this arrangement can be adapted to make a ‘D’ and a ‘B’. All that remains is the Cellophane and a specially blurred, washed-out photo of Aberystwyth.
The tour petered out in the gift shop and we were free to wander round. Calamity went back to the office. I followed the chief typographer out into the yard and sat on a bench next to him as he had a smoke. I took out a brown paper bag that contained tongue lubricant without which in Aberystwyth the engine of detection grinds quickly to a halt.
I said, ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
He didn’t answer.
‘I guess you don’t get to see much of the summer, working inside all day.’
Still no answer.
‘Apparently this building was originally built by the railway company as a hotel, but no one came. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’
Apparently it didn’t.
‘Is it hard getting the letters in?’
Finally he spoke, without turning to look at me. ‘Ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’
‘I just like to talk.’
‘No, you like to make other people talk, I know. Spotted you the moment you walked in, knew straight away you were either cop or snooper. Spotted the brown paper package too. Cops don’t come bearing gifts.’
I let the top of the rum appear through the paper. ‘You mean this?’
‘That’s what I saw. You intend drinking it all alone?’
‘Would it be a bad idea?’
‘Drinking alone is the thin edge of the wedge, I generally advise against it.’
‘Know anyone round here who could help shoulder the burden?’
‘I’m not busy at the moment.’
I unscrewed the cap, took a drink from the bottle and handed it to him. He tried not to look too eager but his hand was shaking.
As he drank, I said, ‘I like a nice conversation when I drink.’
The typographer swallowed a third of the bottle in a series of glug-glug sounds. He let out a long gasp of satisfaction and held the bottle away from him and examined it as if he had never seen such a wonder before. He said, ‘I can get downright chatty when there’s liquor around.’
‘They tell me you used to be a member of the Slaughterhouse Mob.’
‘Yes, I was a bodyguard.’
‘Did you know Goldilocks?’
‘You could say he and I were acquainted.’
‘Story goes he escaped from prison while awaiting execution.’
‘I heard that story too.’
‘How did he manage to escape?’
‘By magic.’
‘Oh.’
He took another swig. I waited. He took another swig. It was one of those silences.
‘By magic, you say?’
‘Yup.’
‘Just like that.’
‘Yup.’
‘A mystery.’
‘Sort of.’
‘Care to throw any light on it?’
‘What sort of light?’
‘You know, the stuff made of photons.’
He nodded. ‘Oh that.’
I sighed.
‘Dewi Stardust,’ he said. ‘Conjuror to the mob. It was the Christmas party and he went to give the prisoners a little show. He was going to make someone disappear and needed a volunteer. Since Goldilocks was on death row he was the obvious choice. We all thought it was really funny. Dewi Stardust had a big animal cage on the stage and Goldilocks went inside; they shut the door. He threw a drape over the cage and waved his wand and stuff. Then there was a bang and a flash and that was quickly followed by the bark of a dog. He whipped off the drape and it seemed Goldilocks had been turned into a dog. Well, they all cheered and clapped thinking it was a pretty good trick.
‘Then at the end, when the show was winding up, Dewi tried to change the dog back into Goldilocks and it wouldn’t work. He tried and tried, using all the magic words he knew, but nothing happened.’ The ex-con paused for lubrication. ‘That was the last anyone ever saw of Goldilocks.’
We sat in silence for a while as I contemplated the story. ‘What happened to the dog?’
‘They put it in his cell for a few days, on the off-chance that it might change back spontaneously. After that, they gave it to the cook to look after. The dog was happy about that, was better fed than any of the prisoners, and was enormously popular around the cell block. The dog is the one character who ends up happy in this story. He was called Nipper.’
‘And no one ever saw Goldilocks again?’
‘Nope, or at least no one that I know of.’
‘How did you end up working here?’
‘I did old Mr Barnaby a good turn and he gave me the job.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I saved his son’s life.’
‘Most folk say you got the job because Barnaby must have lost his marbles.’
‘Most folk don’t know anything. They think the Slaughterhouse Mob tortured the son and broke all his teeth. I’m the one that took him to hospital.’
‘Why did they do that to him?’
‘Who?’
‘The Slaughterhouse Mob.’
‘Who said they did anything?’
‘You did. Or you implied it.’
‘My friend, I told you what folk say. I don’t take a position on it. About the only reason I am still alive, unlike every other member of that mob, is I don’t take positions on things. It’s not healthy. I found Gomer Barnaby wandering around in a daze, with his hair standing on end and all his teeth broken. I don’t know what happened to him, and nor did he. I thank that particular piece of shared ignorance for the long life that I have enjoyed.’
‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.’
‘Round here especially.’
‘This was the same day that Gethsemane disappeared, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Are those two things connected, do you think?’
‘Probably, but I don’t know how. I don’t take positions on that neither.’
‘Was Goldilocks as bad as they say?’
‘Depends on how bad they say.’
‘I guess you wouldn’t care to take a position on it?’
‘I’d say he was more misunderstood than downright bad. They say he got his sister pregnant as soon as Ahab the father left, but it wasn’t like that. He was the one protecting the sister from the drunken father; him and his brother. That’s why his big brother Shadrach got sent away. He came home and found the old man messing around with the sister and went for him. Nearly killed him, but not quite. He got sent to a mental asylum where he spent his days in a straitjacket. Goldilocks used to go and visit. Wasn’t supposed to, but he just went. Hitch-hiked. Then one day the father ran off and left Goldilocks and his sister alone. I don’t know what became of the sister. But
