The Day Aberystwyth Stood Still

Chapter 1

His name was Ercwleff, which is Welsh for Hercules, and he was very big. He kept his trousers held up with packing string, tied in a knot just below his nipples, and wore a dung-stained tie that was never removed and had grown into the flesh of his neck the way wire sometimes cuts into the bark of trees. His head had two indentations where normal people have ears and this was the result, they said, of a clumsy forceps delivery sixty years ago when the doctor performed the operation with coal tongs while drunk. They said he was one of God’s children, but in contrast to most of God’s children he carried an axe down the front of his trousers, the bright, shiny blade hanging out over the packing-string belt. He also carried a toy rabbit. He was a gelder by trade, and castrated the lambs the old-fashioned way, using his teeth. The axe was for special occasions. He was very big and he was in my office, and, standing next to him, was Preseli Watkins, his brother and the current mayor of Aberystwyth. He wasn’t one of God’s children. He was about the same age as Ercwleff, early sixties, and wore a midnight-blue, chalk-stripe, hand-tailored mock Italian suit from Swansea, and he explained to me what Ercwleff was going to do.

‘He’s going to play the chopping game . . . with your desk.’

I nodded. ‘All for poking my nose into your affairs.’

‘That’s right. All for poking your nose in my affairs.’

‘Even though I haven’t.’

‘Even though you haven’t; yet. But you will. I’d move back if I were you, and take the rum out of the desk drawer.’

‘You know about the rum, huh?’

‘I make it my business to know about people who make the mistake of mistaking my business for their business.’

I did as I was told and put the bottle on the windowsill. ‘Does he really need to do this? Desks are expensive.’

The mayor gave a sort of apologetic half-grin that suggested the matter was beyond his control.

‘I don’t mean to cause any trouble,’ I said.

‘You’re a private detective, how could you avoid it?’

‘I need my desk.’

‘Buy a new one, this one’s crap.’ He nodded to Ercwleff who handed him the rabbit and pulled the axe out of his trousers. I slid my chair back and stood up. The mayor handed me the rabbit, and for some reason I held it.

Ercwleff swung the axe and brought it down with a crunch. The head sank deep into the cheap, stained wooden surface. A splinter of wood landed at my feet. He wrenched the axe out and lofted the head, then brought it down again in one fluid movement. It was the easy grace of a man who is more at home with an axe than he is with a knife and fork.

‘When do you think I will begin poking my nose in your business?’

‘Soon.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘My soothsayer told me. He seldom gets it wrong.’

‘Trouble is, if the prophecy is right, chopping up my desk won’t stop me. And if it isn’t, you’ve chopped it up for nothing.’

‘In that case send me the bill.’

Ercwleff kept chopping.

‘This won’t look good if your brother ever wants to stand for mayor.’

‘He is standing for mayor,’ said Preseli. ‘I step down at the end of summer.’

Crunch. The axe head came down again. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

‘We’ll be sorry to see you go.’

‘Thank you. It has been a privilege serving you. But it’s time now, I think, for a fresh perspective.’

Crunch.

Ercwleff began to sweat. It was still only May and quite cool and blustery outside, but Ercwleff was putting his back into his work. The desk itself had been reduced to a pile of wood no longer recognisable as an item of furniture, and now he was picking up the individual pieces and splitting them along the grain to make kindling. He didn’t say anything as he worked. He wasn’t a big talker.

‘What are you going to do with the wood?’ I asked.

‘Leave it for you. If you keep it dry over the summer it will be good for the fireplace in the winter.’

Ercwleff stopped chopping and straightened up; he placed the axe down by the side of his leg like a sentry with his rifle. He looked across to Preseli. The phone rang amid the bird’s nest of splintered timber and we all searched with our eyes. Preseli spotted it and pointed; without needing any further encouragement, Ercwleff kicked the phone free of the debris and smashed it with an axe blow. Glistening splinters of Bakelite skipped across the room. He put the axe back inside his trousers and stood to attention. I handed him the rabbit. They both walked to the door. In the doorway Preseli stopped and turned, as I knew he would; they always do.

‘My advice to you is replace the desk but retain the fragments of the old one as a reminder of the fate that awaits you if you don’t keep your nose clean.’

‘How would it be if I glued it back together?’

He let his gaze rest on me for a beat. As they left, Ercwleff said, ‘That was a good game.’

I went to the kitchenette for the dustpan and brush.