Mr Hong does well enough out of his sales that he can afford an occasional extravagance like that. Just be grateful and move on.”

“What does Mr Hong look like?”

“That’s an odd question. I mean you did just meet him.”

“Humour me?”

She shrugged. “In his sixties or seventies. Five foot five maybe. Bald, short sighted but wears his glasses on the top of his head most of the time. Unfortunate teeth.”

That was the man I’d seen in the shop doorway as the girls had dragged me away. So who had...?

“You’d better go and get started. You don’t have much time. The shower’s all yours and I’ve left the hair dryer in your room. Use some of my shampoo and conditioner if you like.”

Long hair takes longer to dry, that’s always been the trade off and, before now, I’ve been happy to let the air dry it. I’m pretty sure that won’t be acceptable to my present circle of friends, besides Jennifer’s lotions and potions had changed it beyond recognition. Not only did it smell fantastic, but it was fuller, bouncier, more inclined to do its own thing unless I took a firm hand. Unfortunately I hadn’t the first idea what I was doing. Fortunately, I had a Jennifer on hand just looking for an excuse to get involved.

“Would you like some help?” she asked.

“Yes please, and thank you.” I relinquished control of both hair dryer and brush to someone better qualified to operate them and took mental notes as she curled it under and did all sorts of other unusual things. The final result was spectacular.

“I’m guessing this evening demands a little more than lip gloss and eye liner too,” I said as she performed some finishing touches.

So I had a free make-up tutorial as well, and spent a whole ton of time getting it right. That’s an issue with teachers. They’ll never do something for you when they have an opportunity to show you how to do it for your self. Give a man a fish sort of thing I suppose.

Anyway, we were more or less on schedule when we left the house, but arrived at the needlework room to find a dozen girls going quietly frantic. Apparently on time meant we were hopelessly late.

Time is an illusion (and lunchtime doubly so, according to the late Douglas Adams (apparently proving you can be late and on time at the same time)). Time is also relative, as demonstrated by my casually slipping into my gorgeous green silk gown, stepping in front of the mirror and deciding there was no sense in messing with perfection, while my friends all ran around like mad things, all desperate to add in this extra detail or that.

I watched it all for a few minutes before feeling the need to intervene.

I intercepted Aly as she came past me all flustered and panicking, held her hands and turned her to look into my eyes, taking long slow breaths until she copied me and I could see sanity returning. Then I turned her towards the mirror I’d used and showed her herself.

“Whatever it is you’re running around trying to achieve,” I said quietly into her ear. “Do you think he’ll notice?” I could feel the stress draining from her. “You look beautiful. Right here and now, with nothing more needed.”

She nodded, then looked up in alarm as Amanda came charging at us. I grabbed her and pulled her to a stop, repeating my actions and my words. Then again and again until all my friends had stopped.

I looked them all over. Jenny also calmed a little and came to my side.

“Do you have a broach? Something in amber or topaz maybe?” I asked waving at Gretchen.

“I have just the thing,” she said and dug something out of a nearby case. It was costume jewellery, but good quality paste still looks pretty stunning.

“I think we’re ready,” I said and walked out of the room.

They followed, fortunately. It would have been a whole lot less impressive if they hadn’t.

Finding the venue involved simply following the music. A lilting melody led us down corridors all but begging us to dance. I smiled back at the girls, spread out in a loose wedge behind me and fell into a simple enough skipping motion with an occasional slow spin to it. After the second repetition most of them were matching my moves and by the time we reached our destination, we were perfectly synchronised, entering the room with a swirl of skirts that had everyone’s heads turning.

From the lines on the floor, the place had to be a basketball court or something similar, but someone had gone to a lot of effort to transform it into a small banqueting hall with trestle tables around the edge and gaily coloured banners hanging from the ceiling.

We arrested our motion but kept our improvised dance going for a few more bars until something in the music signalled an end and we all stopped moving on the final note of the piece.

The place broke into applause with even the musicians joining in before starting up a quieter strain of background melody.

“Quite some entrance,” a familiar voice sounded. “How long did you have to practice that?”

I turned to find Lance approaching me, resplendent in period costume including quilted shirt, burgundy tabbard, trous and knee length boots.

“About two minutes,” I answered with a very satisfied grin.

“You look... breathtaking,” he said. “I’m...”

“Speechless? My lord’s flattery goes beyond the bounds of propriety methinks.” I bobbed him a demure curtsey.

“Hardly,” he said. “You look positively regal, and I shall be the envy of all who look upon us.”

Yeah, maybe not push the period speach. We were neither of us that good at it.

“You look quite stunning yourself. Authentic, imposing, dare I say handsome.”

The smile said I could dare. “We have quite a selection of costumes in the drama stores. You’d be surprised how often we put on period events like this.”

“Perhaps less surprised than you’d think. I was expecting a more general fancy dress party though.”

“That’s what was planned, but we overheard Mr and Mrs Ambrose talking about how much effort you were putting in to making your costumes, so we suggested to Mr Cavendish that we should make this a medieval celebration. It’s easy enough to arrange on short notice. Like I say, we have all the costumes and props to hand, and our music teacher is into the music of this period.” He nodded over at the piper whose haunting strains had led us here. The rest of his troupe of musicians seemed to be made up of sixth formers at a guess.

“By we you mean...”

“Me and the lads. We offered to get the place ready. It’s what we’ve been doing all day in case you were wondering where we were.”

He wouldn’t want to hear that I hadn’t wondered at all. I sidestepped the landmine by shifting the subject slightly. “You did an incredible job,” I said. “A little short notice for people to change their costumes though?”

“Not really. Like I said, we’ve a lot of stuff in the drama stores and we were given permission to check out whatever we wanted. Some of the lads are going the whole hog. Chain mail, swords, the works.”

“That’s going to make dancing difficult, I would have thought. Plus, not exactly conducive to romance.”

“More or less what I said, only no-one’s listening to me after nearly losing the archery to you girls.”

I suspected it might have something to do with his choice of date too, but that was better left unsaid.

“You know, a good friend would arrange to have something more comfortable for his friends to change into once they realise they’ve made a mistake.”

“Like a good friend would do whatever she could to make sure her friends’ evening wasn’t ruined by their dickhead dates turning up inappropriately dressed?”

“Something like that.”

“The drama stores are close by, would you mind giving me a hand?”

“Do you promise it won’t be grubby?”

“I promise, and if it is, I’ll take the worst of it.”

“You’re so gallant. No cobwebs either. I’m not so keen on spiders.”

“You are such a girl.”

“And you say the nicest things.” When you’re not trying to be mean. Boys! Who can understand them?

He took me by the hand and led me down a couple of nearby corridors. The costume store had been severely depleted, but it was, as promised, clean enough. We were able to put together three acceptable outfits from what we could find, bundled them up and carried them back to the banquet hall between us.

The entrance of the knights had occurred in our absence. The three of them – I recognised Barry, but couldn’t name the other two – were being loud and raising pewter tankards of what I hoped was only coca cola or something similar. The girls, especially the three who’d agreed to go with them, were keeping their distance.

Lance and I deposited our packages out of sight near the hall entrance and made our way over to them.

They quieted as we approached. Apparently they shared Lance’s assessment of my appearance and we’re struggling to see past the finery to the boy they felt sure was underneath.

“Good knights,” I greeted them. “Your presence is welcome, but I feel your arms and armour unnecessary. This is an evening of celebration, of feasting and dancing. Will you not put aside the battle for one night?”

“You don’t get to tell us what to do,” Barry sneered. “This is our school. You’re just a visitor.”

Not that many points to be won by telling him I was enrolling. I took a hold of his arm and steered him to look at the rest of the girls.

“You see Gretchen?” I said quietly. “I know you like her because you asked her to come with you. Tell me, does she look happy?” I wasn’t sure if I could smell alcohol on his breath. That wouldn’t be good. I took the tankard out of his hands and sniffed it. Definitely something different about it. I handed it to Lance who did the same.

“Dick move, Barry.”

“Talking about dicks, how come your girlfriend has one?”

I hadn’t seen the storm clouds in Lance’s eyes for some days, but abruptly they were back.

“Not worth it,” I whispered into his ear.

“No, you’re right, he’s not.” He handed the tankard back. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that whatever you put in there is what’s doing the talking. I’m also going to say this just the once. You get caught with that and you’re expelled. Permanently. You drink much more of it and you will get caught.

“If you’ll take my advice, and I know you’re not that keen on it right now, you’ll go and flush what’s left in those tankards down the bog, and maybe suck on a breath mint or two. Then, whenever you get fed up of clanking around in all that metalwork, there are three changes of clothing by the door. You can thank my girlfriend for that kindness.”

“Anything wrong?” Peter said from behind me. He had changed into a costume of his own and looked resplendent as lord of the feast.

I forced a smile, took his arms and turned him away from the confrontation. “Nothing, Sir Peter. My but you look magnificent. Is Lady Ambrose nearby?”

“Somewhere close,” he said. “I think she feels outshone by our royal visitor.”

I looked around in confusion.

“You, you ditz,” he laughed.

“Are teachers allowed to call their students by such names?” I really had to do something about the medieval pseudo-speak.

“Absolutely not, and you could get me in a lot of trouble if you wanted to. I suspect that’s not your way though.” His eyes followed the trio of knights making their way out of the hall, Barry bringing up the rear. They paused long enough to pick up the parcels of clothes we’d left them.

“The woodwork teacher at my school says we should be allowed to make mistakes, otherwise how will we learn. As long as we leave with the same number of fingers as when we arrived, and preferably all still attached.”

He laughed. “Apparently comprehensive education isn’t that bad after all.”

“Oh no, it’s bloody awful – pardon my vulgarity. Mainly crap but with the occasional tiny gem worth digging for.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to endure it anymore.”

“Is this what you were talking about earlier, about the tutoring and stuff?” Lance appeared at my elbow.

“Gwen’s been awarded a scholarship, and yes, she’ll be joining us in September. Sorry, that might not have been my news to give.”

“It’s alright,” Lance said. “She mentioned something about it in passing a while back, but I wasn’t sure if she was yanking my chain. A scholarship. Wow!”

“We haven’t had much chance to talk in private before now. I wanted to ask if it changed how you felt about tonight. I mean one evening with the mystery girl who might not be is one thing, but...”

“Nothing will change how I feel about tonight. I mean, I wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye, but you’re saying I won’t have to?”

“Well, for a few weeks maybe. I am still going home tomorrow.”

“Not forever though.” His smile was a picture.

“Let’s not make it weird, eh? I agreed to tonight because you beat me at archery.”

“I’m still not sure I did though, did I?”

“Well, you scored more than me in the end, and I think that’s a fairly good definition of beating someone. Besides, I’d have probably agreed if you’d asked politely. But this is just one night, Lance. Neither of us should be making plans for the future on a first date.”

“Just as long as we’re agreed that this is a date.”

“Do I need to remind you again?”

“Yeah, you’re not gay. Neither am I. It’s weird, but regardless of what Barry said back there, I only see a very pretty and quite amazing young woman, and right now she’s on a date. With me.”

God, I wanted to kiss him.

Saved by the bell, or... whatever. The musicians played a short flourish drawing our attention. Peter had his hands up drawing attention to himself. Jennifer stood beside him looking amazing, despite the stupid conical hat.

“Welcome all to our medieval ball. A last minute change to the program but superbly executed with the assistance of Lance Girling and his friends.” An appreciative round of applause, which Barry and co returned just in time to enjoy. They looked pretty good in their makeshift costumes, given what we’d had to work with. “The promised feast will be brought to us shortly,” Peter continued, “I’m assured within the hour. Until then, may I invite you all to find a partner and join us for the first dance. If you don’t know the steps, please feel free to watch until you’re ready to join in.”

Barry and the Barryettes approached their dates. From the body language, there were apologies and at least some conditional forgiveness exchanged. Lance pulled me onto the dance floor.

“I don’t know any of the dances,” I protested.

“You came up with something pretty spectacular in just two minutes on the way here. You’ll be alright, just follow my lead.”

They were all fairly tame and easy to follow. High heels hadn’t featured in medieval times, and I found myself wishing we’d stuck with authenticity, if only for the comfort. On the plus side, I liked being a little closer to Lance’s height at this short range, but on the minus, I had a growing sense of how much my feet would be complaining by the end of the evening. Even three inch heels were a challenge to someone who’d never worn them before. Despite my fears, I survived until the food arrived.

Our places were labelled and, since Lance and his friends had decorated the place, he knew exactly where we were sitting, on the Lord’s table beside Lord Peter himself.

The feast came in a succession of three courses, each comprising a mix of roasted meat, fish, vegetables and pastries with goblets of grape juice to accompany it all. Fortunately there were such things as eating utensils, otherwise I doubt my dress, especially with its droopy sleeves, would have survived the experience. There was enough food to satisfy even my prodigious appetite, and entertainment in the form of music, singers, jugglers, acrobats and other more unusual offerings throughout.

Eventually the aftermath was cleared away and we were invited back onto the dance floor. Not so much the stately, formal dances from earlier, but modern music, slow and romantic. I guess no-one wanted to jump and jiggle about after such a meal, and time was getting on. Also a lot less uncomfortable in heels

Lance pulled me close and I lent my head on his broad chest. He smelled musky, but in a good way, and I could hear the slow, steady beat of his heart.

“Anyone would think you aren’t excited to be with me,” I murmured dreamily into his chest.

“You should have been listening the first half hour after you arrived. I’m not sure I’d still be standing if it had kept beating at that speed all this time.”

“Mmm. I’m glad you are still standing. Gives me something to lean on.”

“Is that all I’m good for? Something to lean on?”

“You are a prop forward, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“I think Peter must have mentioned it or I guessed or something.”

“Do you want to go somewhere quiet? The evening’s almost over and I’d like to have some of you to myself.”

I opened my eyes and looked deeply into his. This had so much potential to go horribly wrong. I caught a movement in the corner of my eye and turned to see Merlin, or whoever it was, standing by the entrance. He turned and left as soon as he saw me looking at him.

“Alright,” I said. Did a ghost count as a chaperone?

I took the lead and followed the old man, out to the mound and up the spiral path.

“Why here?” Lance asked.

“Where we first met, remember?” I was ad libbing, but it would do for now.

“I’d prefer to forget that. I was such a dick to you that day.”

“So now’s your chance to make it up to me.”

We’d reached the circular path at the top. The Moon was full in the sky, washing out most of the stars but giving us a good view of our surroundings. We were alone.

“Will this do?” He cupped my chin and tilted my face up towards his, then, gently stroking my cheek, he leaned forward and kissed me.

It was soft and sweet and filled me with such a feeling of warmth. I snaked my arms around his neck and kissed him back fervently, urgently.

Common sense took over and I pulled away.

“I wish...”

“I know. It’s messed up. I wish too, but it is what it is. You should know I’ve never felt this way about anyone before now. It confused me at the beginning, but now I’ll do anything...”

“You only met me a week ago.”

“The French call it the coup de foudre, the thunder strike. I wasn’t sure I believed it till it happened to me.”

“And there was me thinking you were all muscle and no brain.” I gave him an apologetic grin to show him I didn’t mean it.

“Mum’s French. I’ve grown up in a bilingual family. So the school have me learning German, which sucks big time.”

I laughed, because crying wasn’t an option yet.

“Tell me you feel something too,” he begged.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, but that’s the problem. It’s always been the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody gets what it’s like to be like this.” I indicated my body, elegantly dressed as it was. “If we were together, we’d both get so much flack for it.”

“How are they going to change if someone doesn’t show them? I’m ready to do whatever it takes. Are you?”

“Gwendolyn Llewellyn, are you prepared to take on the mantle of Queen of Albion?” It was the old man’s voice speaking in my ear. I didn’t really understand what he was asking, but I’d made a deal.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Lance’s lips were on mine again, and this time I heard the sound of thunder.

No, not really, just an expression. There was no magical transformation, unless you count the one in my mind. Two genetic males went up the hill. Two genetic males came down again, only now we were most definitely boyfriend and girlfriend. Possibly something more, but only time would tell.

We made it back to the banquet hall to find it in the process of being changed back into a gymnasium. Barry and co were busy dismantling the trestles and putting them away. He broke off from his work and approached us, head hanging, uncertain.

“I was out of line earlier,” he said. “I owe you both an apology, especially you,” he said to me. “I don’t really get it, what’s going on with you, but... I shouldn’t have been such an arsehole.”

I smiled at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t think any of us really get it, but it would help having friends around to not get it with (split infinitive and ending with a preposition, how very dare I!?). That’s kind of what this week has been for me with the girls. I don’t know if they really get it either, but it’s less threatening for them to recognise the girl inside me than maybe it is for guys like yourself. We’ll be grateful for whatever acceptance you’re ready to give.”

“Gwen’s coming to Marlborough in September, so you’re going to have a chance to figure it out. She’ll be attending as a girl, but I think she plans to be open about exactly who and what she is, so we could really use the support, bro.”

“You mean you’re...?”

“I love her, man. However messed up that sounds. The boy we picked on last weekend doesn’t really exist. Gwen is real, and... well, like I said.”

“You’re telling me you’re...”

“No-one’s gay, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Gwen’s a girl and into boys, me apparently which is way cool, and I’m into girls which, like I say, she is one.”

“Yeah, I still don’t get it, but you did us a solid tonight, me and Dean and Rick. We got your back whatever, okay?”

“Okay,” Lance answered for both of us then put his arm around my shoulder. Mine went around his waist and it felt so good.

“You kids having fun?” Peter asked as we approached. “I’m glad to see you made up. You had me worried at the beginning of the week. Mind you, I’m not sure if this worries me more.”

“We’re good, Mr Ambrose. Gwen’s offered to tutor me next year, so hopefully you’ll see my grades improve.”

“Not quite how hopefully should be used, but...”

“Actually, it’s considered acceptable in the modern vernacular, sir,” I told him.

“How often do I have to tell you, it’s Peter.”

“Yes, Sir Peter. Only for another day though. I’m practicing for September.”

“I’m never going to win with you, am I? Listen, the rest of the girls are with Jenny, changing back out of their things. You should join them. I’d like a quiet word with Lance, if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t break him then. I like him just the way he is.”

“Hey! I’m right here.”

“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow before I leave?”

“Count on it.”

Most of the girls had finished changing and were sipping drinks.

“Hot chocolate, Gwen?” Helen called over.

I nodded and headed into the needlework room to undress.

“How are we going to get this back home with you tomorrow?” Jennifer asked as she hung the dress up. I was settling my skirt into place to hide my little bulge before anyone notices it. Funny how self-conscious I felt about it right now.

“I have to change in London. My chances of getting it home unwrinkled are pretty much zero whatever happens. I was wondering if I might donate it to the school drama stores.”

“That’s really generous of you. I suppose I could have a word with Mr Gibson and see if he can come up with something in his budget to pay for it.”

“Not really necessary, but if he does, could you pay the girls back for their contributions first?”

“Sure. The alternative is we could put it in eBay and see what it goes for. I suspect a lot more than the cost of the materials.”

“I’d rather it went to the school, Miss. That way I might be able to wear it again.”

“Option three then. Let me take it home, then it’ll be there for you when you come back in September.”

“Maybe that would be best.”

“Do you want me to look after your jewellery too?”

“I was thinking of wearing it tomorrow, actually. If I can make myself look enough like a girl.”

“No problems there, I suspect. You should go have a chat with your friends.”

I did so and accepted my mug of hot chocolate from Helen. Gretchen held out a bulging shoulder bag. “We wanted you to have something from each of us. So you don’t forget us.”

“Aw, thanks guys. As if I’m going to forget any of you. You’re the best.”

“Open it,” Zoe said, so I did, then went through the contents. Skirt and top from Sarah B, summer dress from Gillian, jeans from Zoe. “I hate to admit it, but they look better on you than me.” Espadrilles from Judith, sandals from Amanda. “You can keep the baby doll too,” she added. There were other things as well, boy cut panties which seemed to work best for me and even a training bra or two. “Might help a bit with the whole flat chested thing you have going on there,” Myfanwy, who also wasn’t super well endowed said apologetically.

“This is amazing, guys, but I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Well,” Gretch said, handing me an envelope with a card in it. The picture on the card was of a transformer in mid change. I looked at her quizzically and she shrugged. “Best we could do at short notice. Open it, open it.”

I did and read out loud, “’To a real life transformer and an amazing girl. Don’t you ever go back to the dark side.’ Mixing genres a bit, aren’t you?”

“Euw! Too geeky,” Stacey said. “We all put our addresses in there, so you’d better send us Christmas cards, and a copy of your novel when it comes out.”

“That’s a promise. The thing is, what am I going to wear tomorrow.”

They helped me pick out Gillian’s summer dress. They suggested the sandals but I went for the espadrilles. “I need some help to counter Lance’s altitude advantage.

Which, of course, prompted a whole fury of questions, for which there was really only one answer.

“What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants, and what Lance’s heart wants is the little girl living in mine.”

“And how does she feel about him?” Judith asked.

“She feels pretty good about him. He’s quite a surprise when you dig deep.”

“Well, be careful, won’t you?”

“I will, and you’ll always be on the other end of WhatsApp if I need you.”

“For sure. We’re going to miss you, girl.”

“Me too. All of you. You’re going to have to come to visit.”

“That would be so cool. How big is your house? I mean can you fit us all in?” Gillian’s excitement was infectious.

“I was actually thinking maybe one or two at a time.”

“No sweat, maybe we should arrange a group meetup in London or something,” Judith suggested.

“Yeah!” Now Gillian really was excited. “I mean we live on the outskirts, kind of Romford way. I could show you all my favourite places.”

Sounds like a plan then,” Zoe said. “We ask our parents as soon as we get home, then make plans as soon as we know when we can all make it.”

It was as close to an update note as we were going to get. Jennifer had been watching from the doorway and figured it was time to step in.

“Okay,” she said, “earlyish start tomorrow and we’re already later to bed than usual.” She held out some red cards. “These are permission slips if your dorm matrons make any noise about you being late, though they usually don’t bother on the last night.”

It didn’t affect me. My hosts knew exactly where I was.

Peter met us on the way out, and a short walk later, I was upstairs and brushing my teeth. I managed to change and climb into bed before sleep caught up with me, but I don’t remember pulling the covers over me or turning the light out.

I certainly don’t remember plugging my phone in, but it was connected and fully charged when I woke up.

I woke early and ducked into the toilet. My teeth felt like they could do with a quick freshening up, so I took care of that before heading back to my bedroom.

“Cup of tea?” Jenny called from downstairs.

“Yes please,” I called down. “Only I’m, erm...”

“I have a spare dressing gown in the bathroom you’re welcome to use of you like.”

I took advantage and headed down the stairs swathed in white plush. The early morning was cool enough to be comfortable, but it wouldn’t be long before I was too hot.

“So, when’s your train?” Jennifer plonked a steaming mug of tea in front of me.

“Eleven-thirty. Just under an hour into London, then I have about an hour before my train home. I’ve enough money left to get some lunch, which’ll help pass the time, plus I have my book.”

“Don’t get so engrossed you miss your connection.”

“Been there done that. I have an alarm set ten minutes before it’s due to leave.”

“Smarty-pants. There’ll be a car to take you to the station about ten forty-five, but what would you like to do before then?”

“Pack first, then go say goodbye to my friends.”

“Breakfast here or at school?”

“I don’t mind. I’m not very hungry to be honest.”

“You should eat something. It’ll be a long time before lunch.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Scrambled eggs on toast?”

“Sounds good, but only one slice please.”

“Okay, now I’m worried. Who are you and what have you done with Gwen?”

I managed a half-hearted laugh. “It’s still me. Just feeling a bit low, I suppose.”

“That’s understandable, but don’t let it ruin your last few hours with your friends.” She dropped a slice of bread in the toaster. “You know Dr Seuss? Of course you do.”

“I always loved Green Eggs and Ham when I was a kid.”

“What do you mean when? You still are a kid.” Eggs into the pan and gently stir. “Anyway, there’s a quote of his I’ve always liked. ‘Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.’”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

“There she is,” she smiled. The toast popped and she put the smallest breakfast I’d eaten in years in front of me. As it was, it almost defeated me and I was proper stuffed by the last forkful.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She put a hand on my forehead, for all the good that was going to do.

“I’m fine, honest. Just not very hungry. And maybe a bit of an itchy chest.”

That made her look at me. “Would you mind if I gave you a look over before you shower?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t as if I didn’t trust her. “Sure.”

We went up to the bathroom where I stripped. The day was already warming up and just figured the dressing gown had been getting hot and sweaty. She poked and prodded at my chest a bit before declaring me fit and well. My little guy was, well little, but then he always had been.

She left me to my shower which felt amazing. I mean I couldn’t say why, but it felt so much better. So much more invigorating. I used Jenny’s shower gel and loved the scent of it. Somehow subtle and more intense at the same time.

Rubbing myself dry felt a bit raw, so I wrapped myself in my towel and kind of rubbed at the top of the towel. It worked for the most part and left me with a few out of the way places to deal with. Boy cuts and, on a whim, training bra, which meant the summer dress wasn’t going to work, being too open at the top. I found a more conservative tee shirt and a skirt to go with it, took the espadrilles out and packed the rest as neatly as I could. The phone charger and tablet with its wires I tucked deep in among my old clothes, but I didn’t have anywhere for my phone or wallet.

Jenny came in with that handbag she’d lent me earlier in the week. “A memento of your stay with us,” she said.

“I couldn’t.”

“You could, and I hope you will. Call it a loan for now if you want.”

“Okay, fair enough. I’ll bring it back in September.”

“At which time I’ll most likely deny I ever owned anything like it. Gwen, I really would like you to have it.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“I presume you can find your way to the school on your own. Peter will be doing the station run this morning and I’d like to have him to myself for a while before he comes to fetch you. Leave your bags here if you like and I’ll make sure he brings them.

“I won’t see you again before you leave, but you have been an absolute delight both to teach and to host. I am so looking forward to seeing you in September.”

“Me too, and thanks for everything.”

The girls were all sitting around glumly poking at their breakfasts when I arrived. Lance and his friends hadn’t made it down yet, but then they had been dismantling the venue after everyone had gone home. I collected a glass of orange juice and settled into a space between Gretchen and Amanda.

“Hey, where’s the mountain of food?” Amanda asked.

“I already ate. Besides, you can talk. Have any of you eaten anything?”

“I’m not hungry,” Zoe said dropping her spoon into her bowl.

“Neither was I, but like Jenny said to me, it’s a long train ride home, for most of us at least.”

“What do you mean?” Gillian asked since I was looking at her.

“How long will it take you to get to Romford once we’re back in London?”

“Fifty minutes, maybe more. It’s no fun taking a suitcase like mine on the tube.”

“So you’ll be home about the time my train leaves Kings Cross.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Judith said. “Are we all going to London?”

Nods all round.

“Eleven-thirty train?”

More nods.

“Then we don’t have to say goodbye till we reach Kings Cross.”

That brightened the mood, even if it didn’t improve anyone’s appetite.

“This is depressing,” Myfanwy said, “What say we blow this joint.”

Stacey snorted. “Okay Bugsy Malone,” she said.

“Who?” asked Helen.

“Who cares,” Judith said standing up and collecting her tray. “Let’s make like a tree and get out of here.”

“Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the geeky one,” I complained.

“Ya snooze, ya lose sweetheart,” Zoe made a fairly dreadful attempt at a Jimmy Cagney impression.

“What’s happening?” Gillian asked.

“I think we’re all going outside. Nobody really wants to finish breakfast and it is a lovely day out there.”

Inevitably we bumped into a couple of Lance’s friends on the way out, who wanted to know where we were going.

“Outside,” Judith said unhelpfully.

“We were hoping...” But most of the girls had swept out.

“When you’re done with breakfast you might want to try the top of the mound,” I said.

Out in the open air Gretchen turned on me.

“What did you say that for?”

“Tell me you had a good time last night,” I said.

“I didn’t... not have a good time,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Tell me he was an arsehole with absolutely no redeeming features.”

“He was an arsehole. Admittedly kind of a cute arsehole, but he should never have said what he did to you.”

“You know he apologised? To me and to Lance?”

“When?”

“After we came back. You and the others were getting changed. Barry was helping to dismantle the venue.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me you wouldn’t want a chance to say something to him before you leave this place forever. I mean, if you don’t, like if all of you really don’t, we could be somewhere else when they finish eating.”

“You can be so frustrating sometimes.”

“I take it that means you would like to talk to him?”

“Grrr!”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone growl before. Not really. She stormed off.

“I take it we’re heading for the top of the mound then,” Zoe said dryly.

We were.

I’d been quite out of breath the other times I’d climbed the mound. The slope was gentle but probably came to about five or six hundred metres of steady incline. Somehow this time I was breathing easily at the top, despite my three-inch block heels.

“So what are we doing here?” Myfanwy wheezed as we reached the summit.

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” I said. “Getting away from everyone for one thing.” We looked down at the sleepy school below us and knew that couldn’t be the reason. The top of the mound was set apart, but there really wasn’t that much going on that we couldn’t have found somewhere just as secluded.

“Are we even allowed to be here?” Aly asked.

“I haven’t seen any signs to say otherwise. I mean the mound’s on school property so closed to the general public, except by special invitation, but since we are students this week... I’ve been up here five or six times, and you all came up the once after the incident with Zoe’s jeans.”

“I remember,” Judith said. “You told me those shoes were a stupid choice for climbing up here.”

“I don’t remember calling them stupid,” I said. “I think I suggested wearing something sensible.”

“And the opposite of sensible is?”

“Alright, you’ve got me there? Except I wasn’t really planning on coming up here today. And besides, they’re really not that bad, so maybe I owe you an apology.”

“Wait till you try going down those bloody stairs.”

“Alright,” Zoe said, “so why are we really here? I mean you can’t see a lot with all these trees and there’s nothing up here but a ditch with an ugly concrete base in it.”

“There used to be a water tank up here at one stage, I think,” I said looking at the concrete.

“I don’t particularly care,” Zoe replied.

Why had I brought everyone up here? There was only one thought nagging in my mind.

“I suppose I wanted you to meet my Merlin. Most of the times he appeared I was up here.”

“They won’t be able to see me, Your Majesty.” I looked up to find him standing in the mound’s central depression. “I wouldn’t say anything, they’ll only worry about your sanity.”

“So? Where is he?” Judith asked.

“Apparently not here,” I said reluctantly.

He nodded approvingly. “These friends’ part in your story is drawing to an end,” he said. “There’s always some sadness in the parting of ways, but you should come to terms with it. You won’t see any of them again after today.”

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Your plans to meet again are very laudable, but good intentions wilt in solitude. You’ll exchange a few messages to share what’s happening in your lives, but you’ll each make new friendships and soon forget the bond you all made this week. Perhaps you least of all, Gwen, but then this week has been so much more significant for you.”

“So why are you here?” I asked quietly.

“Oh, that’s very nice!” Gretchen said. “You brought us here, remember.”

Judith put a hand on her arm, quieting her. Even though she couldn’t see Merlin, I think she could see that I could.

The old man shrugged. “The same reason as you. Waiting for...”

“Hello ladies.”

Lance, of course, accompanied by his friends. We paired off as we had the previous evening. Lance stepped into the central hollow and reached up to help me down.

I looked up into his face. Three inches wasn’t much, but it helped. A few more would be better still, but I wasn’t sure how well my feet would cope with much more of a heel.

A quick glance around showed every one of my friends engrossed in every one of Lance’s. He followed my gaze and smiled. “Alone at last,” he said.

“Not quite.” I looked at the old man who shook his head.

“It’s rare indeed for anyone to see me as you do, but there are some who can sense me enough to be influenced by me.”

“Like Mr Hong?” I asked, prompting an odd look from Lance.

“Like Mr Hong.”

“I want him paid back for this.” I fingered the pendant.

“He will be.”

“Who are you talking to?” Lance asked.

“Can you show him?” I asked Merlin.

He sighed and changed into a crow that flew up into a nearby tree.

“Where the hell did that come from?”

The bird glided back down into our midst and shifted back into the old man.

“And now where did it go? Did you see that?”

“It explains how you were able to come and go without me seeing or hearing you,” I said to Merlin. I placed a hand on Lance’s forearm to let him know I wasn’t ignoring him.

“Here is your future, Your Majesty,” the old man said. “He will protect you from what is to come.”

“Did you make him fall for me?”

“What!?”

“No magic can change the course of love, though I may have helped him see your true self.”

“Who are you talking to?” Lance asked again, more emphatically.

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I tried to explain it.”

“Try anyway.”

“An old man with long grey hair and beard who only I can see, except he can change into a crow.”

“Is this the subject of one of your stories?”

“Sure. Why don’t we leave it at that?”

Merlin smiled. “We Will speak again, my queen.”

He faded in front of my eyes, quite literally.

“Okay, so now we are alone.” I placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him invitingly.

He reached down to kiss me. “Are you taller?” he asked.

“Must be going through a growth spurt,” I said.

“What?”

I lifted a foot and looked down at it. He followed my gaze.

“Oh. You had me worried there for a moment. Were you wearing them last night too?”

“Different shoes, same three inch heels. Not into taller women?”

He shook his head. “You confuse me sometimes.”

“My prerogative as your girlfriend, I believe.”

“So we’re using that word?”

“If you like. I mean... you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure how I’m going to explain you back home.”

“I can imagine. How do you want to handle it?”

“From a distance with a long pole.”

“Ten foot, generally found on barges?”

“What? Oh, yeah, something like that.”

“If it’s going to be an issue...”

“Then I’ll choose you over my parents if I have to.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

“Dad’s a bit set in his ways. He doesn’t like things being different.”

“Reminds me of someone I met at the beginning of the week.”

“Yeah, Dad’s influence there I think. Took a bit of dealing with, but you’re worth the effort.”

I leaned on his chest.

“You smell nice.”

“Borrowed shampoo. I’d have thought you’d have noticed it last night, like the heels.”

“I did, just didn’t think to mention it. I think maybe we should go.”

I lifted my head and looked around. The others had gone.

“Just another couple of minutes. This is too nice.”

Two minutes turned into ten, then Lance pulled away and checked his watch.

“Your lift to the station leaves in ten minutes.”

He raised me out of the hollow and clambered out himself. We took the stairs, which were a bit precarious in my shoes, but Lance helped. We arrived out front with five minutes to spare.

“You had me worried for a minute,” Peter said from the front seat of the minibus. “Your bags are on board, so whenever you’re ready.”

I fished my phone out of my bag and turned to Lance. “Digits?” I said.

He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers.

“No, silly,” I laughed. “The sort I put in here.” I’d already opened a new contact and put his name in.

“Oh. He ran off a stream of numbers which I typed in, saved and then called.

His back pocket buzzed and he pulled out his phone, staring at it blankly.

“And now you have mine. Don’t be shy about using them.” I reached up and kissed him slowly, but oh so much too briefly, then climbed up into the one remaining seat.

We were all kind of subdued on the short trip to the station, but it was a good subdued. At the far end, Peter unloaded and said his goodbyes to everyone. I waited till last in case we ran out of time. I’d be seeing him again soon enough.

“The canteen made up snack boxes for everyone. I grabbed one for you in case you needed it. Jen tells me you didn’t eat much breakfast.”

“You know us girls. Gotta watch that figure.”

“That’s nonsense. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

“And when I’m hungry, I will. Thank you for this week, Mr Ambrose. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes you will, and I look forward to it. The school will be in touch a week before term begins to let you know what the arrangements are, but you may want to sort your uniform out soon. They can take a while to come through. I tucked a brochure in your bag.”

“You think of everything.” I reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s not too weird is it?”

“Not entirely appropriate between a pretty young girl and her teacher, but I’ll overlook it this time. Just don’t tell Jenny. I don’t want her getting jealous.”

I gave him a gentle punch in the ribs

“The school also disapproves of students assaulting the staff. You’d better go, Gwen. Train’s about to leave.”

In five minutes according to the clock, but that was almost how long it took me to show my ticket at the barrier and find my friends.

Queen's Gambit - Chapter 4

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

We’d taken over a fair chunk of one of the carriages and the girls were back to chatting animatedly. Most of them had rediscovered their appetites and we’re tucking into energy bars and sucking on juice boxes. I still wasn’t hungry, but dug out my juice box to suck on just so I could join in, and so I had an excuse for not saying much.

It was all about what they were going to do when they got home. Judith, Gretchen, and the two Sarahs talked about reconnecting with their boyfriends, which brought on a smattering of shocked reactions until Judith raised her voice over them and said, “What happens in Marlborough...”

“Stays in Marlborough,” we all chorused and broke into laughter.

Gillian was looking forward to seeing her dog again – an Airedale terrier with a ton of personality, apparently. Gretchen was excited about being back with her younger sister, “which’ll probably last until I find out what she’s being getting up to while I’ve been away.”

Everyone had something to chip in about going home. It put me in mind of the Apollo missions coming back from the moon. You fight gravity to start with, but you reach a point where the pull of your home planet takes over. I was beginning to see what Merlin had said about our group splitting up and everyone going their separate ways.

“What about you, Gwen? What are you looking forward to?” It was Aly who’d asked, but everyone was looking at me, waiting for an answer.

“Well, it’s just Mum, Dad and me at home, and I don’t really have any friends at school. You know, boys just want to beat up on the wimpy kid and girls don’t want anything much to do with boys when they have each other, especially pathetic losers who are constantly being picked on by the lads.”

“Yeah, but that’s not you any more, is it?”

“No, but none of them know that. I mean, it’ll be good seeing Mum and Dad again, and we’ve got a lot to talk through. Then I have doctor’s appointments to keep, shopping with Mum, I imagine a whole lot of worried looks from both Mum and Dad, until they get used to the new me. I’ll have a few things to sort out with the transfer to Marlborough, but most of that can wait a while. Then, of course, I have the book to rewrite.”

“I thought you only needed to add bits to it.”

“And revise the rest. Plus with all the ideas you guys gave me, it’s going to be easier to go through the whole thing chapter by chapter and introduce the new bits as I go.

“The biggest bit is going to be adding the love interest at the end. I thought I’d reprise the beginning chapters where the knight approaches the afflicted region. I thought I’d keep it word for word to start with, then gradually introduce the idea that this is a different knight and the circumstances have changed. Then he meets the main character, still struggling with the changes imposed on her, but as love takes over, she lets go of her past and embraces her future and her man.”

“That sounds so cool. You are going to have to send me a copy.”

“Well, I did promise, and I have all your addresses, don’t I?”

So that exhausted the topic of going home, but what I loved about the girls was there was always some new subject waiting to be explored.

“What are you guys going to do with what we learned this week?” I asked, and that allowed me to drift into the background again while everyone chatted about their thoughts and plans.

It lasted us until we arrived in London. More than half the girls had fairly immediate connections to make or tube rides to different station, so we did a quick round of hugs and everyone rushed off in different directions. Even Gillian who was eager to be reunited with Scrappy. Yeah, I didn’t think much of the name either, but she did and that was all that mattered.

Which left Stacey and me. Her connection also left from Kings Cross, just half an hour earlier than mine. We found a Greggs and bought a couple of hot chocolates.

“So glad we didn’t have to spend the week as Gavin and Stacey,” she said.

“Me too. I like being Gwen much better.”

“It suits you, you know? I don’t know why, but I believe in you as a girl. Gavin was sort of... I don’t know.”

“In retrospect it feels like he was who I’ve always pretended to be, and I was never very good at keeping up the pretence.”

“I think I get that. It’s weird. I’ve always felt a bit awkward when there’s been a guy in our group, even when it’s someone else’s boyfriend. It’s like you don’t feel so open to talk freely when there’s a guy there. I mean don’t get me wrong, I like guys. Simon was kind of sweet in a goofy way.”

Stacey had come high enough up the pecking order in the archery to choose who took her to the dance. I vaguely remembered most of the guys joking about who she would pick, and not being very diplomatic about it, so she’d picked Simon, who was quiet and not that good looking, but so amazed and, I suppose, grateful to be chosen ahead of the others. He’d been a bit star struck by Stacey who was pretty enough.

“But you didn’t feel that same reticence about me?” I brought her train of thought into the station.

“No. I mean not even at the start of the week when you were more this confused and sad little boy. I suppose we all saw something of the Gwen in you even then.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I don’t think I’d have been able to make this transition without you guys.”

“What do you mean?”

I thought about my response. “Who we are is a mix of things,” I said. “Part of it’s how we see ourselves, and I think the reason I did so badly before this week is because I didn’t really see myself as the person I was portraying.”

“Okay.” Intrigued but not quite following.

“Then a really big part is down to how other people see us. Family, friends and acquaintances in that order maybe. If I’d tried to be this at home, my parents would have freaked out, I still wouldn’t have had any friends, because a guy in a skirt is still a guy, and like what you said about how having a guy in your circle of girl friends messes with the dynamic. Lastly, everyone else would have picked on me worse than usual. The wimp dresses like a girl now, sort of thing.

“The way the twelve of you just accepted the inner me – what was it Judith called me? An honorary girl? That was just so different from anything I could ever have expected. Having your acceptance and inclusion gave me room to see myself the way you saw me. It sounds hopelessly sad, but I actually found I liked myself for the first time in my life.”

“You couldn’t have been that bad if you wrote that amazing story.”

“Writing that ‘amazing story’,” I did the finger quotes, so sue me, “was as close as the old me could ever get to being Gwendolyn. You could say she wrote it rather than Gavin the sad sack.”

“Well, let him go. You’re better off as you are. The board’s showing my train is in, so I should get going. It’s been great knowing you, Gwen. Have an amazing life. You really deserve it.”

Abd then there was one. I bought a horribly overpriced bottle of water from a vending machine and sat with my bags on one of the public seats near the display board. It was lunchtime, but the usual grumbles weren’t there. I nibbled through an energy bar more through habit than hunger and sipped at my water.

I tried to read a little, but I get nervous when I’m waiting for a connection, and I couldn’t concentrate on the story. Instead I dug out my phone and texted Lance. ‘I thought I told you not to be shy about using my digits, or are you just too cool to talk to me now?” I added an angry face and a poo emoji.

The reply came shortly after. ‘Mum and Dad picked me up. Dad doesn’t really like me texting when I should be listening to how disappointed he is in me.’

I found an emoji of a puppy making sad eyes and sent it along with a message saying, ‘later then,’ and put the phone away.

I gave some thought to the restructuring of my story and just about kept enough of an eye on the board to notice when my train was ready for boarding.

Once on board, I found a seat with a table and a USB point and set myself up with Mum’s tablet and keyboard, ready for a two and a half hour session reorganising my story. Snack box ready if I decided I wanted anything and phone on standby in case anyone wanted to talk.

A girl about my age stopped at my seat.

“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked.

No-one had ever asked me that before and it took me a moment to recover.

“Sure, of course. I’m, erm, Gwen. Gwendolyn.”

“That’s such a lovely name. Mine’s Jackie. I mean how boring’s that?” She settled into the seat opposite me and dumped her bag next to her. I’d done the same my side, because who wants a stranger sitting next to you? Sunday afternoon service usually wasn’t that busy, so there was a chance we’d get away with it.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always thought Jacqueline was rather elegant.”

“Well, I’ll trade you if you like. How far are you going?”

“Selby. It’s...”

“Where I’m getting off!” she said excitedly. “I live in Brayton. Where do you go to school?”

“Selby High.”

“Oh. I’m in Brayton Academy, which is pretty good. What’s your place like?”

“Alright I suppose as long as you don’t mind the arseholes who go there.”

“Same everywhere isn’t it? Do you have a boyfriend?”

I thought of Lance and felt a smile creep across my face.

“You do! Tell me about him. I know quite a few people who go to your school. Maybe I know him.”

“Actually, he lives in Wiltshire. I’m transferring to a school down there in September. A place called Marlborough College.”

“Sounds posh. You lucky cow. Anyway, tell me about, you know?”

“His name’s Lance. He’s about six foot two or three and built like a steam train. He’s a prop forward on the school rugby team.”

“Ooh, not sure I like that. Don’t they usually have their faces all mashed in and stuff?”

“I don’t know, but Lance looks pretty intact. He’s not, you know, the brightest crayon in the box, but when we’re together, all he sees is me. It’s kind of a special feeling.”

“Yeah. Like I said, you’re a lucky cow. Mine’s Shane. Left wing, football. He can be a bit boring at times. You know, all into football and shit. Sorry, you don’t mind me swearing do you?”

“Not if it’s something worth swearing about,” I said. “So what do you like to do when you’re not at school?” I switched the tablet off. It didn’t look like I was going to get much work done with her around.

“Oh, all sorts. Shopping, dancing, just going out with my mates.” I could see she was eyeing the snack box, but too polite to say anything. I opened it and pushed it across. “You sure? I’m starving. I was late getting up this morning which meant miss breakfast or miss my train.”

I still wasn’t hungry, but I took a muesli bar just in case and let her loose on the rest.

Which was probably as well because there was very little left by the time she’d finished.

“Oh shit,” she said, looking at the largely empty box. “I didn’t mean to do that, sorry.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “You obviously needed it more than me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re so skinny I doubt you eat more than half a slice of toast any day.”

“You have no idea.”

“You’re really cool, you know that? I can’t believe you don’t have a feller back home.”

“Not that keen on the way they all treat me.”

“You know that probably means they fancy you, right? I mean boys are so immature.”

“You’re telling me. As far as I’m concerned, if they want to show they fancy me, then they can bloody well grow up and do it right. Less of the name calling and threats.”

“What do you mean name calling and threats.”

“Nothing I really want to go into if it’s all the same. I’m actually quite happy the way things are turning out.”

“No, that’s cool. Say, do you fancy meeting up sometime next week? I get together with a bunch of mates most days during the holidays. Generally we just hang out at some shopping centre or other.”

“Might be fun. I’ll have to check with my parents though. I may have a few doctor’s appointments next week.”

“Nothing serious I hope.”

“Nah, just sorting out some stuff that should been fixed a long time ago.”

“Fair enough. Can I put my number in your phone?”

I opened a new contact, put in Jackie for the name and slid it across to her. She typed in her number and slid it back for me to approve it.

“Send me a text any day you know you’re free and we’ll sort something out.”

“Sounds good.”

“So what were you doing in Wiltshire? Visiting family?”

“I won a writing competition. I had a week long advanced creative writing course with a dozen other girls from around the country. So much fun when you’re doing stuff with others who are as into it as you are.”

“Sounds great. Anything come of it?”

“Our teacher put us In touch with some agents who read through our competition entries. Mine was a bit longer than the others at about fifty-thousand words...”

She whistled.

“Tell me about it. I don’t know how to stop sometimes. Anyway, the agent must have thought it was pretty good because she said if I can add a bit – get it up to eighty or a hundred thousand words – she might be able to sell it to a publisher.”

“Are you serious? You mean I might be talking to the next J K Rowling?”

“Why is it always her when someone talks about a famous author? I mean she’s not that great when it comes to LGBTQ stuff.”

“Fair enough. Is that what you write then?”

“You don’t have to be on the spectrum to disagree with someone who’s anti trans.”

“True, only if you were bi, I might be up for an experiment.”

“It’s a kind offer, but I’m trying to keep my life as uncomplicated as possible. Having a boyfriend the other end of the country means I can turn down advances without upsetting people. Too much at least.”

“That’s cool. Only slightly serious you know.”

“Cool with me either way.”

We chatted on through the rest of the journey. Favourite books – a lot more on my list than hers, so I drew a line under it before she got bored. Favourite films we were a lot more evenly matched. I steered away from the guns and explosions genre until I realised that’s where she was going a lot of the time. I’d seen a lot of them and even pointed her in the right direction for a few I thought she’d like. When it came to chick flicks, her list was longer than mine, although with quite a few that didn’t really sound like my thing.

In fact, the longer we talked, the more we realised we weren’t quite on the same wavelength. We both seemed to be edging towards the same conclusion as Selby approached.

I nibbled my way through my muesli bar and invited her to finish off the last of the snack box, which she did with guilty enthusiasm, while I texted home.

“You’re not going to call me next week, are you?” she asked.

“Would you like me to?”

“Probably not. I mean you’re nice and everything, but I kind of feel we’re on a different level kind of thing?”

Unusual rising inflection at the end of her statement as though she was inviting me to agree with her.

“I got that too. I mean, I could really do with some friends, and I’m not in a position to turn down any offers, but it feels like we’d disagree on so many things. Not saying either of us is wrong or worse than the other, just different.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m not going to withdraw the offer or anything, but I’m not going to get upset if you don’t take me up on it, yeah?”

I nodded my head.

The train drew to a halt and she stood. “It was good chatting to you. Hope the writing thing works out.”

And she was gone, leaving me with an odd mixture of regret at not quite making a friend, and relief at not quite committing myself to an awkward relationship. Overall it felt good that we’d both been able to address the elephant in the room before it started trampling everything.

I gathered all my wires and bits, hoisted my bags – so much heavier and bulkier than when I’d left home, and so much more of an effort to lift – and stepped onto the platform.

The automatic barrier ate my ticket, not that I was bothered since I had no further use for it. Dad was waiting in the street outside. No traffic wardens hovering just yet, but reason enough for him to stay in the car.

I dumped my bags on the backseat before joining him at the front. Sit and swivel, legs together is the elegant way. I’m not sure how I knew to do that, but some things are learned through osmosis.

My science teacher would probably object to my use of the term, but osmosis is when you increase the concentration of ions inside a cell in order to draw water inside (and equalise the concentrations since the ions won’t pass through the membrane). That’s kind of like when you’re not permitted to learn something (because you’re a boy and boys don’t do girly things) so the need concentrates inside you and sucks in whatever you want to learn whenever you come across it. You don’t realise it’s happening until you need it and the knowledge is just there.

“Hello sweetie. You look...”

“Different? Scary? Pretty?”

“All of the above. You’re going to have to be gentle with your mother and me.”

“I get that, Dad. Like I said earlier in the week, I’m really sorry you had to find out like this. The thing is, unless this week had happened, I’m not sure I’d ever have found the courage to say anything.”

“Well son. Oh sorry, I mean...”

“It’s alright Dad. This is part of giving you and Mum a break. Don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around me.

“I’ve been Gavin to you for a lot of years. I can handle it if you need me to carry on being Gavin for a while longer, I can do that.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Just be gentle if we make a mistake every now and then.”

“Not a problem. I kind of think you’re the ones that’ll have to work on being gentle about messing up. It feels like you’re going to be more upset about noticing when you slip up than I am. Honestly, Daddy, I’m just glad that you and Mum are... I’m guessing okay with this isn’t quite right because you aren’t really, but you are on my side even though I’m...”

“It’s alright, Gwen. I think you’ve hit the nail on the head. We love you no matter what, and we’ll do whatever’s necessary to make sure you get what you need. If this is it, then we’re the ones who have to adapt.”

“Thanks Dad.”

“Your mum’s cooking a lasagne for tonight. I hope that meets with approval.”

“Sounds fantastic, only...”

“Only what?”

“I may want a smaller portion than usual. I can’t really explain it, but I’ve not been hungry all day today.”

“Oh? What changed?”

“I don’t know. Nothing that makes sense for sure.”

“What happened that doesn’t make sense?”

“So much, I don’t know where to begin.”

“Well, you know what I always say.”

“Start at the beginning, and if you can’t find that, start in the middle and work backwards.”

“So you do listen.”

“Always, Daddy. Okay. It began when I met Merlin for the first time.”

“Merlin the magician?”

“Or more likely his ghost since nobody else could see him.”

“Is this one of your stories?”

“What would you like me to say, Dad?”

“From what I read about Marlborough Mound, the whole thing about it being where Merlin is buried is a myth.”

I shrugged. “No-one bothered to tell Merlin.”

Dad snorted. “Well, let’s put a pin in it for now. How was the writing course? I mean let’s not forget why you actually went in the first place.”

So I told him about the book offer and the one-week deadline to come up with a plan for revising the story. I also told him about the girls. I hadn’t planned on telling him about Lance, but Dad can really push my buttons sometimes.

“So, any special someone among these girls?”

“They were all pretty special, Dad. They were all cool when Gwen emerged. Even helped her feel welcome.”

“Yes, but any... you know, romantic attachments?”

“It wasn’t like that, Dad. Jeez, you can make friends without wanting to get into bed with them. Besides, they’re girls, and the big issue here is so am I.”

“So what. Girls can be into girls these days.”

“Yeah, well this girls into boys.”

That nearly put us on the kerb.

“What!?”

“His name’s Lance and he’s on the Marlborough College rugby squad.”

And that nearly put us in the back of the car in front.

“I think maybe I’d better stop talking to we get home.”

It only took us a couple of minutes to get there. Nowhere in Selby is that far from anywhere else in Selby. We could have walked, but I’m not sure I would have wanted to in my heels. I know three inches isn’t a lot, but it’s enough when you’re not used to them.

Mum was a lot more enthusiastic about my appearance and a whole lot freer with her hugs. She gave Dad a worried look when he appeared carrying my bags.

“Are you alright love? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No, that’s apparently what Gwen’s been doing, at least when she hasn’t been getting up close and personal with boys.”

“What?” Mum asked, turning her worried frown on me.

“It’s not like that. Lance was a perfect gentleman, which I would happily have told Dad if I hadn’t been worried he’d run someone over.”

“What?” Mum asked again, looking back at Dad.

“I need the loo, then I’m going to shower and get changed, if that’s okay.” It had better be okay. I felt all grubby and this homecoming wasn’t working out how I’d hoped.

“Of course dear.” The looks Mum and Dad were exchanging suggested a long and serious conversation was about to happen in my absence, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. I didn’t trust myself to be reasonable at the moment.

“But...” Dad began but Mum shut him up with a look.

“Of course dear,” Mum said. “Tea will be at six.”

See? Tea. Dinner is for posh people.

I took my bags from Dad and lugged them up to my room, which in my absence had undergone a minor transformation. I now had a pink, floral duvet cover with pink sheets and a vase of flowers on my bedside table. There was also a pretty, white summer dress laid out on the bed.

The loo was going to have to wait. I went back downstairs and threw my arms around first Mum then Dad. Tears erupted from my eyes, robbing me of my capacity to speak, so I ran back upstairs.

“What was that about?” Dad’s words followed me into the bathroom.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s a girl thing,” Mum answered.

That brought on a fresh flood of tears. I lifted my skirt and sat to take care of business. I wasn’t a girl though. However pathetic and shrivelled my equipment might have been, it didn’t belong on a girl.

I stripped and stepped into the shower. The water felt amazing against my skin, especially my chest which felt more sensitive than usual. I spent longer than I usually would, soaping and washing my whole body and giving my hair a thorough wash. Also possibly giving myself an excuse to stay under the stream as long as I could. All I can say is thank heaven for combi boilers, otherwise the water would have gone cold long before I was done.

I wrapped myself in one towel and made a turban out of another – not a very neat one, mind – before crossing the corridor into my room. My wardrobe mirror allowed me to check my chest, but I couldn’t see anything different, except maybe a slight increase in softness which I put down to imagination. I was too scrawny to be developing moobs.

It took a quarter of an hour to sort myself out and put on the dress Mum had bought me, involving a lot of primping and preening in front of the mirror. I made it downstairs by quarter to six and went straight to the sideboard for the cutlery and place mats to lay the table. Extra mats in the middle. Dad looked at me over the top of his newspaper and decided not to comment.

Good decision.

I danced around Mum in our small kitchen, grabbing glasses and a jug of OJ from the fridge. Cruet set, bowl of grated parmesan cheese Mum had already prepared, serving spoons and plates – stack of them in Mums place since she would be serving. Everything looked ready.

“Anything else I can do, Mum?” I asked.

In man-speak that’s an invitation to say no, but thanks for asking, but I wasn’t speaking man anymore.

“Would you take the peas out, sweetheart. I think we’re about ready to serve up.”

Mum transferred a healthy serving of the promised lasagne onto a plate and passed it to me, which I then passed on to Dad.

“About half that much for me please,” I said which prompted the old parental exchange of looks again.

“One week as a girl and she’s already watching her figure.” Dad no longer had his paper to hide behind so the second line of defence was dad jokes.

“I can’t really explain it,” I said. “I just don’t feel hungry the way I usually do.”

“Perhaps puberty’s finally catching up with you,” Mum said, passing me a far more reasonably sized serving.

My blood ran cold. My late development may have been the reason for all the bullying I’d suffered at school, but I’d been dreading the change.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Dad said. He finished ladling peas and passed them to me. “I meant to mention in the car. You have an appointment with an endocrinologist tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t give you much of a chance, did I.”

“Not really, no. So, are you ready to talk about this boyfriend of yours?”

“Actually, could I take it from the beginning? I think it’ll make a lot more sense that way.”

“Okay. In your own time.”

Which meant pause for that first slice of heaven. Eyes rolled up into my skull as the flavours spread across my tongue.

“I have missed your cooking, Mum” I said.

She smiled, but I could still see the worry in her eyes, so I started with my arrival and my first climbing of the mound.

I did take regular pauses to eat before the food went cold. Easy enough since both Mum and Dad kept interrupting with questions. Smaller mouthfuls meant the pauses weren’t that lengthy, and smaller portion meant I finished first. Mum offered to top me up, but wherever the food used to go no longer existed inside me. I was comfortably full.

We had a longer pause halfway through while mum fetched pudding – dessert for any of you posh people still reading. Apple pie and custard. I was tempted to ask for my usual portion, but knew I’d regret it if I did, so Mum sized portion and eat it slow.

I finished my story over coffee. That is Mum and Dad drank the foul brew while I stuck with orange juice. I ended with saying goodbye to my friends at Kings Cross and lapsed into nervous silence.

“Well,” Dad said, “you’re a story teller and no doubt. I’d have happily paid to read a story like that.”

Dad’s a bit biased you understand.

“I’m not sure I know what to make of it,” Mum said.

“That makes two of us,” I told her.

“Three.” Dad’s contribution.

“I mean, I don’t know if all the supernatural sounding stuff was just my imagination, but it felt real. Either way, this bit of me has been looking for a way out for a long time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just a moment.”

I headed back to my room and pulled the bottom drawer out of my chest of drawers, retrieving a stack of papers from the space underneath. Reading from paper is so much better than from a computer screen.

“I started writing these about five years ago. This is my first one. It’s not that good, but...”

“Would you read it to us?” Dad asked.

It was about a young boy named Gavin who came in last from cross-country, as usual, to find everyone else had changed and left, taking his clothes with them and leaving him a girl’s uniform to wear. He’d put it on and gone to his next class, terrified that everyone would make fun of him, but the teacher had been more upset at his late arrival than what he was wearing. She’d called him Grace and made him sit at the front of the class.

At lunchtime a group of girls had invited him to join them to eat with them, and afterwards they’d played hopscotch.

All through the afternoon, everyone had treated him like a girl. The boys had called him names, but no more than they did with the rest of the girls. The teachers had treated him like every other girl in the class, and at the end of the day he’d gone home – still wearing the dress because he hadn’t been able to find his boy’s uniform.

He’d let himself into the house, scared out of his mind of what his parents would say when they saw him, only when his Mum popped her head through the kitchen door, she’d smiled at him and said, “Hello Grace. I’m about to bake a cake. Would you like to help?”

It was called the magic dress. Rather unimaginative, but it did the job.

I dropped it back on the pile. “They’re all like that,” I said. “The writing style gets better, but the essential content is the same. Boy feels like he should always have been a girl, struggles with depression, usually gets picked on in some way. Boy encounters magic or mad science or some unlikely circumstances that allows him to become a girl, or at least be seen like a girl. Boy stroke girl lives happily ever after.

“I wasn’t brave enough to be the girl in real life. Too worried about upsetting you, too scared of the reaction I’d get at school. So I let her live in my stories.”

“Your competition entry was the same?” Mum asked. “Is that why you didn’t want me to read it?”

“Yes. It was bad enough when the headmaster read an excerpt out to the school.”

“Yes, Mrs Meredith called to say you might have some trouble. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you by meeting you at the bus stop, but there was that hulking great boy who got off with you.”

“Wayne. Yeah, he’d have probably tried something if you hadn’t been there. I was glad you were there, Mum.”

“Would you mind if we read your entry now?” Dad asked.

“I suppose. It’s just that since the agent talked to me about it, I’ve started thinking about it as a sort of work in progress.”

“So let us see the before and after. I’d love to see something of your process.”

“Well, alright.”

Knight in White Satin hadn’t made it to the pile of printouts. Fifty thousand words would have been a lot of paper. I had the raw document on Mum’s tablet though. I pulled it up and passed the machine to Dad. Mum sat down next to him, leant her head on his shoulder and read along with him.

I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. It was going to take them a while to get through it, so I made myself a hot chocolate and headed up to my room, pausing briefly at the bottom of the stairs.

“Thanks for my room, by the way, and this dress.”

Dad looked up and smiled. “All your Mum’s doing, sweetheart. I did suggest painting it pink too, but she thought you might like a say in that choice.”

“Yellow,” I said with a smile. “With some sort of matching patterned wallpaper on the wall opposite the window.”

“We can pick something out later, then maybe you can help me with it next weekend.”

I nodded and left them to their reading. The edited version of my story plus the revisions I’d made were also on Mum’s tablet, but in my email as well. I retrieved them on my rather clunky old desktop and started working.

I say clunky. It was old, but Dad’s a bit of a computer whizz and set it up with Linux so it ran as well as any modern computer, Microsoft or Mac. It did mean I was stuck using Libre office, which isn’t my favourite word processor, but when you’re writing, you don’t tend to bother much with formatting. I pulled up a split screen with revisions one side and the version where I’d already changed the first six chapters, and set about completing the revisions. I put in bookmarks where I intended adding extra bits and highlighted other paragraphs that would need to be scrapped or significantly altered to set up for the new extended piece I was planning on adding.

Around eleven o’clock, I had my plan of action more or less put together with rough notes on what would be added and where. It wasn’t that conventional, but it was more or less readable. I added a few extra bits at the beginning – yellow highlights need changing, pink highlights need chucking or replacing, notes in angle brackets extensions to the original story with short description of what. It’d do. I stuck it in an email to my potential agent, apologised for not laying it out in a standard manner and asked if I was on the right track.

With the email sent, I introduced my empty mug to the dishwasher, peered over Mum and Dad’s shoulder to find them three quarters of the way through.

“It’s really good,” Dad said. “I can see why you won.”

I kissed them both goodnight and headed up to bed with Mum calling after me not to get up too late tomorrow as she was taking me shopping.

The duvet smelled of floral freshness and felt so smooth against my skin, the baby doll not covering much of it. I plugged my phone in and realised I’d not heard anything from any of the girls. I pulled up the WhatsApp group and typed in a short synopsis of my return home. Wished them all well and settled down to sleep. The phone buzzed a few times before I nodded off, but I decided I could read those messages in the morning.

The Marlborough day had started early, at least for anyone who wanted breakfast, so I was dressed and downstairs by seven-thirty the following morning.

I breakfasted on a bowl of fruit and yoghurt with a glass of orange juice – a staple in our household – and in the absence of anyone to talk to, read through the girls’ replies on WhatsApp. It was all fairly banal, much as mine had been.

‘Going shopping with Mum today,’ I typed. ‘Pictures to follow.’

Nothing from the agent, but then I hadn’t expected anything at seven o’clock after I’d emailed her only eight hours previously.

There was something from Lance. Apparently, his dad knew someone official in the school and news of me as the boy in the dress and my burgeoning relationship with Lance had filtered through the system. He wasn’t particularly pleased and wanted to know what Lance had been thinking. The effect such a scandal could have on his reputation. The tirade had been unrelenting and Lance was currently up to his neck in dog shit – his term – where his parents were concerned. His mum always sided with his dad on principle.

I emptied the dishwasher and put my breakfast things in before calling him.

“Is it safe to talk?” I asked when he answered.

“Er...”

“Who are you talking to?” I suspected his father said from the background.

“A mate from school.”

“A bit early, isn’t it?” The voice was closer. “Who’s Gawain?”

“Wayne,” Lance said. “It’s a bit stupid, but a bunch of us are going by Arthurian knights. I’m Lancelot, obviously.”

“I don’t care. Hello?” The voice suddenly louder.

I tried pitching my voice lower. “Er, hi.”

“What do you mean calling this early in the morning?”

“Er, sorry.”

“Call later or send a text like a reasonable person.”

“Yes sir. Sorry.”

He hung up on me before I could.

I heard noises from upstairs and put the coffee machine on. Just because you don’t like the stuff doesn’t mean you can’t enable someone else’s addiction. I also put a couple of slices in the toaster – Dad’s usual breakfast

“You’re up early,” Dad said, appearing in the kitchen. The coffee machine was still dribbling so he helped himself to a mug and added some milk.

“Marlborough day starts early. If you’re not down for breakfast by this time, most of the good stuff is gone.”

“By good stuff you mean...”

“Everything that’s not bran flakes or burnt toast.” The toaster popped and I transferred his unburnt offerings to a plate and passed it over.

“Thanks.” He uncovered the butter dish and added a couple of generous scrapings to his toast before sitting at the dining table.

I put the cover back on the butter – I know how much Mum hates that – and waited for the coffee to run through.

“Anything interesting happening today?” I asked.

“Same old same old. Broken computers to fix, checks to do on the servers. Dull routine expected, but always the chance of mammaries ascending – Dad’s PC version of things going tits up – then we’ll have a bit of excitement patching things.

“You enjoy yourself with your mum, okay?”

“Sure, Dad.” I brought him his mug of coffee. “Did you finish my story last night?”

“Yes, and I was thoroughly impressed. A great story, and very insightful about the, er, gender bending would you call it? It seems complete. I mean what could you possibly add to it?”

So I outline my ideas for part two. Slight change to part on with the main character struggling to come to terms with the sacrifice he’d made. Then part two starts the same, but soon diverges with the new knight introduced and both his struggles and hers as they navigate their growing feelings for one another through the Shoals of their differing prejudices.

“Now I want to read it all over again.”

“Well, give me a couple of weeks and I may let you.”

“Is that all it takes to write something like this? A couple of weeks.”

“It depends. It can take longer to put an idea together to start with, and sometimes I’ll write myself into a corner which means I’ll either need to bang my head against a wall until I can find a way out, or I’ll have to unravel the plot and start over.”

“Like when you drop a stitch in knitting and have to take it back,” Mum said from the foot of the stairs. She yawned hugely and joined us.

I reached for the coffee machine and poured her a mug of wake-up juice.”

“Thanks love,” she said fighting off another yawn. “I know I said early but the shops don’t open till nine.”

“I was sorting a few things out anyway.”

My phone chose that moment then ring. A quick check of the screen sent me scurrying back upstairs to the privacy of my room.

“Hi,” I said, my voice unexpectedly hushed.

“Hi yourself.”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t think.”

“Now that’s a new look on you. Anyway, no big. Dad would have found a way to be a dick whatever happened.”

“Yeah, I wish there was something I could do.”

“Change sex. Physically I mean. I’m quite happy with your sex mentally and emotionally.”

“I’ll get right on that, though I think the law’s likely to get in the way of any plans I might make.”

“Oh well. I guess we’ll just have to weather the storm.”

“Okay, so what are you doing today?”

“Clearing the garage. Dad reckons a bit of hard work will help me come to terms with my unnatural tendencies.”

“God, the man’s a Neanderthal.”

“Yeah. I’m told I take after him.”

“Oh no. Definitely some Cro-Magnon blood in there.”

“You know that’s a place in the Dordoigne, don’t you?”

“And that your mother’s French. Would it be fair to guess that’s where she came from?”

“I can tell you’re thinking again. Mum actually comes from Limoges, which isn’t too far away. How do you know about Cro-Magnon?”

“Did a piece in geography on prehistoric people last year.”

“Shit. I can’t remember anything I learnt last year.”

“Comes from playing too much rugby. Knocked the stuffing right out of you.”

“Hey! Don’t dis the game.”

“Oops. That’s me told. Okay, Rugby is amazing for education, all those parabolas and ellipses and everything.”

“You’ll have to tell me what those words mean some day.”

I wasn’t sure if he was having me on, but it felt safest to move on.

“Anyway, I just called to check you were okay and to sympathise. Mum’s taking me shopping today.”

“That’s not fair. Your mum sees you as a girl. Why can’t my dad?”

“Actually, I think you get kudos these days for having a transgender child, whereas if your son dates a boy in a dress...”

“Who says I date a boy in a dress? I have the cutest girlfriend you could want.”

“I hope you’re talking about me.”

“Of course I am, ditz. Do you have a blond streak?”

“Never streaked in my life. People would complain.”

“I need to get some work done. Send me pictures of you in the new outfits.”

“I will. Talk later?”

“Maybe. Text first though just in case.”

“Sure thing, Lancelot.”

“Then you must be my Guinevere.”

“Alright, but don’t tell my husband.”

He laughed. “Do you have to have the last word every time?”

“Noticed, did you? I might let you off one day, but not today.”

He laughed again and hung up.

“Was that Lance?” Mum said from my doorway.

I nodded and smiled, though with a bit of something in my eyes.

“Your dad would say boys only want one thing at this age.”

“Yeah, but Lance is a bit more of a complex individual. He likes playing rugby and eating as well.”

She shook her head. “You be careful.”

“Sure, Mum, and now that you’re parental responsibility is dealt with, can we go shopping?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Do I need tights? What shoes should I wear?”

“We can get you some tights and go for something sensible. If we buy you something that needs stilts, we’ll get you the stilts too.”

“You must have quite a budget.”

“Don’t ask. We do need to get you properly kitted out though.”

“Yeah. Uniform for Marlborough as well. Mr Ambrose gave me a brochure.”

She took it and scanned through. “We can deal with that when we get back. Those sandals look about right.”

Just as well because they were what I’d picked out.

“We only have two hours,” Mum said, opening up her Mini. Stupid name for a car I’ve always thought, given that it’s about as big as Dad’s. “You have your appointment with the endocrinologist at eleven-thirty, so I’ll drop you off around eleven.”

“Sounds good. Can you take some photos of me in the outfits we buy? I promised my friends I’d post a few.”

“I’m sure we can do that. All belted up?”

Of course, but it was part of Mum’s ritual, so what can you do?

Enter the shopping montage. Accompanied by Hall and Oates singing You Make My Dreams Come True, we have a series of pictures of me posing in different outfits of unbearable cuteness, making faces under ridiculous hats, Mum and me laughing out of control with globs of ice cream on our noses, the works. Last photo is the two of us staring at Mum’s car holding twice as many bags as will easily fit in it.

We managed somehow and I made it to my appointment at the hospital with a couple of minutes to spare.

Dad let out an audible sigh of relief when he caught sight of me.

“Thank goodness. I should have made it clearer to your mum that you couldn’t be late for this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I used up a lot of favours organising this. I managed to book you into one of Dr Munroe’s private clinics, and they tend to run on time.”

“Mr Llewellyn?”

We turned toward the voice, which belonged to a tall and very thin nurse.

“The doctor will see you now.”

So there I was, stripped to skippies – that’s what Mum calls them – while this stranger poked and prodded me. He poked holes in me, which I’d expected, and drew of a sizeable sample off blood, enough to leave me light headed, though that could just have been the sight of the needle in my arm.

Apparently being private had several perks like blood tests while you wait. He made use of the time while the technicians performed their battery of tests, doing all the physical things.

My height and weight brought on the first puzzled hmph.

“What?” I asked. You may have noticed, it’s a popular word in my family.

“Your height and weight are significantly below normal. You don’t appear to have started puberty yet. Apologies for the embarrassing questions, but have you experienced any erections yet or wet dreams?”

I knew what they were from PHSE, but had no personal experience. I shook my head.

“And you’re sixteen?”

“Fifteen, but my Birthday’s next month.” I wasn’t sure how critical the details were, so I left him to decide.

“Hmph.”

“At the risk of repeating myself...”

“Most boys begin puberty between nine and fourteen. For someone to reach your age without doing so it’s extremely rare. Beyond the ninety-ninth percentile.”

“Oh.”

“Girls usually start earlier, but it is more common for them to start later. If you were a girl this would be less surprising.”

He rubbed his hands together vigorously, warming them up.

“This is a little invasive, but I’m going to cup your genitalia and ask you to cough. You okay with that?”

“I guess.”

It was a weird feeling and went on a little longer than usual when after a pause, he asked me to repeat the process.

This time the hmph was pronounced. He pre-empted my what by answering without being prompted. “This check is mainly for an inguinal hernia, where a part of your intestine pushes through the muscle wall down here, but there are other things to check for. Your testicles are small for someone your age, your penis too, though you would have made a suitable model for Michelangelo. I would also expect your testicles to be drawn up into your body a little, but your response was considerably reduced compared to normal.”

“And this means?”

“That there is an issue to be addressed here, but not one I have been able to identify as yet. Your other reflexes appear to be normal, heightened if anything, so this is... intriguing.”

“I’m glad I’m keeping you from getting bored doctor. Does this qualify us for a discount.”

Dr Munroe laughed. “Let’s see what we find before we decide about that, shall we. Your bloodwork will tell us more, and that should be with us any minute. Ah.”

The door to the surgery opened and a folder was handed across. The doctor glanced through it and shook his head. “No, no. This is all wrong.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like a long cotton bud.

“Say aagh,” he said, so I did and he wiped the swab inside my cheek. The swab went into a test tube and the test tube was passed to the same nurse who’d brought the results.

“Basic chromosomal analysis, as quick as you can. No, one minute.”

He took a second swab and wiped it along the length of my small and dormant penis.

“This one too,” he said, scribbling something on the tube and passing it over.

He turned to me. “This may take a while. Perhaps you would wait with your father for a while?”

“You have an idea, don’t you?”

“A wild speculation, which I would prefer to test before explaining. You understand.”

“Of course, doctor.”

“It’s a million to one chance, but the tests should give us something even if it doesn’t turn out to be true. I will see the next patient and call you in again afterwards. I hope no more than fifteen minutes.”

“Alright.”

I relayed all the relevant information to my father, who bought a coffee for himself and a hot chocolate for me. From the faces he was making, the vending machine did a better job with the hot chocolate than the coffee, which isn’t to say that great.

Fifteen minutes came and went, then thirty. At forty the same tall, thin nurse came and collected us. This time Dad was invited in as well. Dr Munroe waved at a couple of chairs in front of his desk. We sat and so did he.

“Most unusual. Tell me Mr Llewellyn, were you at any time told to expect twins?”

“No, we were only ever told to expect the one.”

“This is perhaps not surprising. In many cases twins can begin to merge before they reach a stage where they can be seen on ultrasound.”

“Would you please tell me what you’re talking about?”

“Of course. Tell me, Mr Llewellyn, have you ever heard of a condition called chimerism?”

Dad shook his head and looked over at me.

I shrugged. “I know the Chimera was a monster from Greek Mythology. Part lion, part goat, part serpent.”

“Exactly so, and in the same way this creature was made of many different ones, so with chimerism a person can be made from more than one person.”

“How is that even possible?” Dad asked.

“Michrochimerism occurs when cells are exchanged between mother and foetus during pregnancy. The child possess some of its mother’s DNA as well as its own. This is quite frequent and not usually permanent.

“Then there is artificial chimerism, which happens during procedures such as bone marrow transplant.

“Finally, and on very rare occasions, one fraternal twin will decline and be absorbed into the other within the womb. The result is a single person who possessed two different sets of DNA in different parts of his or her body. This can be quite striking if, for instance, the division between the two follows the line of the nose.” He ran his hand down his own nose by way of demonstrating. “Under such circumstances it is possible to form an individual with two markedly different eye colours. One side,” he indicated the left side of his face and down the length of his body, “belongs to the dominant twin while the other,” he indicated the top right hand side of his head, “is all that remains of the weaker twin.”

“That can actually happen?” Dad was astonished.

“Most assuredly. Microchimerism may occur in as many as ten percent of the population with individuals being entirely unaware. In the rarer cases, as with your, er, daughter, the effects are more extreme.

“I will need to conduct further tests to discover the full extent of your condition,” he addressed me directly, which I appreciated – I mean who likes being talked about, “but when I took these two swabs? From your cheek and your groin, yes? I discovered that in your cheek you have XX chromosomes and your genitals...”

“XY. Well no surprise there since they’re male genitals.”

“Quite so. The surprise is in the XX chromosomes, and in your bloodwork, which shows hormone levels more typical of a young girl entering puberty. My suspicion is that you are a girl, but in your mother’s womb, you absorbed your fraternal twin brother and in your case, the part of his body with his genetic material that survived in you is around your groin.”

“So I’m really a girl but with boy bits sort of grafted on?”

“Something like this. I will need to arrange for you to have an MRI scan to see how far your brother’s male body has encroached on your own genitalia. My suspicion is not a great deal, otherwise your bloods would show considerably less oestrogen and progesterone and more testosterone, a hormone that is only present in trace amounts here. Once I have the MRI, I will be able to advise you as to your options.”

“Might any of this have anything to do with Gwen’s appetite?”

“Yes, you explained to me that, er, her metabolism was extremely high. I do not know for certain, but there could be many unusual side effects. This may be one of them.”

“I kind of lost my appetite a day or so ago,” I said. “Before that I was always hungry and I always ate as much as I could whenever food was available, then yesterday I just stopped wanting anything to eat.”

“Perhaps, then, this is indeed a factor. As mentioned, your hormone levels are those of a young woman just beginning puberty. If this is a recent development, it may well explain how your appetite has changed. In any case, it seems we have discovered this condition at just the right moment. If the female majority of your body is beginning to develop, it is imperative we make sure as little as possible prevents it from doing so.”

“What does that mean?”

“I won’t be able to answer that until you have an MRI.”

“And how long will that take to organise?” Dad asked.

“That is up to you, Mr Llewellyn. The nearest hospital with an MRI scanner is in Hull. I can arrange for you to have an appointment this afternoon, if you are free to take your daughter.”

“If it’s that urgent, we can go now. It’s, what about an hour’s drive to Hull?”

“Yea, so shall we say in two hours time? This will give you time to get to your car, yes?”

“Sure, thank you.”

“Then when the scan is complete, come back to me here. They will send me the results, so I will have more information for you when you get here.”

We headed out to the staff car park. Yeah, I should have mentioned, Dad does IT support for the local hospital. It’s how he managed to arrange the appointment with Dr Munroe so quickly. He phoned through to his boss and took the rest of the day off, citing a family medical emergency, then we were on the road.

“How’re you doing kiddo?” Dad asked once we were speeding down the M sixty-two.

“Kind of scared and excited at the same time.”

“Unpack that for me.”

“Excited that I might have been a girl all along. Scared that I might be missing a few essential parts, courtesy of the brother I never knew I had.”

“I suppose I get that. How do you feel about the twin thing?”

“It’s kind of gross thinking I absorbed him like that.”

“or you could think that while you were both just a couple of globs of cells, he kind of didn’t have what it took to survive, so you gave him a ride. A part of him is alive today because of you.”

“I bet it was him that was always hungry. If he had survived he’d have ended up being quite the porker.”

Dad laughed. “You’re going to be alright, sweetheart.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because anyone who can face this mess and still joke about it simply cannot fail.”

“Is your boss going to be annoyed with you about today?”

“I hope not. I mean, I work hard most days. I cover for my colleagues when they need me to. If he isn’t prepared to reciprocate when it’s me that needs help, then there are a lot of jobs out there waiting for my skills. It won’t come to that though.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure. And if I’m wrong, I can always look for a job down in Wiltshire.”

“Marlborough is a boarding school regardless of whether you live two miles away or two hundred.”

“I know, but if we were closer, you could visit for weekends sometimes.”

“That would be pretty cool.”

The conversation dried up. Dad turned the radio on and I turned to my phone, choosing the best of the photos from the shopping trip and posting them to the girls’ group. My absolute favourite I reserved for Lance and posted it to him.

He texted back, ‘Let Dad try telling anyone you’re not a real girl. Seriously cute.’

I wanted to tell him that his Pinocchietta might well actually be a real girl after all, but I knew how hard I’d take it if this all turned shit shaped, and I didn’t want to put that on anyone else.

We eventually made it to the MRI centre in Hull where I was divested of all things metal, put into a ridiculous backless gown and sent headfirst into a narrow opening where I was subjected to a series of mechanical bangs over a half hour period.

The machine operators gave me an odd look when they were helping me out of the machine, so I assumed my insides weren’t normal, however they refused to tell me what they had seen and sent Dad and me on our way with nothing but heightened worries.

Another hour on the road and we were back with Dr Munroe. He at least new bushes were best not beaten about.

“So, it is as I suspected. Inside you have a complete set of female reproductive organs and, as far as I can see, all that remains of your twin is his male genitalia and a small amount of skin merging this into your body.

“You will never be a functioning man, but with a small amount of cosmetic surgery, you will become a complete woman. Your body is already changing you, giving you breasts and broader hips, so we should assist it as much as we can.

“I have spoken to an exceptional cosmetic surgeon of my acquaintance, and he is ready to schedule the necessary surgery as soon as you are happy to agree to it. Tomorrow if you wish.”

“What are the risks?”

“Minimal. Your daughter is young and fit so is at no great risk from the surgery. In fact she is at greater risk if she refuses it.”

“How much of my brother will he be removing?”

“The obvious part, of course, but the rest, the skin that surrounds your groin, that would be difficult to replace, so best left. You will not notice it as being different.”

“Will it get hairy?”

He smiled, bowing his head in an attempt to hide it. “It will be suffused with your hormones. Oestrogen and progesterone. The testicles will be removed so you will have no source of testosterone. You’re brother’s skin, if you prefer to think of it that way, will be just as soft, smooth and hairless as the rest of you.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Dad asked. “There’s no coming back from this and it would do no harm to think on it for a while before making the decision.”

“I would disagree. In my opinion there is no alternative to this surgery, and every day you wait risks introducing complications.”

“So do it,” I said. I didn’t want to go back anyway.

“Your mum will want a say.”

“Then call her. Let me talk to her.”

It only took five minutes. Mum was on my side from the first.

It meant another trip to London, to the Cadogan Clinic, but Mum would be coming with me and staying in a nearby Premier Lodge until it was all over.

It wasn’t going to be cheap, being a private clinic in Knightsbridge, but Mum and Dad wanted the best for me, and this was decidedly the best. In the UK at least

Mum and I packed ready to take the train down to the City in the morning. We had a Thai takeaway for tea to save on cooking and washing up, then I was sent off to bed early. I wasn’t that tired though, and I had a mess of thoughts and feelings whirling about inside my head, so I fired up the old steam powered difference engine. The whole reason I started writing in the first place was to address the mixture of confusion and distress that had arisen from feeling so misplaced in the world.

First stop emails though. I didn’t get many. Mainly notifications of comments for the stories I’d posted online. This time there was one from the agent. It was short and, well, neither sweet nor sour.

‘Concept has some merit. Would like to see how it develops before you make other changes. Send two of the new chapters by the end of the week.’

‘I’ll try,’ I wrote back. ‘Going into hospital for an operation tomorrow. Might not be in a state to write for a while.’

Next I opened a word processor document and put down everything I’d been through during the day. Memory tends to work in a stream. You pick up on the first thought and it hooks the next and the next, so simply writing about my arrival for my appointment and Dad’s obvious relief at my appearance took me to the next event and so on. I wrote for over an hour, covering all the events and my mixed feelings as new evidence unfolded. I wrote about my feelings for my twin who’d never lived except as a part of me, about discovering that there was a lot more to my inner girl than I’d ever thought possible, about my mixed excitement and fear over what was to come.

“I thought you were going to get an early night,” Mum said from the doorway.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “I thought this would help.”

“A hot chocolate might.”

“No. I think I’ve done all I can here. Can we take your tablet tomorrow? I might want to do some writing if I feel up to it.”

“Of course, dear.”

“This is going to be really expensive, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. It’s only money. You’re much more precious.”

I gave her a hug and felt tears welling up. This was the second time in two days they’d caught me out like that. It seemed I really was turning into a girl.

A suddenly tired one at that. I climbed into bed and let Mum tuck me in. It felt snug and safe somehow and my mind finally settled enough to sleep.

The next few days passed in a blur. The journey to London I spent submerged in introspection. Mum tried talking to me a few times but gave up quickly enough.

We’d been sent notification that my surgery had been scheduled for later that evening at around eight o’clock, so I shouldn’t eat or drink anything but water after two o’clock and then stop drinking after six.

Not eating wasn’t a problem. What was was Mum persuading me to eat enough that I didn’t collapse half way through the day. If they were butterflies in my stomach, they’d been at the steroids.

I managed a glass of OJ and half of a small bowl of fruit, but then my gut twisted and refused any more.

Mum sighed and made enough sandwiches for a football team.

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to eat that lot,” I told her.

“What? Oh, no, of course not.”

Most of them went into Tupperware and from there, into the freezer. Sorting Dad out for however long we were going to be away. She did pack a more reasonable amount for the two of us.

That was pretty much the last she got out of me though. I spent most of the journey staring off into space. Mum did try engaging me in conversation a couple of times, but when I barely responded both times, she gave up in disgust.

The hospital was similar. They talked to me about the procedure, but I was so out of it, I needed Mum to answer for me and to give me a nudge when it was down to me to give the answer.

Eventually they put me in one of those ridiculous backless gowns and stuck a cannula in my arm. A nurse injected a clear fluid into the saline drip attached to it and asked me to count backwards from ten. I remember reaching seven, then nothing more.

Until I woke up with a lot of discomfort in my groin.

A passing nurse picked up on the noises I was making and offered me a painkiller. It consisted of a couple of tablets which barely touched the pain.

The nurse called for a doctor then came back to me, squeezing my hand and apologising that she couldn’t give me anything stronger.

Eventually the doctor arrived, approved the something stronger and waited until I was coping better.

“My apologies for your discomfort,” he said. “We prefer not to administer very strong drugs as they are addictive, however sometimes the pain can be at a level to require such measures.

“Your surgery was somewhat different from our usual fair. It went extremely well, I’m pleased to say, and I anticipate your pain will subside overnight.

“I believe your mother is outside awaiting your return to the land of the living. If you feel up to a little company, I would be happy to tell you both a few details of the procedure.”

I nodded and the nurse went to fetch Mum.

“You understand that the operations we usually conduct involve the removal of male genitalia and the construction of a facsimile of a vagina – a vaginoplasty it’s called.”

Mum nodded. “For men who want to become women.”

“Yes, your, er, daughter, was different in that she already possessed all the internal workings but none of the external ones. A most unusual case. Dr Munroe briefed me on it before your arrival. It fascinated me so much I elected to perform the surgery myself.”

“We’re very grateful, doctor.”

“Yes, yes. In any case, the solution in your circumstance was not so simple. It was necessary at first to excise the tissue blocking your existing vaginal passage, then to use the available material to construct labia for you. As we do for gender reassignment surgery, I was able to incorporate the urethra and sphincter from your twin to give you urinary control, and even the material from the penis to construct a clitoris for you. There was enough tissue to construct your labia, in fact all in all I was able to give you pretty much exactly what most young women are born with.

“Unfortunately, the more manipulation that’s necessary to do the rearrangement, the more discomfort you are likely to experience.

“I would recommend you sleep as soon as you are able. I can authorise the nurse to give you something to help this. All being well, when you next awaken, the pain you are experiencing will have diminished to a point where we can use gentler analgesics.

“I doubt you will feel much like moving for several days, and I will want to keep you in for observation at least until the end of the week. I believe you have made arrangements to stay nearby Mrs Llewellyn?”

“Er, yes.”

“Excellent. In which case I won’t encroach upon your time together any further. Welcome to womanhood, Gwen. I’m sure you’ll begin to enjoy it in a day or so. Mrs Llewellyn, your daughter needs her rest, so please limit your visit this evening to no more than ten minutes.”

So he left, and Mum and I spent a few minutes chatting about nothing much. A nurse came in and gave me an injection. Not really a fan, but I began to feel drowsy almost immediately. The last thing I remember was Mum explaining that she was leaving her tablet with me, then I was gone.

When I woke the pain was manageable, but the need to use the loo wasn’t. I called for a nurse who brought me a bedpan and introduced me to a much less convenient plumbing arrangement than I was used to. Still, I managed, and accepted the paracetamols when offered. The pain was manageable without, but why struggle when you don’t need to?

Lying in bed soon became intolerably dull. I coped by picking up Mum’s tablet and beginning the new part to my story. As I’d planned, I began it with the exact same words I’d used at the beginning, altering them subtly as the new knight’s personality began to emerge and he discovered the changes in the region he was exploring.

I reached the point where he finally met the lady who had once been the old knight, but had to stop there as I had to think my way into my character’s minds and explore their reactions to one another.

I sent off what I’d written to agent lady. It struck me as odd that she hadn’t told me her name in all the time we’d been exchanging emails, so I asked what it was.

I closed my eyes and tried to put myself in Lady Knight’s position. A well regarded man in a world where women were largely seen as property. Faced with the only way of stopping his adversary being to destroy the source of his magic and, with it, lose any chance of returning to his former self, he’d chosen to make the noble sacrifice. There were others not unlike him who’d been transformed into animals and they’d accepted the inevitable with equal stoicism, but when the consequences of such a sacrifice have to be lived day to day with no hope of reprieve, they begin to weigh on you.

He had friends among the transformed animals. They couldn’t speak and they would inevitably live shorter lives, but while they lived, they were uniquely qualified to understand and sympathise with his plight. They could see him as the man he had once been as much as he could see them in the same light.

But how would he cope when a stranger came into his life. Someone who had no concept of what he had gone through, who only saw the woman he had become who only treated him as that woman. How would he respond.

Would he tell you he visiting knight all that had transpired? How would the visitor react? Especially given the period (or its equivalent since the story is set in a fantasy world with dragons and magic)

“You think dragons and magic don’t exist in this world?”

I startled awake, or at least I assume I did. Had I fallen asleep? If so, now that I had woken, how was it that Merlin was here?

“Where else should I be? None other can see me but you, and I have expended no small expense on you my dear.”

Hang on. He could read my thoughts now?

“I always could. It was you that insisted on talking out loud.”

Well, that could reduce my chances of being put in a padded cell.

He chuckled. “Perhaps it would be as well to avoid that.”

Are you going to be with me all the time now? I tried thinking directly at him.

“Unfortunately I cannot. It costs me a considerable amount of mana to appear before you in this way, and I can only do it occasionally and for short periods of time.”

So why are you here now?

“To oversee the completion of your transformation, your majesty.”

You’re a little late. Besides, it turns out I always was a girl.

“You really believe that story about your twin brother?”

What? It sounded plausible enough.

“Of course it sounds plausible. It wouldn’t be fit for purpose otherwise.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Because boys don’t spontaneously turn into girls. It has been known for girls to turn into boys upon reaching puberty, but never boys into girls. The modern science of your age has the means to explain why it is impossible, so if you are to embrace your birth right, it is necessary to provide a believable means by which it can happen.”

So what of Dr Munroe’s evidence?

“Manufactured.”

What does that mean?

“It’s a small enough thing to guide a man’s thoughts to a conclusion he already has in mind. Dr Munroe already had this idea of chimerism in the back of his mind. I simply brought it to the surface.

“After that, well, you’ve seen how I can inhabit the minds of others.”

Like Mr Hong?

“Yes. That takes more mana, but I was able to forge the necessary test results to convince the doctor his chimerism theory was correct.”

You made him think I was a girl?

“No, you already were a girl by then. All but for the appearance of manhood between your legs. All I needed to do was induced the technician to change an X into a Y.”

You’re trying to tell me I have... had a penis with female DNA?

“It was little more than any girl would have, only misshapen. Your surgeon explained that he adapted it to give you a clitoris?”

But...

“Relax. He only has the memory of the surgery he performed, as do his surgical team. The final change was ultimately the culmination of your transformation.”

So why does it hurt so much?

“Because they expected it to. You now have a complete and believable medical history explaining how, in your one unique case, a young boy can actually have been a girl all along. The DNA test, the MRI scan, which shows all the organs a young girl should have as well as the vestigial organs of a young man, and now the record of a surgery to document the correction of an unusual medical anomaly.”

I wasn’t always a girl?

“A matter of perception. Physically, you were born as much a boy as my last protégé. In the structure of your mind, however, you have always been a girl.”

Why me though. I mean why go to all the trouble of my physical transformation when there are so many actual girls about?

“You might as well ask, ‘Why Arthur? Why a poor servant when there were so many brave and strong knights?’ As in his case, the circumstances of your young life helped form you into the person you are, and that person is the only individual in all of Albion capable of facing what is to come.”

Hang on. You’re saying the doctors here did nothing to me? Exactly what did my parents just pay thousands of pounds for?

“A believable cover story, which you will need soon enough. The media can be merciless with public figures and you will need to be separated from any scandal. Above reproach.”

It’s a lot of money!

“And yet that’s all it is. The sale of your first book will more than cover their costs.”

How do you know that? And while we’re at it, how does a fifth century wizard know so much about contemporary medicine?

“These will be the last questions I will be able to answer for a while. My mama is all but depleted. To your first, I have always been able to glimpse the future and I see this in yours. You will still have to put in the effort to write it – there are no short cuts in life – but your best efforts will produce a story worthy of the acclaim it will receive. To your second, I may have been born in the fifth century, but I have been present, in this form at least, through all the discoveries of the intervening years. My own mastery is in the old magic, but it has not kept me from following, even influencing from time to time, the remarkable developments of this island’s people?”

I snorted. What, like Louis Pasteur and Madam Curie, Albert Einstein and Johannes Kepler?

“Like Alexander Flemming, Charles Darwin, Isaac Newton, Alan Turing, Stephen Hawking, Ada Lovelace, Rosalind Franklin, Dorothy Hodgkin...” The voice faded even as he did.

I hadn’t heard of the women he’d mentioned, so went online before I forgot their names. Their histories made inspiring reading. Enough that it pushed me into my own work. Lovelace’s story captivated me more than any, how in the absence of a formal education she all but invented computer programming, and at a time when the nearest thing to a computer was Babbage’s purely mechanical difference engine. Not only that, but the she’d died at age thirty six, so all her achievements were made in less time than my Mum had been alive.

Her life story gave me insight into what it must have been like to be a woman in a society dominated by a misogynistic and arrogant male population. It was a short step from there to the controlling and brutal attitudes of medieval times. I opened up a fresh document and began to write.

Queen's Gambit - Chapter 5

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

'I do not mind the dresses. In all truth I derive a great deal of pleasure from the sensation of smooth silk against soft skin, and my appearance in the glass, once I have taken the time to make myself presentable, is as much a source of pleasure for me as for anyone else who might see me.

‘That which brings me the most pain is the knowledge of how I myself would have regarded such a creature as I have become. I am no different within than I was ere this adventure began. I possess the same values, the same understanding of the world, the same commitment to fairness, and yet I know from my own deeply held beliefs – beliefs instilled in me as a child – that others would consider me in my present form as possessing no opinion of great merit.’

And so on. It was hard to keep it from becoming preachy, but I focused on her conflicting feelings between that which she felt certain to be true from what she had been taught as a boy, and that which she now felt to be true that possessing a woman’s body made not one ounce of difference to her capacity for thought. Emotions threatened to overwhelm her at times, and she was now constantly bombarded with fine details by her heightened senses, but they only made her more aware of the subtle differences in life, which in turn caused her to consider her opinions to be perhaps more rather than less valued.

By the time Mum arrived, the pain I had been experiencing had faded to near nothing and I had several chapters written. The arrival of the new knight, the first encounter with the lady.

“And how would you respond to my words had they been spoken by a knight such as yourself, good sir?”

“The fact of the matter is they were not, my lady.”

“Think you so? Perhaps I might challenge your perspective of the world. You were drawn to this region by tales of magic and misery, were you not?”

“You know I was, and yet I find little enough to show for them.”

“Only so much as your eye will permit you to see. In these tales, a number of knights of renown were known to come here, and each of them vanished without leaving so much as a trace.”

“Aye, what of it?”

“Permit me to introduce you to these lost knights.” And she proceeds to present the animals in turn, who by their manner and by means of a board marked with letters, all show themselves to be the persons in question.

At the last she presents herself as the knight who was most recently lost.

The newcomer is beyond shocked and withdraws to consider what he has been told.

Mum’s arrival meant it was time to pause for a while. I took a moment to save my new document and attach it to an email addressed to my still anonymous agent, then gave all my attention to Mum.

The staff insisted I remain in a wheelchair, which was frustrating since I was filled to the brim with energy, but nurses had their orders. In the end, I accepted that the best I would have would be Mum pushing me around the hospital grounds, which at least gave me access to fresh air and good conversation.

Mum had visited a bakery on her way to the hospital, so there was also sweet pastry goodness to be had. I managed to put away half of an Apple turnover and enjoyed it at least as much as any whole one I’d eaten in the past. The rest went back into the bag and tucked into my dressing gown for future indulgence.

She stayed with me most of the morning. At lunchtime she was shooed out of the room with the promise she could return in the evening, and I was introduced to my first gynaecological examination prior to lunch.

“Remarkable,” the doctor said. “If it weren’t for your notes, I’d believe this was all natural. Any discomfort?”

“From you sticking your fingers inside me?” I asked. “That wasn’t an option yesterday, so it feels weird and yes, more than a little uncomfortable.”

He withdrew from my nether regions, entirely unembarrassed by my words. “I meant in general. I understand you were in some pain yesterday.”

“No, that’s cleared up completely. It just feels, well I suppose normal in a new way, does that make sense?”

He smiled. “I have no experience to compare it to, but I imagine so.” He removed his gloves and himself only to be replaced with a tray of lunch.

I’ll say this for private medicine, the food is better. I still didn’t empty more than half the plate.

Vegetables and fruit tasted better. It was the carbs I was happy to leave – the mashed potatoes in this case, and one of the sausages.

A couple more doctors came to poke and prod at me in the afternoon, and when Mum arrived in the evening, she was told I would be fit to be discharged the following morning. Somewhat to the hospital’s disappointment since they’d been expecting to keep me for a couple more days. From Mum and Dad’s point of view it made the already significant bill a couple of grand cheaper.

“Your father will be pleased,” Mum said examining the bill with some concern. “This is already going to be a challenge to pay.”

“How much?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m not sure how you can say that when it’s my surgery you’re paying for.”

“Your father won’t want you worrying about it. Promise you won’t say anything to him.”

“On one condition. If I make any money on this book I’m writing, you let me contribute.”

“That’s your money, sweetheart. You should keep it.”

“And spend it how I like, I agree. How I like to spend it is covering my medical bills.”

“Well, alright. Let’s see what comes from it first though, shall we?”

No sense in chasing after more. We chatted into the evening and dined in the cafeteria, me still stuck in the stupid wheelchair, but the food was still good.

The following morning, once Mum had filled in a few papers, a porter delivered me to the front door and I was able to stand up for pretty much the first time with the new arrangement between my legs.

I was a little wobbly on my feet, so we cut the planned shopping trip short and headed for King’s Cross. We lunched at Gregg’s, same as I had with Stacey just a week earlier, and sat chatting until our train arrived.

There had been nothing in the girls’ WhatsApp group since my last post to it. I posted my news to them. ‘Hey, guess what? Pinocchietta is a real girl after all!’

Judith’s response was a little rude, in that it comprised only three initial letters, the first two of which were W and T. Admittedly, I hadn’t given them much to go on.

I went into more detail, giving them the official version rather than Merlin’s.

The responses came in over the course of the train ride. Generally positive and upbeat, but with an underlying sense of, ‘we’re living our lives now; you should go and live yours.’

Merlin had been right about the girls. Ships passing in the night, navigation lights disappearing over the horizon.

Now, how to break the news to Lance. I texted him. ‘Let me know when’s good to call.’ This was something I was going to have to do in person.

He replied with a thumbs up emoji, which was a little ambiguous. I played it safe and took it to mean that he would do as I asked, rather than now was good.

This time I tried chatting with Mum only to find her distracted. I guessed the bill had come in at considerably higher than she or Dad had been expecting.

I dug out the tablet. If nothing else, I could do my bit towards covering the cost. I linked it to the train’s WiFi and opened the one email waiting for me

‘Sophie. Can’t believe I didn’t say anything before. This is really good. More please.’

I replied with one word. ‘Revisions?”

To which she replied almost immediately, ‘Not yet. Get it written first. Creativity does better without criticism, not that there’s much to criticise.’

So I went back to the story. I’d learned from somewhere that the biggest struggles in life are when we’re presented with evidence that challenges our most deeply founded beliefs. I’d faced precisely that several times over recent weeks. It felt like it was getting easier, but I’m not sure if that just meant I was becoming more inclined to believe new things. Not a bad thing if it made me more open minded, but there was such a thing as taking it too far.

I wrote my way through the new knight’s adjustment to his recent discoveries, and managed a very believable inner conflict as he fought his way through to accepting the new reality. When he returned to lady knight – I really was going to have to give them names – she was impressed by his preparedness to change, to the extent of considering not just her opinions and those of the other transformed knights – when they felt inclined to go through the effort of communicating – but also of the ordinary people who had suffered at the hands of the evil wizard. Despite her own inner turmoil, she found herself falling for the man.

By degrees, their friendship grew into something closer. She learn s to accept herself as a woman, including the aspect that caused her to be drawn to men, and one in particular, while he learned to accept that, whatever her past, her present and future would be as a woman, and a truly beautiful one at that. Not just in her body, but in her soul as well. She had sacrificed her future for the sake of all who might suffer under the mage, and that care for others dwelt at the core of the beauty he saw in her.

He petitioned the king to have the land given into the care of the person who evidently cared most for the land and its people, which unusual request was granted, and she then asked that he rule alongside her, asking that he consider marriage.

The wedding took place in a forest glade in the presence of the people with the animal knights attendant as guests of honour. Dressed and ready for the ceremony, she descended into the depths to the buried dragon.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, great one,” she said. “After this you have my word, I shall seal in this cave and ensure no-one interrupts your slumber.

“I am only sorry there remains no magic to return you to yourself.”

“It is to that end I wished to come. I have reconciled myself to this new life. I am to be married this very day, and to a worthy man. We shall bring peace and prosperity back to this land. Even the knights who were transformed into beasts will play a part.”

“You bring me some small amount of happiness in the telling of this tale.” A small tear of joy appeared in the corner of the dragon’s eye. “Take this last gift and do with it what you may. The world belongs to humans now. I wish you a better future than was found by my kind.”

The tear coalesced into a pearl the size of her thumbnail. Within its depths patterns swirled.

She withdrew from the dragon’s final resting place and ordered the tunnels collapsed as they climbed back to the world above.

The wedding took place with feasting and great joy. At the height of the celebrations she called the animals forward. Taking first the wolf under one hand and gripping the pearl tight in the other, she said to the wolf, “Be as you truly are.”

The wolf grew into a man. Naked and grizzled with some aspect of the wolf still about him. He was clothed soon enough and the other animals returned to something close to their original form.

At the last, the new knight took the pearl from her unresisting hand, cupped her cheek and said to her, “Be as you truly are.”

In that moment, she knew that she wanted nothing more from life but to love and be loved by this fine man. She felt her true form settle upon her and it was no different than the one she already possessed.

In total, it added forty thousand words to the story. I sent it off to Sophie ten minutes before we arrived at Selby. I pulled the remains of the apple turnover from my bag and offered a bit to Mum. She smiled wanly and accepted it.

Dad was waiting for us outside the station. Mum kissed him and handed him the bill. He blanched a bit then said, “We’ll manage somehow.” Then he turned to me with a smile. “Well kiddo, how does it feel?”

“Pretty amazing Dad.”

“Hey, whatever happened to Daddy? I was getting to like that.”

Mum put something together in the air fryer which proved to be quick and tasty. I suspected we wouldn’t be enjoying any takeaways any time soon.

I was first to finish my food by dint of eating the least. About the time I was done, my phone buzzed. Message from Lance. I asked to be excused and took my phone upstairs to my room.

“Hey you,” I breathed when he answered. “How’s your day been.”

“Better for hearing your voice. Dad’s still being a total tool.”

“Weeellll, I might have some news that may just give him an aneurism.”

“If only wishing would make it true.”

“Careful what you wish for. You’d miss him if he was gone.”

“Maybe you’re right. Go on, tell me your news. I could do with cheering up.”

“Well, you know I had a doctor’s appointment a few days ago?”

“That was the same day you sent me the photo of you. I wondered why I didn’t hear anything afterwards. Is everything alright?”

“Better than. It was an endocrinologist appointment...”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that is.”

“He looks at hormone levels and stuff. He was supposed to be trying to find out why I’ve been eating so much, but when he got my blood work back, he went sot of apeshit.”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me why.”

“Long story short, I’m really a girl with girl hormones and girl bits and everything, at least on the inside, and I just started puberty a few days ago.”

“So...”

“Why does everyone think I’m a guy? It turns out I absorbed my fraternal twin brother while Mum was pregnant and the left over bit he gave me was what was dangling between my legs.”

“No shit! Wait. Was?”

“He referred me to a clinic in London where they specialise in turning men into women and they put me under the knife a couple of days ago. Hurt like you wouldn’t believe when I woke up, but I am all girl, baby.”

His two word response was an invitation to do something to him which I wasn’t yet prepared to do, on account of being under aged.

“Maybe in a few years if you’re a really good boy.”

His next suggestion involved using a different orifice.

“Sorry, don’t have the necessary equipment anymore, not that it ever worked properly anyway.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just messing with you. Listen, Dad was saying something about getting me fitted for my uniform, so Mum and I are planning on driving down in a few days. Any chance of meeting up?”

“Only if you’re passing anywhere near Oxford. School’s shut for the rest of the summer.”

“Well, you’re kind of on the way. Maybe I can persuade Mum to stop off on the way too or from.”

“Okay, let me know which day or days and I’ll talk to my folks. Chances are Dad will be busy, but Mum and I could maybe meet you for lunch somewhere. They can figure out which of them hates the other more and you and I can go for a walk.”

“I don’t think my mum hates anyone,” I said.

“Just mine then. Tell yours to come wearing armour.”

“I hope you’re not being serious.”

“What, about my mum’s reaction to the parents of the boy in a dress who’s turning her son into a sodamite?”

“Wow. Sounds like a real bitch.”

“Goes with the territory. Socialites have special lessons in how to hate each other politely. Plus Dad’s position calls for someone who can plaster on a smile for just about anyone. Survival technique for that is to be totally bitchy about them afterwards. Mum’s a master, or mistress – no that makes her sound even more dodgy.”

“Well, however unpleasant she may be, I’m pretty sure Mum can handle it, and I really want to see you.”

“Like I say, I’ll see what we can manage.

“I’m not really supposed to be using my phone, so I’d better hang up before anyone notices. Thanks for the call; you have no idea how much I needed that “

“I can hear some of it in your voice, and you’re welcome.”

“Do I get to have the last word today?”

“Of course sweetie. Go right ahead.”

“I love you.”

“Shit, and you expect me to leave that without a response? I love you too. Now go again.”

“I miss you. If you can visit, that would be amazing.”

It begged a response, but I’d told him I wouldn’t. He hung up on me leaving me feeling all melted and gooey in places I had never had before, going with Merlin’s version.

Babbage – my new name for my ancient computer – whirred into life. There was an email from Sophie.

‘Love it, love it, love it. Loads of red pen to come, but don’t be put off by it. This is such a fantastic story. Work on changing the bits you marked earlier in the story, I’ll work on finding a publisher who’s looking for this sort of thing. If we’re lucky, we’ll get more than one interested and get a bidding war going.’

More exciting news. I wasn’t in a mood for writing though. That would have to wait for tomorrow. I headed back downstairs where Mum and Dad were eating ice-cream. I grabbed my spoon and took a small scoop of Dad’s, I mean barely any.

“Now I know you’re a girl. Hands off!”

I smiled sweetly at him and put my spoon down on my plate.

“Do we know when we’re sorting out my uniform?” I asked.

Mum nodded at Dad and took another spoonful of ice-cream.

“Arranged for Thursday,” Dad said. “It’s about a four hour drive, so I suggest you and your Mum drive down on Wednesday and find somewhere to stay for the night.”

“We could ask the school. I’m sure Mr and Mrs Ambrose wouldn’t mind putting us up.”

“We’re not going to bother anyone,” Mum said, “but asking the school’s not a bad idea. They may know somewhere they can recommend.”

“I thought we were trying to save money.”

“Not if it means imposing ourselves on someone. Is that understood?”

“Sorry Mum, I was just trying to help.”

“That’s alright, love, but there’s some things you just don’t do.”

“Any chance we could stop for lunch in Oxford either coming or going? It’s on the way and only about an hour from Marlborough.”

“I suppose we could. Any particular reason?”

“Lance lives there. He suggested maybe we could meet him and his mum for lunch on one of the days. Please Mum, it’s been ages since we saw each other.”

“Well, I don’t see that it can do any harm.” She looked at Dad who shrugged and nodded.

No more incentive needed. I jumped up and gave Dad a hug – he was closer and Mum was more kind of on the way to my room, because she got one next.

“We should let the school know Gwen’s change of circumstances,” Dad said. “As I understand it, they’re making special arrangements that no longer apply.”

It would mean I would probably not get to stay with Peter and Jenny, but then again, that was the sort of thing that destroyed reputations before you could do anything in a school. Besides, living with a bunch of girls would be fun, right? Like the summer school just gone, only longer term. It would also make life easier not having any restrictions on using toilets and changing rooms.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, then ran up to my room.

‘Coming down Wednesday to go back Thursday. Either is good to meet up for lunch. BTW, can you recommend anywhere to stay?’

‘Mum and Dad usually use the Fox and Hounds, which probably means it’s the most expensive. You know, status symbols and all that? I think there’s a Premier Inn, but I don’t know. The school should be able to advise.

‘Will ask which day is better for lunch and let you know.’

The next few days were largely about getting used to my new life. Lots of editing a rewriting, most of it in response to, 'lose the Olde Worlde speak. What you gain in a semblance of authenticity, you more than lose in the stilted and cumbersome way it comes across.'

It was annoying because I'd spent a lot of time trying to get it right, but the words flowed more freely once I wasn't trying to be something I wasn't, and I have to admit, the final result read a lot better.

Apart from that, quite a few of the discards and rewrites were bits I’d been rather pleased with when I’d written them, so I was reluctant to chuck them, but I could think of no outstanding reason to keep them, so I trusted the person who was offering to find me a buyer for my work. There was no doubt in my mind that the redone version was considerably improved on the first draft.

Then there were the peculiarities of my new body, whether thanks to modern science or the magical input of a wizard only I could see, I’d been growing in different and, well I suppose when you think about it, not entirely unexpected directions. Possibly at an unexpected rate, like my body had suddenly woken up to the fact that the race had started and was chasing hard to catch up.

The itchiness in my chest had turned into a couple of small but nicely formed breasts, my waist had narrowed and my hips broadened, causing considerable changes to the way I moved when I walked, and matters down below altered in ways I wasn’t so sure I liked.

The need to urinate now required a response sooner than I was used to and I had a few near escapes before I adapted to the new feeling. And the act of widdling was so strange compared to what I’d been doing all my life, plus there was the need to wipe clean afterwards.

Then there was the slight spotting of blood in my skippies (like mother like daughter with the terminology) leading to the inevitable conversation and learning to load torpedoes into the tube. It kind of went with the territory and you have to take the not so good with the good, but not my favourite aspect of the change of status.

I felt weaker too. I mean that probably sounds like a ludicrous thing to say given that I always had been the class wimp, but after I packed for the journey with Mum, lifting my bag took considerably more effort. Okay, granted there was a lot more stuff in it, because who wants to wear the same thing twice, but even so...

On the flip side, I felt so much more flexible. I mean, it felt like my hip joints were totally different. It took a bit of work with stretching exercises, but within a week I could do that splits thing with one leg straight out in front of me and the other straight behind. I was pretty sure that with a little effort I’d be able to do the standing on one leg with the other straight up next to my ear. Not that I’d want to try while I had a tampon in place.

TMI? I guess so. Sorry.

Balance was better as well. Absolutely no wobble when standing on one leg, or when transitioning between ballet poses.

Yes, I looked them up, and I tried them. I’m a girl now. It’s allowed.

Lance’s Mum was busy on the Thursday, but she invited us to join her and her son for lunch on Wednesday at her country club. I could feel Lance cringing as he extended the offer.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“She does this to everyone. She won’t say anything you can object to, but it’ll be a masterclass in one-upmanship, I can guarantee that.”

“Thanks for the heads up. We’ll see you at one o’clock tomorrow. I, for one, can’t wait.”

“Yeah, me too. I just hope Mum doesn’t ruin it.”

So did I, but it was a bit late now.

Dad loaded Mums car with our gear the evening before. As before, Mum put together a couple of boxes of sandwiches to bide Dad over, then I helped her make us all a lasagne, because how am I ever going to get my lasagne fix when I’m boarding? I mean, meals included and all that, but there are options for looking after yourself over the weekends.

Early to bed, early to rise. Three hours to Oxford, so we didn’t need to be underway before ten, but Mum’s never been happy starting a road trip unless we plan to get where we’re going at least an hour early. In this case we went with three hours, giving us a chance to look around Oxford before doing the old meet and greet.

I’d been a CS Lewis fan since I caught chicken pox at age seven and Mum kept me distracted by feeding me books, the one that most captivated my attention being the Voyage of the Dawntreader. For my next birthday, she bought me a hardback set of the Narnia books. It had the Magician’s Nephew listed as book seven, but she took it out first, explaining how, although Lewis had written it last, it was actually a prequel to the rest. My birthday had fallen on a Friday that year and I’d finished all of them – including a reread of Dawntreader, to put it in context, you understand – by Sunday afternoon.

She’d booked us into an eleven o’clock CS Lewis tour without telling me, so we had a magical hour wandering around one of my literary hero’s haunts before reclaiming the car from the multi-storey and heading out in search of the country club.

Mrs Girling looked quite spectacular in a silk blouse and tailored trouser-suit. I’d told Mum about Lance’s warning of what to expect, so the extent of our own effort comprised of smart skin-tight jeans – Mum has a body worth showing off and so did I now – and loose fitting tops – white for Mum and pale yellow for me. She looked down her nose at us but, since we hadn’t tried to dress to impress and still looked pretty amazing, she couldn’t think of a suitable put down. Instead she inspected me closely before sniffing dismissively.

“You don’t look like a boy,” she said.

“That would be because I’m a girl,” I said with a bright smile.

“No,” she said. “You only think you are.”

“Actually,” Mum said with just a hint of frost in her voice, “she is a girl. She had a medical condition which she’s just had corrected.”

“I didn’t think you were allowed to have gender reassignment surgery at such a young age.”

“You’re not.” Winter was definitely approaching in Mum’s voice. “However, according to recent tests, including a chromosomal analysis, Gwendolyn is and has always been a girl.

“Anyway, it’s a delight to meet you. You are so very much like I was expecting. I’m sorry we’re a little underdressed, but after three hours on the road I’m sure you’d look a little grubby.”

Lance’s mum’s smile was so devoid of sincerity, it verged on a scowl.

“Not at all, not at all. Please, we have a table over this way.”

She led us into a relatively empty dining area where the aforementioned table awaited us. Silver service, lead crystal glassware and an exceptional view of an immense garden.

Lance fell in beside me and murmured in my ear, “You look f... absolutely stunning. What did you do?”

“Oh, just let mother nature do her thing. I don’t believe she’s done with me just yet though. You look pretty stunning yourself. Have you had your hair cut?”

“Actually, yeah. Mum insisted. She said she wasn’t going to be seen with me here unless I made an effort.”

“I took the liberty of ordering for us,” Mrs G said with her rictus grin. “The crab salad is to die for.”

“You’re very kind,” Mum said, her own smile looking more sincere, apart from the angry challenge in her eyes. “It’s as well Gwen’s father didn’t come with us, or he quite literally would have. He’s allergic to seafood. I’m sure you know some people who have the same problem.”

It was the first I’d heard of it. In fact I’m sure I remember Dad tucking into a lobster thermo-something-or-other on one of our holidays.

“Yes, well, Lance might have said something.”

“I’m not sure how Lance would have known. Gwen gave me the impression Lance had been refused permission to speak with her. She‘s been quite insufferable over it all.”

“Well, she must have spoken to him, mustn’t she. Otherwise how would we be meeting now?”

“I believe she texted him and he responded to say he would ask. I’m so glad you agreed.”

“Would you like a glass of wine with your meal?” She raised a hand summoning a waiter.

“Best not. We still have an hour’s drive ahead of us. Just water for me.”

“Gwen?”

“I’m a little young,” I said, totally ingenuous. “Water will be fine for me too.”

“A glass of Chablis please, and two Perriers.”

“Mum!” Lance complained.

“And a coke.”

The food was fantastic, and the spectator sport even better. Mrs G may have given masterclasses in one-upmanship, but Mum was a tenth dan black belt. The parry and repost was a wonder to behold, and Mum had a response to everything Lance’s Mum had to throw at her. In the true nature of a martial arts master (or mistress? No, still sounds dodgy) Mum never attacked outright but only responded to the attacks thrown at her. By the end of lunch, Mrs G was openly sweating. Not a great look in a silk blouse.

“Anyway,” she said. “I expect you need to be going.”

“Not especially. We can check into our hotel any time after three. Other than that, Gwen wrote to Peter and Jenny Ambrose to tell them we were coming down and they invited us for tea – I think you call it dinner in this part of the country.” Her tone managed to convey how quaint a notion she found that. “Do you know the Ambroses? Peter teaches English and ran the creative writing master class Gwen attended a few weeks back. Did you know, Mr Cavendish was so impressed with Gwen, both as a writer and a person of integrity, that he offered Gwen a scholarship to attend Marlborough.”

“Yes, well Lance doesn’t have to rely on charity to attend.”

“I was given to understand that the scholarships were awarded to deserving students. Not to charity cases. But I’m sure your Lance is as much of a credit to the school.”

“Mum!” I hissed. That had been the closest to an attack as Mum had made. Provoked, perhaps, but true masters are supposed to be above such trivialities.

“It’s alright, Gwen,” Lance made his first contribution of the afternoon. “I wasn’t a great student before I met you. In fact, I think Dad had to make a couple of sizeable contributions to the school to keep me from being expelled.”

“Lance! This is hardly the place!”

“It’s no more than you’ve been trying to do since they got here, Mum.”

“Lance, please.” I took his hand. “Your mother has been a wonderful hostess. Mrs Girling, thank you so much for inviting us here. It’s such a lovely place. I was wondering if you’d mind letting Lance show me around the gardens for a while. It’ll give you a little more time to get to know Mum.”

The rigidly plastered smile she turned on me held more than a hint of madness to it. I was almost tempted to feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Of course dear,” she said. “Don’t go too far though, will you?”

I stood up, dragging Lance to his feet. “Thank you so much. C’mon my luver.” This last to Lance in as broad a West Country accent as I could manage. We weren’t native to Yorkshire – hardly likely with a surname like Llewellyn – but Dad’s family had migrated from southern Wales to Bristol where he’d met and married Mum. We’d moved to Selby for Dad’s work when I’d been about eight or nine, and I’d never quite managed to acquire a Yorkshire accent. Possibly a partial cause of all the persecution I’d experienced at the expense of the all muscle and no brain brigade at school. Still, anytime I wanted to display my heritage, my old West Country accent did the job nicely.

We left them talking about what their respective husbands did for a living. Mrs G introducing the topic in the hope of boasting about her husband’s partnership in a prestigious law firm, but Mum described Dad’s job in a way that suggested he kept every computer system in the National Health Service running.

“Will they be alright?” Lance asked.

“My mum will be,” I answered, but we’d better keep this quite short for your mum’s sake. Maybe half an hour, no more.”

“You’d be surprised what we can do in half an hour.”

“My dad warned me that boys your age only think of one thing. I assured him you were different and that you thought about rugby some of the time too. Was I wrong?”

He laughed. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” he asked.

“I can guess, if it’s anywhere near as much as I’ve missed you.”

We were away from prying eyes at last and he didn’t waste any time showing how hungry he was for me. I could feel the bulge in his trousers as he pressed it against me and found myself all soft and weak kneed as a result.

Half an hour later we made our way back, to find Lance’s mum almost pathetically grateful for our return.

“It’s gorgeous out there, Mum,” I said. “They have peacocks and everything.”

“Oh, I’ve never much care for them,” she said. “Anything that goes to such an extend to show off its finery is too needy for my taste.”

It was almost too much for Mrs G, but Mum stood and held out her hand, which the other woman took without thinking.

“It was such a pleasure meeting you. Thank you so much for lunch, but I suppose we should be going. Is that alright dear?”

She directed the question my way so I pouted to make it clear that I wasn’t ready yet and clung to Lance.

“Come on darling, put him down. You’ll see him again soon enough.”

So I dutifully followed her outside to the car and we drove off leaving the two of them watching us disappear down the driveway.

“That was fun,” Mum said with vicious exhilaration. “You know, I have a lot more respect for your young man, knowing he’s survived having a mother like that.”

“He says his father’s worse.”

“I suppose your father will have to deal with him if it comes to it. God, the nerve of that woman!”

“Calm down, tiger. You left her in shreds, you know.”

“I suppose I did at that. I’m sorry, I probably went a bit far.”

“Well, I for one loved the peacock comment.”

She snorted. “Do you think they’ll ever talk to us again?”

“Not if we’re lucky, but I doubt we will be. I’m guessing she’ll want revenge.”

“She did strike me as the vindictive sort. Well, I’m sure when the time comes we’ll be up to the challenge.”

The remainder of the trip seemed to last a lot less than an hour, perhaps in part because Mum was energised enough not to pay much attention to the speed limit. Fortunately our satnav gave us some warning when we were approaching a speed camera.

We checked into our cheapo accommodation, which was pleasant enough for being pretty basic, took turns in the shower and dressed for our evening with Peter and Jenny.

Mum hit it off with Jenny from the outset. Both the Ambroses were delighted with my news – medical that is – although more than a little disappointed that I would be moving into one of the girls’ dorms after all, rather than staying with them.

“You’ll have to visit regularly,” Jenny insisted, and I promised I would.

After we’d eaten, Peter and I left Mum and Jenny building a close friendship. I’d promised to show him my book and now it was in its final stages.

He skimmed the first part, picking up on the changes I’d made, then devoured the new chapters. I’m guessing an essential skill required for teaching English is the ability to read fast, so I shouldn’t have been surprised how quickly he made it through to the end.

“That’s quite the story, Gwen. I am going to be hard pressed to teach you anything, I feel.”

“I doubt that, but thank you.”

“No, I’m serious. I mean you’re a scholarship student so we’re going to expect something special from you, which means I’m going to have to give you room to shine. I’m really looking forward to it. You are the kind of student I dream of teaching.

“I wonder if you’d do something for me, now that your all but done with this.”

“Sure.”

“I was wondering if, in the remaining weeks before you join us as a student, you’d write down your version of how you came to be in this position.”

“I could do that.”

Which brought us to the end of the evening. Peter drove Mum and me back to our hotel since she’d had a little too much wine and I obviously wasn’t old enough to be put in charge of an automobile.

In the morning he collected us and delivered us to our car in time to go see about uniforms. The blue tartan skirt was a little frumpy in my opinion, but it was warm enough and comfortable. We forked out way too much money for the works, not that Mum objected too strenuously.

“They cover any alterations you need while you’re at the school in the price, so I imagine it’ll be worth it in the long run.”

Personally I think she was just a bit spend crazy after the hospital bills.

My phone buzzed on the way home. I dug it out of my bag expecting it to be Lance, but it wasn’t him.

I answered and sat listening for about ten minutes, making the occasional vaguely intelligible grunt in response. Words from the other end finally dried up and I was left searching for a response.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I was too stunned to put much enthusiasm into the words, but I had meant them, unimaginative or no.

I dropped the phone into my lap.

“Well?” Mum asked after a couple of minutes. “Don’t leave me in suspenders.”

“Can... can you pull over for a minute?” I pointed out the window at an approaching lay-by.

Mum dutifully slowed to a stop and turned concerned eyes my way.

“That was Sophie. My, er, my agent.”

“Is it bad news. I’m so sorry darling, you worked so hard on that thing.”

“No! No, it’s nothing like that. She managed to find two publishers who were prepared to bid for the rights. She has an advance of sixty-five thousand pounds to send me. Then I’m looking at thirty percent royalties. She says that’s unheard of for a new author.”

“Oh! My God!!”

Do you know how uncomfortable a hug is when you’re both wearing seatbelts?

“It’s a good job you asked me to stop,” Mum said. “I think we’ll just sit here for a while.”

“Will the sixty-five thousand pay for my medical bills?”

“More than, but you’re keeping that money for yourself, young lady.”

“No, I’m not Mum. We had a deal, remember.”

“Oh yes. I suppose we did. Well, let’s decide when we get home and talk to your father.”

“Can we call him and tell him?”

“I’ll do that. You call your agent back and tell her how you really feel. The poor woman puts in that sort of effort and you tell her just thank you?”

So I called Sophie back and apologised. She laughed and told me she was used to that sort of stunned response, and thanked me for calling back. Now where to transfer the money. I told her I’d have to sort out a bank account and get back to her, at which point she laughed and said she’d forgotten for a moment how young I was and did I have any plans for future stories, so I told her what Peter had suggested, at which point she said to make sure I sent her a copy when I was done. In fact, could I send her copies of other things I’d written so she could look for other gems to develop.

I was vaguely aware of Mum laughing and crying through her own conversation with Dad. Once we’d both hung up, we walked up and down the lay-by a few dozen times until we had our feelings under some sort of control, then settled back into the car for the long drive home.

Dad didn’t want to accept any money from me, but I argued that the unexpected and massive medical bills were for my benefit and it seemed unfair for them to struggle to find the cash when I had it. The only reason I had the money was because they’d allowed me to go on the course in the first place.

For that matter, the only reason I was a girl was because of my trip to Marlborough, but that was the Merlin version of the tale, and Mum and Dad both believed Dr Munroe’s version.

I persuaded them in the end and still had forty grand left over. I offered to pay for the uniform too and they drew a line in the sand.

So what does a teenage girl do with forty thousand pounds? I mean, a new computer for one thing. I had a soft spot for Babbage, but I loved the portability of Mum’s tablet. In the end I followed Dad’s advice and bought a small but powerful laptop, which I named Lovelace, because why not?

It went with me everywhere. I spent time in coffee shops and under the trees in the park tapping away at my various projects. Peter’s request for one, and a half dozen others that Sophie had suggested might be grown into something book sized.

Former schoolmates would pass me without recognising me. Wayne – remember Wayne? The gorilla who’d followed me off the bus and threatened to kill me behind my Mum’s back – approached me once and I told him I already had a boyfriend. He went back to his group of friends and I vaguely heard the word dyke used in their subsequent conversation.

I closed my laptop and walked over to them, leaning close to his ear and whispering loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I’m not actually into girls,” I said, “but I do prefer to keep my relationships within my own species. Now, as a general rule, when a girl tells you she’s involves with another guy, that doesn't give you the right to badmouth her. That being said, even if I weren’t in a relationship with someone, I wouldn’t be interested in you if you were the last human being alive, and to be clear, I am using the term human in it’s loosest sense. If you were to grow up a bit and act your age rather than your IQ, you might find yourself in with the chance of losing your virginity before you reach the age of forty.”

He turned redder by the second as I spoke. If he’d suspected who I was, he’d have beaten me to a pulp, but Neanderthal or not, he wasn’t about to hurt a girl.

That was pretty much the most significant event in the remaining weeks of the holiday. I texted Lance regularly and he replied just as regularly, but there’s only so much you can say when there’s nothing of note going on in either of your lives.

Merlin made no further appearances, which meant either he’d expended more mana in our last encounter than was good for him, or he’d been a figment of my imagination and my imagination had decided it could get by fine without him.

The day finally came when I was supposed to head down to Marlborough. I had a little more luggage than on my last trip – for one, I’m a girl now, for two I had to get by for a whole term, not just a week, and for three hello! I’m a girl!! – so Dad took the Friday off and drove Mum and me down with the boot bulging with stuff.

Jenny was among those welcoming newcomers. She introduced me to a delightful girl my own age named Polly. She had a frizz of unruly hair and a mouth overloaded with an unfortunate number of teeth, and along with it one of the most infectiously bubbly personalities. You couldn’t help liking her.

She led us up to a dormitory with eight beds in it, where Dad gratefully put down his burden, then proceeded to show us around the school. The welcome pack included a map, which would help make sense of the mass of new information. I was already familiar with some of it from my previous visit, but there seemed to be so much more.

She ended the tour at the entrance to the gymnasium we’d used as a medieval banqueting hall on my previous visit. This time it was filled with tables and a throng of milling students, all trying to decide which extra curricular activities they wanted to join.

“Any questions?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Do you want to meet up later? I don’t know, maybe at dinner?” Well, tea, but when in Rome...

“Really?” Her grin widened, showing even more teeth. “Okay. I do need to show some more people around, but I’ll meet you at the canteen at about seven?”

“That’d be great. I’ll see you there.”

Mum and Dad kind of hovered while I took in all the options. The ones that caught my eye were the debating club, which fascinated me since I’d never come across such a thing, the student council that represented the students in regular meetings with staff – you didn’t choose to join the council but had to be elected – the politics club, which seemed a bit top loaded with young conservatives so probably needed a little balancing out, and the historical society. Admittedly that last one, in recent years, had stated that the mound had nothing to do with Merlin – the official stance of professional historians too – so I wasn’t sure they had anything to offer me. Then there was the medieval re-enactors who were all about authenticity, so might be of interest.

My parents were getting fidgety. Dad put a hand on my shoulder.

“Your Mum and I thought we’d go settle into our hotel, if you think you’ll be alright on your own for a while?”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

“There’s a welcome for new students and their parents in the hall at about six. Why don’t we meet you there at quarter to?”

“Okay.” I gave him a hug around his waist. “Love you.” Mum next of course. You shouldn’t play favourites with your parents (stick out tongue emoji).

Peter was hovering near the creative writing club stall so I went over to say hi.

“We’d love to have you as part of the group,” he said, “but I think you’d be intimidating to us lesser folk. Sophie told me about your book deal. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’ve nearly finished what you asked me to write. It just feels like a bunch of loose threads at the moment though. I kind of need something to bring it to a conclusion.”

“Well, let me have what you’ve written so far.”

“Sophie wants to see it when I’m done.”

“I’ll keep it confidential. If you choose not to join, could I ask you to consider coming along as a guest from time to time?”

“Sure.” I took the blurb anyway, just in case.

Then there was the chess club. Not my usual sort of game – not that I’d played any of them in a while. It looked complicated.

“It is,” a familiar voice said at my shoulder.

I was wondering when you were going to show up, I thought at him.

“I told you it would be a while.”

Yeah, all the mana and all that, yada, yada, yada.

“I’m stronger close to a source.”

Like the mound?

“Yes. You know, this game has fascinated me since it first came to England in the eleventh century. Some unusual ideas, like the promotion of a pawn when it reaches the other side. Mind you, you’d think the king would be the strongest piece on the board, but it’s actually the queen. I have to wonder if that’s where I went wrong the first time.”

Does that make me a bit of an experiment?

“All of life is an experiment my dear, so yes, I suppose it is in a way. Don’t take it the wrong way. The knights also fascinate me. Not so powerful as the rooks perhaps, but more versatile and not so restricted by the other pieces on the board.”

Is that supposed to be some sideways reference to Lance?

“Make of it what you will. You could learn a lot about strategy from playing this game.”

I’m not sure I much like the idea of a game where you have to sacrifice your men in order to win the game. I’d rather look for an outcome where everyone wins.

“Yes, well, good luck with that.”

I moved on to the next table, which was empty with no-one manning it (or womanning it. Budding feminist streak? I’d have to watch that).

“This I rather like,” Merlin said. “The school puts it out every time there’s a club fair like this. It’s an invitation to any student to set up a new club should they feel so inclined. A, er, D and D club started a few years ago, but didn’t prove to be that popular.”

It was a neat idea – the table rather than the D and D, I mean. Another time maybe.

So what happens now? I thought at my ghostly companion.

“Now you learn what you must become. I will be here to guide you, should you need me, and to provide what assistance I may, but that was another mistake of mine with Arthur. I had my own ideas of what his destiny should be, when ultimately I should have trusted him to make the right decisions. His, er, more unfortunate choices were made at a time when he ceased to listen to me, after I had been a little heavy handed perhaps. Men’s pride is often their downfall you know.”

What would you advise for now?

“Bide your time. Live a little, learn a little more, make friends, decide what you believe to be right for the future. You’ve done remarkably well so far. Trust your instincts.”

Well, that’s kind of... vague

He chuckled. “It is, isn’t it. Even so, let’s see what the future brings.”

I nodded.

“Lance and his parents have arrived. You might want to head to the front entrance.”

That sounded like a good idea, so I did as suggested.

A large limousine had parked inside the school’s front gate. I recognised Lance and his Mum standing beside it. A tall and imposing figure, resplendent in double breasted pin stripes, looked about him with an air of impatient annoyance.

“Hello Mrs Girling, hi Lance. Mr Girling, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He turned to his wife and son. “Who is this annoying creature, and what does she want?” he asked brusquely.

“This is Gwen, Father. She’s my girlfriend.”

That merited me a little direct scrutiny, not that I cared for it much.

“So you’re the freak who has my son infatuated. Whatever makes you think I might wish to speak with you.”

“Oh. I was working under the assumption you might be inclined to be polite. I imagine your job would be a lot simpler if you were.”

“What did you say?”

“I’m sure you heard me just fine.”

“How dare you! Has no-one taught you to respect your betters?”

“In the first instance, I was polite and respectful at the outset, but I’ve spent too much of my life being pushed around by bullies, sir, so so excuse me if I have a tendency to push back. In the second instance, I’ve been taught to show respect to those who earn ite. Would you feel any respect for me if I’d been as rude to you?” I kept my voice reasonable, which was probably worse than if I’d reacted angrily.

He leaned in close, sneering, and growled, “You don’t belong in this place.”

I recoiled a little, but more from his stale breath than anything else.

“There are professional educators in this place who don’t agree with you, sir.”

“Yes, and I intend to have words with them.”

“I suppose you have to do what you have to, and we’ll see what comes of it.”

“Yes, we shall,” Merlin said at my shoulder. “Officious little toad, isn’t he?”

I barely held back a smile, covering it by rummaging in my bag. “Would you like a breath mint?” I asked, offering him one.

“Just what are you implying?”

“Oh, there’s no implication, sir, though I expect you’re not used to people telling you such things to your face.”

He batted the mints out of my hand. Lance stooped to pick them up and rescued more than half. I popped one myself and put the rest away.

“Well, I’m a little disappointed with the way this encounter has gone, but I suspect there’s nothing much to be gained by prolonging it any further. Lance, will I see you at dinner?”

“Lance, I forbid you...”

“No, Dad, you don’t. While I’m here, I do what I like.”

“Lance.”

“No Father, Gwen’s right. I’m fed up of you pushing me around, and while I’m here at least, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“You don’t have to go to this school, you know,” Lance’s mother hissed.

“I suppose not, but wouldn’t that be a waste after all the money Father’s spent to keep me here?

“Sure Gwen. Save a few spaces for us and we’ll join you when we get there.”

I left before the situation could become any more awkward. Where to though. There was always the mound, but that would be crawling with people today. I decided my best option would be my dorm room. I could unpack and, with luck, enjoy a little solitude. If that didn’t work, I could always try making friends with my new dorm mates.

Of course it didn’t quite work out that way.

I arrived to find three girls in the process of shifting my stuff out into the corridor outside the dorm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

The queen bee among them offered me a condescending smile. “We’re moving your things for you,” she said. “You must have made a mistake, you see, this is a girls’ dormitory.”

“Yes! It was assigned to me. Because I’m a girl.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Well, check your sources more carefully in the future. Now, if you would be kind enough to take your stuff off my bed and put mine back...”

“Oh, I don’t thinks so.”

“Is there a problem here girls?”

I recognised her as the matron from Judith and Zoe’s block.

“Hello again Ma’am. I thought you looked after a different block.”

She peered at me suspiciously for a moment. Oh yes, you’re one of the girls who was here for the writing course, aren’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am. I’m Gwen.”

“Well, Gwen. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what’s going on here.”

“Sure. I arrived a couple of hours ago with my Mum and Dad. There was no-one in the room so I put my things on that bed by the window. The bag at the foot of the bed is mine.

“I showed my parents about for a bit, then they left me at the clubs fair and went to check in at their hotel.

“After I’d greeted my boyfriend at the gate, a came up here to find these three moving my things out into the corridor, saying that I don’t belong here.”

“She’s not a bloody girl!” Queen Bee exclaimed.

“Language, Marie! Now, what’s this nonsense?”

“To be fair, there was some confusion over it all when I was here a couple of weeks ago, so it doesn’t surprise me that there are a number of unpleasant rumours floating about...”

“Can you prove you’re a girl?” Marie interrupted.

“Actually, yes.” I fished out my phone. “I had an appointment with an endocrinologist a few weeks ago. My dad said I should keep a copy of his report in case I had to address any problems like this. The relevant sections are highlighted.”

I handed the phone to the matron who read aloud, “’Typical hormone levels of a teenage girl. XX chromosomes. MRI scan shows complete set of female reproductive organs.’ It does seem to be quite clear on the matter.”

“But...”

“Can you prove you’re a girl, Marie?”

“Why should I need to?”

“Oh, I agree, but then again, I’m curious as to why you thought Gwen here should be required to so. You will put her belongings back on her bed, by which I mean the one by the window, and you will apologise to her.”

“But...”

“Not up for debate, young lady.”

Marie glowered at me and all but spat, “I’m sorry.”

“Not acceptable,” the matron growled. “Let me be clear on this, Marie, I expect high standards from my girls, and so far, you are falling short. That goes for you two as well, Elaine and Abigail, isn’t it?” The two looked startled and worried. “You really ought to know better than to go blindly following someone into doing something you know full well is unacceptable.

“As for you Marie Logan-Andrews, I’m for reporting this infraction to the headmaster, but I’m going to have a little chat with Gwen here. Let’s see how inclined she is to talk me out of it.”

Marie visibly blanched, picked up the nearest of my bags – the one she’d dropped – and flounced back into the room.

It’s a lovely word that, and it feels so much more appropriate to women. The OED defines it as moving in an exaggeratedly irritated or angry manner, which means totally different things for men and women. Women have this tendency to step with their knees bent and push upwards, like they’re stamping along but as quietly as they can. If they happen to be wearing a skirt, it causes it to bell out like the locomotion you see from some jelly fish. That’s flouncing to me, and it’s what Marie was doing in spades.

“Now,” the matron turned her gimlet gaze my way, “let’s you and me have a private chat, eh?”

I followed meekly in her wake down a corridor or two to a snug little office. She waved at an armchair in the corner of the room and turned the kettle on.

“Tea alright, love?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you, ma’am. Do you really want me to talk you out of reporting this?”

“No”, she chuckled, “of course not, but there’s no harm in letting her think so, entitled little cow that she is.”

“Then w...”

“I’ve been doing this job a long time, Gwen, and every year I see the same thing. I see privileged, arrogant and deeply unpleasant individuals looking to see what they can get away with, and I see kind and hopeful souls who always look for the best in the people they meet. The target of choice of the first kind is the second kind, so what I do, as much as my position allows me, is to strike up a relationship of sorts with the vulnerable girls in my dormitories.

“Don’t think for one second that I won’t come down on you like a ton of bricks if you knowingly step out of line, but while you are open and honest, thoughtful and kind, I’d like to stand by you and at least give the impression to those who have a mind to be unpleasant to you, that I will be a whole lot worse to any of them who pick on those I take under my wing.”

“I appreciate your intent, ma’am, but I can see how that might have a negative effect on people like myself.”

“Which is why I don’t give you an option.” She handed me a mug and settled in the chair opposite. “And while it’s just the two of us tucked away in here, it’s Penny.”

“Yes ma’am, er, I mean Penny.”

“Good, you’re a quick study.

“Oh, and I do remember you from a few weeks ago, so I’m aware your story isn’t that straightforward. I’d like to hear a few details if you don’t mind. Not many girls feel the need to carry around proof of their gender for one thing.”

So I took a sip of my tea and led her through my story. Born a boy, felt like a girl from an early age. Struggled with identity issues and finally found a way of coping by writing my thoughts and feelings into stories. Won the competition and came for the creative writing course.

She interrupted me around there. “So, to be clear, when you were here for the course, when you were spending time with those girls late in the evening in their room, you were actually a boy.”

“Officially, I suppose so, but I would say there were mitigating circumstances.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to hear this.”

“Well, my competition entry was about a knight who is transformed into a woman. Our teacher, Mr Ambrose...”

“I know Peter, yes.”

“I sort of let on to him that I was sort of trans, and I let slip much the same thing to the girls.”

“Oh?”

“Peter suggested we could choose different names for the week if we wanted. I mean I was christened Gavin and we had a Stacey in the group. When it came to my turn, I kind of said Gwen without really thinking, then changed it to Gawain, but they knew it wasn’t a mistake on my part.

“The girls started treating me as another one of them; an honorary girl, they called me, and I just sort of fitted into behaving the way I’ve always felt inside.

“Then they started talking about having a late night natter in one of their rooms, and they didn’t feel it was right that I should be excluded.”

“So was it their idea or yours to smuggle you into their room?”

“I suppose theirs, but I really didn’t argue against it much. The chance to be one of the girls was just too good to miss.”

“And these mitigating circumstances of yours?”

“I hadn’t started puberty when I was here. I have never been interested in girls in a, you know, intimate way. It seemed like the reason for the rule about boys not going into girl’s rooms was more about concern over what boys and girls might get up to in private, and that wasn’t something any of us were interested in. I think we all – me included – saw me simply as one of the girls, albeit with a bit of an unfortunate physical defect.

“We did consider asking Mr Ambrose if it would be alright but, no-one thought that would go well, so we figured – there’s that saying, isn’t there? Easier to get forgiveness than permission?”

“You were found out though, went you?”

“Yes. One of my friends thought it might be fun to replace my jeans and tee shirt with her skin tight jeans and a top. I only brought the one pair of jeans with me, so when breakfast time came the following morning, I still only had Zoe’s jeans to wear, and they didn’t look right with any of my shirts, so I wore her things to breakfast.

“After a bit of an explanation to the head master, with my parents listening in, Mr Ambrose and his wife volunteered to chaperone us for our late night chats, and they offered to put me up in their home so I could spend the rest of the weeks full time as a girl.

“Mr Cavendish offered me a scholarship, and we were making arrangements for me to stay with the Ambrose’s and to attend as a transgender girl, when my doctor discovered this lot.” I pointed to my phone. “I’ve had operations to correct my physiology and make me fully female, and now puberty has set in and I’m becoming... well, what you can see.” I pushed my chest out, making my budding breasts more noticeable. “Because there are no issues with my physical gender, the school decided I would be better off boarding in a girl’s dorm, so here I am.”

My tea had gone cold, but I drank it anyway.

“Well, that’s quite a story. Thank you for being so open and honest. I’m afraid it’s made me all the more inclined to take you under my wing. I hope that doesn’t cramp your style too much.”

“I shouldn’t think so, but why all the more inclined?”

“Because you’re a teenage girl with no understanding of how to be one, and that makes you that much more vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable and weak aren’t the same thing, Ma’am.”

“I never said they were, but you have to choose your moments to be vulnerable. You need to be careful about who you expose your soft, white underbelly to.”

“I suppose.”

“Anyway, we’ve been gone long enough. Well head back and see what the girls have done. Follow my lead, alright?”

“Er, sure.”

Marie, Abigail and Elaine were sitting on their beds, chatting quietly.

“I still don’t agree with you,” Penny raised her voice a little as we entered the room. These three deserve to... Oh, are you still here?”

Follow my lead she’d said. “But ma’am, you stopped them before they did any harm, and I’m sure now the misunderstanding’s been cleared up, there won’t be a problem.”

“Well, alright, but just this time. And you three, I’ve got my eye on you.”

She closed the door firmly behind her. Not quite a slam, but enough to make a point.

All three of the girls had puffy eyes.

“Are you guys alright?” I asked.

“Not really, no,” was it Elaine or Abigail said. “We’ve all been thinking about what would happen if our parents hear we got in trouble on our first day.”

“Did you really keep her from informing the head?” Marie asked, very much a different person now.

“Well, I’m not sure I did much, but we talked for quite a while and, I mean, you didn’t exactly do anything, did you?”

“Damned right we didn’t.” Marie regaining a little self-righteous indignation.

“Actually,” Abigail or Elaine said, “what we did to Gwen here was pretty shitty. I’m sorry Gwen. We all are.’

Elaine or Abigail nodded and the two of them stared at Marie until she reluctantly added her nod.

“Well, let’s just forget it happened and start over,” I said. “I’m Gwen and I just started here.”

“Yeah, we heard about you. I’m Abigail by the way. Abby. We heard about you being on the creative writing master course. That’s quite a big deal, you know.”

“Yeah, I still can’t quite believe it, but it was so cool. All the other competition winners were girls too. We had such a blast.”

“So how did you land the scholarship?”

“I don’t know. I must have done something that impressed Mr Cavendish.”

“Like what? I mean it would have to be quite significant.”

“Well, it could have been a lot of things. One thing Mr Ambrose did for us all was arrange for us to speak to a publisher and maybe have our competition entry included in a magazine or something.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Well, mine asked me to add thirty plus thousand words to it and she’d see if she could get it published as a novel.”

“No way,” by a process of elimination, Elaine said. “So, are you gonna do it?”

“Already done. Final draft went to my agent earlier in the week. I had two publishers fighting over it. It’ll probably be in the shops by Christmas.”

“Bloody hell, Cavendish will love that, having a published author in the student body. No wonder he offered you the place.”

“Well, at the time he did, the book deal was still some way off.”

“What’s it called and what’s it about?” Abby asked.

Which meant we had stuff to talk about until six.

My smart watch beeped – yeah, it’s new. With forty odd thousand in the bank I’m hardly going to do nothing with it, am I?

“I have to go. New arrivals thing in the main hall. I said I’d meet my parents outside in about five minutes.”

“Go,” Marie said. “We’ll save you a seat at dinner.”

I beat Mum and Dad to the hall by less than a minute, but that gave me just enough time to notice that I was one of only a small minority not wearing their uniforms before Mum hissed at me to ask why I hadn’t changed.

“Sorry Mum, I didn’t realise uniform was expected, and I was a little distracted making friends with my dorm mates.”

“Well, can’t help it now. Come and sit with us.”

We made our way into the hall where I hid among the parents.

It was the usual welcome to the school boring rubbish with a few useful pieces of info hidden among the tedium (just to check if you were paying attention). It only lasted half an hour, for which thanks were offered for small mercies, then there followed a mingling of bodies.

In which Mr Cavendish, who’d most likely spotted my parents from his vantage point on the stage, made a bee-line directly for us.

“Miss Llewellyn.” I cannot tell you how much of a thrill being called that caused me. “I see you elected not to wear your uniform.”

“I’m sorry sir. I didn’t know we were supposed...”

He held up his hands to fend off my onslaught of words. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Nothing was expected today, except by those who think conventionally. Tomorrow, however...”

“Of course, sir.”

He turned to my parents. “Perhaps I can introduce you to a few people? It’s Derrick and Lynne, isn’t it?”

“Er, yes, yes and yes,” Dad said. “Did you have anyone in particular in mind?”

They drifted off to the boring adult corner, apparently having no further use for me, so I looked around for someone to talk to. Pretty much all the kids were younger than me – starting year seven whereas I was in year ten – and staying close to their parents. Eventually, my eyes fell on a familiar face.

“Gwen.” Peter was all smiles. “How’s my favourite pupil?”

“Great, thanks. I thought you weren’t supposed to have favourites.”

“Oh, I think it’s alright as long as every one of them is a favourite. You’re all so different, so it’s easy enough to find a different reason for you all to be.”

“So what am I favourite for?”

“Favourite pupil who’s a published author?”

“Nice try, but not quite yet.”

“All but according to Sophie. She's been updating me with every step you take. She’s quite impressed with you. Says a lot of her other clients could learn a thing or two. So anyway. That homework?”

“Like I said, it’s not finished.”

“I know, loose ends and stuff. And like I told you, send me what you have.”

“What about Sophie wanting to look at it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe. One copy only and on my school laptop.”

“I do trust you, sir, but, well, you know.”

“I do indeed. Sophie has lectured me on numerous occasions about the importance of keeping manuscripts secure.”

“You mean I’m not the first person from Marlborough whose material she’s published?”

“Firstly, she’s an agent, not a publisher. Secondly, of course not. Who do you think I send my material to?”

“She’s your agent?”

“Among others, and I have to confess to being more than a little jealous. I can’t remember her ever being so enthusiastic about anything I sent her.”

“Is she really?”

“No, I just told her to say nice things. Of course she is. Doesn’t your current bank balance tell you anything.”

“I suppose. Wait, did she tell you how much she paid me?”

“That wouldn’t be very professional, would it? And yet again, it’s the publisher who paid you, she just took her cut before passing on the rest. I imagine once your book hits the shelves, you’ll have a lot more coming in too. Sophie’s too good an agent to let a gem like your story go for just a one off payment.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of looking forward to that. It wasn’t even my best story.”

“Now, that’s just showing off. I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

“I look forward to it. So what happens now?”

“Well, generally, everyone wanders around looking for someone interesting to talk to. Then, when they lose interest, they go home. In your case, you decide when you’re hungry enough to go to dinner.”

I checked my watch. I wasn’t late yet, but I was going to have to get a wiggle on.

“I should go. When’s my first lesson with you?”

“On your timetable. Enjoy your last few days of freedom. Oh, and a bit of advise? Spend a few minutes over the weekend figuring out when and where your lessons are on Monday. Nothing makes a worse first impression than turning up late.”

I hunted around for Mum and Dad, only to find them talking to Lance’s parents. I approached warily.

“Hello sweetie,” Mum said. “Look who we ran into.”

“Yeah, I’m looking,” I said cautiously.

“Mr Girling here...”

“Quentin please.”

“Quentin here was explaining how he likes to host a soirée for a few friends and colleagues just before Christmas. He’s invited us this year, since Oxford’s on our way home.”

“That’s very thoughtful of him, Daddy.”

“It is very generous,” Mum said, having evidently picked up on the same cues that were making me uneasy, “but I’m not sure we can afford...”

“Nonsense, the whole evening’s on me – us,” he glanced at his wife. “We book the whole hotel for the evening, so there’ll be a room available if you wish.”

Mum and I exchanged looks. There was something off about this – both the Girlings were hiding something – but suspicions weren’t reason enough to decline. Dad accepted for all of us.

“I just came over to say it’s dinner time and I have a few friends waiting for me, so maybe I’ll see you later?”

“We’ll be around tomorrow if you can bear to be seen with your parents. I mean we’re not exactly cool, are we?”

“Cool enough. Why don’t I meet you at the main entrance after breakfast?”

“Will we be able to visit the mound?” Dad asked.

“I’ll check, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Maybe we could go look at Silbury Hill as well. It’s only about ten minutes’ drive west of here.”

“No public access though. We can drive past it, but I don’t think there’s anywhere we can even stop nearby.”

“It would still be cool to see it and compare the two. Anyway, see you guys tomorrow. Love you.”

I ran off, aware that I was a couple of minutes behind.

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.

Queen's Gambit - Chapter 7

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

“Situation resolved, Peter,” Mr Cavendish said. “Perhaps you’d make sure Gwen is looked after. She has no homework for a couple of days at least.

“Thank you, headmaster. Gwen, you’re welcome to come home with us today, and bring Lance with you if you wish. We’ll manage somehow.”

Too many guests at too short a notice meant takeaway, at least enough to supplement what was on offer, which turned into a very pleasant meal. We didn’t stay long afterwards. With the stress, I was very much inclined to have an early night.

The following morning started with a commotion outside the college’s front entrance where Quentin Girling was being refused access to the school.

He’d brought a crowd of tame reporters with him and was declaring loudly to them how he had lost faith in the college and was withdrawing his son from the institution.

Mr Cavendish interrupted Lance and me at breakfast, apologising and asking if we would come with him, at which point he addressed the reporter’s and explained the situation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the reporters. “I’d like to introduce you to Gwendolyn Llewellyn. She is our most recent addition to the school, having won herself first a place on a creative writing course here at Marlborough, then a publishing contract for her competition submission, and finally a scholarship to the school as an outstandingly gifted and talented student.

“During her short stay with us over the summer, she won the hearts of not only many faculty members, but also that of Lance Girling here, and a young romance appears to be flourishing.

“Mr Girling appears not to approve the match his son has made with young Gwen, and in an effort to disrupt their relationship, he engaged the assistance of a number of members of staff who proceeded to make Gwen’s life a misery this week.

“Those staff members have been dealt with as an internal matter, and in order to safeguard our students, I have had to take measures to ensure neither Mr Girling nor his wife have unsupervised access to the site and staff. Their actions, Mr Girling’s in particular, show a degree of prejudice and flagrant abuse of position and privilege that this school has no desire to promote amongst its students.

“I had hoped to deal with this matter quietly in order to avoid disrupting our student’s education, but since you have been invited, I see no reason to resolve it with you present. Mr Girling is, I believe, here to withdraw his son from the school. As headmaster, I must openly advise against disrupting his education at this late stage and I am making a formal invitation to Lance that he may remain in the school for now and until such time as these matters may be resolved.

“It is not my habit to do so, but since they have expressed a willingness to participate, I am prepared to allow limited and supervised questions from the press to these two students who have been caught up in this unfortunate affair.”

So Lance and I responded to a string of questions with Mr C vetoing quite a few. It didn’t last long, ending with Lance refusing to leave with his father who then drove off in a temper.

He came back the next morning, which meant the headmaster sent for Lance and the three of them spent most of the morning shut away in Mr Cavendish’s office.

I was too worried to concentrate so, after a short, abortive attempt to work on my remaining catch up work – maths AND science, so working brain required – I gave up and climbed the mound. No-one was there so I spoke out loud, “Merlin, please, I could do with some company.”

He appeared beside me but said nothing.

“Lance’s father has come to try and take him away from the school.”

“I know. I’m not without eyes. Just because you cannot see me does not mean I am not there.”

Too many negatives to unravel this early on a Saturday morning. “What?”

He sighed irritably. “I may not always be close, but I am most of the time. Even when you cannot see me, I will usually be close by. I have been aware of the events of the last two days.”

“Can you find out what’s going on in the headmaster’s office?”

“Where do you think I was when you called to me?”

“Can you influence what happens?”

“Three strong minded and angry individuals. It won’t be easy.”

“I don’t care about easy. Can you do it?”

“That will depend on the outcome. Since I suspect you wish Lance to remain in school, that will be difficult.”

“Then please, go and do what you can.”

“If you still require company, I believe you will find Polly in the library, struggling with an essay that Mr Lee set you earlier this week.”

“Why’s she doing that?”

“Mr Lee is a lazy and somewhat vindictive individual. After his dressing down in front of the head on Thursday, and given that he was no longer permitted to give you additional work, he sought and found a suitable target in your friend Polly. He has only a few pieces of extra work he issues as punishment, hence she is doing the same as you.

“If you go to her there, you will be easier to find when I have news.”

“Okay, thanks Merlin.”

He vanished without saying another word.

Polly was in the library looking very stressed since none of the books held much in the way of relevant information and even her searches were drawing a blank. I’d encountered the same problem until I’d started using AI searches with specific names and dates.

There was a vending machine outside the library. I paused long enough to buy us a couple of hot chocolates, then fired up Lovelace and accessed the reference list from my own essay, taking her down to the relevant parts of each page and showing her the bits of information she needed.

Old fashioned institution with old fashioned rules. We weren’t allowed to speak, but you don’t need words to email over a list of web sites and scroll through them to the necessary bits, nor did you need words to smile with gratitude.

It kept me focussed and distracted from events taking place elsewhere, so it came as something of a surprise when Merlin appeared, and a quick glance at my smart watch – I’ve mentioned that haven’t I? – only to find it was getting on for half past noon.

“They’re done,” Merlin said. Out loud, not that it mattered since I was the only one who could hear him. “Lance is looking for you on the mound.”

I nodded in acknowledgement then squeezed Polly’s arm, pointing at my watch. She was in full flow, typing out her version of the essay, and waved me off with one more grateful, toothy smile.

I caught up with Lance just as he reached the path above the grotto. He paused when I called him, and we climbed the steps together.

“And?” I asked once we’d reached the summit.

“We have a reprieve until Christmas at least. Dad’s already paid this term’s fees and they’re non-refundable. He’s using my lack of academic achievement as a reason for pulling me out, which is a crock of shit; he’s always been about this being the best possible place to rub shoulders with the future rich and powerful. You know Kate Middleton came here?”

I nodded. I mean who doesn’t? Who here at least. “So future kings and queens etc.”

“Yeah. Anyway, if I can show a significant improvement by Christmas, he’s agreed to let the whole thing slide. Mr Cavendish lifted the access ban, saying he felt yesterday’s interview with the press was enough of a response to what Dad did, but he did say if Mum or Dad or anybody else tries something similar in the future, he will involve the law and see whoever messes with this school prosecuted to the fullest extent the permissible.”

“Well, that sounds like it could have gone a lot worse.” Merlin was there again. I mouthed a thank you over Lance’s shoulder at him. “What say we get some lunch and try to work through some maths together this afternoon?”

“With Polly?”

“I think it would be good if we had a go on our own. She’s had a bitch of a morning anyway.”

“You did say you would return to Silbury Hill to hear Nimue’s story,” Merlin said.

“Do you know where I could get hold of a bike?” I asked Lance.

“Buy or borrow?”

“Either. Buy. I think I might want to get out and about a little more.”

“There’s a bike shop on Kingsbury Street. We could go there after lunch before doing the maths.”

“Are you trying to get out of making those significant improvements?”

“No, of course not. I mean I doubt it’ll take more than an hour. We’ll still have all afternoon. Just, I think he closes early on Saturday.”

“It’s a plan. Lunch, bike shop, maths.”

“Then relax in the evening. I mean after the week you’ve had, you need to switch off for a bit.”

“Yeah. Do you have a bike?”

“Never needed one. I could borrow one though.”

“That would be good. It’d be nice to go places together.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Actually, I was planning to cycle over to Avebury tomorrow.”

“On your own?”

“Well, yeah, why not?”

“You’re a girl. Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

I hadn’t thought about that. Another degree of minor suckage related to being female. “Okay, so borrow a bike and come along. You may find it a bit boring though. I was planning on sitting out at Silbury Hill for a while and seeing if my muse will sing to me.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“And you with the classical education. You know, nine Greek goddesses who are supposed to be the source of inspiration for literature, science and the arts?”

“Oh yeah, them. Well, I don’t mind coming. I just like being around you.”

“Okay, assuming we can sort us both out with bikes, we’ll do a picnic and head off to Silbury Hill tomorrow morning.”

It ended up costing more than anticipated, but it was a Pegasus which pleased the classicist in me, and it was an e-bike which pleased my weedy legs. It also had a step through design meaning I could wear a skirt with it, something I’d always wanted to do.

Meaning it had cost significantly more than two thousand quid instead of the anticipated less than one – and even then it had been on offer. I felt compelled to invest in a decent lock, forking out an extra two hundred on it, and a pair of panniers which the salesman kindly added at no extra cost.

I rode it back to the college slowly with Lance walking beside me. The battery needed charging before I could use the electric side of it, which made it a little heavy as bikes went, but manageable. With electric assist I was promised a range of over a hundred miles.

Reception provided me with a key to the locked bike storage area and suggested I might like to use my own lock to secure it too, which I did, carrying the hefty eight hundred Watt hour battery in for its first feast of electrons.

See? That's what doing the extra science homework does for you. I know about electrons and stuff.

Lance had already arranged to borrow Barry’s, a very lightweight looking racing bike that probably cost more than mine. Mine, being sturdier, with motor assist and a carrying capacity, meant I would probably end up bringing the picnic, but since I expected to have Lovelace on board as well as my booster battery, I didn’t expect that to be too much extra burden.

Maths went surprisingly well, considering it involved quadratic equations. Polly had given us a few tips to make it all simpler in our previous session, which we were able to apply and come up with matching answers, except for a few. One where I put the wrong numbers to start with and a couple where Lance’s factorising had let him down. We took one set down to dinner – mine since I was neater – and let her browse through it, getting her nod of approval and a couple of challenge problems to top things off. I don’t know, I’m sure she does this sort of thing for fun.

Sunday was overcast. I’ve always thought calling a day after the Sun was tempting providence, but at least the forecast was dry. I packed a lightweight waterproof anyway. English weather was prone to ignore the weather forecast.

We picked up our pre-ordered picnic lunch from the cafeteria at breakfast and could have been away by eight-thirty if Barry’s bike hadn’t had two flat tires. Not punctures, fortunately, but it took a while to borrow a pump and put air back into them. As a result, we didn’t get away until ten, which meant we arrived at the hill by quarter to eleven.

The observation area was deserted, even mid-morning, but then we were getting a little late in the season. We found a spot out of the way with a good view of the hill and laid out the blanket and food I’d bought with me. Lance reclined along one edge, and I lay down, resting g my head on his stomach, with a good view of the hill. I took Lovelace out and turned her on, then lay back to wait.

“So what happens now?” Lance asked.

“I wait for inspiration. We eat when we’re hungry. One way or another we go home sometime after lunch. If you get bored, give me a little warning and I’ll let you go. Don’t worry, I’ll come back in the light.”

I didn’t have long to wait. Merlin had followed with me somehow and I could already see Nimue walking towards us from the distant mound.

Can you hear my thoughts, I projected at her.

“The lady Gwen wishes to know if you can hear her thoughts as I do,” Merlin said. “I suspect not since your connection with her is not so strong as mine.”

“That’s annoying,” Nimue said. “Can you not speak as you did before?”

Only if Merlin can put my companion into the same sort of trance as my parents, I thought.

“I suppose I could,” Merlin said, “if you’re sure you want me to.”

What would be the harm?

“None, other than he would wake to notice the morning passed.”

I looked at Lance, who was already drowsing. I didn’t think the lapse would be too hard to explain.

“Alright, it’s done.”

“Greetings, Lady Nimue,” I said.

“Greetings and well met, Lady Gwendolyn,” she answered. “Your companion?”

“Like my parents, not sensitive. Merlin has placed him in a deep sleep, I believe. We should be able to talk freely. May I take notes as we speak?”

“I have no objection, though it seems strange to me that you have no quill and parchment.”

“The world changes. Here is my quill and parchment.” I showed her Lovelace with a blank document opened and typed in the words we’d spoken.”

“A marvel.”

“I can speak to it and have it write my words, though it is not so accurate as I would like and unable to hear into the spirit realm.”

“So instead you will write upon it what you speak and what you hear?”

I’d been typing up stories long enough that I could keep up with the spoken word. My fingers skipped across the keys, making mistakes occasionally, but I knew better than to correct them as I went.

“You promised me a story Lady Nimue.”

“I did, and with Merlin here to keep me honest. Perhaps you would care to begin for us, my love.”

“We are no longer lovers, Nimue. I have not considered us such since you imprisoned me at Marlborough.”

“Even so, would you begin the tale?”

“Very well. The Lady Viviane de Gris, as she was named when first I met her, was a creature of rare charm and beauty though, I suspect, little enough innocence...”

“Merlin!” Nimue chided but with a winsome smile.

“You knew well enough the effect your appearance had on the men about you, young or old, fair or foul, and you encouraged the attentions only of those you thought could further your own ends.”

“And is it so very different among men? Even now, do not those possessed of strength or wit or charm use what they have to further their ends? And yet, because I was a woman, I proved myself underhand and false to use that with which fate, or the gods perhaps, had gifted me.”

Merlin scowled. “I served Uther Pendragon at the time. An uneasy ruler who made a practice of riding throughout the lands surrounding his with a show of force intended to intimidate his neighbours and keep them from any ideas of conquest. I travelled alongside him and was introduced as his wizard and advisor. From the moment Viviane heard me spoken of in such a manor, she turned all her considerable charm upon me.

“I was young in those days, or younger at the very least, and not beyond the reach of such flattery. I became enamoured of her and, like an infatuated child, determined to do anything to win her affection, even if it meant revealing my secrets.”

“I also was young and won over by this strange and fascinating man and his promise of magic. I asked him to show me a spell, and he obliged me. Do you recall what you first showed me, Merlin?”

“The Moon was full that night, so I plucked it from the sky and twisted it about in my fingers for a moment, all the while boasting of the nature of magic, and at the right moment I set it back up into the sky.”

“Whereupon I saw the Moon emerge from behind a cloud and knew it to be little more than an illusion. I begged him to show me how it was done, and he revealed the silver coin he held within the palm of his hand. By deft manipulation he was able to cause it to appear and disappear, and by timing it with the clouds moving across the night sky he was able to make it seem as though he could take a piece of the heavens and play with it as a child plays with a toy.

“It was neatly done, but easily enough mastered, and more a trick to please revellers at the feast than any real magic. It delighted me in its simplicity and effectiveness, but in the same instance it also disappointed me to discover that this great magic of the king’s wizard was little more than trickery.”

Merlin grinned wryly. “I could see all too well the dissatisfaction etched upon her face, so I showed her some real magic.”

Nimue smiled at the distant memory. “T’was full winter, with the trees of the orchard standing bare to the wood, and yet as Merlin reached out his hand, a single bud grew upon a barren branch, blossomed and swelled into so ripe and full a peach as you never saw. He plucked it from the branch, and I tasted its sweetness.”

“’Now that is magic I should truly wish to learn,’ she said. I cautioned her that such things always come with a price, that the tree that had born her the fruit would be barren that year for having been coaxed into life while it should have slept, but she begged me, and I possessed no defence against her.

“I taught her a few simple spells, small magic it had taken me years to master, and bade her practice upon it until my return.”

“They proved simple enough,” Nimue said. “In fact so much so that I grew bored and sought to reach beyond them.”

“Against my warning.” Merlin’s face clouded. “I could feel the imbalance growing at a distance of a hundred miles and took to horse in that instant.”

“It was early Spring, and I was impatient for life to return. I had descended upon my uncle’s orchard and immersed my hands within the soil, calling upon such powers as Merlin had shown me and drawing them about me. The grass grew rich under my feet and every tree swelled to full ripeness within minutes. It was a true marvel, but I knew little enough beyond that first sight.”

“I arrived at the keep to find the Lady Viviane in a deep and unnatural sleep, and the fruit in the orchard rotting upon the ground, the trees spent and dying. There was little enough I could do for the lord’s peaches, but for her niece...”

“He remained by my bedside for a week and more, reaching through me into the magic realm, searching for my spirit, calling to it, eventually finding it and bringing it home. We both slept a further week after that, waking together to find my lord's household filled with distress at our long slumber.

“Merlin explained to my uncle what little he had taught me and how impossible it seemed that I should have been able to do as I had. He begged my lord for permission to take me away and train me properly, for fear that I should overreach myself again, bringing worse destruction and perhaps killing myself in the process. My uncle looked upon his decimated orchard and agreed.

“And so Merlin and I began our great adventure. I was an impetuous and precocious pupil, and he needed to rein in my exuberance over and again. He bade me to caution and to learn by his own temperate application of magic, and I did try, though it seemed he was content to crawl like some inconsequential larva, while all I longed for was to transform myself and fly.

“'A candle burned at both ends is soon used up,' he would tell me, and I could only think that a day of true glory must be worth a lifetime of small achievements. The impetuousness of youth, you understand.

“He showed me his boy, Arthur, and through the sight, he showed me the potential within him. He showed me the small tricks he used to grow the young man’s noble character, and in time the greater, though even then he made use of existing magic over that upon which he could draw.

“He forged Excalibur by his own skill and sweat and poured into it what magic he could spare. I offered to assist him, but he would not permit it, asking how I would know when I had given as much as I could spare. I could not answer him, and he asked further how he should seek me in the spirit realm when he was already spent. So I watched and learned.

“He took the sword to an ancient place where one of the stone giants lay and bade the slumbering creature to grasp the sword and hold it until he, Merlin, should ask for it to be release. Through the remaining years of Arthur’s youth, he spread rumour of this sword, that whosoever might draw it from the stone would be the true king of all Albion. I’m sure you know the story.”

I nodded, “Though not in all detail.”

“For nigh on a decade knights and lords came from every corner of the land and beyond to chance their hand. Individuals of unheard of strength, and when they could do nothing to shift the blade even the width of a hair, they began to mutter that the task was impossible.

“Then, upon the lad’s eighteenth birthday, Merlin brought Arthur to the stone. Those gathered about laughed that such a slender youth might chance his arm in such a way, but Merlin called for silence. ‘It is not strength of sinew that will decide this matter,’ he said, ‘but purity of heart.’ He bade the boy step forth and within his mind he called to the giant to release its grip, and so the blade slipped as easily as though being drawn from a scabbard. The boy barely had strength to hold the sword aloft, but all present bowed to him, and I saw how it was that Merlin wielded his tricks to greater effect than might have been achieved by any show of real magic.

“I learned temperance then and, while Arthur grew into his kingship, Merlin taught me to greater effect and we two fell in love.”

“There is truth in this,” Merlin allowed, “though Viviane still showed more of a tendency to expend herself unnecessarily.

“In Arthur’s thirtieth year of life, he set himself against King Pellinore in a duel. He bested the man, as I knew he would, but in the fight, Excalibur was broken. I brought the pieces here and reforged the blade in the fiery breath of the slumbering beast beneath the hill.”

“It occurred to me that simply repairing the sword and return it to the king would be too mundane an act. After Arthur’s near defeat, he needed some sign to show that the land had truly chosen him to rule.

“While Merlin toiled away beneath the mound, I came away to Lake Avalon and made use of my own powers to bind myself to the waters.

“It was a significant expenditure of my strength, but within the balance of all things, as Merlin had taught me.”

“I feared she might be spending herself to no great gain, but I'll admit, she was right to do so. Arthur was despondent. With the Sword of the King broken in his hand, even mended and stronger than ever as I had remade it, he had begun to doubt his right to rule.

“Viviane came to me the evening I completed reforging the sword. She took it from me and hefted it appreciatively. I will say, I never forged a finer blade. It was already a masterpiece the first time I made it, but recast in the heat of a dragon’s breath, the iron seemed to come to life. The balance as fine as any Italian swordsmith might manage and both strong and sharp enough to cut through the horn of an anvil without leaving the least blemish upon the blade.

“’Bring Arthur,’ she said, ‘and meet me at Avalon.’

“It was as much as I could do to persuade him to accompany me, such was his dispair, but he came. A more sullen and silent journeying companion I never knew, so low in spirits that I would swear he afflicted his steed with a drag step.

“By the shores of the lake I bade him call out his name, and so he did. ‘I am Arthur,’ said he with no great enthusiasm, and the lake answered him.”

“As I recall my words, I said to him, ‘Well met Arthur, King of all Britons.’ In binding myself to the lake I could cause its entire surface to speak my words, and so my voice seemed to come to him from all directions at once.

“’How can I be king if I have no sword to show it?’ he answered me, and so I replied, ‘How indeed? Come then and take it from my hand.’ I rose from the lake’s depths with the sword in my hand and held it out to him.

“I’ll give the lad his due, he possessed courage and faith in abundance. He did not hesitate but strode out to me upon the water. Again, it was within my newfound power to hold the lake’s surface steady enough where his feet fell, and so it felt to him as firm as rock.

“I fell to my knees and offered him the blade. ‘Excalibur remade, and now it is a blade fit for Albion’s king.’

“He took it from my hand and drew it from its scabbard, raising it high as though it were little more than a twig.

“’Behold,’ said I, ‘the once and future rightful king of all Briton.’ My meaning that he had considered himself king before his sword broke, and now with it remade, he was once again restored to his throne. I am aware the context of my words has changed with, but there was little enough I could do to prevent it. Once a thing becomes a part of legend, so it stays until all records are become dust.”

“It was in this act that Viviane became Nimue, which in the old tongue means the Lady of the Lake.

“For a great many years Nimue and I guided Arthur and his knights of Camelot, and the peace and prosperity of Albion grew and spread across the land. We had our differences of belief, but for all that, we shared in the common goal of seeing this land united in peace.”

“Perhaps our greatest difference was when Arthur became enamoured of the new religion and began to give thanks for all his achievements to a god that had no part in them. It angered me that he should so readily abandon the old ways, and all the more that Merlin seemed inclined to accept the change as inevitable.

“We began to draw apart, seeing less of each other and speaking only rarely. I sensed a change in Merlin, that he had not the same passion he once had, that Arthur was guiding himself more and Merlin less.

“This became apparent when Morgause appeared on the scene. A woman knows when another woman has evil intent, and I felt it in Morgause from the first. I scried after her past and discovered her to be a half-sister to Arthur, both sharing Igraine as mother, though Morgause’ father was Gorlois of Tintagel, who was killed by Uther Pendragon before taking her to wife and bearing Arthur through their union.

“Morgause felt wronged by Uther and his seed and wished for revenge. Denied any redress against Arthur's father when his daughter Morgana poisoned him, she sought to ruin Arthur instead.

“I tried to warn Merlin, though he seemed distracted and diminished from the man I had fallen in love with. He dismissed my concerns and so allowed Morgause to seduce Arthur.

“The betrayal of his marriage was only one of Arthur’s sins – and yes, I will use the words of the new religion since it is by this standard that Arthur chose to judge himself. In bedding Morgause’ he compounded his evil act in incest, and in so doing created the monster that would destroy him.

“No Questing Beast, for that one was as noble of mind as he was hideous of countenance. No, Mordred, was the beast’s exact opposite. A man of great charisma, though rotten to his soul.

“I still cannot say why Merlin did nothing to stand against Mordred’s reckless ambition...”

“It was more complex than you make it sound. Mordred had no choice in his life, and Arthur tried to do well by him, and in doing so, forbade me to act against the boy. I had already seen Mordred would bring about Arthur’s death, but the king returned my own words to me, that I should permit him to live his own life and learn through his own errors. I had no choice in the matter.”

“That much I did see in you, as much as the fading of your mind which comes with age. I feel certain the younger Merlin would have found a way to thwart Mordred without going against his word to the king.

“Then came the first of the battles that destroyed Arthur, orchestrated by Mordred and achieving little more than the death of a great many Britons and the sowing of seeds of mistrust between the tribes.

“I saw how it tore at you to see your great work rent asunder. I recall you found some solace in the arms of a woman.”

“Gwendolen,” Merlin said fondly

“Yes?” I looked up from my writing at the sound of my name.

“No, this was another of the name, or near enough. It was she who eased the anguish that took me.”

“And she who, for love of you, led you into the mound at Marlborough.”

“She did not endure as I have though. We knew some decades of peace before age took her. She faded from life and lives on only in the depths of my memory.”

“And mine,” Nimue said. “She was a brave soul, and it seemed to me that she could give you what I could not, if only for a short while.”

“But in binding me to the mound you cut me off from Arthur. He might have called to me, and I would have stood by him at the end, for good or ill.”

“But he did not call you, my love. He did not trust you to stand by his son, and you would not, for you saw as well as I that Mordred was rotted to his core. He wished only death and destruction, and he found it, even to the point of receiving his own death blow from his father’s hand.

“After Arthur was mortally wounded, Bedivere brought him to Avalon and, at his king’s bidding cast Excalibur into the lake, where I caught it. I sent a craft of magical aspect and took Arthur’s dying body out to the Island of Avalon, and there both the spirit of the king and his blade remain.”

“The once and future king,” I said.

“No. His time his been and gone. All that remains of him is in the spirit realm, much as Merlin and I are there, although he has not the magic to manifest as we do. He is at peace and will remain so.

“The future lies with you, Gwen, and those of your generation. You have your own battles to fight, and Merlin will stand by you, as, should you will it, will I. This land deserves better than it has, and the world in which it resides needs one to lead it to better times.”

“I don’t see how you can expect that of me.”

“If not you, then who? This is your world, wounded and tainted as it is by those who have gone before, and your choice, just as with those who have gone before, is to sit by and watch it burn, looting the charred shell for anything to make your days easier, or to fight back against the insanity and the selfishness that stands ready to rob future generations of their inheritance.”

“Yes, but how am I to do that? I’m just one person.”

“Are you? You have your knight here who stands ready to defend you against all. You have Merlin’s wise counsel, and mine if you will be convinced to accept it.”

“Will you give me Excalibur?”

“I’m sorry?”

“From the tale you told, you were the last to hold it. Will you tell me you do not know where it lies?”

“I know, but what would you do with it?”

“As I understand, it is the symbol of authority for Albion’s ruler. I have no desire to wield it as a sword – I suspect in our modern world, to do so would be a serious crime – but if I am to take on the mantle of Queen of Albion as I have already agreed with Merlin, would it not be easier to establish my credentials if I held Arthur’s sword?”

She stared at me blankly. Merlin seemed a little unsure of how to continue either.

“You have said you have little inclination to trust your Lady of the Lake. How would it seem as a gesture of good faith were she to return Excalibur to the world, to place it in the hands of your chosen queen?”

“I have to admit, it is a fair point,” he said.

“Would you open yourself to me if I were to do this thing?”

“Let it be a gesture of good faith on your part. Give up the sword and allow me to decide after if I trust you so much.”

“Very well. How would you have it done?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Shall I find Merlin’s rock giant and have him grasp it until such time as you place your hand upon it?”

“I’m not sure that would work so well in the modern world. I expect before long someone will come along with a pneumatic drill and break away all the stone surrounding the sword, with no consideration that they were destroying a fabled creature’s hand.”

“Would you have me ascend from the lake holding it in my hand? What remains of the lake in any case, which is shallow enough.”

“Again, I think it would be seen as a gimmick. Modern technology is no respecter of magic. Besides who would see you?”

“Then how?”

“I beginning to wonder if it’s such a great idea. After over a thousand years it would be so corroded as to be scarcely unrecognisable as the sword it once was.”

“Forged in dragon flame, it will not have corroded in the least.”

“And then who would believe it were over a thousand years old?”

“Do you not have a means of dating such an artifact?” Merlin asked.

“Carbon dating wouldn’t work on metal, only organic materials.”

“Like the leather of the scabbard and the bindings about the grip perhaps?”

“If any remained after such a long time. And what then? A sword that’s unscathed after fifteen centuries wrapped in rotting leather that dates that far back? Who’s not going to believe it’s a hoax?”

“Not rotting,” Nimue said. “Arthur’s coffin is sealed against the elements. No water and little enough air.”

“I thought the monks of Glastonbury found Arthur and Guinevere’s tomb in the twelfth century.”

“It wasn’t Arthur’s grave,” Nimue said. “They missed it by a mile, or thereabouts. Arthur lies beneath Glastonbury Tor. Deep beneath, within the clutches of the White Dragon.”

I turned on the tethering option on my phone and connect Lovelace to it. A quick search showed me pictures of the Tor.

“That’s a mound? Like this place and Marlborough?”

“The first of them as far as we can tell. Too immense to make it round as with these, but it had to be such a size to cover the beast beneath. You buried Arthur there?”

“It seemed fitting somehow. Albion’s greatest king resting with her greatest dragon. The Tor used to be the island of Avalon, at the centre of the lake. My lake.”

“Is there a way in?”

“For those with magic.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t play the fool. You can see and hear Merlin and me. Of course you have magic.”

“Oh.” More enthusiasm this time.

“The challenge will be to get to Glastonbury,” Merlin said. “As I recall, it is three days ride from here. Perhaps as little as one if you don’t spare the horses.”

A little more fiddling with the Internet. “Five hours on bicycle and I’d pretty much drain my battery, or four on public transport. Either way it’s an overnight, which means asking permission and fielding questions. Shame we can’t arrange a field trip. It’s an hour and a half by road, three including the return. That would give us several hours there.”

“Geography, history, music or literature?” Merlin asked.

Nimue and I looked at him.

“It’ll take a while, but I can influence one of the teachers.”

“History then. Mr Lee is a bully. I’d love to spend his budget.”

“Very well. It seems we have accomplished as much as we are able today. Lady Nimue, one of us will let you know when we have a date. For the trip.”

My ghostly companions faded and I squirmed against Lance, who stretched heroically and looked at his watch.

“Shit, is that the time? I must have dozed off. Did the muses sing?”

“Very much. They seemed to like the counterpoint of your snoring. Hungry?”

“Ravenous, and I don’t snore.”

“My apologies. We must have some very syncopated earthquakes around here.

We did lunch and I let him skim through the pages of typing I’d done.

“You got all this just from being out here?”

“Well, it’s a bit more than picturesque scenery. Being here helps me feel my way into the history of the place. That hill was built over four thousand years ago for God knows what reason.”

“Does that make you God?”

“Hardly. Why?”

“Because apparently you do know. It’s a resting place for an ancient dragon according to this.”

“Which is a very rough draft,” I said grabbing Lovelace back from him and snapping her shut. “Not for in depth scrutiny at this stage.”

We ate and lay in the autumn sun until it started to get cold, then we packed up and hit the road. My trusty Pegasus still had three quarters battery life by the time we made it back to the college grounds, and I, at least, didn’t stink like a Turkish sauna while we were locking up our bikes.

“Go shower,” I told him. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

That gave me an excuse to climb the mound alone.

“Am I interrupting?” I said at the summit.

“It would take a matter of considerable importance for me to take it as an interruption.”

“You weren’t that happy last time?”

“The matter of your boyfriend being withdrawn from the school was, to my perception a m...”

“...atter of considerable importance. Yeah, okay, I agree.

“Tell me about the story you and Nimue told this morning.”

“Tell you what about it?”

“You were there to ensure she kept to the truth. How did she do?”

“She told it the truth as well as I recall it.”

“And yet you still do not trust her?”

“I... may have been a little hasty in my judgement. I’m still not sure. My own memories are a little confused. Filled with anger that she should trick me, and a little lighter on my recollections before I reclaimed my intellect under the mound.”

“So, do you think she is with us or against us?”

He sighed. “Will you permit me a while to reflect on the matter. I have other memories to consider, to compare, to see how well today’s exchange matches up with the woman I knew.”

“Of course, only...”

“Only what?”

“From what Nimue was saying, both she and you have the freedom to travel about.”

“We are not confined to the mounds which hold our remains. You know already I can travel with you because I am linked to you.”

“Nimue said she could go back to the lake that gave her her name.”

“Aye, we can journey to places of power, of significance in our lives.”

“So, what kept you from going to Silbury before now, or her coming to you here?”

“For me, some centuries of anger and distrust, I suppose. For her, most likely discretion. You do not pay a polite visit upon anyone you believe bares a grudge against you.”

“She was worried about what you might do?”

“We are beyond harming one another,” he said, “and we neither of us would have considered such a thing in life, but for the most blatant betrayal.”

“Which you accused her of?”

“I did, but no, she was safe enough from me.”

“I like her,” I said.

“Most do. She possesses a tongue of purest quicksilver, as do you. You need only open your mouth and those around you wish to be your friend.”

“I wish that were true.”

“Count on your hands the students you have met since coming here, then count off those you do not consider to be friends.”

I did and of course was left with no fingers remaining.

“I think it’s because we both speak the truth, and people notice and appreciate it.”

“Your observation is noted and will be included in my deliberations.”

“Could you go to Glastonbury Tor and retrieve the sword?”

“Yes and no.” Unhelpful, which I attempted to convey with my expression. “Yes, I can travel to Glastonbury Tor. I have already and seen my friend’s coffin and the sword that lies upon his chest. No, I cannot retrieve it. Magic it may be, but insufficient to counter my lack of flesh.”

“Does it have magic enough to be transformed?”

“You mean into a more contemporary weapon such as a pistol? There would be complications.”

“Not the least one being that it would still be illegal.”

“A bow then. That I could manage, and I recall you possessed some skill.”

“No, I had something else in mind.”

It took a couple of weeks to get the trip to Glastonbury organised. Mr Lee was a non-starter – as much of an arsehole when it came to spending money on his students. The surprise success story in the end was Mr Phillips who was always looking for ways to resurrect his dead language of choice. He happened to mention how many Latin inscriptions and documents there were in and around Glastonbury, after which it didn’t take more than a mental call to Merlin followed by a gentle magical nudge and the trip was promised then organised.

My own life at Marlborough had become considerably easier since the head had called his baying hounds to heel. Most of them appreciated that I’d stuck my neck out for them and turned what would have been career disaster into a minor inconvenience. As a result they let me blend into the background and, as long as I kept up with the general pace of the class, they allowed me to progress at my own pace.

Which gave me a little extra time finally to organise the Friday evening discussion groups. That's all they were to start with, since there were a considerable number of challenges to the ideas I'd proposed. I listened and tried not to use my quicksilver tongue to overrule them. Instead, I tried to adapt my ideals to the realism with which I was presented. By slow degrees we began to form a concept of New Albion.

Incidentally, the name was one thing we still disagreed upon, but that was something for the future.

Of all the teachers, Mr Lee was the only fly in my ointment. He kept looking for ways to mark me down, so I worked hard to make sure he didn’t have any, and that seriously pissed him off. From my perspective, it was a double bonus because it gave me incentive to work at an otherwise dry subject, and I got to rub Mr Lee’s nose in it.

Latin proved to be an unexpected pleasure. Complex, and almost entirely useless, it still proved to work better than maths for me as ‘pressups for the brain’ which my former maths teacher had called the more abstract parts of the maths syllabus. Latin fit in better with my literary aspirations. I was less enamoured of the sing-song affectations with which Mr Philips spoke the language – thank the bloody church for that piece of nonsense – but I did enjoy the challenge.

Glastonbury Abbey had been where twelfth century monks had supposedly come across an inscription which read either ‘Hic iacet sepultus inclitus Rex Arturius in insula Avalonia’, which translates to ‘Here lies buried the famous King Arthur on the Isle of Avalon’, or ‘Hic jacet Arthurus, rex quondam, rex futurus,' which we were given the task of translating and came out as ‘Here lies Arthur, king that was, king that shall be.’ A once and future king reference. Since the monks had carelessly lost the original inscription, neither text could be corroborated, and here was just another example of how big a bunch of ‘lying arseholes’ – Mr Phillips’ term not mine – medieval scholars could be.

We left early, immediately after breakfast, meaning that an hour and a half’s drive had us arriving at the Abbey in Glastonbury around nine. We spent the morning using our phones photographing as many Latin inscriptions as we could find and working in small groups to translate them as best we could. Mr Phillips went between the groups, commenting on the grammar and syntax of the inscriptions we’d found, usually criticising it with some comment about the monks having worse grammar than we did. I didn’t take it as much of a compliment. I mean okay, Latin’s a dead language so it won’t have changed much, even in eight hundred years, but thinking about Shakespeare’s inconsistency in spelling just four hundred years ago and the near incomprehensibility of Chaucer’s writing at six hundred years, it felt like the monks were doing well to come up with something even vaguely recognisable after eight hundred.

Still, not my place to comment.

Lunchtime approached. I asked Mr Phillips if it would be possible to have time to go over to the tor, which my phone suggested was about a half hour walk. The bus service wasn’t great and wouldn’t take any less time. I was the only one who wanted to go – too much effort for too little gain for most – so he agreed to let me go half an hour early, but still to be back by one.

I thanked him and broke into a jog as soon as I was out of sight.

Running, I managed to shave few minutes off the anticipated transit time, then when I reached the hill, Nimue and Merlin were waiting for me at the base, which apparently was going to save me the climb. I’d made it in just twenty minutes instead of the expected thirty-five.

“We have just less than an hour before I should head back.”

“And if it takes longer?” Merlin asked.

“Then I’ll be late getting back, and if I’m very late Mr Phillips will probably involve the police. I’ll be in trouble whatever happens, but if it goes that far, I’ll be in it up to the tip of my nose.”

“Well, the sooner we start, the sooner we’re done,” Nimue said. “This way.”

I followed her around the base of the hill towards the north until she came to a halt beside a steep, grassy slope that looked exactly the same as the slope we’d been walking past.

“When you speak to Merlin with your mind?” she asked. I mean it’s not really a question, but she did the rising inflection thing at the end that said, ‘here lies a question mark.’

“Okay?” I did that same back at her to see how she liked it.

“Look here but use that same part of your mind.”

It was actually surprisingly easy. I focused my mind and tried looking through it instead of directing my words, and there it was, outlined in a ghostly light. A doorframe with a Latin inscription.

It was, word for word, what twelfth century monks claimed to have found. I read it out loud, avoiding the ridiculous sing song version, and nothing happened.

“Now come over here,” Nimue led me round a ridge in the hill and there was a hole in the ground.

“It’s how magic works in the modern world. Too much scepticism for it to be seen to work overtly, but the entrance would not have been there if you had not read the inscription, or if you had done it wrong.”

“It doesn’t look much bigger than a rabbit hole,” I complained.

“More a badger’s sett, but agreed. We wouldn’t want the tourists to see a large gateway and come wandering in after us, would we?”

“You’re paying my dry-cleaning bill,” I said.

“Alright.” He handed me a coin. It was roughly shaped with a Roman looking face on it.

“Is this...”

“A Roman aureus. Gold. I believe that’s Augustus on this side.”

“Where did you find it?”

“I didn’t find it. I brought it with me when Gwendolen led me into the mound.”

“It must be worth...”

“Enough to clean your uniform at least, now can we stop wasting time?”

I glanced around, but the only other people I could see were Merlin and Nimue. I dropped onto my knees and squirmed into the hole. If I should get stuck, I would be in all sorts of trouble, but I was slim enough and the narrow tunnel only continued for fifty odd yards before it widened, and another fifty beyond that before I had room enough to climb to my feet.

Have mobile can see in the dark. I turned on the torch function and looked around me. The cavern, assuming it actually deserved the title, consisted of chalky soil held together by a root system of sorts. It was difficult to imagine what on the surface had roots that reached this deep, but it didn’t really matter.

Nimue appeared beside me making the cramped space positively claustrophobic, and led me down a tunnel. There were several, so I had no idea which to choose. Even focusing my sight gave no clues.

She led me through a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. And I mean seriously, if there was a sequence to get through it, I wouldn’t have known how to apply it. Most of the time I couldn’t tell my down from my west, and which way was north in the first place?

Ten minutes to find and open the cave, fifteen minutes to negotiate it. We were approaching the halfway point for my lunch break when we turned one last corner and the space just spread out around us.

The place was so immense my torch couldn’t make out the far side, and it was filled with a deep, steady susurration and an unpleasant whiff of sulphur.

“Kilgharrah the Great White Dragon,” Nimue said in hushed tones. “She hasn’t woken in five thousand years so no cause to believe she will now, but best to move cautiously. Douse that light and use your mind’s sight to see your way.”

Not how I would have chosen to proceed, but I trusted her. The phone light went off and into my small rucksack purse. I focussed again and looked.

The extent of the cavern was immense, as was the creature filling it. With her tail and snout wrapped into a tight circle, she still must have measured forty feet across.

Nimue’s ghostly arm pointed within the monster’s grasp where a coffin lay, carved from ebony or onyx with bas-reliefs of some pretty hair raising sword fights covering the sides. From a distance it actually looked like Arthur had been laid on top the coffin with his sword grasped in his hands. As I drew nearer, it became evident that the figure laying on top was only a carving, while the sword...

Built for business, it was not a particularly attractive sword. Straight and double edged with a handle big enough to accommodate a large hand. If the figure carved on to the coffin was any measure, Arthur appeared to be a few inches shy of six feet, yet if he’d held the sword by his side, the tip would most likely have reached the ground. So what does that make it? Blade length from mid-thigh to the tip of a pointed toe.

The blade was exquisite. Unadorned other than an inscription which read ‘suscipe me’ in angular letters.The a blade width from sharpened edge to sharpened edge was not much larger than the width of my hand not counting the thumb.

A scabbard of oiled leather lay beside the stone knight, but his hands grasped the weapon’s hilt firmly enough to cause me to doubt whether I might prise it loose.

I let out a sort of huff of a laugh and stepped gingerly over the dragon’s tail, then around a snout as long as my body. I placed my hand upon the sword and the heavy breathing filling the cavern ceased.

A movement caught the edge of my vision and from the corner of my eye I saw a glint of ghost light reflected in an eye as large as a dinner plate.

“Your majesty,” I said quietly, unsure whether I addressed the dragon or the coffin, “Albion has need of Excalibur once more. Will you permit me to take it?”

For a heart stopping moment, nothing happened. Then the stone knight’s hands relaxed and the blade slid free into mine. The eye beside me closed and the breathing resumed. I picked up the scabbard and stepped quietly away from the sleeping dragon, out of the giant chamber and back into the labyrinthine tunnels.

“So that wasn’t scary at all,” I said, sliding the razor sharp blade into its sheath, noting in passing the other side of the bade, which read, ‘eiice me.’

“You did well,” Nimue said approvingly.

“What if I’d done anything differently?”

“Ah, but you didn’t. Kilgharrah still sleeps and the sword is yours.”

“So, it was a test?”

“Do you believe the sword of Albion’s true king should be passed into the hands of just anyone?”

“You could have warned me.”

“I didn’t offer the sword. You asked for it. It was returned to my hand at the end of Arthur’s life and it has remained my responsibility through the centuries since then. Do you think I did wrong?”

That was a tough one. The sort of question a dad asks when you know what the right answer is but don’t want to own up to it.

“Merlin?” I addressed the older wizard.

“This has nothing to do with me.”

“No, we spoke of this. You said you could transform it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I... Yes, I am. If I try walking through Glastonbury with this thing, I’ll be arrested. No-one’s going to believe that a weapon in this condition is over a thousand years old, so no-one will believe it’s Excalibur, regardless of the inscription or the blade design.”

“You recognise it then?”

“Different legends describe it differently, but it kind of makes sense it would be a Roman sword. Not a gladius. It’s too long for that.”

“A spatha. And the inscription? Suscipe me?”

“Take me up. And Eiice me means cast me away. Those are also in the legends written about the blade, though most say it would be in Celtic runes.”

“On a Roman sword?”

“Fair point. Which means if anyone were to recreate the sword today, the replica would most likely look like this.

“I can’t use it in modern Britain, and no-one’s going to consider it any sort of proof that I’m Arthur’s heir.

“If I’m to keep it, it will have to take on a new form. Besides, what we discussed is more my style.”

Merlin placed his hand upon the blade and muttered a few words in what sounded like Welsh. The sword glowed and shrank until what I held in my hand was a fountain pen.

Nimue’s eyebrows shot up. “We came all this way for Arthur’s sword only to do this to it?”

“Of course,” I said. “Haven’t you heard, the pen is mightier than the sword?”

“But...”

“Why did you test me just now? Was it to have me prove to you that I deserved the sword, or was it your way of showing me that I am rightful queen of Albion?”

“Perhaps as much one as the other.”

“So now we both have what we need of it. There isn’t a man or woman alive who would believe my claim simply because I held Arthur’s weapon, and if there is magic to be had in its wielding, then my battles will be won and lost according to the words written on pieces of paper. This is a warfare I can understand.

“Merlin, would you agree she has proven herself.”

“With some reluctance, yes.”

“Then Lady Nimue, I am Queen Gwendolyn of Albion, and I would welcome any help you might give me, if you are still willing.”

“What is mine to give, I give you freely.”

How can you describe a spiritual wind? When I had accepted Merlin’s help, Lance had been there and I had been distracted by him and missed the old man’s gift. Here there was no distraction, so I felt the full effect as a gentle warmth blowing into me and through me, filling every part of me and leaving my skin tingling.

I slid the bag from my back and found a secure place for the pen, then I touched my watch which flare bright in the darkness.

“Shit. Half an hour. I’m never going to get back in time.”

“You might,” Nimue said. “Let your instincts guide you.”

I didn’t need her to tell me anything more. I could feel a gentle tug inside me and followed it, increasing my pace at each turn.

Quite what that instinct was I doubt I’ll be able to define. Perhaps I simply had some subconscious memory of the turns we had taken coming, perhaps there was something more mysterious at work. I don’t know, just that the journey out took half the time of the journey in.

Back in the sunlight, I was ready to run for the abbey, except a sense inside guided me back to the ghostly inscription that had opened the way. The words were the same, so I spoke them once more and felt the ground close up.

What had Nimue gifted me with? I had no way of finding out in that moment but put on a burst of speed. Somehow my way back to the abbey was less restricted by the Brownian motion of tourists and I made my last sprint up the hill and into the ruins just as two o’clock chimed from a nearby clock tower.

“You’re cutting it fine Miss Llewellyn. Was your visit worth the effort?”

“I think so sir, thanks for allowing it.”

“Did you find any interesting inscriptions?”

“Er, hic iacet sepultus inclitus Rex Arturius in insula Avalonia?”

“A fair recitation. Where did you see it?”

On the side of a hill in ghostly blue words only I could see. Invitation to a padded cell, perhaps.

“In a souvenir shop. It’s one of the inscriptions you mentioned as possibly being on Arthur’s grave.”

“Was it also in this souvenir shop that you managed to get so grubby?”

“No sir. I, er, I kind of fell over hurrying to get back on time.”

“Hmm. Well, can’t be helped. In future, remember you represent the school every time you leave the grounds wearing that uniform.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

“No matter. Alright everyone. This afternoon I have a rare treat for you. I’ve secured access for you to some of the illuminated texts that survived the abbey’s destruction. The documents are immensely old and need to be treated with the utmost respect. I will expect you to be on your best behaviour.”

It proved to be far more interesting than anticipated because, without apparent rhyme or reason, I found myself so much more able to read and translate the illuminated texts on display. That wasn’t part of the exercise though and I kept silent until the end of the tour when we were shown the damaged final pages of the manuscript in process of being copied out. The current page had a large piece missing with a best guess for the missing words written in.

I held up my hand and pointed at the recreated text, suggesting an alternative. “The grammar is wrong, of course, but it’s in keeping with the rest of the document, and the lettering fits in with the partial letters you can still see.”

That earned me a few looks suggesting the padded cell might still be an option, but the institute owner who’d been showing us around printed out a copy of the current page complete with missing piece and asked me to show him, so I took a pen and managed a fair continuation of the text, matching letter size and spacing to the original and fitting the words I’d found to the fragments at the torn edges.

“That’s astonishing,” he said. “I believe you’re entirely right my dear. It changes the context of our translation completely. Patrick, I don’t suppose you’d consider lending us this young lady for a week or two?”

“Er,” Mr Phillips looked at me as though I genuinely had grown a second head, one unaccountably able to handle Latin texts better than he could. “Er...”

“I’m afraid I have other studies in need of my attention, sir,” I said.

“Yes, of course. If there’s any time you can spare us though. We’d pay you, obviously.”

I left them with a vague promise that I’d talk to my parents.

On the drive home Mr Phillips invited me to sit up front next to him whereupon he interrogated me over the matter.

“I really don’t know sir,” I said. “It just sort of clicked. The other pages we read on our way through had the same sort of sentence structure to them.”

He questioned me at length, and I was able to quote sections from other pages we’d seen. Most of the class had drifted through the afternoon in a sort of glassy eyed numbness. The only reason I hadn’t joined them was this newfound ability of mine. The subject material had been an account of a little-known knight in his search for redemption, the story somewhat mundane, but what had captured my attention was the ease with which I could read it and the offhand way in which I picked up the author’s common and repeated errors in conjugation.

Mr Phillips and the Latin Inquisition gave up after about an hour which left me a half hour’s peace.

This is you, Nimue, isn’t it? I focused on the thought.

“Of course,” she said from the empty seat beside me. At least it had been empty until she appeared there. Her sudden arrival gave me a start, which in turn earned me a suspicious look from Mr Phillips.

You’re going to have to work on making your appearances a little less abrupt, I thought. Merlin usually appears somewhere behind me at a safe distance and speaks gently.

“And where’s the fun in that?”

No fun perhaps, but at least I’m less likely to be thought insane.

“I’ll try.”

How?

“The Latin? You can’t expect me to have lived through centuries and not learned some small amount. Latin was the language of scholars in my time and its mastery a requirement of any learning, and now we are joined, all that I know is there for you to draw on.

What else is there?

“That will become apparent in time. The history of this land for one. What you merely read about, I experienced, at least in some manner.”

Magic?

“Of course, though be cautious in using it. Learn from my first mistakes.”

Is that why Merlin hasn’t shared his own thoughts?

“I cannot speak for Merlin, though I suspect so. He has a mastery of more subtle magics of the sort I have little patience to learn, so it is quite possible he can mask his thoughts from you. Perhaps with good reason. I was always the wild one and, though I have mellowed with the passing years, I don’t coddle as he does.”

“I do not coddle,” Merlin said from a few seats back.

Okay, stop! I massaged my temples which were beginning to throb. Let’s get one thing straight. My mind is not a field of battle for you two to work out your differences.

“Yes, you highness,” Merlin said, instantly contrite.

“Yes, of course,” Nimue added. “I’m sorry.” Less respectful but just as sincere.

Merlin, is it through a desire for privacy that you keep your thoughts from me or concern over what harm I might come to?

“A little of both, majesty.”

And some of your concerns of permitting Nimue to join with me that I might have access to powers I’m not ready to wield.

He didn’t respond.

“I wonder if he ever thought to teach you his magic.”

“It does concern me, Gwen, for I have seen too often how power corrupts.”

“Not always, my lover. We two did not become monsters for possessing these magics.”

“I have often enough regretted my use of it. Consequences are not often immediate, but there are always consequences. To use magic without first understanding all that might come of it is reckless.”

“And to withhold magic until you know all is to cut through your own hamstrings.”

Then perhaps there is a balance between the two which will work, even though it may not be perfect. I will need both your counsell to achieve this balance.

But let it be counsel only. You will not argue in my presence but present me with your thoughts. Allow me the choice and the burden of any consequence.

“Yes, your majesty,” they both replied.

Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a little peace before we return to Marlborough.

The rest of the journey passed in silence. Mr Phillips gave me a look as I climbed down from the minibus. I smiled at him, but I could tell it wasn’t over.

I was still grubby, which was probably what bothered Mr P, so headed for my dorm to change.

“Merlin,” I said quietly.

He faded into existence beside me.

“Will you teach me a little about magic?”

“What is it you wish to learn?”

“If I wanted to clean the dirt from my clothing...”

“Then all you would need do is loosen the bonds that bind the filth to the fabric,” Nimue also appeared unbidden.

“It is true that would achieve your end, but in loosening the bonds of one thing, so you would loosen the bonds of another. The fibres would cling to one another with less strength, the material would weaken, the dyes would fade away...”

“Unless you also strengthened their bonds after...”

“And in so doing you would have to draw strength from something else. The fabric of the world. Like is to like, so most likely you would weaken the fibres in some nearby plants, which would likely wilt and die.”

“Sure, but who cares about a few plants?”

“If they were weeds, I would find it hard to care much,” I said.

“Although weeds have their place in all that connects life. Butterflies often require nettles and the like to live. Dandelions, clover, henbit and dead nettle, all are beneficial to bees. All the variety of life is interwoven, and to destroy one part is to risk damaging another.”

“Consequences.”

“As you say.”

“I think I’ll just put it in the wash.”

“A wise choice.”

“My thanks to you for your input though, Nimue. It makes little sense to risk untold harm when there is a more mundane manner of seeing a task done.”

“You’re as bad as him,” she snorted and vanished.

“And what do you say to that?” he asked.

“Perhaps I am. What consequences were there from the transformation of Excalibur?”

“Now that is a challenging question. It will have lost none of the strength of its magic, though what nature that magic will take remains to be seen.”

“What do you mean?”

“As a sword, it was both hard and sharp enough to cut through iron, so rendered its wielder able to both disarm an opponent and cut through his defences. The scabbard also possessed an enchantment, to prevent whoever held it from bleeding. As a pen, and I presume its lid, it should grant you powers of similar strength, though what form they will take I cannot predict.

“Changing it from a four-foot steel blade into a seven inch pen of sterling silver, there is another matter. Where the steel went, I cannot say, though of a certainty it would have gone where it was most needed. Where the silver and copper came from that formed the alloy, this also is a mystery, though both silver and copper were once mined in the region, so there is a high likelihood it was naturally found and not taken from some nearby jewellery. In transforming from the greater to the lesser, the materials would not diminish the world but rather enhance it.”

“Is that what you believe, that I have diminished Excalibur?”

“It is a manner of speaking. Whether the sword has truly become something less than it was remains to be seen, but five pounds of steel reduced to fifteen grams of silver, in this manner it was diminished.

“May I look upon it?”

I took it out of my bag and held it up where we could both see it.

“Yes, the inscription remains, do you see?”

Finely etched in the grain of the silver on the pen's barrel, I could just make out the Latin inscriptions.

“Arthur carried the sword with him every day and used it whenever he was called upon to fight. Might I suggest that you do likewise?”

“Just write with it, no matter what?”

“Perhaps allow it to lead you, but I see no reason why not. Also, wear it where others might see it. The sight of Excalibur spoke to those who met Arthur.

“Now, here is your chamber and I hear others within. Perhaps we should continue this conversation another time.”

Marie, Abbey and Elaine were changing when I entered. Elaine was the first to react.

“O-M-G. Whatever happened to you?”

“Long story and I’d rather take a shower than stand here recounting it if you don’t mind?”

I stripped off my uniform and underwear, slipped on a dressing gown and headed for the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, with my hair lathered clean and my skin tingling, I returned to the room to find the three of them examining Excalibur.

“Where did you find this?” Marie wanted to know. “It’s beautiful.”

“I took it from the stone grasp of a statue lying between the forelegs of the largest dragon you ever saw,” I said.

“Fine! Don’t tell us. Cow” She threw it at me, and I caught it easily enough.

“I’ve been looking for something to use to try writing old school for a while now. Mr Ambrose says there’s nothing helps you feel the words like putting them on paper with a proper pen. When I saw this, I just had to have it.”

“So why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“I didn’t expect you to be so upset about it. It’s sterling silver, so should be pretty tough, but I’d appreciate you not throwing it about though. You know, in case it gets dented.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry. It really is pretty. Did it cost much?”

“It is quite valuable, yes. It’s vintage, from before when hallmarks were required.” Probably before when they were first used for that matter, but we’ve already seen how they cope with the truth.

“Do you know if it’s real silver?” Abbey asked.

“I’m less worried about the material than knowing how old it is, and I’m pretty certain about that.”

“Have you tried writing with it yet?” Marie interjected.

“No. I don’t have any ink.”

“Bring it here,” she sighed, pulling a squat little bottle from her desk drawer.

There was a little lever in the side of the pen barrel. Marie pulled it out more or less at right angles to the pen, then she placed the nib – gold if I was any judge, as was the sword shaped pen clip on the lid, which meant that someone’s jewellery had been depleted – into the ink and pressed the lever home. She repeated the action a couple of times then dabbed the nib with some tissue before passing it to me.

“Try it. See how it feels.”

It felt very much at home in my hand, as though it had been made for it. I dug out a notebook from somewhere and wrote ‘Excalibur’. Not original, I’ll admit, but somehow appropriate for the first word written by the pen.

Peter had been right; there was something sensual about writing by hand. Whether it was the magic or the fit of the pen, or simply me being a girl now, but my writing was so much neater than it had been.

“Wow,” I said. “So how long should it last on one fill?”

“Depends on a lot of things. Thickness of the nib, the pressure you use when writing, size of the reservoir, obviously. At a guess you’ll get maybe fifty pages out a one fill. Here.” She threw me the pot of ink, lid securely screwed in place.

I caught it. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I prefer a rollerball anyway. Fountain pens are so much hard work. If you don’t use them regularly, the ink dries up and they need cleaning. I doubt it’ll be a problem the amount you write. In fact, your problem’s going to be running out of ink. I bet you’ll be looking for a new bottle by the end of the week.”

“I’m guessing there’s somewhere in Marlborough that sells this stuff.”

“T G Jones will be able to sort you out. On the high street.”

“Thanks.”

“How old did you say it was, that pen?”

“I don’t know, just predates hallmarks.”

“Well, the first hallmark dates back to about thirteen hundred, so I doubt it’s that old,” Abbey said.

“It’s not,” Marie chipped in. “That method for filling the pen was invented in the early twentieth century.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that still works. Hallmarks only became compulsory in the nineteen seventies. Nineteen seventy-three, I think.” Abbey again. Fount of all knowledge when it came to jewellery.

“So that dates it between nineteen eleven and nineteen seventy-three. Does that sound about right”

I shrugged. Merlin had offered to make a gun of Excalibur, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that the technology was so up to date. I was glad of it though. I’m not sure how much use I’d have been inclined to make of it if I’d needed to dip the nib in an inkwell every other word.

One word on its own felt insufficient. I returned the nib to the page and continue to write.

‘...is yours to wield. A sword no longer it yet cleaves. Truth from lies and true intent from deceit. The pen's sheath will defend you from lies aimed at you.’

Well, that was new. None of those words had come from me, except maybe the first. Time to try again.

‘Merlin’ I began and continued unbidden, ‘lives no more, yet persists in spirit form. His one ambition is now, as it has ever been, to see Albion ruled by a fair and just hand. He remains cautious to a fault. Having been oft bitten in the past he remains shy of risk. Though his counsel remains of value, it is not reason enough in itself to shy away from boldness.’

And once more. ‘Nimue, is as reckless as Merlin is cautious. She also is of honourable intent, though her disregard for consequence is like to lead into unintended difficulty.’

This was heady stuff. I could write the name of anyone I knew and gain insight into their minds. Power to be abused. To write the name of one of my friends would be a betrayal of trust, I knew, and whatever I wrote afterwards would change how I would see them permanently. Either I would find reason not to trust them or be overwhelmed with guilt at not having done so.

There were a few people though.

‘Patrick Phillips.’ I’d learnt his first name just that afternoon. ‘...is a scholar above all else. His great passions are learning and teaching. Though he possesses little enough imagination, he has reason enough to suspect something changed with you today and his intent is to test you at your next encounter. There is little enough reason to hide your newfound capacity for language as he will convince himself of some mundane cause for your improvement, regardless of the evidence he finds. He will stretch even your present capacity and prepare you well for your future.’

And one last.

‘Quentin Girling...’

Queen's Gambit - Chapter 8 – Last one for now

© Copyright 2025 Maeryn Lamonte

Life settled into a routine after the Glastonbury visit. Lance and I spent a lot of time in each other’s company, which was pretty amazing. His dad still didn’t approve, and Lance still didn’t care which was a definite plus as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t really share with him what the pen had told me about his father, not without the awkward explanation of how I’d come by the knowledge, so that had to wait for some time in the future.

Now that he knew I was unlikely to be reckless with the knowledge, Merlin started teaching me about magic. Admittedly most of it was all the reasons I should avoid using it wherever possible, but it was useful information even so, as it gave me a basis for weighing necessity against cost. Meanwhile Nimue taught me all the things Merlin wouldn’t. I practiced a few very minor workings once I’d figured out what would be the consequences of casting and was gratified to find the overall cost close to my initial assessment.

In my next Latin lesson, Mr Phillips set me some A level questions to answer without telling me. I knew they were a lot harder than anything he’d put in front of me before then, but I also knew exactly how to answer them and, following Excalibur’s advice, I saw no reason to hide what I could do. There followed an uncomfortable interview with him and Mr Cavendish about why I would hide such a prodigious natural ability, which I fobbed off with some excuse about not wanting to show off, especially at a school like Marlborough.

Suitably dressed down, I was put on an advanced programme of study comparable to the sort of thing Peter had me doing with my writing, and I did actually end up working on some of the incomplete manuscripts Mr Phillips’ friend in Glastonbury had been reconstructing. Apparently university level work, and at a level where I was encouraged to discuss my results and justify them.

My Latin improved over and above the skills I'd inherited from Nimue, and oddly it helped me with the magic. Merlin and Nimue both tended to use the Old Tongue for casting their spells. This was the Briton language of their youth, a form of ancient Gaelic, but magic came more as a focussing of will than having any ties to a specific language. Once you got the hang of Latin's complex syntax, it allowed a degree of precision greater than just about any other language going. So much so that there were times I even caught them using elements of it in their own casting.

The pen became invaluable when writing essays in knowledge-based subjects like history or geography, although it did cause me some difficulty in history especially when the account Excalibur gave me contradicted the accepted version in the textbooks. Even when I included justification for my alternative versions and cited sources that supported my – or rather the pen's – version, Mr Lee was not impressed and complained to Mr Cavendish about my tendency to include fiction, as he called it, in my essays.

I dug a few additional books out of the college’s extensive library and showed where my point of view had come from, but my efforts did little to improve my standing with Mr Lee, and in the end Mr Cavendish asked me simply to limit my responses to what was in the IGCSE textbook.

One of the weirder things that happened was when Marie, Abbey, Elaine and I fell into sync with our time of the month, something that had its advantages and disadvantages. The worst was that we all ended up being stroppy cows around the same time every four weeks which was pretty hellish for anyone who knew us. The best was that, since we were all stroppy cows at about the same time, we were more sympathetic with one another and more inclined to give each other a bit of space. Maybe a bit tough on everyone else, but then that was their problem. I mean we had enough to deal with, right?

Sophie kept very much in the background. She was experienced with having clients who were still at school and knew not to bother them during term time. She liked what I’d written about my experiences, especially the idea of having both the real life and fantasy versions running side by side. She agreed with me that it needed to be drawn to a conclusion but told me not to stress about it while I was concentrating on my schoolwork. She loved my take on Merlin and Nimue’s tragic romance especially after I used Excalibur to write out the story from the notes I’d taken at Silbury Hill and had its input on the different events as well. She promised to send me a set of revisions as long as I promised only to work on them in my free time.

She also told me that my publisher had decided to launch Knight in White Satin ahead of the Christmas deadline and wanted to book me for a signing tour during the October half term. I referred them to Mum and Dad, saying I was okay with it, but they had final veto. As it happened, they were agreeable, but only if Mum could accompany me. Dad planned to take a few days off and join us for the latter part of it, so that was organised.

As the end of October approached, I visited a local dress shop and arranged for Mum and me to have some posh frocks made. More important for me as I would be the one in the public eye, but I wanted Mum to have some nice things too. So I sent her some photos to choose from and asked her to come down a few days early so she could have the adjustments made before we hit the road. We also visited a bespoke tailor in town and picked out a super posh suit for Dad. He wasn’t much into looking smart and Mum figured he'd be fine with anything we picked out for him, as long as he never found out how much it was going to cost. We wouldn't be able to sort his fittings until after the book tour when they dropped me back at school, so he wouldn’t look super smart for the book signings, but then it wasn’t intended for that.

The half term disappeared in a rush of travel between hotels and visits to bookshops where I’d sign copies of my first ever book and talk to my growing fan base. I also made short presentations at various literary events, feeling very much out of my depth in the presence of so many respected authors, but they were kind to me and very positive about my first effort, those that had bothered to read it anyway, which was a surprisingly large number of them. My insight into the transgender condition was astonishing, many of them said, which invited me to explain about my life before becoming a girl. The official version, at least, which raised a few eyebrows, but now that it was on public record was less likely to sneak out from under a rock and try and bite me in the gluteus maximus (see the Latin at work there) at some point in the future.

It was a relief to return to Marlborough. Dad protested the whole suit thing, arguing that it had to be way too expensive. I showed him a copy of my bank balance now that the royalties had started coming in and he relented, all be it very reluctantly.

“I’m the dad here,” he grumbled. “I’m supposed to be the one buying special gifts for you.”

“You can if you like,” I said “but what I really want from you is to be my dad, and you do that really well. You do a job that’s important even though you don’t get paid loads for doing it, and that teaches me more about values than if you were to keep buying me presents. I just happen to be lucky enough to be able to write stuff people want to read, so I get paid lots for not doing much...”

“I think you’re belittling your achievements there sweetheart. What you can do with words is so much more impressive than what I do.”

“Agree to differ, or at least to say maybe just about as impressive but in a totally different way.”

“And there you go with your words again. I can’t argue with that. Alright, you win.”

I didn’t want to win, but saying more would only have made him feel worse, so I let it go.

Soon enough they were heading back north, and I was settling into a new term with a less hectic lifestyle than the previous week.

I found time to work through the corrections Sophie wanted and ‘Merlin – A Magical Romance’ made it into the bookshops by Christmas. Merlin had something to say about it, but acknowledged that it was at least a truer account of his life than some of the highly imaginative rubbish that had been written about it.

End of term tests filled most of the last few weeks. I won’t say I aced them, but I did show improvement in most classes – not Mr Lee’s but then what do you expect? Lance, on the other hand, went up at least one grade in all subjects, which meant his dad had no grounds for pulling him out of Marlborough. Amazing what you can achieve with the right motivation.

End of term came. We had a Christmas ball, which gave me an opportunity to try out one of my new dresses. Lance came in a tuxedo which, knowing him, was owned rather than rented, but he did look astonishingly good in it. Dad’s new suit would have given it a run for its money, but not by much.

Then it was the weekend and school was over. Mum and Dad arrived on the Saturday morning and helped me pack up the balance of my things before we loaded up the car and headed into town for Dad’s last fitting and adjustment. It looked like it was going to take longer than just five minutes, so I excused myself and headed further into town, to Mr Hong’s

I’d spent a while in woodwork fashioning a small presentation box. It had taken longer than I’d anticipated, but it had turned out quite well with an inlaid sliding lid. Since it was so small, Mr Lambert had allowed me into his store of special woods, so here it was, a little smaller than the palm of my hand, fashioned from cedar with a little silver birch for the decoration.

Mr Hong’s face lit up at the sight of me. “You see something you like?” he asked.

“Actually,” I bowed respectfully, which caused him to turn serious and come out from behind the counter. “This is Christmas,” I said. “Our tradition to give gifts to special people. You have been very kind to me, Mr Hong, and I wish to offer you a gift to say thank you.” I bowed again and offered the wooden box.

“This for me?” he asked. “Very fine workmanship, very good wood.”

“It’s a box, Mr Hong. Please open it.”

He slid the lid open, and his eyes went almost as wide as his spectacles.

“No, no. This is too much.”

I touched the pendant at my neck. “This also was too much, but you said it is disrespectful to refuse a gift.”

He picked the golden coin from the box and showed it to me. “You know this? What it is?”

“A Roman Aureus.”

“Worth much. Worth very much.”

“And so is your friendship and kindness, Mr Hong. Happy Christmas.” I bowed and turned to leave.

“Wait, wait. I have gift for you also.”

Would this never end?

He returned with a necklace of subtly coloured diamonds and matching dangle earrings. I have to admit, I’d been captivated by it when I’d seen it in the window, but the price tag had been twelve thousand pounds, and I hadn’t seen my first royalties cheque back then.

“Oh no, please.”

“No, no. Is small in comparison.”

Merlin appeared at my elbow.

“Can you please just make him take my gift?”

“I could, but he would never be able to look you in the eyes again “

“What do you mean?”

“That Aureus is quite rare and in far better condition than any other surviving examples of its kind. I’d say it’s worth about three times the value of the necklace, even at Marlborough prices.”

I picked up the necklace and, when he offered, permitted him to put it on me. I did the earrings, then admired myself in the mirror.

“More like a queen every day.”

“Happy Christmas,” Mr Hong said smiling his mouth full of crooked teeth at me. “Happy, Happy Christmas.”

“How did you know he was a coin collector,” Merlin said as we walked back to Dad’s tailor, me grasping a velvet case with twelve thousand pounds worth of diamonds in it.

“Is he? I just thought he was in a good position to appreciate an ancient coin. Is it really worth more than thirty thousand pounds?”

“The coin market can be quite volatile, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I sincerely doubt he’ll sell it though, a prize like that. Do you regret giving it away now you know what it’s worth?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s in the hands of someone who can truly appreciate it, and a kinder and more deserving person I can’t imagine. I wouldn't have minded a little warning though."

"Now where would the fun have been in that?"

"I just wish I knew what I was going to do with this now.” I held up the case.

“I have a suggestion, if you’re open to my council.”

By early evening we were all done up to the nines, Mum and I sporting very professional updos with makeup to match and heading for Oxford. Mum, in particular, looked spectacular with the diamonds about her neck.

We arrived at the Old Parsonage shortly after seven. That made us unfashionably not late, but it couldn’t be helped. We parked up, then Dad carried our overnight bags to the front entrance.

Where Quentin stood ready to greet everyone. His face turned rigid at sight of us in our finery, which in itself made it worth the several thousand pounds it had cost me to turn us out as well as we looked. Plus, the unexpected bonus of Mum’s jewellery. She’d made some comment about feeling like mutton dressed up as lamb, but she never spoke so much rubbish.

In terms of sheer monetary value, she was probably worth twice as much as any woman there, but where she really shone was in her elegance and poise, which set her so far apart from every other women present as to put her in a different species.

I settled for my usual aquamarines, which Mum had argued against strenuously, saying that I should be wearing the diamonds, but I insisted that we wouldn’t achieve the desired outcome if I outshone my parents.

We made a point between us of ignoring the bilious looks our hosts were directing our way and the looks of outraged jealousy on the faces of every other woman present, and maintained the appearance of people who belonged in a crowd like this. We’d had time enough to practice belonging to the elite on the week long book tour, but the way Mum was rocking it suggested she’d been putting in a little extra time in front of a mirror somewhere, because she quite spectacularly owned the room.

Dad was his usual affable self, which meant he let the snide comments drift by uncontested and spoke in a friendly and disarming manner with anyone who'd respond to his attempts at conversation. The men tended to be more straightforward, being more inclined to befriend someone who appeared to fit within their strata of society, and Dad in his suit certainly fit right in. The women were a little more complex, however, and weren’t so inclined to accept Mum and me sine we hadn’t been invited into their clique. Francesca Girling had been careful to ensure that didn’t happen, so we were stuck somewhat on the outside of impolite society, pretending to be a part of it.

Mum was a master at dealing with such people though. In the same manner she’d used with Lance’s mum at the country club, she succeeded in showing up the ugly side of every woman present without being in the least unpleasant herself. She remained cheerful and immune to their pathetic attempts at insulting us and stood by me as we demonstrated through our actions exactly how well-mannered guests should behave.

Then part way into the evening I picked up on one of the things Lance had warned us to expect. His dad was introducing mine to one well-heeled, well-connected individual after another. Politicians, musical composers, high court judges, poets, company executives, if there was a single person present who was not a member of the pretentious over-privileged elite, they remained clear of what Quentin was doing, possibly because they'd been on the receiving end at some stage. The cracks were beginning to show around the corners of Dad's composure as it became progressively more obvious that, despite appearances, he was the only person present who didn’t fit in. I edged into hearing rang just as Quentin dropped his grenade.

“So, I don't recall you telling what it was that you did,” he said.

Dad looked on the verge of floundering, so I stepped in.

“He ensures all the computer equipment in one of the largest hospitals in Yorkshire keeps working,” I said with a cheerful smile, taking Dad's arm and looking up at him with unabashed love and admiration. “That is to say, without my father’s input, thousands of patient records wouldn't be available to the doctors who need them, their confidentiality – and you must be aware of the number of hospitals in the UK that have been victims of cyber-attacks in recent years – would be at risk, and a lot of high tech, computer operated treatment and scanning machinery just wouldn’t work. It’s a little bit behind the scenes, and my dad does like to play the unsung hero, but he actually does something of significance in our part of the world. Unlike me, I’m afraid. Gwendolyn Llewellyn,” I held my hand out to the poet standing to Mr Girling’s left. “I have a couple of books in the best-seller list at present, but that doesn’t count for much against someone whose daily efforts help keep people alive and safe, wouldn’t you agree?”

The poet – I forget his name, but then I’d like to forget his poetry too – took my hand and bowed over it, stammering.

Our host turned a particularly dangerous shade of purple as I carried the conversation away from the treacherous waters of who does what and into the relatively safe harbour of politics. Given that several of the guests were prominent backbenchers doing their best to become more of the former and lass of the latter, the subject was welcomed and started picking up a healthy head of steam when Quentin interjected.

“Did you know that Gwen here used to be a boy?”

He said it loud enough that every conversation fell silent and every head turned our way. Dad’s face was very suddenly livid, and I had to hang on to his arm to prevent him from acting on what was becoming a very strong impulse.

“Judge Prendergast,” I addressed one of the men I’d heard Lance’s dad introduce to mine. “Sorry to do this during the holidays, but I don’t know much about the law. Does that sound a little like slander to you?”

“It depends on whether our host can uphold his claim,” the judge said, apparently inclined to favour his friend, although not at the expense of his professional standards.

I turned to Quentin Girling and arched an eyebrow. “Well sir? Can you?” My next bit was going to require a fair bit of finesse, assuming he wasn’t going to make things easy for me, and I doubted he was. He was too good a lawyer for that.

He ground his teeth at me and said nothing for a short while, then, “Tell me your name is not Gavin Llewellyn.”

“Alright. My name is not Gavin Llewellyn.” That had been sorted out when Dad’s doctor friend had reordered my affairs, declaring my gender misidentified at birth.

“You’re lying.”

“Actually, she’s not,” Dad said. I was already fishing in my bag for my phone. It took a moment to find the copy of my reissued birth certificate with my current name and correct gender on it. I showed it to the judge who nodded and shrugged. I also showed it to Quentin but didn’t trust him enough to let him take the phone from me.

“So why did your application to the school’s creative writing course name you as Gavin Llewellyn?”

“You mean my application in the school’s confidential records?”

“Answer the question you little pissant.”

I tightened my grip on Dad’s arm as I felt his muscles bulge.

“I don’t believe I have to, sir. I mean you’d be understandably upset if I were to share with your friends here how many times your son has nearly been expelled from Marlborough College, because that’s part of his confidential record and could be embarrassing to you or him if it made it out to the general public how much money you’ve spent keeping him in school.”

I’d warned Lance that things might turn ugly at the party – actually he'd warned me first – and asked him beforehand if he minded me bringing up his past transgressions. He’d still been pissed off enough with his old man that he’d readily agreed. The guests looked over to where Lance was standing with his mother.

“Six,” he said, “and about three hundred thousand pounds, isn’t that about right Dad?”

“That’s the thing about confidential records, Mr Girling, they’re kept confidential for the benefit of the person in question and his or her family, because they may embarrass someone if they get out. That’s why the law frowns upon people paying bribes to look at things that aren’t their business.”

“You little shit. Only someone with a guilty conscience would still try to hide behind regulations.”

“At the time when I came to Marlborough, there was some confusion over my gender. It was resolved when I was given a medical examination after my time visiting the school. The tests that were performed on me not only showed my hormone levels to be typical of a young girl, but that my genes include XX chromosomes, proving that I am and always have been female. This information is a part of my medical record which, incidentally, is also confidential. I'm sharing it freely here in an effort to resolve this matter amicably.”

This is where I needed to choose my words very carefully.

“The thing is, I don’t believe you want to settle this amicably, do you sir? I know that shortly after Lance told you about me that the college trustees received a strongly worded protest from, as it was reported to me off the record, ‘a parent of high standing and a generous donor to the school.’”

“A lot of parents of Marlborough students fit that description. Several of them are here tonight.”

“That’s true, though I have to wonder how many of them are homophobic enough to send in a letter which, I’m told, stated that Marlborough didn’t want students of my sort.”

"You appear to be implying that I am. Besides, a comment of that sort could mean anything.”

“Not quite anything, Mr Girling. At the time you were the only person outside of the faculty who knew anything about me, and at that time, even with unauthorised access to my records, the sum total of that information stated that I came from a middle class background, I was significantly gifted and talented – sorry, those are Mr Cavendish’s words, not ones I would choose – in creative writing, and that there was this question mark over my gender. At the time Mr Cavendish offered me the scholarship, he believed me to be transgendered, and I understand his offer was at least in part an affirmation of the school’s policy of inclusivity.

“I’m not going to press the point, but from my perspective it seems the letter writer’s objection could only be either on the grounds of class – and I believe there are a number of middle and lower class students at Marlborough who's presence hasn't raised any objections, although I suppose there might be some worry that a lowly tramp such as myself might show up the other students – or gender. I don’t know about you, but my money’s on the gender thing.

“Because I don’t believe it’s the first time this sort of thing has happened, is it Mr Girling? There have been five applications to Marlborough in the past three years that have been more successfully blackballed by an anonymous letter to the trustees.”

“The slander accusation works both ways, you know. Go ahead and accuse me of writing those, but be ready to prove it. If you can't do it here, I'll happily ask you to do so in court.”

“I didn’t come here to accuse anyone of anything, sir. I only raised this unpleasantness because it related directly to the accusation you made against me which, incidentally, you haven't withdrawn despite my having shown you proof of it being false.

"I’ve been prepared to overlook what appears to be a series of calculated slights both you and Mrs Girling have made against me family and me...”

"My family and I. I thought you were supposed to be gifted and talented."

I looked at Quentin's poet friend and raised an eyebrow. He coughed in embarrassment but said nothing. We both knew he would have if I'd been in the wrong.

Mr Girling glowered at him. “What appearance of slights?” he snarled at me.

"Why don't we ask your guests?" I asked. "Ladies, when each of you was invited to this gathering for the first time, were you introduced to the rest by your host or hostess?" The shuffling of high heels and lack of eye contact suggested I was on the money. "Since my mother and I were not introduced to you – incidentally, Mr Girling, in case you're wondering, you use the same personal pronoun in a sentence regardless of whether it stands alone or is linked with other people." I turned back to the women. " Since my mother and I were not introduced to you, did that leave you uncertain whether or not we were to be included in your little clique, or was it a direct signal that we should be excluded?" Apart from a few affronted looks at my temerity in challenging them, they made no attempt to respond.

"Gentlemen," I turned to Quentine's guests. "Is it normal for your host to attempt to ridicule one of his guests by showing them up as significantly less important than anyone else present?" Once again, there followed a great deal of interest shown in anything other than the issue I was attempting to raise.

"Those are the apparent slights, Mr Girling. We accepted your invitation to this event in good faith, and we came prepared to fit in as well as we could despite none of us being used to this sort of party. Despite our efforts, it seems that you were actually disappointed that that we didn’t turn up in our rustic homespun, and then when it seemed we were holding our own in your environment, you made this last-ditch attempt to embarrass us further – me in particular. Tell me I'm wrong.”

“What, do you want? An apology?”

“I think that would be in keeping with the spirit of the season, yes.”

“I have no intention of apologising to the likes of you.”

“And by the likes of me I take it you mean a precociously talented young girl who already has two books on the bestseller list.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do I? Would it have anything to do with that accusation you levelled at me around the time this became truly acrimonious? Incidentally, despite my having refuted your words, I haven't had your retraction."

“No, and you won’t either.”

"You don't leave me a great deal of choice, sir. You obviously won't back down, and you seem to me to be the sort who will just continue to escalate matters until something gives, unless I push back at least as hard."

"What do you think you can do, you snivelling little wretch?"

“Oh, this.” I fished a sheet of paper out of my handbag. “Lance, I'm sorry about this. I'll explain it to you as best I can, when I can. Judge Prendergast, would you look at this sheet of paper. I believe this is a list of case file references.”

“They appear to be, yes. Where did you come by these?”

“Suffice to say legally. Marlborough college has access to court transcripts that have been made available to the public. These are all cases in which Mr Girling was prosecuting, and the defendants were part of the LGBTQ community.”

“What of it?”

“May I request you read through the transcript of Mr Girling’s last cross examination in each case and cross reference it to the defendant's personal information as made available to all parties. I don't have access to that information so I cannot verify it myself, but Mr G does make use of some uncommon turns of phrase, and in each case the defendant changed his or her plea immediately afterwards.

The cases don’t appear to be in any order, but these ones at the top are most likely to show something I imagine will concern you. If you work your way down, I think you’ll find a disturbing pattern.

“Mr and Mrs Girling, I would like to say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t. Mum, Dad, I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. Lance, once again I’m sorry.”

We walked out, pursued by the sound of Quentin calling after his son.

“Are either of us alright to drive?” Dad asked

“It’s alright love,” Mum answered. “Gwen suggested I keep off the booze, which was a real shame, that champagne was bloody lovely.

“Go get our things, I’ll fetch the car. You, young lady, might want to offer your young man something of an explanation.”

I glanced back to see Lance ducking back to the room we’d just come from. I did owe him an explanation, so I waited.

Lance reappeared with a couple of bottles of the champagne Mum had missed out on.

“We can’t,” I said.

“After the way my parents treated you tonight, yes you bloody can. If we go short, tough shit.”

“On behalf of my parents, I thank you.”

“Would you mind telling me what that was about back there?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m sorry to do this to you, Lance, but your family’s got a bit of a shit storm coming. Your dad's been doing something seriously illegal.”

“Yeah? Vague much?”

“You know your dad's a serious homophobe?”

“I got that when he thought I was dating a boy in a skirt. I didn’t know it was him who blackballed those others though.”

“Yeah, I actually don’t have any proof of that either.”

“You seemed pretty sure about it”

"I have a source I trust, but not one I can really talk about.”

“Oh. I suppose okay. What about those case numbers?”

"Same source. Again I trust it, but I can't verify. I don’t know all the details, just that your dad's ‘brilliant’” – finger quotes. Sorry – “cross examinations were nothing of the sort.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll text you the case numbers. The transcripts of the cross examinations are available through the school law library, so you shouldn’t have any more trouble accessing them than I did. They don’t have anything particularly clever in them, no big reveals, no reason so far as I can see why the defendants would change their, but in every case they did just that the very next day.”

“Why?”

“Great question. Sensitive and personal information has been redacted from files, so all I’ve got to go on is supposition, but have a look at the transcripts and ask yourself if there’s something hinky about your dad’s choice of words.”

“Hinky. That’s a technical legal term is it?

“You know it is.”

“What do you think he’s been doing?”

“I think he's been slipping sensitive information into his cross examinations so that it appears in the transcripts. I can't prove anything, but I'm hoping it will be clear enough for the judge to see when he reviews all the information. It's got to be bad enough to scare the defendants into giving up. I have some ideas, but I'd rather not say for sure, If it’s what I think, there's a good chance your dad may lose his license.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry. If it’s any consolation, it will probably mean a bunch of extremely vulnerable people will have their convictions either overturned or at the very least retried. Hopefully fairly this time.”

“If that happens, I may not be coming back to Marlborough. Fancy school fees will be among the first of the cutbacks, especially if it has the bonus of keeping me away from you.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“You’re not suggesting paying my fees again, are you? Cos...”

“Have I shown you my bank balance recently?” I showed him my phone.

“Fu... la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la. Will you marry me?”

“Please don’t joke about something like that, especially when it comes to money. For now, just know I can afford it and I won’t even miss it, so yes, the school is about to receive a series of anonymous donations which will only be forthcoming if you complete your schooling at Marlborough. Your parents will be hard pressed to turn it down, especially if I make it seem like it's one of your dad's friends doing it as a show of solidarity. Actually, do the upper classes do solidarity?”

“What? Why wouldn't they?”

“History. Solidarity was a Polish anti-communist trade union from fifty odd years ago. It doesn’t sound like anything your dad and his cronies would want to associate with.

“Anyway,” Dad had reappeared in the lobby, “I should go and you should spend a few more hours with your parents before your lives implode. I’d wish you a Merry Christmas but seems a little unlikely at this point.”

“Yeah, well if you're going, I’d best give you your Christmas present now.” He handed me a wrapped box, size and shape indicating a jewellery shop. “I didn’t touch the money in the account for this. Mr Markham needed help around the grounds and let me do it for what he usually gives the local kids.”

“Lance!”

“I didn’t skip class or anything. Mr Lyons let me off a few practices so I could do the work. He reckoned it would be a pretty good workout for me anyway. Go on, open it.”

I did. The necklace was so fine as to be almost invisible and the pendant, in white gold with ruby eyes, was of a dragon scarily similar to Kilgharrah.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“You like it?”

Male egos. I barely remembered what having one was like. Maybe I never had one.

“It’s my new favourite thing,” I said, meaning it. “Yours is... well, it’s in the bike shed at school. I figured it was the safest place for it over the holidays, and it gets to keep Pegasus company until we get back. I did take a picture though.”

Dad handed me a different small box. Inside was a key and a photo of the bike.

“Is that a custom paint job? What does it say?”

“Chrysaor. Pegasus’ brother. Son of Poseidon and Medusa. Look, you can see the snake head here.”

“You are such a geek.”

“Isn't the word you're looking for Greek? And no I’m not. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back to the shop and get them to sandblast it.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s perfect.”

Things were about to get mushy. Dad noticed.

“I’ll be in the car with your mum,” he said. “Try to keep it under half an hour. We’ve a long journey home.”

Have I mentioned how good a kisser Lance is? We were done in five minutes though. Well, okay, ten, but it was a fantastic ten minutes.

Mum and Dad knew when to keep quiet. They left me to my thoughts and feelings. Mainly the latter, which was mainly the warm fuzzy Lance had left me with.

Christmas was unusually normal. Just the three of us, moderate sized tree and a few sensibly priced presents. We’re not great on turkey, so splurged on what we do like, which is nice piece of roast sirloin. Aberdeen Angus for preference. The Scots really knows how to make cows that taste good.

I fired off regular texts to Lance, who responded when he could. We managed a few quiet words on Christmas Day and Boxing Day, but Christmas in his household was not the close and cuddlesome affair I was enjoying.

“Next year you’re spending Christmas with us, if you can bear to slum it with us working folks.”

“Done, and you can’t back out of it now. I’m hassling the ‘rents to take me back early this year. They’re teacher training for the first few days, but we’re allowed to move in early if we turn up the weekend before. Any chance you can come do the same?”

“I’ll talk to Mum and Dad. They don’t see much of me these days, so I hate to take any time away from them. Maybe I can persuade them to come down for a few days.”

“That would be good. I can’t tell you how much I miss you.”

After that we sweet nothinged until Lance's rampaging father became increasingly loud in the background. I’d been checking the news feeds for any story of scandal in the courts. The angry voice from the other end suggested there might be something to find now.

With Lance gone to face whatever doom awaited him, I put my phone to its secondary use and hunted the interweb for signs of the story.

It didn’t take long.

‘Oxford Barrister Loses Law Licence Over LGBTQ Scandal.’

Reporters do like their alliteration. Shame it couldn’t have been solicitor to go with the scandal, but barristers are the ones who argue cases in court.

The story told how Quentin Girling had hinted in his cross examinations at information relating to the identities and locations of the defendants’ friends and relatives. Once it was in the transcript, it would be in the public record and available to trans and homophobic hate groups. The defendants had been left with little choice but to give up.

The patterns were subtle. If only one or two cases had shown them, they could have been ignored as coincidence, and even with a couple of dozen spread out over several years, they remained well camouflaged. It was only when all the cases were brought together that the conspiracy became evident.

He’d argued against it at first, vehemently and convincingly, but as the evidence mounted, as comparisons were made with other cases that did not involve members of the rainbow world where there was nothing to correlate, it was only then that he surrendered to the inevitable and gave a passionate if somewhat extreme right wing rant about decent society’s responsibility to stand against the erosion of family standards.

He was summarily disbarred. After all, the modern legal profession had been responsible for enacting into law the decriminalisation of homosexuality, laws preventing discrimination against LGBTQ individuals, equality laws relating to LGBTQ, etc, etc.

This was all what Excalibur had revealed to me, the extent of Quentin’s homophobic and trans phobic feelings, quite possibly fuelled by his parents saddling him with such a name. For goodness sake, even his wife’s name was more masculine. It had shown me the extent to which he had been prepared to circumvent the law in order to advance his own prejudicial agenda.

It had felt unfair to ambush Lance with his father’s misconduct, especially given the extent of the consequences now that it had been brought into the light, but there had been no way of telling him ahead of time without having some awkward conversations about where the knowledge had come from.

‘My pen is actually the a reincarnation of Excalibur and it’s able to speak the truth about anyone or anything I ask it. I reclaimed it from beneath Glastonbury Tor where Arthur’s remains lie between the forelegs of the sleeping dragon Kilgharrah. The way beneath the hill was shown to me by Nimue’s spirit who placed the sword there after Bedeviere returned it to her. Yes Nimue’s remains rest under Silbury Hill in the same way that Merlin’s are under Marlborough mound. The mounds are all ancient resting places of Britain’s dragons. They can’t die, so they were cast into slumber and buried, then the magic of dragons was used to preserve the spirits of significant people such as Merlin and Nimue and, who knows, maybe even Arthur himself...’

You can see how that wouldn’t be the easiest pitch to sell without supporting evidence. Now that I’d done the impossible and pointed the authorities in the direction of evidence I had no access to and even those who knew what they were doing had been unable to find, I was in a stronger position to be able to explain it using impossible ideas.

It was still going to be an interesting conversation.

My phone made a noise. Text from Lance. ‘Help!’

I wrote back, ‘Can you talk?’

‘Sure.’

I dialled his number. It barely rang once.

“Dad gave me an ultimatum,” he said. “My way or the highway sort of thing.”

Shit. “Do what’s best for you, love.”

“I am; I’m packing. I need somewhere to stay.”

“We have a spare room. I doubt it’s as posh as you’re used to.”

“Better than spending the night in a ditch. You sure your parents won’t mind?”

“If the alternative is you spending the night in a ditch, they’ll insist. Do you need me to sort out your train ticket?”

“No, I’m on it, only...”

“Only what?”

“Most of them are two changes. I wouldn’t get to you till ten or eleven.”

“Try Doncaster, Sheffield or Leeds. It’s a bit of a drive, but we could pick you up.”

“Doncaster looks best. I could be there by just after eight.”

“Great. That’s about an hour from here...”

“That’s too far.”

“No. We’ll grab a bite in Doncaster then bring you back here. Let us know when you’re on the train to Doncaster and when you expect to get here.”

“You sure this is alright?”

“Positive. Travel safe. Call if you need to talk.”

I headed downstairs and explained the situation to Mum and Dad who immediately kicked into action. Dad went to top his car up, Mum adjusted her cooking to make sure we had enough for one extra hungry teenager – more or less back to the way things had been six months ago since I no longer qualified – and I set about tidying the spare room and making up the bed.

Lance called through shortly after six to say he was on the train to Doncaster and expecting to arrive around quarter past eight.

“Are you sure this is alright?” he asked, “’cos I can get a taxi.”

“Don’t be prat. Dad’s already topped up the car. We’ll be there waiting for you when you arrive.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Too late. Now shut up and let us look after you. Do you want to talk about your Dad?”

“I think I’d rather shut up.”

“Yeah, okay. Look, I know this is my fault.”

“Yeah? How are you responsible for my dad breaking the law before you even met him?”

“No, I mean this would never have been a problem if I hadn’t...”

“Don’t go there. Dad put a lot of innocent people in jail. Thanks to you most of them are out again. If I thought my dad was right and you were wrong, I wouldn’t be coming to you now.”

“I hate that I’m coming between you.”

“I don’t. If not for you I’d be well on my way to being just like him. You can’t begin to understand how much that makes me shudder now.”

“Well, you’re as not like him as it’s possible to be.”

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to be good at English.”

“Not so much when I’m crying.”

“Hey, why are you crying?”

“Because... Shit, I don’t know. Because I love you, I suppose.”

“You suppose? I left my ancestral home for you and you suppose!”

“I want to say it to your face. I hate that you’re miles away and on your own.”

“I’m not on my own. There’s a drunk guy a couple of seats down and some arsehole who thinks the only way to use a mobile phone is to shout into it.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Well, maybe now that Jenna Ortega just walked into my compartment.”

“Would you like me to dress up like Wednesday Addams for you?”

“Actually, I’d prefer you as Enid Sinclair. That mess of colours in the hair is kind of hot.”

“I’ll have to see what I can do. Tell Jenna hi from me.”

“You know she’s not really here, don’t you?”

“Awe, and you had me going for a minute there.”

“I love you, you know.”

“It helps that you tell me from time to time. I love you too. No suppose.”

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“Get here and I’ll give you something else you need.”

“Now there’s a promise I intend to hold you to, except I don’t want to upset your parents.”

“You won’t, because I don’t intend to give you anything they’re likely to object to.”

I finished tidying the room. It looked neat enough, but it was missing something. I found some temporary hair colour and combed in a few pink and blue highlights, then took a selfie and printed it out. It folded down to fit into a spare picture frame and finished off Lance’s room perfectly.

Mum was in the kitchen, putting a second lasagne dish into the oven.

“What did you do to your hair?” she asked.

“Nothing that won’t wash out tomorrow. Kind of a thing for Lance.”

“It looks cute.”

Mum-speak for I don’t really like it. I mean, it’s more in the way she says it than in what she says.

“It’s okay Mum, It’ll be gone by tomorrow. If you really don’t like it, I can wash it out now.”

“No, really, it’s okay.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and ran upstairs.

Five minutes under the shower and forty five under the hairdryer, plus a change of clothing because why not. I mean I wanted to look good for Lance.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mum said.

“I know, but you’re glad I did., right?”

“Well... yes, alright. Thank you. For listening to my... whatever.

“Anyway, you and your dad don’t need to leave for another thirty minutes, so we can eat now, then you can take the other lasagne for Lance. If we put it in the thermal bag it should still be reasonably hot when...”

“Can I have mine with Lance? I mean I’m not really hungry...”

“You’re never really hungry. It bothers me.”

“You’d rather I turned into a blimp?”

“I’d rather you didn’t go the other way.”

“Mum, healthy weight for someone my age and height is between fifty and sixty-five kilos. I’m fifty-two.”

Mum gave Dad an exasperated look and he promptly didn’t help.

“What’s that in real money, sweetheart? Mum and I are old enough that we don’t do metric.”

“Eight to ten stone and I’m eight stone two. Inside the range.”

“Only just,” Mum protested.

“Inside is inside. I’m not skinny; I’m... happy with myself. Don’t push it. If I drop below seven and a half stone, then you have permission to get stroppy with me.

“Mum, I intend to eat, I just... Didn’t you say once it was rude to make someone eat alone? You and Dad can eat. I just want to have mine with Lance.”

“And I think she wins again, sweetie.”

“You’re not helping, Derrick.”

“By which you mean I’m not agreeing with you, and I that wasn’t part of our contract.”

“It is if you want any of my lasagne.”

“Which will mean you get to eat alone, Mum, and I’ll just have to share my lasagne with Dad, so I won’t be eating anywhere near as much.”

“See what I mean?” Dad really wasn’t helping.

“I hate it when you use logic,” Mum grumbled and served up a couple of plates for her and Dad.

I spent the time hunting for more news about Lance’s dad. There were a few more sites carrying the story, but none of them had anything else to say.

I waited for them to finish then took the second lasagne from where it had been warming in the oven and transferred it to our thermal bag.

I should say at this point that Mum does cook other things than lasagne, just that it’s a favourite of everyone’s, so it tends to come up quite a lot.

“So,” Dad kicked off the conversation as soon as we were off the driveway, “tell me what’s going on with your boyfriend.”

“There’s not that much to tell,” I answered a little lamely.

“Says my word Smith daughter who’s written two bestsellers in the last six months. I think you can do better than that.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Try the beginning. I mean, I have a few ideas, I think, but we’ve a longish car journey ahead of us.”

“Promise not to drive us off the road?”

He snorted at me then just sat there waiting for me to start.

“Okay, so you know how you reacted when I first told you about Lance.”

“Mhm?” He was definitely working on keeping his cool.

“Kind of mild compared to Mr G when he heard that his son’s new girlfriend wasn’t actually a girl.

“He’s been doing his best since then to split us up, starting off with working on Lance.”

“What do you mean?”

“He spent the last few weeks of the summer holidays clearing out the garage and the attic and other stuff like that.

“Then he tried to blackball my admittance to Marlborough with the trustees.”

“He what!?”

“Drive, Dad, or I’m going to shut up.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“I mean it. He did worse, so if you can’t handle it...”

“I’ll handle it.”

Yeah right. Gritted teeth say otherwise.

“Spoiler alert, nothing that he tried worked, and I came out on top in the end.”

“Yes, about that...”

“We’ll get there. Long drive, remember?

“Apparently he’s done it with a few other students who were openly gay or something, but Mr Cavendish had his reasons for wanting me, so he overruled him.

“I went to meet Lance when he arrived back at school and his dad was just so rude. I mean, he was probably still smarting from the one-upping Mum gave Mrs G when we met them a week or so earlier.”

“Your mum told me about that. I wish I’d been a fly on the wall.”

“Yeah, well his next effort was to persuade most of my teachers to give me such a workload in my first week that I’d give up and run home in tears.”

“You didn’t tell us about that.”

“No, because Peter – Ambrose, you remember? – figured out what was going on and told Mr C...”

“Mr C?”

“Mr Cavendish. Keep up Dad. Yeah, and he called all the teachers in and tore them a new one.

“I don’t know that he did anything else. I mean he had to be careful with the school because Mr C kind of barred him from coming in unsupervised for a while, but I had a feeling about that Christmas invitation of his. Mum did too, but it would have been rude not to go. All I could do was make sure we didn’t go unprepared.”

“Is that what the suit was about? And those new dresses for your mum?”

“Can’t I buy nice things for the special people in my life? Alright, yes it was. I didn’t want you to be humiliated.”

“It would have been pretty rough going. I mean... well yeah. Remind me to listen to you in future, okay. You handled yourself so well in there, I can’t imagine being more proud.

“I still don’t get what that whole thing at the end was though. I know you’ve asked us not to pry about it, but I can’t help thinking it’s part of this.”

“That would be because it is, Dad.” How to explain this. “I mean, you don’t go into the enemy’s camp without some plan for dealing with the inevitable ambush, do you?

“I gave him every option to apologise and back down, but I couldn’t let him get away with his shit.”

“You don’t have to swear, love. I can understand your wanting to, but it doesn’t do anything for you.”

“Sorry Dad. So, he’s the sort of person who only understands strength. He likes to bully people, and if we’d just walked out, we’d have maybe escaped with our dignity, but he wouldn’t have stopped being... as unpleasant.”

Dad smiled. “So what was that thing with the piece of paper?”

“I did some research on him, Dad. He’s had a number of trials in the past few years where he’s been going after people like me, and suddenly they change their pleas to guilty without any warning or reason.

“The transcripts for those cases are in the public domain and Marlborough has a pretty decent law section in the library. I kind of read through his cross examination just before the change of plea and there was something slightly off with the way he spoke; words that didn’t quite fit.

“I figured he might be trying to get a message across that only the guy in the dock would understand, so I dug a bit deeper, made a few phone calls, upset some people unnecessarily...”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr Girling has been slipping hints about where the defendant’s family and loved ones were staying into his cross examinations. The court transcripts for these kinds of trials are in the public domain, not that anyone would usually want to look them up, but if some right wing hate group knew to look and what to look for, they’d be able to go looking for them.”

“That’s heinous.”

“Yeah, and illegal and unethical. So my parting shot was to hand evidence of Mr G’s wrongdoing over to his judge friend.

“It came on the news a short while ago, about the time Lance sent up his distress call, that Mr G’s been disbarred. I think he reacted rather badly, and I may have put Lance in the position of having to choose between me and his arsehole dad. Sorry, language.”

“You figured this out all on your own?”

“I may have had a little help.”

“From whom?”

“I’m not involving anyone else, Dad. Not even with you.”

“Fair enough. Would it be someone with strong feelings about homophobes and...”

“Please Dad, stop fishing.”

“Alright. What is it Lance needs from us?”

“Somewhere to stay, probably until we’re back at school.”

“What if his parents come after him? I mean he is a minor and his dad’s a lawyer.”

“Was a lawyer.”

“He still knows the law, which is more than I do.”

“Can we get some advice?”

“Any other time of the year I think we could, but between Christmas and New Year?”

“Domestic crises happen any time of the year. There has to be some sort of social services we can talk to.”

“I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow.”

“Thanks Dad.”

“So, Latin eh? Where did that come from?”

I smiled. “I don’t know. It’s complicated but logical. It just sort of clicked.”

Crisis averted and no need to mention dragons or magic swords or anything.

We made it to Doncaster with ten minutes to spare. Dad dropped me off at the main entrance and drove around in a wide circle while I texted Lance to let him know we we’d arrived. His train arrived on time, or only a couple of minutes late, which was a minor miracle in itself.

He came through the ticket barrier with a sports bag over his shoulder and not a lot else.

“Travelling light?” I asked, as much to draw his attention to me as anything, then we gave the next two minutes over to saying hi properly.

“We’d better go find Dad. He’s probably on his fourth orbit by now.”

Fifth as it happens, but he was cool about it, and about me climbing in the back with Lance. I mean we had dinner – I mean tea – to share didn’t we? He left us to it other than insisting Lance should call his mother to let her know where he was and that he was okay.

She didn’t seem that bothered if the Lance’s side of the conversation was anything to go by, but like Dad says, we do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. Not for the praise we might get.

Lance managed to get sauce down his front, which gave me an opportunity to tut at him, especially when it turned out he hadn’t brought a spare sweatshirt. I couldn’t really take the high ground though. When I’d been a guy, I’d ended most meals wearing some of it down my front, and I hadn’t exactly been that well equipped the first time I’d gone to Marlborough.

With the meal over, I rearranged my seatbelt enough to snuggle into Lance’s side. He didn’t object and, judging by his lack of reaction, neither did Dad. I settled against his chest and let the strong, steady beat of his heart ease me into a doze.

It did mean I left Lance at my dad’s mercy, and he spent the return trip giving him the fourth degree – or is it the second degree? Whichever one would be less severe than the third degree anyway. I mean my dad’s always been a bit of a softy.

I woke to the sensation of our car pulling up into our driveway and sat up to the realisation that I had drooled significantly in my sleep.

“So that’s not at all embarrassing,” I chastised myself.

“It’s all good,” Lance said, suppressing a smile. “I think the enzymes in your saliva have started breaking down the tomato stains I put there earlier.”

Except saliva breaks down carbohydrates and there aren’t any in tomato. Hey! Where did that come from? I’m rubbish at science.

Mum wasn’t so easy going. She insisted that Lance take his sweatshirt off at once so she could attack it with some Vanish before putting it in the wash.

Which meant Lance had to somewhat sheepishly admit to not having brought anything else with him.

I had a rummage through my wardrobe. All my Gavin things had long since gone to the charity shop – not that they would have fit him anyway – but I did have a couple of massively oversized sweatshirts, you know for that ‘off the shoulder, accidentally on purpose showing a bit of bra strap’ look. One was white with a bunch of flowers on it and the other had a picture of Snoopy and Woodstock with some nauseatingly cute caption underneath. I gave him the choice and he went for Snoopy.

It still only just fit him.

I showed him the bathroom and his room where he went straight to the picture.

“When did you take this?” he asked.

“Earlier today, before we came to fetch you.”

“You should have kept the colour.”

“I thought about it but decided to wash it instead.”

“It did smell good in the car. I had to keep my legs crossed the whole time.”

“What do you... Oh God!” I blushed furiously. Mine had never done anything like that to me, but there had been enough lads at school who’d suffered attacks of swollen trousers. It did the weirdest thing to me to think I’d actually been the cause of one. “Good night Lance. Breakfast will be whenever you wake up, but it’d be good if you could make it sometime in the morning.

“No problem.” He carefully pulled off the sweatshirt. “Can I hang onto this?”

“Sure. I mean I’m not sure it does much for your manly image, but at least until Mum washes yours and/or we get you something more.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that it smells of you.”

That kind of melted bits of me. I pulled him to the doorway – he was just in reach – and kissed him.

“Gwen, remember what we said,” Mum’s voice from downstairs. Honestly, she must have some seriously cutting edge parental radar.

“Public spaces only, I know. Door’s open and I’m not in his room.”

Lance got an extra kiss for that, but he was fading around the edges, so I left him to get some sleep.

He was up and about by nine the next morning, which was a couple of hours after the rest of us, but I suppose we didn’t have quite the day he had.

Mum called in a favour with a friend who ran the local charity shop. They’d been planning to stay closed between Christmas and New Year, but after Mum explained Lance’s predicament, she snuck us in the back and let us have a quiet browse through the stock, including stuff that hadn’t gone on display yet. We pretty much tripled the size of Lance’s wardrobe plus I found a pair of jeans that looked fantastic on me.

I paid Mum’s friend twice what came up on the cash register and told her the extra was a thank you which she could count as a donation if she really wanted to.

Lance and I spent the following days wandering the neighbourhood. I showed him my old stamping ground – playgrounds I’d played in, the school I’d attended before Marlborough, the parks where I’d gone for solitary walks thinking up ideas for my stories. We encountered a few of the local Neanderthals who gave me a few odd looks. I mean it was cold enough to put me in jeans and a baggy jacket, so I looked more like my old self than usual, so maybe they sort of recognised me. Fortunately Lance intimidated them into keeping their distance so they were only vaguely annoying.

New Year’s Eve came and there was the option of a fancy dress ball at the town hall. I got ‘do we have to?’ vibes from Lance so asked if it would be okay if we had a quiet night in.

Mum and Dad already had their costumes and tickets – Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers with Mum looking fantastic under a wig of coppery curls – and they didn’t really want to miss it.

“We’ll be on best behaviour, Mum, Dad,” I said.

“Yeah,” Lance said, “you can trust us.”

I tried to stop him, but it slipped out too fast. All I could do was roll my eyes as Dad gave us his mini lecture fourteen B.

“You know, I’ve always felt that people who tell me to trust them, or that I can trust them are trying too hard.”

Lance didn’t miss a beat. “Then maybe I can try that again. We will be good.”

“There,” Dad said to Mum, “Now that I believe.” Then as he guided her towards the door, “Besides, if they were going to get up to no good, they’re bound to have found somewhere to do it at that fancy school of theirs.”

I threw a cushion at him, but the door was already nearly closed.

“Your mum and dad are amazing,” Lance said leading me to the sofa. “Mine would never trust me like that.”

“Dad says we judge others like we judge ourselves. He and Mum were pretty trustworthy when they were kids, or so they led me to believe, so it’s easier for them to be trusting. Besides, you’ve impressed them these past few days.”

“Only them?”

“You have no need to impress me. I’m already smitten. Do you want a hot chocolate?”

“Later maybe. There’s something else I want a taste of right now.”

So we sat and kissed, and we kissed and sat. And... What? You thought he wanted to taste what?! Hell no! Get your mind out the gutter. This is a family show.

Anyway, kissing works for a while, then it’s not enough, except we’d given our word, so I went to make us some drinks and Lance did some advanced remote control operation in search of a decent film, and we settled down to watch something romantic and soppy.

“I didn’t think this was your sort of thing,” I said as I rejoined him with two steaming mugs to find the opening scene of Ten Things I Hate About You cued and ready.

“I don’t mind it. What I like is what it does to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see. You okay with this?”

“Yeah, if you are. Love me a bit of Heath Ledger.”

So we watched it, and as the plot developed and I fell deeper and deeper into it, I snuggled closer to Lance and made little noises into his chest. He was probably grinning through most of it but I’ve no proof as he kept his face buried in my hair.

“See what I mean?” he asked as the closing credits scrolled up the screen and I found myself almost all the way in his lap.

“It’s such a great story though, and so well done, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. What should we do now? I mean it’s half an hour till midnight.”

“I don’t know. I suppose we could switch to BBC or something. They usually have fillers – news and stuff – until the fireworks.”

“You don’t mind this, do you? I mean did you want to go to that fancy dress thing?”

“Not really. Costumes would have been a bit last minute and therefore naff, plus I didn’t think it would be much fun for you. Crowd of people you didn’t know and not much to be happy about.”

“I’m not bothered about me...”

“No, but I am. I wanted you to be where you would feel most at ease, and I wanted to be with you, so no I didn’t want to go to the ball. Here with you is just perfect.

“Do you want another hot chocolate?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“What is it?”

“Just that I usually join Mum and Dad in a glass of claret around now.”

“I could ask Dad.”

“No, it’s ok... Oh... my... God!”

“What? What is it?” I stepped over so I could see the TV. It showed Lance’s dad shaking hands with... “Is that...?”

“You’re kidding right? Everyone knows who that odious little turd is. But what the hell is Dad doing shaking hands with him?”

“Well you know that thing on the controller marked volume?”

“Shit, yeah.”

“...Quentin Girling, a respected Oxford barrister with an impressive number of convictions to his name, has today announced his intention to step down from practicing law in order to run for parliament. Perhaps most surprising is his intention to run under the banner of Reform UK. Michael, what do you make of that?”

Lance muted the TV and sat rather heavily on the sofa.

I went to the drinks cabinet. No claret, but... I poured out a couple of small measures and handed one to Lance.

“What?”

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think Dad’ll mind. Not claret I’m afraid, but Dad does like his port.”

He took a sip. “Bit sweet,” he said.

“Yeah. One small one is usually enough.”

We sat in silence for a while, trying to take it in, but silence don’t last; a girl’s gotta talk.

“Talk about nailing your colours to the mast,” I said.

“Yeah. You can’t be openly right wing as a practicing barrister – seen as prejudicial. Dad would rant about it sometimes. Now I guess he’s free to tell the world just how much of an arsehole he really is.”

“How will it affect your mum?”

“Hard to say. She shares Dad’s beliefs. Won’t be seen by any doctor who isn’t clearly white; believes all people of a darker skin colour should be restricted to menial work because, and I cannot stress that these are her words and not mine, they’re good at that sort of thing.

“The flip side is there aren’t many right wingers in our neck of the woods, so Mum’s had to kerb her tendency towards racism in order to fit in. She gets her own back in other ways, or at least she did until she met your mum. With Dad coming out of the closet, she may struggle to find a circle of friends who’ll stand by her.

“It was always Dad’s plan to go into politics at some stage, except he wanted a bit more in the bank and a much better reputation. He’ll figure out someway to keep earning the money in, but the reputation...”

“Yeah, still one man’s meat, eh?”

“What?”

“Old saying. One man’s meat is another man’s poison. Everyone knows how he feels about people like me, so there isn’t much hope of convincing his former friends that he doesn’t, so...”

“Go big or go home.”

“That’s a sporting saying, isn’t it?" I knew it was, but Lance needed distracting

“Doesn’t make it rubbish.”

“No. You gotta get it right sometimes.”

He smiled his crooked smile. He was coming out the other side.

Then my phone rang. I put it on speaker.

“Hi Dad. How’s the party?”

“Pretty good. We won second prize for the fancy dress.”

“Only second?”

“Too many young people. Not enough who remember Fred and Ginger. We lost to a Homer and Marge Simpson. Mind you, Marge’s hair was impressive, and they used a lot of yellow body paint. Worthy winners.”

That’s my dad.

“Anyway, with the witching hour almost upon us, your mum and I wanted to wish you both a brilliant new year. This one’s been eventful enough, but we can’t wait to see what you’ll make of next year.

“Oh, and if you feel like toasting the New Year properly, we’re okay with you having a glass of sherry or port.”

“Sorry Dad, we beat you to it. Lance had a bit of a shock a few minutes back.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, his Dad shaking hands with that Farrage bloke. He’s running for parliament under Reform UK.”

Dad let out a low whistle. “Under those circumstances, if he feels the need for anything stronger...”

“Thanks Dad, but I think we’re good. Looks like we’re about to go into the countdown.”

Didn’t really need saying as the crowd around Mum and Dad started counting backwards. We let them and raised our glasses when they reached the end.

“Happy New Year you two,” Mum and Dad shouted down the phone together. “Don’t wait up.”

We sent them our wishes in return then hung up. The fireworks was its usual overwhelming extravagance. We lost interest after a minute and had a go at creating our own.

Ours lasted longer and took us to the limit of our self control.

“Washing up,” I said. One of only a few phrases guaranteed to dampen the ardour. It worked. We finished off our small libations, then washed those glasses out by hand. The mugs were given a rinse and added to the dishwasher, which was full enough to set about its business.

“We have to do something,” Lance said.

“No, it’s all automatic. Everything will be clean in the morning.”

“About my dad, dummy.”

“I know. Just trying to lighten the mood. I know what you mean though, and I’ve been thinking. You know that club fair we had back in September? How often does Marlborough run them?”

“Three times a year. Next one’s in January. We tend to get foreign students joining from different parts of the world every term.”

“Bet your dad loves that.”

“Don’t get me started. Tell me what you have in mind.”

The January term started the Monday after New Year’s day, give or take an inset day, so we didn’t have long for planning. We had Lance’s situation to work out, so had spoken to the college and arranged to go down on the Friday, which really bit into our planning time.

Lance was a much better artist than me so I left him working on that side of it all while I tackled the words. No, tackle’s the wrong word. Too confrontational. Coaxed the words from my mind. By the time we were ready to go back, we had a bunch of very attractive and professional looking paperwork ready to print.

One of the nice things about posh schools with lots of money, Marlborough had lots of nice toys, including equipment for printing glossy trifold brochures as well as fabric and badge printing.

It also had about a thousand students and a policy where new clubs were concerned. Typically, no more than ten percent of the school population showed any interest with, I f you were lucky, as many as one in four going so far as to join, so we were permitted a hundred trifold brochures and twenty five each of the badges and tee shirts.

Digital technology meant it would take only ten minutes to run off an additional fifty brochures and, if our members were genuinely interested in what we had a I offer, they’d be prepared to wait the couple of days necessary to schedule a tee shirt run that would be able to cater for everyone’s size preferences too.

Everything came out pre folded and packed, so when the fair kicked off on arrivals day, all I needed was a little muscle to lug everything around. I no longer had anything worth talking about in that department myself, but between all the hangers on in the Friday debating group, I had enough muscle available..

At least that was the case after Lance had done his bit for Darwinian evolution and fought off all the pretenders to his crown. They’d all sensed blood in the water following his father’s change of status, but he was the rugby team captain for a reason and didn’t actually have to break too many heads to dissuade any potential challengers.

That’s euphemistic you understand. No actual blood was spilt in the making of this motion picture, blah-de-blah etcetera.

We set up at the empty table, banner overhead, brochures stacked and ready to hand out and badges and tee shirts for anyone who joined. We ran out of the latter within ten minutes and the former within half an hour. We were the first new society at the school in several decades and that drew a lot of interest. The tee shirt issue we took care of by making a list and taking orders. The brochures, we had to send off for emergency print runs three times with fully a quarter of the student body wanting to know more.

By the end of the day we had eighty-seven signed up. We almost certainly wouldn’t see that many actually turn up for our first meeting, but if even half made it, we were going to need a bigger boat – sorry, venue. Blasted movie references.

We called ourselves New Albion with the catch phrase, ‘Let’s try something new... again.’ The logo was a top down image of the round table with multiple swords placed point inwards. Both for authenticity and simplicity of design, the swords were spatha, the topmost one marked with ‘Suscipe me’ in angular Roman letters.

As for what I’d written. I started off with that Winston Churchill’s quote about democracy:

‘No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.’

But what were those other forms of government? I explored all the different types we’d mentioned in our early discussion groups, from autocratic systems like hereditary monarchies and dictatorships where a single ruler would eventually make decisions to benefit himself rather his people, to socialism and communism at the opposite end of the spectrum, which failed because all individuals voting for their own interests would act against one another, effectively paralysing the process, and making hard but necessary decisions would be all but impossible because too many people would vote against it and in their own best interests.

The nearest thing to anything that worked was a representative democracy where all people had a say in who would lead and the group of leaders so elected would give the country its direction. But how to keep those representatives from acting selfishly? We’d seen that happen within our lifetime, when a party won an election by a wide margin or the other major party fell into decline leaving now opposition, and the victors took that as permission to do whatever they wanted.

The only system that history spoke of as having worked was King Arthur’s round table, where all knights were treated as equals, but had to show themselves to be worthy before being admitted to the circle.

New Albion proposed a political party that could operate within the existing representative democracy structure, but had its own internal standards for ensuring integrity and a commitment to the welfare of the whole nation.

I ended by saying the youth of today are the adults of tomorrow. This is the world we are about to inherit. Let’s make sure we’re ready for it.

And we already had nearly ten percent of the school on the membership. We’d inevitably lose some when they saw the commitment we were asking, but that was kind of the point. To find the gemstones among the rocks and to create a party that could stand against the prejudice of the far right and the selfishness of those who were only in the game for what they could get out of it.

Only the future would see if our brand of altruism had a chance.

So like I said at the outset, what is a story if not a snippet of someone’s life. The once upon a time for me began with that competition and the happily ever after? Well, I guess I’m not there yet, so welcome to the end of episode one.

Yeah, I didn’t cover that, did I? Epic sagas – stories that take a little longer, that are too much to read in one chunk. Like being on a long journey (to dispose of a magical ring of evil purpose, for instance) you’d need a place to pause and stretch your legs, have a coffee (assuming you like coffee).

So here’s my Welcome Break, my motorway service station on the way to somewhere better, my roadside café where we can rest a while.

I like who I am now, I’m stronger, more determined and I have a purpose. The road ahead looks challenging and six months ago it might have been enough to scare me into running away and hiding, but not anymore.

Astonishing how much can change in just six months.