Connemara, 1910

The last of the grey twilit sky receded into inky blackness over the bog as William Holness sighed a resigned and exasperated expletive before turning back to the wreck of his automobile. The intricate frame of the Tourer sat with its front end compacted in the drainage ditch, its rear wheels askew on the road a foot above it. Ever stately William continued indulging in profanity while no one else was around to hear, clutching his bandaged thigh as he took advantage of the remaining half-light to scan the surrounding scrub look for any papers he and Edmund may have missed upon rolling out of the wreckage and finding three weeks worth of census paperwork caught in the brisk Connemara breeze. Satisfied he had retrieved all that had not flown off to be swallowed by the peat, the lean and sallow-cheeked enumerator took the time to light his lantern before sitting beside the heavy file boxes they had dragged out of the car. William’s long fingers fished a silver watch from his pocket and he squinted through the lantern’s glare on his spectacles, once again wondering how far Edmund had gotten in the half-hour since he had left to get help in Fermoyle. The younger man had seemed oddly panicked when he had seen the deep gash in William’s thigh, and while Mr. Holness had suffered from a brief lightheadedness shortly after his assistant’s departure; he was now walking in relative comfort.

A good lad, William told himself, but certainly squeamish, he wouldn’t have lasted long in Benin.

For a few moments he sat and reminisced on his time in the Army, his lips curled into a sad smile as he remembered his fellow officers; but he soon dismissed this memory before it led him down a darker path and returned his thoughts to the present. As he wallowed in cursing his rotten luck, he became distracted by a distant light. He thought it might be a stray beam of moonlight piercing the cloud cover and reflecting in one of the many ponds until it began to move along the road. With a smug satisfaction, William quickly stood up and donned his bowler, nervously wiping his peat-stained suit as he called out,

‘Good evening sir!’ his voice creaked out, shivering somewhat from the chilly night, ‘I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid I’ve been in an accident and I find myself in need of transport!’

A cold mist had begun to settle over the bog, blurring the pale light of the traveller’s lantern. William squinted, barely able to make out the silhouettes of two dark horses drawing a hay wain. The hooded driver held his light high, its cold, blue glare eclipsing his face as the wagon drew closer.

Is that blue glass on his lantern? William’s reasoned mind wondered, An odd luxury for a farmer to waste money on…

It was as the cart stopped that William realised that neither coach nor driver had made any sound until a weary voice responded,

‘Tar liom.’

‘Pardon me?’ William chuckled awkwardly, ‘I’m afraid I don’t-’

‘Where are you headed?’

‘My associate should be on his way to Fermoyle,’ William started forward excitedly, though the strangely shaped lantern kept his eyes drawn to the blinding source of light, ‘if you could possibly drop me off at the Post Office?’

‘Not headed to Fermoyle.’ the heavy brogue responded, sounding oddly displaced and resonant, ‘May as well come along though, it’ll be a long night on your own.’

‘I suppose…’ William responded, suddenly very aware of how thick the mist had grown, ‘Could you help me load up my belongings? My employer is expecting these to be delivered in good order.’

‘They’ll keep fine, best to worry after yourself now.’

William found it hard to focus as the coachman kept holding his lantern in front of his face, but the ominous statement snapped him back to his wits.

‘I’m afraid I can’t simply leave them here, the humidity…’ His voice trailed off as the light glared back at him unwaveringly.

‘You can’t take it with you lad, cart’s full’

Whatever protestations William was formulating faded as he shook his head. Despite his disinclination to leave the documents behind, the cold, creeping air and his aching leg convinced him to simply accept his rotten luck.

Not as though they’ll end up in a worse condition than they already are… he rationalised.

‘Well… as I find myself with few other options, I must agree.’ William sighed, resigning himself to this course.

So much for Irish hospitality I suppose.

He chuckled briefly in his mind as he extinguished his lantern and set it on the coachman’s bench. He then began to climb into the coach, doing all he could to ignore his wounded leg and leaning on his arms to push himself up into the seat. The coachman placed his lantern on a hook perched over the centre of the coach bench and reached a thin, wizened arm out, gently grasping his passenger’s collar and pulling him up into the seat with abnormal strength. William yelped slightly and felt his cheeks flush in a mixture of humiliation and anger at being lifted up like a kitten, but as soon as the hand withdrew he composed himself and straightened his collar out with a curt ‘Thank you.’

The coachman did not reply, simply snapping his reins to drive the horses into a light trot. Once again, William noticed just how silently the wain moved over the rough, earthen bog road, and barely felt a jostle. The majority of his thoughts, however, were still back with his files, and as they passed the wreckage of his car he looked back in a medley of concern and subtle fear. Through the creeping dark he saw only silhouettes. The shadowy outline of his car was still the clearest figure, but he could make out the large steel file boxes in the dimming light of the coachman’s lantern. For a moment he thought he could make out the glint of two small glass circles on an indistinguishable outline and believed he had left his coat and spectacles behind. He lifted a hand to his temple to assure himself he had not forgotten his glasses.

It must be the humidity, he reasoned, simply reflections of condensation, and the lump must be my coat… No matter, I’ll be back in the morning.

As if to confirm his conclusion concerning the reflections, he turned his eyes toward the tranquil pools of brackish water that interspersed the bog and noted the mirrored lantern-light that surrounded the road like the motes of starlight that had begun to appear as the sky above slowly cleared. He turned back to the road ahead and glanced toward the driver. The lantern hanging between coachman and passenger still made it impossible for William to distinguish his face, but his gaze was drawn lower. He could see a linen tunic under what looked like a dark, heavy cloak that was fixed over the coachman’s chest by a brooch of tarnished silver that resembled a knotted circle with a pin across it. The man himself was hunched over his reins, his back clearly stooped by age or by labour, though that skinny, wrinkled hand made William think he was an old man. Somewhat disturbed by the silence, William extended an open hand toward the driver.

‘I apologise for having been remiss, I’ve only just realised I didn’t introduce myself properly.’ he said in as jovial a tune as he could muster against the dark chill that surrounded their shared pool of light, ‘My name is William. William Holness.’

The wizened hand reached across and grasped William’s, sending chills down his spine as the rough, clammy skin made contact with his.

‘People call me Crom.’

‘Is that Gaelic?’

‘Old Gaelic, something of a joke, it means crooked one.’

‘Something of a cruel joke then.’

‘I’ve never minded it too much.’

‘Well Crom, what is it you do out here?’ The question was not purely for conversation’s sake, in over a month of census work in the region, William had heard nothing of a coachman named Crom. This facade seemed not to have any effect on the old man, however, as he simply chuckled and responded.

‘Looking to add me to your ledgers now are you lad?’ Once again William noticed how resonant Crom’s voice was as his laughter seemed to surround him, ‘What would your beloved Empire be without its horde of archives and records?’

For a moment William had to bite his tongue, wanting to chastise this old man for his lack of respect. To avoid offending his benefactor, however, he took a moment to compose himself by admiring the reflected starlight in the water around the coach before answering.

‘That “horde”, as you call it, is central to the orderly administration of any domain, do you believe the free-staters or fenians in Dublin would simply abandon the countryside to its means without some method of keeping records?’

‘Ah you may be right Mr. Holness, but I don’t much care for the politics in Dublin. I imagine most of those city boys would be as lost as you were if I approached them speaking Irish.’

As anyone would be upon hearing a dead language, William scoffed inwardly.

“And who killed it?”

A sudden cold gripped William at Crom’s response and he whipped his head about to look over at the coachman. He saw the old man sitting up somewhat straighter, and for the first time William saw his hood. Under that heavy piece of cloth William could make out only the darkness which obscured the old man’s face. As the hood began to turn, William’s eyes snapped back to the road.

Did I say that out loud? His mind reeled with thoughts, Did I imagine the answer?

Before he could ponder that any longer, Crom spoke again, and William decided that he had only imagined the previous reply.

‘So tell me William, have you always been in the Civil Service?’

‘No,’ the younger man replied, his words suddenly losing the feigned joviality he had been maintaining to lighten the mood, ‘only for the past nine years, this was to be my first Census assignment.’

‘And before that?’

‘The Army, I was a junior officer in the Niger Coast Protectorate.’

‘Ah! A profitable career, why did you leave it? Passed up for promotion?’

William didn’t answer, his mind was full of bright orange and dark red; the rockets, the huts, the streets.

You weren’t responsible, a gentle voice in his mind comforted him, you didn’t do anything hundred of your fellows didn’t. You were better than they were, kinder, you followed orders and acted as a true gentleman whenever possible.

William could feel the Crom’s gaze upon him, but for the first time since meeting the old man, he had no desire to look, no desire to see his face.

‘If you truly believe that, why take a job in the Civil Service?’

The exhaustion and general malaise that clouded William’s mind left him full of doubts. He could not see the road anymore, it had receded into the darkness that surrounded the wain. He could not even see the outline of mountains in the distance. The horizon was gone, the clouds had dissipated, the starry pools had stretched and expanded until he could see nothing below the cart but a reflection of the sky above. His leg had stopped aching, he began to wonder when that had happened, whether the aches from the past hour were but a phantom pain. 

The lamp flickered out between the two travellers, and while the glare was gone, the cold blue light still surrounded William, and suddenly he missed the darkness. From the corner of his eye, William saw Crom lower his hood and sigh deeply.

‘Best get comfortable now William,’ the old man’s voice whispered from the infinity that surrounded them, ‘we have a long drive yet and much to talk about’

William did not turn to face him, there was nothing to see.