Running the Department with Responsibility for Making Arrangements for the Unification of Ireland, an outfit quietly failing since 1958, Fiach finds himself managing a team of oddballs, timeservers, and a die-hard nationalist from Dundalk. And he spends his days refereeing rows about everything everyone has failed to agree for about 800 years, as well as absurd new suggestions – like conjuring a capital city that nobody actually wants. In Westmeath.
Nothing is too crazy to be proposed, nor too sensible to be rejected. Fiach can feel the hand of history upon his shoulder. He suspects it may soon throttle him.
Yet, against his better judgement — and all available evidence — a dangerous thought takes hold. What if he could be the one to do what Tone, Pearse and centuries of Irish martyrs failed to do: make Ireland one, and somehow not die in the process. Dream on, Fiach.
