Cumann na nGaedheal

[Ivernia]

''The Society of the Gaels''

A thread dedicated to the inner workings of Ivernia. There may be posts from every avenue of the High Kingdom. From the High King and his Elector Princes to a explorer/exploiter in Himyar. I hope to allow more insight to the workings of the people of Ivernia - to see behind the many Communiques and an Nuachtán na hÍvernia.

Posts will come randomly and of undetermined length. I plan to write like how a designer makes a miniskirt. Long enough to cover what's important and short enough to keep things interesting.

Posts will come very soon. I just put up this first header to guilt me into writing tomorrow.

 

[Ivernia]

Bóthar an Stáisiúin, an Dún Droichead Nua, Faoin Tuath na Nemedia

An Roinn Cosanta

While it was only half five in the evening it was already pitch black outside. There was a consistent drizzle for hours which made this day dark, wet, cold and miserable. A kind of cold wet that gets caught in your lungs and makes a weak and foul cough, loud and dry. As bleak a day as could have been in the midst of an Ivernish Winter.
In this night outside of Alderburgh stood an old stone building. A converted fort. A modern road swept past it and on the road bright white headlamps chased up to the fort. The owner of the headlamps was a prestigious Eifflelandian car - black as the night that was in it.
Only in the light of the headlamps could it be seen a man in a suit waiting under a umbrella by the fort. When the black sedan stopped the waiting man carried himself to the car in a motion to open the back passenger door. When the door opened before him he instead held the umbrella over the man in a greatcoat who stepped out.

The man in a greatcoat muttered some thanks, but was clearly eager to get in from the rain - as he had no hat and, umbrella or no, the drizzle moving like dust was soaking his short grey hair.

''Damn and blast this weather. I'm out two seconds and I'm soaked.''

The man in the greatcoat hurried up the slick ancient warped stone steps of the fort which had clearly seen a thousand steps before his. When he came up to the thick oaken door he considered taking a moment to light a pipe away from the men inside (His only favoured compatriot was his own thoughts when enjoying his pipe) but rather than put his assistant or himself through any more of Ivernia's fine outdoors, he rapped his knuckles on the great oaken door. As they waited two more engines could be heard in the distance coming closer to the fort. Their headlamp-light from away cutting through leaves of the trees, shedding a little light on the porch.
The door opened on the waiting men and an amber light poured outside the fort from within. The men raised arms to their eyes to give them time to focus as they made their way in to warmth and work.

''Good evening Prime Senator!'' Said a young civil servant, almost nervously, ''The Prince Elector is waiting for you in the conference room. When you are ready?''

Silvio MacBrady could hear car doors opening behind him, other Senators of his party. ''I'm ready enough. No time to waste putting me any further into this night than I need to. Tell the other Senators I'm already heading in.''

MacBrady thanked the man with the umbrella once more, who himself went back to other duties - leaving the Prime Senator well enough alone to walk along the corridors of a fort built of stone in the 1700's. The fort that now houses the High Kingdom of Ivernia's Department of Defence. ''1st Conference Room Newbridge Fort Department of Defence'' on a brass plaque told MacBrady that he was in the right place. Before he opened the door his two fellow senators caught up with him, and all three entered the room and closed the door briskly behind them.

With the heavy deep crimson curtains covering the long windows of the room, any light at all to be gained from the outside was lost - and so three large gas lamps shone giving the room a closed-in amber glean and warm glow. Even though MacBrady distinctly noticed no fire.
Nevertheless, he removed his greatcoat and threw it over the rack by the door as his fellow Senators followed suit.

The three new entrants exchanged greetings with the three men already inside, standing around the table in the center of the room. There was the Elector-Prince of Defence Evan MacGrath, a Department of Defence diplomat for the Elector-Prince and Field-Marshal Aengus MacGuinness. As the Elector Prince was rolling out a large map across the table in just that moment, and the Diplomat was eagerly waiting on hand for MacGrath, so it was that the Field Marshal was the first to reach out his hand to the leader of the Ivernish Senate.

''MacBrady it is good to see you again, welcome to Fort Newbridge. I promise I won't keep you long.''

''As long as is needed. Lets just make the preparations and I can bring them to the High King. Your Grace? Good evening''

''Good evening MacBrady. Yes, indeed. I have the map here - come over. Johanssen, fetch a fire would you?''

As the Diplomat, with a nod to the Elector Prince's command, set out for an in-house servant to start a fire, the five remaining men readied themselves about the table, and the map, and settled down and got to business. The Prince Elector retrieved some Ór from his inner blazer pocket. ''Now we shall see here on this map. All of the many ire's and problems that face the High Kingdom to-day.''

He placed his first coin on Oikawa.

''Problem number one. As our Senate has stated, Ivernia cannot accept what they've done. The High King is furious. We really might see some level of engagement.''

''You can put those worries away your Grace, it will be my Senate that makes headway down this road. In the mean time all I want from your department are the contingency plans.''

''-Hem, quite. Quite so. My apologies, Prime Senator, I did not mean to speculate.''

Once again one of the eagle-embossed golden coins was placed on the map. ''Our next issue is the recent Communique you made me aware of, of Auraria.''

''Finally two more. The Fennian Union and the Faroes. Also seem to be related.''

''Indeed. The nations in our present world. Yujin an Kyiv will keep for another day I expect.''

One of MacBrady's Senators looked to him, ''And you're sure of this?''

Aengus placed his arm on the table, the gas light catching the gold embroidery on his sleeve, ''No Ivernish intelligence caught any particular movements within Kyiv. Neither military or Political. We believe this event passed right over the state. We believe perhaps the Kyivan State has become rather insular over the years and perhaps Ivernia is only seeing this now.''

The Diplomat returned with the servant. While the servant motioned for the fireplace to start it, the Diplomat laid out paper, quills an ink pots. As the servant finished the fire and left the room the men felt warmer, with the fire and their pipes, and began to write the letters for David MacSweeney and the High King.

''Now see here,'' MacBrady paced in front of the fireplace, smoking-pipe out half-musing to himself, ''The Senate has finished the meet. We are to act thusly.''

''Faroes is done. The Mezhists have retreated and the Sylvanian's and the Cussians have emerged victorious without so much as a single gunshot. We will be congratulating them. Also we must send out something for An Nuactán na hÍvernia to say. Make it sound like the size of the Sylvanian and Cussian armada was the reason the Mezhist's backed off. Ivernish people need a win.''

''Fennian Union is a problem. If the Kingdom of Ostveg calls, who are we to deny them? We'll need our best men at that.. Society of Nations. Perhaps I can get David to go himself. If he's in good enough health for such a trip.''

''Our Priority is Oikawa. Your reports to me were not looking good, yes?''

The Elector Prince responded, on behalf of his department, as a good Elector Prince does. ''Indeed, Senator. You knew it already, I suppose now you have a formal report. Ivernia's navy has no way of exerting influence alone in the far east. Our air force could assist their Government, but we would need a close by airport. A land port too. Carriers are no use to the Air Corps.''

''Indeed. Something we'll be discussing in the Senate soon! To think all of the High King's embassies an ambassadors across this turmoil-ed world and not a ship to save them!''

David bitterly threw his pipe ashes into the fire.

''Draw up the draft letters and one more for the Tripartite Agreement. Drop the idea of something in Oikawa. Maybe there's some hectare in Eastern Sylvania our planes can commandeer.''

The men set about the writing their plans to paper to be delivered onto a High King's office. If all goes well they can announce Ivernia's next step to the press by the beginning of the next week.

 

[Ivernia]

(This will be a multi-part story.)


Blacksod, Alderburgh

A typical 'tenement home' in the city of Alderburgh is widely considered a font of misery, disease and, most of all by those outside of Blacksod, a breeding ground of invalids and criminals. typically ten to eleven impoverished families lived within a single tall Georgian attached home. To call it Georgian however is only to note at it's origin, when Blacksod was once a place of nobles and high life. Once Factoria sprung up and blackened the air and the water in the 1800's the better classes moved against the foul wind to the east and left Blacksod to the proles of Alderburgh.

There was one particular tenement home. Completely unassuming and very much in line with the general druthers of the street. Ramshackle, black from soot and smog, many windows broken some boarded up. Parish children playing in the streets below.

In this particular house on the second room from the stairs on the third floor were a group of five men, cold and unfortunate about a table. Their window was boarded up, and so the only light source was a Rathbourne's candle glowing listlessly in the center. Two of the men felt the need to gather heat in their hands from it.

All of the men's faces, bodies and articles of clothing were hardly illuminated by the candlelight as the back soot had become a second skin on them. It lead to sickness, ill-temper, but also anonymity, which for these criminal men was a great boon and preference in their work.

Their work was in fact a heated topic of discussion for these men. One man in particular was eyeing a balding man to his left.

''An' I still say you should never have even brought a gun to the break.''

''An' I say you shut your gob. Whether or not i bring a gun wont mean shite with the gards come lookin' for me.'' Said the balding man, with his hands greedily on the flame.

A man in a ripped and wretched greatcoat between them piped in.

''Shut the fook up the two a' you. There's still the Molloy's upstairs an’ de Hennessey's on the ground floor. So you can all just shut yer cunts about any details about the house-break before someone listens in. You all fucked up. I've been chattin’ with yer won’, the lad who runs the Blackened Turf an’ he says Gards are thinking attem’ed murder might be put on the tab. Because of the aggrivated nature of our work.''

''The fucker shot first! I was only makin’ a distraction to get out!''

''This is why we're here. Some of us are too hot. Even for the tene'mins, even for Blacksod! Yer won in Blacken Turf says there are some farmers ready. Every-one who's too hot for the city is gonna head to Blacken' turf. We're gonna wash the city off ye, give ye rural clothes an’ put ye on the rail up north-west into deep fuck-end-of-no-where Nemedia. Yez all be up there for while as farmhands in some of the villiges. Just stay up der and keep a low profile - no bullshit. Say as little as possible at first - dose rural types are quick to spot city-boys from der accents aren't they?’’

The man with the filthiest mouth was also the oldest and the most decrepit. The other, younger men murmured some discontent but without him they were sure to be caught. The master-burglar pulled from an internal pocket in his ragged great coat three golden Ór’s.

''You understand how hard it is for a poor old man like me’self to gather this much gold. Out of the five of you, three are heading on the rail.''

He gave the first Ór to the balding man, not as old but still weathered, on his immediate left. He then handed out in a clockwise fashion, leaving the two men on his right, clearly the youngest two of the group Órless.

''Fintan, Aengus, yer both young. Yer both got not much on yer tab. You can both lie low and will be grand, like. You don’t need to be evacuated like these eejits.''

The decrepit man threw an obvious filthy look at his veteran troops.

''Wait what? What are we men’ to do? Hang aroun’ waitin’ for Gards to snach us up?’’ The young man, furthest away from his leader looked wide-eyed at this prospect.

'’Yeah for fook sake look here old man you’ll be handin’ me some o that gold to-’’

The other young man on the immediate right grabbed at the master’s coat. Instantly the table went over and the Ór-receivers had the naive young apprentice-burglar against a wall.

Needless to say, in the kindest of words from the poor old master, and while much scorn was settled on his three regulars, the two young new-starts were very much on their own. Once they were clear of the tenement house complete masters of their own futures, they briefly counselled.

‘’Fook sake we’re out on the town Aengus. Where are we gonna head? What’re we gonna do?’’

The two men decided to split up for moment. Living amongst the tenement houses of Blacksod, even with the Gardaí actively investigating, you can be lent a gracious period of hiding. It was during these days of hiding that two new and undeniable factors made the two men desperate. News was, the house broken was a Noble House of influence, and the search wasn't to end anytime soon, that and the North Winds were blowing through the city making hiding in the worst parts of Blacksod a fierce hardship.

It was then that Aengus reacquainted himself with his partner-in-crime Fintan for a time. It was a day they were held up in a particularly abysmal tenement house that Aengus came in with a An Nuactán na hÍvernia paper.

''In the paper, look here. Volunteers ain’ it? Folks headin’ off to the armed forces in the Comm’nwealth to push into Himyar. Listen - we got no tab. Not yet. And we’re not suspects yet. That fooker Fergus - I bet he’s hoping we’ll eventually get caught keeping heat off his main-stays. Well fook him and fook the others. We’ll both go off - what do ye say?’’

Fintan looked at the add. A lot of young unemployed men were being sent off to Himyar to secure resources past the High Kingdoms borders. Keeps numbers down for the stats. Exploiting others to keep noble coffers full.

''Listen Aengus, that’s pretty extreme. We could be gone for years? Heck, I can guarantee that we'll be gone from Ivernia for years.’’

''Oh yeah. Why leave all this behind’’ Aengus sarcastically raised his arm across the room, presenting their hovel. ''I’ve got 10 Argat. If ye get that, head down to the Parish Work'ouse and get a wash. Then meet me at the recruitment center on the paper. Fuck Alderburgh and fuck Ivernia. Lets go get some sun.’’

 

[Ivernia]

Part II

Argatír North-Western Border

Ivernish Himyari Commonwealth

Over 10 months have passed since Aengus entered boot camp in Himyar. Rather than be trained in Ivernia like he expected, he was told he would be trained ''in the environment he would be living in.'' The day had come however.

Aengus remembered his flight to the Commonwealth like it was yesterday. He couldn't believe it. His grandfather, whoever that was, would have been his age before man could even fly. Here he was flying in the Ivernish Air Corps monster of a plane. Nicknamed a ''Thunderpig,'' the roar as it took off was terrifying.
He remembered flying for so long to reach the Commonwealth. Down through Germania he looked out the porthole to catch land and guess the nation - none of which he had ever been to. Aengus was 20 years and had never even been outside of Alderburgh. He felt like he was almost lucky, along with the other recruits' excitement in the plane was exciting. Here were a bunch of men with no opportunities and no future but the inside of a cell in Mountsorrow Gaol. Now they were headed for the sunniest part of the High Kingdom wearing the uniform of a soldier.
When the plane touched down in Himyar there was a ferocious thud, with yellow dust piling around the plane. Only settling after the engines had died at the Sergeant was getting the men up and ready to leave.
When Aengus stepped out of the plane he choked. Hot air, hot and wet, unlike anything he had ever felt, washed over his skin and crawled into his lungs. Almost all of the men, barring the Sergeant, had covered their eyes with their arms and almost fell to their knees with the heat. It was January in Alderburgh. The height of winter back home, the height of Summer in this land.

''Get up! Get up! No-one tell you about the heat? Welcome to Himyar idiots. It's hot. You'll get used to it - but until then keep your pale white asses out of direct sunlight almost all of the day from now on.''

Aengus's eyes started to re focus. He took in the new world. While the cleared area was hard and dusty dirt, thick vegetation surrounded the airfield from almost every direction. The air was extremely humid.

''Follow the Corporal, you're heading on the rail down to Fort Faram outside of Silver City. You'll be meeting the medic straight away for more medicine. Move out and follow the Corporal!''

Aengus remembers one more thing about his first day in the Commonwealth. Waiting for the light rail, he saw his first native. A group of natives in fact. Several of them in workclothes waiting, keeping distance from the men in uniforms. When the rail came up they filed into a carriage separate from Aengus' entourage.

''Workers always file in the back carriage. Nothin' else to it Aengus.'' Said a fellow soldier as Aengus looked on.

That was it. He never saw the city of Silver City, or any city of Himyar. Aengus entered boot camp. He was broken down from a criminal - not that his commanders knew that specific - and reforged as a soldier. At least the best a soldier Aengus could be. He sometimes wondered about his old partner-in-crime Fintan from time to time, but thinking about home was actually managing to make him homesick. So he stopped thinking about it. He would meet him one day or he would not, he could do nothing on the new path he had chosen.

He had adjusted to the life faster than he thought he would. He certainly enjoyed routine more than thought he would. While some of his colleagues from better families found the camp sometimes unbearable - and the climate always unbearable - Aengus came from the chaotic Blacksod. Filth and pestilence were always in his life. At least at the end of the day he gets a shower in the Commonwealth.

Nevertheless the months past. ''Winter'' came to Argatír, creating incredible rains. Unlike anything he had ever seen - and he was an Ivernish man. As several other men got boot-rot, he pressed on. Through the weapon training, the combat training and even just the endless training of endurance which sometimes happened when their Sergeant's felt like pushing them to their limits and into the ground. The most difficult was the miniature excursions into the Jungle. At first only a few nights, eventually doing a full week - was some of the most gruelling nights of his life. Crawling through vegetation, soaked almost the entire day, and sleeping in a tent under pouring rain as the men told stories of bugs that burrow in your brain. It really was enough to think whether Aengus had make a mistake, and yet, he was still there. He kept going. Something had taken a hold of Aengus. Something alike a sense of adventure. He wanted to see what was further in the jungle. He heard there were entire Himyari Kingdoms of wild-men in the jungle, even some tribes deep in the jungle that had never seen modern humans. An expedition would be prepared in November, looking for fresh men to head in in December, before the Summer truly takes hold again.

It was then he heard he was to join that very December expedition. His mission, the mission of his men, was to push beyond the current North-Western Border of Argatír. They were to push in to group up with a sortie awaiting supplies of equipment and manpower. As Aengus waited in the back of the truck with his men, past the normal rabble of the troops he could hear a commanding voice in the truck next to him past the tarp enclosure.

''Listen here men, the goal of these expeditions are simple. To secure the resources of this Jungle - and beyond if we must - for the High Kingdom. Our expedition in particular will be going past the border of High Kingdom control and into the Native tribe-lands.''

One such tribe in particular, the Ashari, has proven to be the most reciprocative to the Ivernish. If the Ashari were to gain control of this land, we would gain access to cobalt, copper, diamonds and gold. If the Royal Geographic Society was to be believed.

The engine of the truck revived up. It could take him half the way.


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[Ivernia]

Office of the Prime-Representative
Department of the Prime-Representative
Government Square
Alderburgh


The Prime Representative had hoped for a moment to himself, or even just go home altogether. He was done in the House of Reps. He had filled the talks and tasks of the day. It was a cool Thursday evening. Spring time had arrived in Ivernia and suddenly there were dashes of bright and cheery sunlight but interspersed with showers of rain that made all the stone and cobblestone streets of Alderburgh slick, making the day cold.

Silvio put his pen down and turned around in his chair to face the old windows behind him.

He saw out the window it was getting dark. There was a stretch in the evenings, so there was still some light.

''I really should have left a half hour ago.'' He murmured. But he had an important meeting.

Silvio Mac Brady finished his last report, but he was just winding the clock down. His guests were to come as soon as they were off the plane from the Ivernish Himyari Commonwealth, so they would be late. He had no reason to grumble really, he was the one who couldn't wait till morning.

The clock showed 8:15 when his assistant came through the door.

''Mac Brady sir, your 8:30 just came through the door''

''Send them in now, I'm ready for them.''

A group of men entered Mac Brady’s office. The Marascal Macaire, O’Conner, the Minister of Defence, Evan Mac Grath, and even the Prince-Elector of Justice and Defence Vincentus Aodh-Mór made their way through the door.

One more man the Prime-Rep was not familiar with. A man in a grey suit, with short copper hair worthy of the palest Ivernish man, but with a slightly tanned complexion. Only a Himyar sun could make that odd combination. The man he wanted to meet.

''Marascal Macaire O’Conner, Evan, please take a seat. Welcome.'' As the two men of war took a chair each the Prime-Rep addressed the Prince-Elector, ''Duke Aodh-Mór, your grace, it is good to see you. I hope it’s not too late a meeting, how is the High King?’’

''It’s not late at all for me Silvio.’’ Aodh-Mór said while taking a seat for himself. ''I have a plane to catch late tonight with Evan here. We’re to be off in the night with the Admiral too, to meet those Sylvanian ships that landed in the main Formorian naval base in Cathair Camhaoir. Give them the welcome mat, you know the drill.’’ Aodh-Mór settled in before noticing the poor courtesy he had made to the man in the grey suit.

''Where are my manners, Silvio, this is a Mr. Bran Ogden. Bran, this is the Prime-Representative, Silvio Mac Brady.’’ Aodh-Mór lazily carried his hand from one man to the other. It was late, there was still much to do in the night, and Vincentus Aodh-Mór was not a man interested in formalities, or courtesy, unless the situation demanded it.

Silvio raised himself from his seat halfway to extend a hand for the Mr. Bran. ''Mr. Ogden it is a pleasure. I have heard, well, very little to be honest.’’

Bran smiled a coy smile ''Well that’s my trade I suppose.’’

''Yes your trade..’’ Silvio mused. Mr. Bran Ogden was Ivernia’s obligation to the Tripartite Agreement. The mandatory revamp of Ivernish intel, and to merge it's intel work with the already booming Sylvanian Agencies. Mr. Bran was just one of many, and Mac Brady was becoming frustrated at the workings of these men behind the Directorate of Intelligence.

''The G2’’ Bran said. ''Or the Directorate of Intelligence if you’re into long names.’’

''But that’s why we’re here. It’s time for your debriefing in front of me. I need to know what has been happening down in the Himyari Commonwealth this last week, after you secured the base. I know you found a white man in the encampment. What else?’’

As the Mr. Bran Ogden cleared his throat, he shot a fleeting glance to the Marascal Machaire, who nodded discreetly.

''Prime-Representative, I was a part of the sortie assembled by the Brigadier-General O’Branagain to find the fort, that the G2’s interrogation had found the location of. I was part of the team but we decided to allow Captaen MacAteer with Leifteanant-Ranger Frederick MacFergus to lead the infantry assault, with Sergeant O’Harper leading cavalry. I travelled with MacAteer, he was the only of the consignment of troops to know anything of my position.''

''You had Rangers in the Sortie, wouldn’t they have recognised you?’’

''Why would they?’’ The Marascal Macaire added, ''We give them orders and the G2 gives them orders sometimes. We don’t go out for drinks with them. Most Rangers won’t recognise you but for your uniform.’’

Bran Continued,

''Anyhow, the Rangers managed to break in the back way and found very interesting information in the base. Propaganda for two separate and opposing terrorist organisations in Ivernia. In the whole High Kingdom. The Corpse Brigade; Gothic-Fascists, and the Ivernish Communist Volunteer Force, the ICVF. While there were many armed native fighters, their intel has been conflicting and incorrect. Or things I, we, already know. There was one white man on the base. Ivernish born we believe, basing from his dialect somewhere in Estria.’’

''An Estrian man you say? So a member of the ICVF then?’’ Mac Brady appeared to be trying to join the dots.

''The man has proved very resilient, he is not giving up intel readily. Interrogation has not proved as effective as it usually does. My hands are tied as to what we can do.’’

''They shall remain so. What do you know about him? What are the possibilities?’’

''Communism is spreading in the Commonwealth. Many natives are uneducated in Himyar in general and so are too, erm, simple, to get the nuances of the system. But Commonwealth natives have education, at least a little. Some of them have already learned the word ‘’Bourgeois.’’ Bran laughed to himself.

''So it could be ICVF, but then in the north there is a rumour about the Corpse Brigade I still need to follow up on. This man could be a double-agent. A good possibility is that he is a member of a third person group, hoping to pit the CB and the ICVF against each other.’’

''My God, you’re not serious.’’ Silvio groaned. He needed a smoke. How many groups are there? ''Why can’t the Ivernish just be happy.’’ He said rather drolly.

''I blame mass media.’’ Evan Mac Grath, the Minister for Defence grumbled. ''All of a sudden these trendy new ideas are being plastered all over the radios and tv’s. Makes our good peaceful people into a bunch of rabble rousers.’’

''To be fair, if there was a third group, I would bet my Ór on a republican group.'' Bran interjected, ''Lot of positive press these days - that your administration wanted mind - on Sylvania, and Auraria, and all the rest. It could either be the old problem of Bervenia, or new workings in Milesia.’’

Mac Brady took out his pipe. ''I hope you don’t mind’’ he said as he stuffed the pipe with tobacco.

The rest took out their own pipes, Bran however took out a thin cigarette. ''I got hooked on sticks while I was training in Sylvania.’’

O’ Conner, the Marascal Machaire leaned back a relaxed as he breathed in the smoke. ''Mac Brady, Mac Brady. We’re already on it. We’ll wrap things up in the South of the Commonwealth. We move more men up to the Argatír Campaign in the Congo, and we’re moving more Rangers into Estria. Three possible terrorist groups in 30 odd million people in the whole High Kingdom. We’ll nip this in the bud.’’

O’Conners brash bravado aside he had a point. At least now they knew the problem so far, and the plan of attack.

''O’Conner, where is the G2 Base again? Cill Dára?’’

''Indeed’’ O’Conner said, as smoke filled the room of the gentlemen.

''I want an agent on call in the Department of the Prime-Rep. They can take a room in this building here, to answer to me.’’

With O’Conner’s agreement, there would be less of these meetings for them all. Eventually Prince Elector, Duke Aodh-Mór and the Minister of Defence Mac Grath made their leave for a the flight. The Marascal Machaire and the G2 agent followed soon afterwards. Leaving Silvio alone to his thoughts. It was deep darkness outside and the gas lights were burning. He had forgotten to go home.