Free From Aberystwyth with Love by Malcolm Pryce Page B

teacher.’
    ‘No, I meant with the bearded ladies. I thought you could speak to a few.’
    ‘Calamity, the world has moved on since those days. We don’t have bearded ladies any more because it’s . . . it’s . . . I don’t know, it’s not right. Competitive bearded ladying went out with all the other freak shows. We don’t laugh at people like that, we try to help them, or at least good people do. I’m not going to remind them of the old days, and if I did they would probably slam the phone down on me. What’s to stop you from talking to them?’
    ‘I tried but they slammed the phone down on me.’
    ‘See!’
    Calamity sighed. ‘We just need to find a way to crack the culture of Omertà surrounding the bearded ladies.’
    ‘When can we hear the séance tape?’
    ‘I’m still trying to get hold of an open reel deck, it should be round later today.’ She opened the curtains again and it was like leaving a darkened cinema for the bright daylit street.
    ‘I guess there’s not much point me asking you to talk to Meici Jones, either,’ she said.
    ‘What’s he got to do with it?’
    ‘Don’t you remember him saying there were four games teachers in his family?’
    I said nothing and stared instead at the innocence and candour that played in her eyes. When she came back at Christmas it was with her tail between her legs. She saw it as a failure but in reality it was nothing of the sort. Winter is a bad time to set up a new venture. Because of this I try to bolster her confidence without letting on. But the trouble is, I too suffered in a different way from her temporary absence. In the time she was away I noticed something in my office that I had never seen before. It was surprising how it had escaped my attention all those years but life is like that sometimes: we fail to see things on the end of our noses and it takes a renewal of perspective brought about by a change to make us see. And what I saw was this: the office was empty.
    Footsteps echoed up the stairwell, we both looked expectantly at the open door. A small man appeared.
    ‘Mr Knight and Calamity! I’m so glad I caught you, I was afraid you might be out.’ It was Mr Mooncalf. ‘I have some good news for you.’ He opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder. ‘A very old and dear customer of the firm Mooncalf & Sons living in Romania has requested I courier a certain item to him. If you were to agree to undertake the task it would so defray the cost of your trip to Hughesovka that you would be able to go for about . . . er . . . nothing.’
    ‘Where in Romania?’ I asked.
    ‘I believe the town is called Sighisoara.’
    ‘Wouldn’t it take us out of our way?’ I said.
    ‘A short detour through a most beautiful landscape, dotted with perfectly preserved medieval villages and abounding in wolves and bears.’
    ‘Sighisoara is in Transylvania, isn’t it?’ said Calamity.
    ‘Is it?’ said Mooncalf with feigned innocence.
    ‘We did it in school for a project.’
    ‘Who’s the client?’ I asked.
    ‘Mr V. Tepes,’ said Mooncalf darting a worried glance at Calamity.
    ‘That means “impaler” in their language,’ she said. ‘It’s pronounced tsep-pesh.’
    ‘It’s just a name,’ said Mooncalf. ‘Like Smith.’
    ‘Is he any relation to Vlad the Impaler?’ She turned to me and said, ‘He was the original Dracula.’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Mooncalf. ‘It’s just a name, like Smith. If someone is called Smith it doesn’t mean they shoe horses, does it? Same with Tepes. It doesn’t mean you are an impaler.’
    ‘They used a sharpened stake,’ said Calamity showing off her knowledge, ‘and stuck it up your bum.’
    Mooncalf looked worried. ‘Did they teach you that in school, too?’
    ‘Yes. Sometimes they used a horse to haul you on to the sharpened pale.’
    Mooncalf put the folder on the desk and stood up with a slightly dejected air. He clutched the briefcase close to his chest. ‘Marvellous what they teach