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“Spy shit, he said. Integratin’ wi’ the locals. Gatherin’ intel.” Finlay follows my gaze, frowning. “…Gettin’ high?”
Fleetingly, my mind flashes back to Rory standing between the stalls, his attention caught on the army recruitment one when he thought no one was watching.Spy. “You don’t think he’s…” I stop, wondering. “Never mind.”
Maybe Rory’s already making plans. Plans that don’t involve me…
My heart crashes to the pit of my stomach. I try to buoy it up by taking another sip, but it doesn’t work. The buzz is already fading.
I find myself drifting over to Rory, like he’s my north star. He lies across the plush velveteen sofa like an emperor, with his small adoring fan club drinking in every word, and I swear I don’t recognize him. If he’s putting on an act, it’s an incredibly good one. The only thing missing is someone hand-feeding him grapes.
He doesn’t look at me as I approach, nor over at Danny or Finlay either.
“So what’s next for old Oscar Munro, then, do you reckon?” a guy in a black suit asks, his bowtie undone and hanging loosely around his pristine white collar.
Rory’s eyebrows pinch together in annoyance. “My father is a very private man. His affairs are not to be aired to justanyone.”
I frown. Rory hasn’t spoken to his dad in months.
“However,” he murmurs indulgently, looking at all his adoring fans, “seeing as you arenotjust anyone, but those at his esteemedalma mater, I think he’d want you to know this.” A dozen faces eagerly press forward. “This business with King James is — well, I believe he feels it’s gone far enough.”
And just like that, a dozen faces shutter and shine with confusion.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m merely reporting what I’ve heard from my father,” Rory says lightly, and the silver in his eyes is careful as he regards the group in front of him. I sense the increased tension, the tautening and tightening in the room as though no one is daring to breathe.
This is what happens when you put a toe out of line. When you defame a beloved leader.
“But this is Ripe rhetoric. Your fatheragreedwith King James.”
“Once, perhaps,” Rory acknowledges, “but no longer to the same extent. By all accounts, King James’s demands are growing increasingly excessive for someone so new to the position.”
One of the women laughs, clapping her hands in delight. “Good! I wouldn’t expect anything less. Perhaps now some actual work can begin.”
“The Milton bastard made demands, too. Don’t you remember? A story broke the other week about how he wanted to overturn the law protecting hunting, as though it was ever his place. Who knows what other laws he’s tried to influence behind the scenes.”
“The Miltons want Antiro supporters todie,” the woman adds dramatically. “Imagine what they’d bring in if they were in charge today!”
Rory ignores her. “It is far more than hunting that King James wishes to change, though. It is the fundamental infrastructures of this country, built up over decades, that are now at threat.”
“This is fearmongering. Everyone knows the country is a limping disaster. Best to scrap it all and start afresh, in my view.”
I catch a flicker of irritation passing across Rory’s face before he manages to conceal it. “Hypothetically speaking, then — if you destroy the establishment, and rebuild it in your image — if you throw out anything deemed unacceptable…”
The woman nods. “Yes.”
“Why do you think they’ll stop at the things you hold sacred?” Rory asks slowly, inspecting each face with a kind of sick fascination. “If the rumors are true and King James wishes to build a new legal system from the ground up, what’s to stop old laws from being erased? What if there were to be no more laws at all? No protections?”
The students say nothing, instead looking visibly intrigued by this scenario.
“There would be no police, no prisons,” Rory spells out, growing more unnerved by their silence. “No security, no safeguards. The only guards will belong to King James — and King James will be the one to issue royal decrees on a whim, whenever he feels displeased. This is what he’s fighting for. Whatyou’refighting for.”
“I see no problem,” one of the men pipes up. “It is the price of true liberty. A world without laws would be the purest form of egalitarianism.”
The woman beside him nods. “I agree. We fight againstallauthority. When the Miltons were in charge, everything was so Orwellian, anyway.”
It seems to require an increasing amount of energy for Rory to tamp down on his true feelings. For an instant, there’s a flash of the real Rory, as he says in a deeply serious, not obviously sarcastic tone, “Yes, it was exactly like the famous self-help guide,TheRoad to Wigan Pier.” I have to purse my lips together to stop myself from laughing.
“With the Milton boy removed,” she continues, “progress can finally happen.”
