The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

‘That’s it.’

‘Fermín Romero de Torres?’ I repeated, incredulous.

‘That’s the one. Wasn’t there a bullfighter going by that name before the war?’ asked the porter. ‘I thought it sounded familiar …’

6

I made my way back to the bookshop, more confused than before I left. As I walked past La Virreina Palace, Oswaldo, the scribe, raised a hand in greeting.

‘Any luck?’ he asked.

I mumbled a negative reply.

‘Try Luisito, he might remember something.’

I gave Oswaldo a nod and went over to Luisito’s booth. Luisito was cleaning his collection of nibs. When he saw me he smiled and asked me to sit down.

‘What’s it going to be? Pleasure or business?’

‘Your colleague Oswaldo sent me.’

‘Our mentor and master,’ declared Luisito. ‘A great man of letters, unrecognised by the corrupt establishment. And there he is, in the street, working with words at the service of the illiterate.’

‘Oswaldo was saying that the other day you served an older man, lame and a bit clapped out, with one hand missing and some fingers of the other …’

‘I remember him. I always remember one-handed men. Because of Cervantes – he lost a hand in the battle of Lepanto, you know?’

‘I know. And could you tell me what business brought this man to you?’

Luisito stirred in his chair, uncomfortable at the turn the conversation was taking.

‘Look, this is almost like a confessional. Professional confidentiality is paramount.’

‘I understand that. The trouble is, this is a serious matter.’

‘How serious?’

‘Sufficiently serious to threaten the well-being of people who are very dear to me.’

‘I see, but …’

Luisito craned his neck and tried to catch Oswaldo’s eye at the other end of the courtyard. I saw Oswaldo nod and then Luisito relaxed.

‘The gentleman brought a letter he’d written. He wanted it copied out in good handwriting, because with his hand …’

‘And the letter was about …?’

‘I barely remember, we write so many letters every day …’

‘Make an effort, Luisito. For Cervantes’ sake.’

‘Well, although I may be confusing it with another letter I wrote for some other client, I believe it was something to do with a large sum of money the one-handed gentleman was hoping to receive or recover or something like that. And something about a key.’

‘A key.’

‘Right. He didn’t specify whether this was an Allen key, a piano key or a door key.’

Luisito smiled at me, visibly pleased with his own wit.