SCIENCE DIVISIONS

Energy and Investigations
Studies the invisible stuff: currents, intuition sparks, leftover thunder. Also responsible for unexplained phenomena-cracks in time, humming stones, and cows that vanish then return wiser. The lab runs mostly on guesswork and borrowed lanterns.

Case File #27
The Clock That Breathed
Location: Bell Tower, South Pier
Observation: Clock’s minute hand slowed to half-speed between 3:12 and 3:14, then exhaled a warm breeze. Investigation postponed due to lunch.

Case File #41
The Returning Cow, Again
Subject: Brid (Holstein, age 7)
Event: Brid wandered into the fog at dawn; reappeared at dusk wearing what appears to be a crown made of eelgrass. Behaviour notably serene. Nuala suspects audience with unseen council.

Case File #89
Leftover Thunder
Field Report: A sealed jar of storm-air (collected May 14th) began grumbling to itself in the archive. Jar lid now glows faintly blue. Advised to store it next to the cold tea shelf for calming effect.

Case File #102
The Stone That Learned a Song
Item: Flat granite, size of loaf
Description: Began humming the tune to “The Parting Glass" when turned toward the lake. Suspect geological homesickness.

Case File #115
Crack in Time, Minor
Event: Postmistress reported receiving Wednesday’s letters on Monday. Evidence suggests timefold located in back pocket of her cardigan. She has refused to remove it.

Case File #134
Lantern Misconduct
Incident: Borrowed lantern returned with jar of fireflies inside and a note reading “You’re welcome." Unknown donor. Lantern now classified as semi-sentient and prone to unsolicited illumination.

Energy & Investigations Department
Nestled in the half-collapsed wing of the old pier house, the department studies the invisible stuff,currents, intuition sparks, leftover thunder, without much concern for the difference between science and sorcery. The filing system consists of labelled teacups, each holding a fragment of something unmeasurable: A sigh from a storm, a shadow that arrived early, the warmth of an unspoken promise.

They’re also responsible for cataloguing unexplained phenomena: Cracks in time that make the church bell ring before the hour, stones that hum only to certain ears, and cows that vanish into the fog and return a day later with what looks suspiciously like enlightenment in their eyes.

The lab runs mostly on guesswork, borrowed lanterns, and the stubborn belief that any mystery can be coaxed into revealing itself with enough tea, patience, and slightly reckless enthusiasm. Field agents are trained to carry notebooks, bread crusts, and string, essential tools for tracking phenomena that refuse to stay in one place.

The current Head of Investigations, Mrs. Nuala Twine, claims she once held hands with a thunderclap for five full seconds. No one doubts her.

The murmur of what waits.

Every unopened box in Under Lough Owel is said to hold a beginning, a muse that is already moving beneath the lid.

A Day in the Life

The pier house smelled of tea, dust, and a faint charge of ozone which meant something on the shelves was grumbling again.

Mrs. Nuala Twine sat at the central desk with her sandwich unwrapped, pencil tucked behind her ear. She had declared it official lunch hour, which meant no case could be investigated until the bread was gone. Rules were rules.

Seamus Bracken leaned against the window, notebook open, listening to the hum.

“It’s in B-row again," he said. “Sounds like thunder bottled in a jar."

“Don’t call it thunder," Nuala replied, chewing deliberately. “Call it leftover atmospheric resonance. Sounds more professional."

Seamus scribbled resonance and, beneath it, like a storm dreaming in its sleep.

From the corner, Della Marris clicked her tongue. She was rearranging the filing teacups.

“Storm jars belong near humming stones. They quiet each other." She lifted one labelled May 14th and shifted it two spaces left, muttering, “You lot don’t listen to the files."

The door banged open, and in strode Padraig “Patsy" Gannett, dripping fog onto the floorboards. He carried a coil of string slung over one shoulder.

“Crack’s widened," he said.

“Which one?" asked Nuala.

“Keating’s cardigan pocket."

“Oh, that’ll be the new wool," Nuala sighed. “Wool stretches time something awful."

Before anyone could comment, Kit O’Rourke darted in, lantern in hand. The lantern was glowing though its wick was unlit, bobbing like a happy dog.

“It followed me again!" Kit cried. “I only went for a scone!"
The lantern pulsed brighter as if confirming this.

Seamus closed his notebook and smiled. “Maybe it likes company."

“Or maybe," Nuala said, brushing crumbs from her skirt, “we’ve another case on our hands." She set down the last bite of sandwich and reached for her pencil. “Right, let’s put it to the vote: do we investigate the cardigan crack, the lantern, or the thunder jar first?"

“Cardigan crack," said Patsy, dripping steadily.

“Lantern," said Kit, hugging it protectively.

“Thunder," said Seamus, gazing dreamily at the shelves.

They turned to Della, who alone could balance the scales. She tapped the rim of her teacup, listening.

“The files say lunch comes first," she declared, pouring herself another brew.

And so it was recorded, in Nuala’s precise hand: No case pursued between 12:30 and 1:15, owing to sandwiches and tea.

By the time the hour had passed, the thunder had quieted, the lantern had dimmed, and Mrs. Keating had taken her cardigan home.

“See?" said Della, sliding the last teacup into place. “Cases tidy themselves if you give them time."

Nuala didn’t disagree. She only made a note for the archive:
Energy, when ignored politely, often solves its own mysteries.