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Report for the 29th of High Summer, Census Bureau: Lower Valley Office

Good evening. It seems rather silly to address a notebook with pleasantries, but given that it will be my most constant companion for my tenure here, I find it pertinent to treat it with due courtesy.

Aside from my duties of data collection, I have been instructed by the Lord Comptroller of the Census Bureau to record daily happenings in this book, and to leave out no details. When I asked what leaving out no detail entailed, he was very adamant that every notable event and thought be recorded without censoring, both of personal and professional nature. I had laughed, he had not, so I have since disabused myself of the idea that he was joking. As such, I have arrived in Lower Valley prepared to put pen to paper.

In the spirit of uncensored thought, I confess that I find all of this highly peculiar.

As a recent graduate of The Institute for Higher Education, I am under no impression that I am worldly, despite what my classmates might have falsely believed about their own insular lifestyles. However, I like to think I am worldly enough to point out the sheer oddness of my current assignment.

I would hate to bite the hand which feeds me and all that. A recent graduate must never be too presumptuous in seeking an occupation by which climb up the government bureaucracy in hopes of better pay. The monthly stipend granted for this assignment is very generous, for which I am thankful (if not a bit suspicious. After all, money rarely comes from nowhere for nothing).

I was met at the train station last night by a Madam Geraldina Popkin, a rather pudgy woman with a sour, wrinkled face, who is a resident of the Lower Valley Regional District of Municipalities. I have come to understand that she is contracted to clean the office and apartment in which I now reside. I was not aware of this arrangement, but she assured me that the contract was signed before my tenure began and the payments made monthly through the post, not through my stipend. Contracted and posted by whom, I do not know, as I was under the impression that I was the first to staff this office in forty-nine years. But given my utter incompetence at maintaining a neat home, I’m sure it will be a great help.

Madam Popkin, despite her dour appearance, is a genteel woman who generously provided me with transportation to my new office in the back of her donkey-cart. I am still finding hay in my hair and clothes, but when I saw the state of the road, I was very glad to avoid walking with my things.

During the ride, we made polite conversation in which she inquired about my presence. I was quite embarrassed that, given that the next census is due in three years time, I had to reveal that the last twenty censuses had not been recorded due to the abandonment of the office by my predecessors, and I was instructed to see the counting through as soon as possible. To my surprise, however, she did not seem to be upset that government resources were being wasted on my time in Lower Valley. She seemed rather pleased, in fact. When I asked her why, she said to me, “I look forward to seeing if you succeed in counting us all. Although I am afraid you may not have enough time. But I am sure you’re clever and quite up to the task.”

I think she has overestimated the size of the district. To be sure, there are many widespread farms amidst the five towns that comprise this area, but I have been told I will be provided transportation and estimate it will take no more than four to six months, rather than the three years I have been allocated.

Madam Popkin let me off at the Census Office, which I found to be strangely isolated. It is located at the center of a glade where the road splits into a series of paths, much like a clock’s face, and the front yard is comprised entirely of a massive signpost with arrows pointing to the various landmarks of the region. The building is two stories with an added spire, the ground floor as an office which may be freely entered during working hours, and my apartment above it. The whole thing looked precariously close to collapsing, but Madam Popkin assured me it was structurally sound. She told me, “If it can hold my substantial weight, I daresay it’ll hold a skinny young thing like you.”

I meant to ask her what she meant by that, given that she is stout but by no means heavy beyond standard deviation. Unfortunately, she rode off without allowing me to pay her for her kindness or ask her where my own transportation might be, merrily whistling and thus unable hear my calls. She is a peculiar woman, but we will see more of each other, so there is still time to inquire after her cryptic comments.

Fortunately, the latter question was answered by a pitiful whinny from behind the structure. When I traversed a series of blackberry bushes to find the backyard, I was astounded to see a single horse stall housing simply the most geriatric stallion I have ever seen. To hell with the building: I simply cannot ride Kindling (he had no name upon his stall, and I took it upon myself to give him an apt moniker), I fear my weight will certainly cause him to collapse. I suppose until I have gathered enough stipend to purchase a donkey of my own, I’ll be cursed to walking. At least my mother packed me a good pair of shoes.

As I was making sure Kindling was well-fed for this portion of his last days, I felt the sense of being watched from behind. My more scientific colleagues would assure me that it is an evolutionary instinct to fear the dark and what might remain in its depths. But as I am a simple statistician with a superstitious father, I feared both this reasonable instinct and the minuscule chance that it was a beast intent on turning my metacarpals into toothpicks, and hightailed it inside. I may have left Kindling to perish alone, but who could fault me? It is more likely a slightly cold breeze would do the trick than a monstrous creature.

The office is surprisingly well-kept, although it is naturally shabby with discarded papers and files. I sifted through them and found nothing of interest except for a spare set of keys and quite a few coins simply rattling around in the desk drawer. There are a few files which seem of enough import that I will have to send them to the city when I have a chance, but most of them seem to contain scribbling and scrawling of illegible unimportance.

There might also be a mouse. I am not quite sure, but there are holes chewed into the walls. If there is, in fact, a mouse, his name will be George. I do not often name pests, but I am feeling rather lonely and when Kindling inevitably perishes, I will need some sort of companionship.

Other than George, the only real difference between any other census office I’ve been in (all two of them) is a piece of paper which is framed and hangs very prominently on the wall. It reads as follows:

The Eight Laws of Lower Valley Regional District of Municipalities

All criminal activities are illegal. Anyone caught committing a crime will be punished accordingly.

For taxation and census purposes, farms must not cross municipality boundaries despite the tendency for border markers to wander. Civil engineering and land boundary consultations are available if one is unsure.

If one encounters a well or fountain on the road, the deposition of a coin and a wish are REQUIRED BY LAW. Coins can be obtained under couch cushions, at the bottom of your mother’s purse, or at the town hall of your municipality should you lack both a couch and a mother (our sincere condolences).

Dumping waste into the river is illegal. It will cause the river to develop an insatiable appetite and the perpetrator will be liable for damages.

The woods are off-limits between the hours of 3 and 4:27 in the morning, during full moons, or if anything is looking directly at oneself from the bushes

If one encounters a black cat with white diamonds on its fur, return this cat to the Hawthorne Farm as soon as possible. Make no delays.

Harvesting plants from the woods is permitted only with a signed permit. Those who do not have a permit may be mauled, smushed, or otherwise dealt with by the forces of nature. In this case, your municipal government will be unable to assist you.

If one spots a dragon, it is one’s civic responsibility to locate and alert the proper authorities. Failing to do so may result in a substantial fine and/or immolation.

This list seemed nonsensical, but bore the seal of the Lower Valley District Council, whom I have yet to meet. It must be quite old if it mentions dragons[1]. However, it must also be of utmost importance to maintain such a place on the wall, so I shall be attempting to follow it as best as I can. At the very least, it explains the prevalence of coinage in this place.

The apartment itself is equally small but quite cozy. There is no bedroom, just a small alcove where a bed lays below a window with a wooden chest for my belongings. There is a small but serviceable kitchenette with a wood-stove for warmth, a dining table with room for four, and a living area with a small reading nook in the attached spire. I am delighted to note that the floorboards do not seem in danger of collapsing, nor do the walls, and am even further delighted that the pantry is stocked well with edible goods, soaps, cloths, and candles. Madam Popkin must have stocked it, for which I am indebted her a great deal more than just the money I previously owed.

What’s more, the books on the shelf seem quite intriguing. While I may be lonely, at least I will not be bored or uncomfortable.

As I had prepared an evening meal for myself (of tea and a single biscuit. The descriptor of ‘meal’ is entirely too generous), I felt quite like I was not alone. Luckily, the drapes over the windows are heavy, and once they were closed, I began to feel quite cozy. I have always considered myself a bit of a city-slicker, but with the fire crackling in the stove and a cup of tea with a blanket over my shoulders, I can see the appeal of a provincial lifestyle. Perhaps when my work here is done, I might be relocated to a more convenient but equally peaceful office.

Tomorrow, I will begin my work. However, I must note on one more strange thing about this place, other than the feeling of being watched through the windows. I own a pocket-watch with a compass attached to the back face, given to me by my father as a graduation gift (he always despaired of my inability to conduct myself in the wilderness. It’s as if he forgot we have cities now and no longer need to listen to the burble of streams to find our way or whatever it is fathers claim to have been taught). However, the compass seems to be broken, with the needle spinning frenetically around. It sets itself in a seemingly meaningless direction from time to time, but always resorts to spinning again.

I think I shall have to go get it serviced. I could never really get my head around how the blasted thing worked.

[scratched out writing]

Good morning. I believe it is morning by technicality, at least, though it is still firmly night. I awoke to the sound of something shaking the doorknob downstairs and nearly died of fright when I thought it was some ne’er-do-well attempting to break in. I even went so far as to grab a heavy pan from the cupboard, as if I could actually chase someone away. I am afraid I am too weak and lack what my father would call survival instinct to really do damage, but I am quite tall and hoped my height and the presence of a bludgeon would cause at least some fear.

Alas, it was simply the wind shaking the door, with no one in sight anywhere on the property. Only Kindling was there, still finishing his dinner from hours ago, persisting in his old age.

Despite the absence of others, I still felt as if I was being watched, even as I checked every nook and cranny of the building and hid the spare keys in a lockbox. I think the large windows at the front of the office are the problem. I shall have to get heavy curtains for them when I go into town.

So many things to purchase. Perhaps that is why the stipend is so high (please do not see this as a complaint. I am still quite pleased with the generosity of my compensation). Even with my fatigue and healthy caution, I find myself excited to begin exploring the towns despite my earlier trepidation. Perhaps my loneliness will be quickly assuaged.

This report was recorded on the 29th of High Summer in the Eighth Year of King Algernon IV (8A4)[2] by Census Enumerator (CE) 71795[3].

The Professor’s Notes

[1] As of the present, dragons are still extinct and their existence is now a matter of fierce academic debate in the department of Paleontology here at the Institute. Please see work by my colleague Dr. Dino van Sauer for more information.

[2] The establishment of a constitutional monarchy in 1 DC fundamentally ended the monarchical time system in favour of a standardized system of time measurement. This year corresponds with the year 103 BDC (Before Democracy).

[3] Census Enumerator 71795 is never named, and we have had little luck tracking down their information through the government’s archives (the Royal Archives continues to give me the runaround)[4]. All that is known about them is that they were a graduate of the Institute for Higher Education with a specialty in statistical mathematics and public policy, they were between twenty-two and twenty-four at the time of these reports, and that they quit the Census Bureau after completing this census, which has never been completed in this area since.

[4] It is important to note that while it has been previously assumed the enumerator is male, as was common among the per-democratization bureaucracy, they are never referred to as man or woman. At this time in history, women were beginning to enter the educated masses of the workforce in large numbers. While it is more likely than not that the enumerator is a male, given the well-documented and high profile nature of working women at this time and the enumerator’s relative obscurity, to discount the possibility of them being a woman would be greatly irresponsible, and so they shall be referred to in neuter.

This report has been transcribed by Dr. Hamish James of the Institute for Higher Education.

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