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For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Wolfcastle and the literal-minded Librarian meet. Next, the Vice in a deadly fit of pique.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 26

‘I want him inconvenienced!’

There was no need to say anymore. Everyone else in the room fully understood what he meant. It was a routine command these days: someone had done something to upset somebody, the Vice had gotten to hear of it and steps were about to be taken. She stood, ‘Yes sir, right away. I believe that the Yorkshireman is in town…should I give him a call?’

‘Where’s that idiot Peppet? Is he still wasting time in New York? It’s about time he got his hands dirty again. See to it!’

Everyone else in the room left, closing the door behind herself.

The Vice-chancellor picked up the telephone and dialed. He had no phobia of such actions like Ddwwchyllff. Not for him wasting time and money in call girls, at least not having them make his calls. Besides he always figured ‘Why pay for it when you can demand it with a threat of violence’.

‘Hello, get me the Chief of Police!’ he demanded as the receiver at the receiving end was picked up.

‘Who?’ came the reply.

‘Medium Chief Running Water… Chief of Police!’ was the Vice-chancellor’s irritated response.

‘Oh… hold on.’

‘Who am I talking to? Who is this?’ demanded the Vice-chancellor.

‘What’ said the voice. ‘One moment.’

There was a click and a short electrical sounding crackle came down the earpiece at the Vice-chancellors end.

‘How’ said a voice.

‘Right, I’ve had enough of this! Listen asshole, you clearly don’t know who you are messing with…’ the Vice-chancellor began to shout down the line. He was about to go on and threaten numerous acts of violence against the person on the other end of the other end of his line…

‘VC? Is that you?’ came the Chief’s inquisitive interruption.

‘Oh, there you are. Who was that just now?’

‘Ah, you mean my new assistant assistant, hold on…’ The Chief shouted for his assistant to come into his office. She did. ‘Jenkins, what is your new assistant called?’

‘Watt sir.’

‘Bare with me VC,’ the Chief pleaded, removing his shirt and turning again to his chief assistant. ‘I said, what’s the new guy’s name?’

‘Yes sir, that’s right.’

‘Chief!’ The Vice-chancellor was getting fed up.

‘Won’t be a moment VC…what is his name?’ continued the Chief.

‘Yes, Watt is his name Chief’, came the confused reply from Jenkins.

‘Chief! I haven’t got time for all this!’ The Vice-chancellor was increasingly annoyed with being stuck in the ridiculous three-way conversation.

‘Are you trying to be funny Jenkins?’

‘No sir. Watt is his name’

‘I’m asking YOU!’ the Chief shouted.

‘CHIEF!!!’ The Vice-chancellor’s tone was such that the Chief, even with his low intelligence, realized he’d better get back to the call.

‘Sorry VC. I’ll get to the bottom of this later…suffice to say we have a new member of staff here. I haven’t finished showing him the ropes yet, in fact we’ve only just covered the essentials of saddles and camp fires. How can I help?’

Ignoring, as best he could, the previous remarks, the Vice-chancellor got to the point of the call: ‘I am calling to tell you that our…your… little problem is being taken care of.’

‘Ah, excellent news. I am most grateful, most grateful indeed.’

‘Restrain your gratitude Chief, there is, as with all things in life these days, a price to pay’. The Vice-chancellor didn’t mind getting involved in this side of his arrangements. He loved the sense of power and authority he got from being powerful and authoritative. It was a risk, there could always be someone listening in who may overhear him say something incriminating. But he did it all the same. ‘I want to see my favourite accountant tomorrow morning and when I do I want him to have seen that you have moved €1,635,178 into the usual account.’

The Chief knew the cost before he even made the initial call. With the Vice-chancellor it was always the same – the price of an inconvenience was one of life’s constants, like the speed of light or the lies from a politicians mouth.

The Vice-chancellor scowled worriedly. He perhaps should not have gone ahead with all this until he’d managed to reach Grandma. He’d tried three times, and been met with silence, or no - not silence exactly, more like a lack of sound. He twiddled his cufflinks. Were they out of order? He reversed their positions right to left and left to right and tried again. Nothing - or no, not nothing, more like an absence of something. But what?

Somewhere a Welshwoman came to.