Aberystwyth Mon Amour

them mincing down the Prom, Bianca with such an exaggeratedly impudent gait it was if she had springs inside her legs. And Pandy the cabin girl with the knife in her sock.

As I watched their two behinds wiggling up the street a hand passed in front of my gaze and waved about as if checking whether I was blind or not.

'Sorry,' said Calamity, 'I thought you'd turned to stone.'

'I was thinking.'

'And I know what about as well.'

She climbed on to a stool and I offered her a shake.

'No thanks, I can't stay, I've got double maths after morning break.'

'You're actually going for once?'

'This one, no choice. He checks.'

'So what have you got for me?'

'Actually, I will have that shake. Strawberry.'

I groaned, but went and fetched it all the same. Calamity unloaded the fruits of her research between sips.

'It's pretty clear the other kids were all done in because they copied Brainbocs's homework,' she began, reminding me of what I already knew.

'I know that.'

'I know you know, I'm just being thorough. Point is,' she continued, 'what was he writing about? The word on the playground is, there's a copy floating around.'

'Copy of what?'

'The essay. It's probably what the Druids were looking for when they turned your place over.'

'He made a copy of it?'

'He always did. It was his modus operandi.'

I looked at her askance and she gave her nose the sort of tilt that suggested she used the expression every day.

'OK, he made a copy. Now what was the essay about?'

Calamity took a long, tension-inducing slurp and then said casually, 'Cantref-y-Gwaelod.'

I said nothing.

'Cantref-y-Gwaelod,' she repeated.

'Cantref-y-Gwaelod?'

'The fabled dark-age kingdom. They say Lovespoon warned him off, told him to write about something else. But Brainbocs wouldn't listen.'

I was so surprised I said nothing for a while. Calamity stared nonchalantly out of the window as if the revelation that the Welsh teacher had killed a pupil for writing about a mythical kingdom was nothing more than you'd expect.

'This is the legendary kingdom that lay between here and Ireland? The one that sank beneath the waves ten thousand years ago?'

'Yes. They say on moonlit nights you can hear ghostly bells ringing across the sea.'

'I know.'

Do you believe that?'

'No.'

'Neither do I.'

'It's just a folk tale.'

'I'm just telling you what I hear.'

'But I can't see what's so bad about it.'

'Me neither. I once painted a picture of Cantref-y-Gwaelod in art. Scary.'

She slipped off the stool as if to leave and put a scrap of paper down on the counter.

'I got this, too. It's the address of Dai Brainbocs's Mam.'

* * *

I put the paper in my pocket and walked down Terrace Road towards the station. Like most kids who went to school in Aberystwyth I was familiar with the Cantref-y-Gwaelod myth. The folk tale version told how the kingdom lying in the lowland to the west had been protected from the sea by dykes and during a feast one night someone had left the sluice gates open. Similar stories were found all round the coast of Britain and seemed to be a folk memory of the land that was lost with the rising seas following the last ice age. A process that would have taken thousands of years, but which was telescoped into an overnight party in the popular version. Ghostly bells pealing across the waters on moonlit nights were also an integral part of the stories. The stories had some basis in fact — at low tide you could see the remains of an ancient forest on Borth Beach. And Mrs Pugh from Ynyslas had once famously won a rent rebate because of the bells keeping her awake at night. But there had never been any suggestion before that writing about it was bad for your health. Out of curiosity I walked through town to the Dragon's Lair on Station Square. A bell tinkled as I entered; it was one of those shops where you had to stoop to look around because there was so much stock, half of it hanging from the ceiling: a mixture of carved slate barometers, fudge and tea towels with recipes and, towards the back, a more serious selection of books. I headed for the tea towel section where I knew I could find a potted history of the kingdom which wouldn't make too many demands on my attention span. Geraint, the owner, came out from the back to greet me and we exchanged bore das.

'Haven't seen you here for a while, Louie! Are you looking for anything in particular?'

I picked up a tea towel depicting a history of the lost kingdom of Cantref-y-Gwaelod.

'Well, now,' said Geraint, 'you DO surprise me!'

'Really?'

'You're the last person I would expect to be asking about that. How many shall I put you down for? Two, three? Or is it just for yourself?'

'Sorry?'

'Tickets?'

'What are you talking about?'

'Tickets for Cantref-y-Gwaelod — that's what you meant isn't it?'

'You're selling tickets?'

'I can't promise anything, I can just put you on the list like everyone else.'

'I thought the place sank ten thousand years ago?'

'Oh yes.'

'Day out on a submarine, is it?'

'Not quite. Exodus.'

'Exodus?'

'Lovespoon is taking his people back.'

'Back where?'

'Back to Cantref-y-Gwaelod of course. Look, if you're not interested, that's fine. I've got plenty who are.'

'But how can he take people back. They don't come from there.'

'They did originally. Everyone did. Don't you know the story? When the place was flooded everyone who escaped went east. We're all descended from them. Even you.'

Geraint was grinning from ear to ear, but he usually did that anyway.

'So Lovespoon is masterminding an Exodus?'

'Take the folks out of servitude, like. Let my people go!'

'Who's in servitude round here?'

'You don't need chains to be in servitude, Louie. You should know that.'

'I suppose not. Won't it be a bit wet?'

'They're going to reclaim the land. Don't worry, it's all worked out. They're going to rebuild the sea defences and drain the land like in Holland.'

'How are they going to get there?'

'Ark.' Geraint crossed his arms with an air of smug satisfaction. 'It's not finished yet of course, but she'll be a