Emissions/Kilian Doyle: A long time ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a prince. Not always a happy prince, but a good one. A small man, he had a big heart and even bigger plans.
This prince, we'll call him Seamus, had a very important job. The land had been very poor for centuries. Its people were sad and downtrodden, and those who did not flee stayed to eke out a living from the muck, and traverse the fields on clapped-out nags. But over a few short years, it had gained great wealth, and the people bought thousands of strong, sturdy Japanese and European carriages in which to travel in style.
These were much faster than their old nags, and the people were more confident. And the tracks got better. Slowly.
But then the people got too confident and started to whip and lash and drive like Ben Hur. They kept crashing. And injuring themselves. And dying. Seamus was worried - it was his job to ensure the good people of this merry land travelled in peace, rather than pieces.
His king, Bertie, was a strange man. Nobody really knew what he was saying most of the time. He had an unusual method of holding on to power - if anyone crossed him, they would be lambasted and then they would be promoted. He gave Seamus a hard time.
The little prince's predecessor, Princess Mary, had been deposed by the plain people of the land. So Bertie promoted her. And he never let Seamus forget it. Nor would he stand for Seamus blaming Mary when he got in trouble because he couldn't clean up her mess.
The Chancellor, an odd man who also needed a translator, was also mean to Seamus. For the Chancellor, though he was driven around in a Teutonic chariot himself, didn't like this new form of transport.
He was a horse lover, and not afraid to show it. His equine enthusiast friends became very rich.
Seamus was under pressure. People were dying. Over 400 of them a year. And thousands were being hurt. He had a think. They were crashing because they were going too fast, he deduced. But how to stop them? They loved going too fast.
And they had money. Making them pay fines wouldn't stop them. So he had an idea - stop them when they drove too fast, write down their names, and when they did it again, take their details once more. If they were stopped too many times, take away their carriages. It was brilliant.
Seamus told Bertie his idea. Bertie told him to talk to Michael, the Dark Lord of Dastardly Deeds. Seamus was scared. This prince had powers far beyond those warranted by his support. Seamus suspected a pact with evil forces.
He asked the Dark Lord could he borrow his Blue Army to write down the names. The Dark Lord huffed and puffed, and said his army was busy cleansing the land of unwanted aliens and peasants. But he was angry with them for consorting with the town criers. What better way to punish them than make them stand on wet cart tracks and harass carriage drivers?
Seamus was delighted. He knew the Dark Lord wouldn't give him all of the Blue Army, and even if he did, there wouldn't be enough of them . Still, in the first year, nearly 67,000 citizens had their names written down.
The Blue Army even managed to remember some of these names. A fifth fewer people went to meet the Gods. Seamus was pleased. He began plotting to secure his place in King Bertie's chair. It was only a matter of time, he thought. But little did he know, the Dark Lord had other ideas . . .