Chapter 19

Although Carlisle Cathedral was colossal by Cumbrian standards, it is actually the second smallest of England's ancient cathedrals. It started life as a Norman priory church in 1122, and due to Carlisle's proximity to the Scottish border, and the city's consistently shifting allegiances, it still bore the scars of its long and bloody history.

Lying within the Abbey precinct, a gated area of Castle Street, the cathedral was constructed from red sandstone, discoloured to black on parts of the exterior, and was typical of the Norman architectural style: large round piers, round arches, and small round-headed windows. Like most cathedrals, the architectural floor plan of the building was in the form of a cross.

As he always did when he was in Carlisle's historic quarter, Poe ignored the East Window, the largest Flowing Decorated Gothic window in England, and instead stopped underneath the south-facing outer wall. He looked up. Nestled high in among the stone faces of the traditional medieval gargoyles and grotesques was a policeman. A twentieth-century addition to the fabric of the cathedral, the grotesque had a policeman's helmet, complete with star badge. It was a monument to PC George Russell, a Lake District cop, who was shot and killed after a skirmish with an armed thief at Oxenholme railway station. He gave the copper a nod and silently wished him well as he stood guard over the citizens of Carlisle.

Poe checked his watch. They were a bit early. He was about to suggest they go inside anyway when a small cheer from behind made him pause. He turned, squinted then smiled.

‘You haven't been introduced to Bugger Rumble yet, have you, Tilly?'

‘I don't know what those words mean, Poe.'

***

Like Type 2 diabetes, part-time street entertainer/full-time lunatic, Bugger Rumble was a Carlisle staple. A man unfamiliar with subtlety, he was snaggle toothed, had hair like over-sugared candyfloss and a beard down to his belly. The suit he was wearing looked like it had been stolen from a vampire. He completed his look with a top hat, fingerless gloves and the kind of black plimsolls only ever seen in a 1970s school gymnasium. He looked like Bob Geldof during a laundry workers' strike. The council occasionally tried to move him on but, like ringworm, he returned, stronger and even more irritating. And, like ringworm, you felt itchy just looking at him.

But, because Bugger had always had his finger on the pulse of the city's sketchier areas, he'd been Poe's best snout during his time as a Cumbrian detective. Bugger was so obviously batshit crazy, people who really should have known better talked openly in front of him. But just because you didn't notice Bugger, didn't mean Bugger didn't notice you. He saw everything, he heard everything, and he forgot nothing. Underneath the grime and the outlandish clothes and the ridiculous street entertainment, was a sharp and insightful mind, a mind Poe had been happy to press for the occasional nugget of intelligence.

Poe reckoned Bugger Rumble had once been involved in the world of antiquarianism, as his knowledge of old books was unparalleled. How he had ended up in Carlisle, living the way he did, was anyone's guess. Poe had occasionally considered making discreet enquiries with Oxford and Cambridge to see if they were missing a professor or knew of a visiting fellow who no longer visited. But he never did – Bugger was happy, and Poe reckoned that was pretty much life's Holy Grail. Who was he to interfere?

The last time Poe saw Bugger, his act, and that was using the loosest possible definition of the word, was to draw a chalk line on the pavement then wobble his way along as if it were a tightrope. The world's only low-rise walker, he called himself. But it seemed he had moved on. Instead of a simple narrative – that he was perilously crossing a canyon and stepping off the chalk line would mean instant death – his act had morphed into something that combined mime with interpretive dance.

Poe watched in amazement.

Silently, and with an expression of absolute concentration, Bugger started putting himself into all sorts of weird and wonderful positions. Sometimes he would throw up his hands and kick the air; sometimes he would strut in a circle like a gimpy chicken. He got on the ground and did what looked like yoga; he stood up and changed an imaginary light bulb. He jumped in the air and kicked his heels.

Bradshaw was mesmerised. Poe imagined this was a new experience for her. To be fair, it looked like this was a new experience for everyone. And judging by the way the crowd was drifting away, maybe not a welcome one.

Bugger finished with a leap in the air, a shout of ‘Hey, hoopla!' and a theatrical bow. He then held out his grubby top hat.

Bradshaw clapped enthusiastically. ‘Bravo!' she cried.

Reluctantly Poe joined in. ‘Yes, very good, Bugger. Not at all weird.'

Bugger waited until the crowd had dispersed before saying, ‘Who's the specky lass, Sergeant Poe?'

Which was quite polite for Bugger.

‘Tilly, this is Bugger Rumble – no, don't shake his hand! As you can see, he's monetised arsing about.'

Bugger cackled. He was the only person Poe had met who could.

‘Arsing . . . I wasn't "arsing about", Sergeant Poe,' he protested. ‘This is a series of non-narrative shows about important historical texts.'

‘Get stuffed, Bugger. You were dicking about and hoping to earn enough for a pint in the Kings Head.' Poe reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. ‘And it just so happens, today's your lucky—'

‘That was fascinating, Mr Rumble,' Bradshaw interrupted. ‘When I was twelve, I wrote a paper on whether visual thinking in mathematics might have an epistemically significant role. Unless my eyes were deceived, that was a one-man play depicting the geometric diagrams contained in Euclid's Elements.'

Bugger stared at Bradshaw in astonishment. He tilted his head to one side and started whacking it, like he had a pebble in his ear. ‘Begone, pink elephant!' he shouted.

‘Tilly's not a figment of your imagination, Bugger,' Poe sighed. ‘I can assure you, she's very real.'

Bugger stopped hitting himself. ‘She is?'

Poe paused. ‘Almost certainly,' he said.

‘Stop being cruel, Poe!' Bradshaw said. ‘Yes, I am real, Mr Rumble.'

‘You've read Euclid's Elements?' Bugger asked.

‘All thirteen volumes,' Bradshaw confirmed.

His eyes narrowed. ‘What's your major criticism?'

Bradshaw frowned. ‘Probably when he moved two triangles on top of each other to prove that if two sides and their angles are equal, then they must be congruent.'

‘Ah, the third construction.'

‘Fourth,' Bradshaw corrected.

Bugger laughed delightedly.

‘Wait,' Poe said to Bradshaw, ‘you understood all that?'

‘You didn't?'

He turned to Bugger. ‘And you, you mad bastard, that wasn't a load of bollocks? That actually was something?'

‘Of course, Sergeant Poe. Euclid was an Ancient Greek and considered by many to be the father of geometry. What better way to celebrate his life than with a solo performance in Carlisle's pedestrianised city centre?'

Poe shook his head. ‘You've got me there, Bugger.' He pulled a twenty-pound note from his wallet. ‘Anyway, I need a favour.'

He told Bugger Rumble what it was. When he'd finished, Bugger nodded.

‘Keep your money, Sergeant Poe.' Bugger pointed at Bradshaw and said, ‘If I do what you ask, she has to have tea and cakes with me for an hour.'

‘I think I'd enjoy—' Bradshaw said.

‘Fifteen minutes and not tonight,' Poe said.

‘Forty-five.'

‘Thirty and don't push your luck.' He checked his watch and glanced at the cathedral. It was time. ‘Ready?' he said to Bradshaw.

‘I am, Poe.'

He turned to Bugger Rumble. The street entertainer was staring at Bradshaw like a dog stares at cheese. This must have been what it was like when Doyle had accompanied Bradshaw to that maths award in the States. Even the Fields Medal winners there had been so awed by her intellect they'd become star struck. And now she was having the same effect on a bark-at-the-moon nutjob. Sometimes Poe wished he were intelligent enough to really appreciate the once-in-a-generation mind of his friend.

‘Don't let me down, Bugger,' he said.

Bugger's eyes didn't leave Bradshaw.

‘Scratch that,' Poe continued, ‘don't let Tilly down.'

‘I won't,' Bugger said.