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Your Majesty, the world has disembarked.

Here in London, Imperial Service Troops

from each and every dominion
make camp in Hyde Park.

Your capital opens its arms to your empire.

And here, that empire will
pay tribute to your reign,

to this Diamond Jubilee.

Er, from the palace, you will
lead the procession, 45,000

men at arms, cavalry from your homeland,

Munshi, Bengal Lancers.

It will be a living gazetteer
of your realms, Majesty.

The streets will be
lined, the joy unconfined.

Following your lead up Constitution Hill,

St. James to Pall Mall, Trafalgar Square,

The Strand until St. Paul's
where the Bishop of London...

Sync & corrections by PetaG
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_

_

Silence, silence!

Assistant Commissioner
of Police Augustus Dove

will now give address.

Ladies, gentlemen, people of Whitechapel,

as the wider city prepares
itself for celebration

the like of which we have never seen,

Scotland Yard invites you here
today with double incentive

to introduce you to your new station house,

a magnificent building,
I'm sure you'll agree.

But first, to congratulate Inspector Drake

and his division on their rigorous pursuit

and capture of the man who murdered

the Rabbi Leon Ratovski.

Here, here!

Sentence of death has now
been handed down on his killer.

A sentence we at Scotland Yard

do, albeit with sadness, welcome.

Now come.

Mr. Drake is keen to show you his new home.

Mr. Drake, will you explain?

It is a telephone.

The line here is connected
throughout the stations,

a system of communication, which allows

the Inspector and his men to speak
to each other wherever they work.

Assistance may be requested,
information passed on.

Young boys will go to school,

not run policeman's lunch orders for them.

Of this, however, we
are particularly proud.

It was well known Mr.
Drake's predecessor kept

a criminal archive in the rafters
of the old Leman Street Station.

Sergeant Drummond.

Mr. Reid's files were photographed,

and their size then shrunk
by a ratio of 160 to 1.

We now add to them daily, each and
every reported villainy read here.

Imagine a stanhope, but of
more applicable function.

What do you call it, Inspector?

It is the microreader.

_

I prefer these places
empty, it must be said.

But it is not their place to be empty.

We laugh, I know, but there is
a truth buried in that laughter.

We must not forget that the hoped
for conclusion of police work

is not a prison groaning with convicts,

but no prisons at all.

Inspector Drake, no
sooner does your new master

at Scotland Yard hand you down new premises

than he seeks to make you
surplus to requirements.

It is a redundancy I would
welcome, Miss Castello.

Wouldn't we all, Mr. Drake?

It is a utopia.

Inspector Drake, might I bring you
back to less, ah, elevated matters?

Go on, Miss Castello.

As regards the murderer of Rabbi Ratovski,

Mr. Dove tells us the sentence of death

handed down on the Whitechapel
golem is welcomed at Scotland Yard.

Do you here at H Division
echo that sentiment?

I would prefer to call him by his name.

It was your newspaper dubbed him otherwise.

Not so, Inspector. We simply
echoed the frightened voices

heard amongst the jury of Whitechapel.

Nonetheless, the inspector
makes sound argument.

This borough here has a taste for monsters,

for their birthing and nurture.

Then let us here of the
man behind that monster.

Will we have his given
name from you, Mr. Drake?

You know it. It is Isaac Bloom.

A mathematician, part
of the same Whitechapel

jury, and well known to
H Division, was he not?

He gave service to your predecessor
more than once, so I understand.

He may have, Miss Castello, but
that does not alter the facts.

Men may change. Bloom is no different.

The rabbi Leon Ratovski
visited London from Paris.

Isaac Bloom killed him in a Whitechapel
laneway and will hang for it.

Let those facts be known,
if you will, Miss Castello,

then let him be forgot.

_

Sergeant.

- Detective Sergeant.
- I need to see the old man.

Mr. Drake has guests, as you know.

He must hear this, however.

Frank, save the shoe leather.

I'm sure it must be near run
through, and new boots are costly.

Were it not for the fact I
think you'd enjoy it too much,

I'd take this piece of machinery
and I'd shove it up your...

Hello?

There's a murdered man washed
up on the Western Dock, sir.

I'll be there, Sergeant.

- Sir, I...
- You go, Inspector.

OK, excuse me.

Oh, Mr. Drake.

One moment, please.

This today, it is much appreciated.

I know such work is not to your taste.

I understand, sir. It is important.

The men feel their work is seen, and
such witnessing gives encouragement.

You have me, Inspector.

Stand aside. Police, stand aside.

Mr. Drake, my men and I,
we are happy to see you.

The elected steward for
dock, wharf, riverside,

and general labourers union. Happy?

I shall remember the day, Mr. Teague.

You are?

Name's Croker, Croker's
Wharf, two ticks upriver.

Where that reefer should
now be getting its freight

unshipped if you will not
say otherwise, Inspector.

Forgive me. I am brought
here for a dead man,

not to arbitrate in a labour dispute.

Ah well,

allow me, Inspector.

Indian fellow.

Last guy working the sieves,
most like, from his colouring.

It was him what has put him there.

That is slander, Roy.

Do you accuse us of murder?

Yes, Mr. Teague. Do you?

No, I say only that this
wharfinger has found a floater

on the night tide, sought
to gig it downriver,

and land it here, and see these
men go work this come sunrise.

That is 500 frozen
carcasses from New Zealand,

mutton, lamb, pig, 50
kegs of butter alongside.

As good a day's work as these
men have known all month.

Booked for lumping right here.

But if you will now close this
dock to mount investigation,

then he, who pays no dues to this union

and lives outside its regulation,

will have his lightmen out
on the water in two jiffies

and take that cargo as his own.

This true, Mr. Croker?

It is not, Mr. Drake.

At least the first part is not.

The second, that those frozen carcasses

be brought ashore for warehousing
and distribution, that is true.

And I shall certainly
be bidding for such work.

You cannibal, Croker! This...

That murdered man is nought
but some Indian googoo,

Inspector, for whom you would
deprive London men of their work!

The man's origin is not
pertinent, Mr. Teague.

You're right about one thing, however.

I shall be closing this
dock for investigation.

As for who works and profits,
well, that is not my lookout.

Sergeant, see this dockside picked

and cleared for evidence.

The murdered man to be
untangled, careful like,

and conveyed to our
deadroom. You understand?

And for yourself?

There's no time. I've go to
drag our surgeon from his pit.

All right.

She-piggy, Captain Jackson.

Jackson.

Morning, Chief.

How are thee?

- One man.
- Four crowns.

Best be quick. There's some
place I need to be this afternoon.

One crown. You work efficiently,
you will be free to leave.

Two crowns, two shillings, and a sixpence,

and I leave when I say I leave.

Jackson.

Drake.

Come on.

You have the look.

What look?

Bulldog swallows wasp.

Read all about it! Susan Hart to Hang?

This man.

_

Yeah, what of him?

In two days time, we are told.

Yeah, I can do math, Drake.

And yet you still make no plans to visit.

Visit whom?

Your wife, she who languishes
in Newgate these three years,

she who'll soon no longer be your wife

- on account of the fact she will be...
- No, Drake. No plans.

No surprises.

Do you understand, Inspector?

This week of all weeks.

Secretary Chamberlain,
it is a happy occasion.

You relax, get yourself happy.

I shall get happy, Mr. Constantine,

when you have delivered to us
what we have asked you to deliver.

This Munshi, the Queen's
manservant, his influence might

be feared by her household, but
my spies have no such worries, sir.

Could be he's cleaner
than you gentlemen imagine.

By which you imply you are yet to
find anything demonstrates otherwise?

We watch, sir. We look.

Well, look harder.

He and his moon-faced friends,

there are extreme beliefs amongst them.

And extreme beliefs beget
extreme action, Inspector.

We must put an end to this
Muslim Patriotic League.

It's left to right.

It's quick work.

There is little by which to place him.

But he is of South Asian origin.

Well, that's a keen eye on you, Drake.

I thought at first lascar, but his hands,

there's no callouses from the sea work.

His nails are well kept and unbroken.

Ah!

There's, ah... some remains of
soil from the tread of his boots.

But that does not look
like river mud to me,

not our river least ways.

And you pronounce this from which analysis?

It's not black enough.

Yes.

I think that analysis might
be improved upon, however.

It's a warm day. Let's put him on ice.

Ratovski?

I think Mr. Ratovski
may leave us, may he not,

now that, ah, Bloom's been sentenced?

Still something to credit a man like that?

Such savagery.

Why? Because Isaac Bloom
was a man of thought?

Isn't a man's mind the darkest part of all?

It was a mind much loved by Reid.

Never knew a man of such
clear-eyed, intellectual courage.

Those were his words.

Yes, there were.

Edmund Reid was wrong about plenty

in the course of his life here.

Well, Mr. Reid, how is the water?

Bracing, Mr. Ramuz, even in June.

Bathing is not recommended.

Here, Edmund.

Ah, thank you.

And so your calculations?

The running ebb current runs at 10 and a ½,

the flow a notch above 9.

These two currents produce what
I understand to be a tidal scour.

It's a process of erosion
that moves the beach materials,

the sand, and the stone and so forth
to the eastern side of the pier.

- Away from where the housing is built.
- Yes.

Removal of the freshwater oyster beds

compounded the issue, in my opinion.

It may have, but this is to be
a resort town, not a fish farm.

How do you believe it might be stopped?

I'm not sure I know, sir.

It is the sea, after all.

I hope, Edmund, you'll forgive
my father his sharpness.

He has much invested here.

It's understandable.

Should Hampton-on-Sea
become Hampton-in-the-Sea,

we will have lost everything.

And so do you see, Edmund,
how your coming here

is a boon to us, the community
we built here, and to myself also?

My Alfred gone, I'd come
to think my life would be

solely dedicated to that rouse.

Yes, the, er, friendship
our daughters have made,

a great pleasure to us all.

What a day we shall have, come the
Jubilee, the four of us together.

Why is she dressed as the Queen,

and what are they doing, Mathilda?

Shh, Valerie, watch.

He makes a kind of love to her.

Mathilda, our train.

Christ, Val, we must run.

What?

The new police station.

That is Samuel Drummond.

His friends call him Drum.

And that is Francis Thatcher.

Which do you consider the more handsome?

- Drum.
- Yes.

Come. We may cut through to the
new underground station here,

direct from Whitechapel to Victoria.

_

_

_

Rose, please, stop your crying.

Forgive me, Miss Susan. It's just...

it's only that...

all become so real, to think that...

Mr. Theakston?

Yes, Miss S?

Will you take Connor for a few moments?

Course, Miss S.

Give me that.

Rose, understand.

I am resigned that the law of this land

allowed me this time to
birth and nurse my son.

Well, it is a blessing,

but my sentence was always my sentence.

The death that I brought, Rose,

it must be paid down.

And tell me, how fares the captain?

It is a wonder

that you can ask after him
with such kindness, is sweet.

He is getting about his same old games,

not one thought in this world for you,

- or his son.
- Come, Rose.

He and I, all that we have lived through...

I will not have rancour in my heart,

not now,

and above all, not for him.

All who love you must
grieve, Miss Susan, grieve.

They'll not suspect a thing.

Broken hearts are a small
price to pay for freedom.

The low to medium concentrations
of calcium and zinc

in the soil, would suggests parkland.

Further, we have some copper,
northern and central parkland.

Hyde Park, Regent's Park,
Hampstead Heath, Primrose Hill.

No, no, no. It's too wide a net. Do better.

Gladly.

There's little arsenic within, however.

Well, that's a pity.

Oh, that's cute Benito.

Northern parks would show
an elevated arsenic count.

So you can strike Hampstead and
Primrose from the list, therefore.

Now here,

these are redworm eggs.

Redworms are horse
parasites, shat out in manure.

There's a parade in this city on Tuesday,

a parade involving a
great number of infantry

and an equal number of cavalry.

And which park does the
cavalry make its encampmentry?

Hyde Park, Bengal Lancers.

Drake, you'll need this.

Police, who is it commands here?

I am Risaldar-Major Al-Qadir.

These are my men,

And do you currently lack for one, sir?

Lack?

A man, have you any missing?

Why do you ask?

There's a dead man of your stock

found on the shore of a
Whitechapel dock this morning.

Hyde Park dirt and horse shit about him.

Not too far north of 30 years of age.

Oh, and he, ah...

he wore this.

Good afternoon, sir.

Good afternoon, Sergeant.

Drum, will you inform Captain Jackson

we hope to identify our river man.

Right away, sir.

Major Al-Qadir,

our surgeon, Captain Jackson.

Captain

of what?

US Army, sir.

Now, Drake, you and the major are all set.

Where is it you go?

That place I needed to
be, I need to be there.

May I show him to you, sir?

He is not one of my soldiers.

No, you do not move, sir!

His name is Mr. Sayid Kalim Abdul Al-Qadir,

graduate of Balliol College Oxford,

barrister at law at the Bar
of England and Wales, and...

he was my son.

Mr. Judge, good morning.

- Mr. Cotter.
- Pleasure to see you once more.

Now, no one is on trial, and I'll
simply have the court's decision.

And that decision
foregone and easy, correct?

Correct, a formality.

Now, this might be an apposite
moment, Mr. Judge, for the, um...

final settlement of my firm's fees.

Oh, er, right. Yeah, certainly.

As agreed, Mr. Cotter.

Well, Mr. Judge, shall we dance?

All rise.

What we saw that man do
earlier to that woman,

do you think my father has
done that to your mother yet?

How was your day?

Tennyson and trigonometry,
my stock and trade.

This is soot. How do you have soot on you?

I have no idea.

How could it possibly be soot?

My next question, Mathilda. How indeed?

Come, Father, it is
only a smear on a collar,

and you are no longer a policeman.

Open it, please.

_

Thank you.

Right, all this, the details of his work,

see it boxed and ordered,
returned to Sergeant Drummond.

Did your son share the details
of his life with you, sir?

Share?

Where he went, who he
knew, what he thought?

We spoke for only one half of an hour

three days past, and
that, the sole conversation

in which he and I have
partook in almost six years.

- Since he left India.
- Correct.

- My Sayid.
- That is he?

- It is.
- Forgive me,

but when you and your
son spoke recently, sir,

did he say when he might be leaving here?

- Leaving?
- Going home, sir.

This was his home,
Inspector, London, England.

He was an English gentleman.

Oh.

Sir, do you know this
other man, this Mr. Hafeez?

With regret, I do.

He made friend of my son
in Pune, Deccan College.

His name is Imran Hafeez.

So they did not travel to Oxford together?

They did not.

And this low opinion
you suffer of Mr. Hafeez?

He is a bad boy, no respect.

Common, you understand.

Oh, I do.

Ask about, the last
time anyone employed here

spoke to Sayid Al-Qadir or Mr. Hafeez.

Order, order in the court!

Order, order!

Order, I say!

You said it was a
formality. You assured me.

It's taken us 18 months
to get here, Cotter!

Come, Mr. Judge, a lawyer's assurances.

Edmund, might I?

You do not invite us
in, and I understand why,

that it would not seem proper,

but...

there is present propriety,

and there is a future where we might,

you and I, construct a world where such
considerations need no longer be met.

Edmund? W...

Who is she?

Miss Goren, Deborah.

Hello, Edmund.

You had not heard?

I, er, no longer take the London papers.

Course, why would you?

Mathilda, I think you
might get to your books.

My books are read, Father.

Then if you wish, as you say you do,

that I will send you to Oxford,
I suggest you read them again,

or I will call on Mr.
Worthing in the morning

and say that yes, my daughter would
make an admirable secretarial assistant,

and that will be that for your learning.

Now, leave us.

How on Earth did you find me?

Ah, it was not so hard.

You are still talked of in Whitechapel.

I expect you will be forever.

There's still no policeman afforded
greater respect than Edmund Reid.

Bennet Drake is not afforded respect?

No, of course, but it is Mr. Drake...

Who led the investigation which now
sees Isaac Bloom facing execution.

Isaac did not do such a
thing. It is not within him.

And who else shares this conviction?

Only myself.

And, I hoped,

perhaps yourself.

So you thought that I
would now travel to London,

to Whitechapel, and challenge the care

and rigour with which my
friend has prosecuted this case?

Forgive me, Miss Goren,
but that is a leap of faith

based on no other logic but
your own. I will not do it.

No, it is you who must forgive me. I'm in
your home, and I've raised you to anger.

Thank you, both of you,
for your hospitality.

No, please, stay. Stay
with us. Eat with us.

Please, Deborah, I
insist. So will Mathilda.

Thank you.

I gave thanks when it was said that
your daughter had been returned to you.

I remembered your conviction,
and... and I admire you, Edmund.

It cannot be an easy thing to grant
her the freedom you now so clearly do.

I'm not sure I understand
what you mean, Deborah.

I saw her and her friend. They
boarded my train at Victoria.

I assumed that...

Soot.

Mathilda Reid!

Mathilda! In here!

Soot, Mathilda, soot!

London, where is it you go?

To our home, Father.

It is not our home, not any lo... good God,

did you take Valerie Freeman
with you to Whitechapel?

She was curious.

And why should she not be?
It is a fascinating place.

And do you not think, Mathilda, on what

might happen to her, to you?

You of all... you know
what happens in Whitechapel!

I do. I never forget.

And do you see, my
darling, how this pains me?

I brought you here.

I brought us both here so that in time

these memories might be forgot.

But I am older now, grown.

And I understand something
I think you do not, Father,

that I am made and cannot be remade.

Do you not think, despite all that you

have constructed here, that
the same might be true of you?

You will go to your room, Mathilda.

And there will be no more
of this, do you understand?

No more, Mathilda.

I do not write the law in this
goddamned country, Caitlin.

Neither am I a judge, both of which

resolved that in the absence of a corpse,

seven years must pass before
your father be declared dead

and his worldly goods
handed to his surviving heir,

our son.

Forgive me, but is this not the
reason why we hired a lawyer?

A lawyer only makes the argument.

He... he don't rule

And this man, Cotter, he
was the best you could find?

He was.

And by best, Matthew,
I do mean most costly.

I paid what I could muster.

Well, I am glad to know what
value you place on my life,

- that of our son, also.
- Now, you wait a minute.

You think I'm out there running
a bullion brokerage? I am not.

I'm the hired knife of a
police division in Whitechapel.

I do not drink no more.

I do not gamble.

And I've saved damn near
every farthing I could

for our case to be made.

Sobriety and thrift, you have my sympathies

for the many privations you must have

suffered in your inevitable
pursuit of failure.

I was set on guns and
fast horses, remember?

This was before even your
sentence was passed down,

before even our son was born, but it

was you that said they'll
allow me to raise the boy,

and you that said that this was not Arizona

and escape should be won with
hard cash and not dynamite.

What I want is for you to act as a
man ought, to protect your family.

Or else I will die, Matthew.

I love you.

I can't lose you.

Then save me.

There's no time.

I don't know how.

Then what use are you to me?

Guard, my husband is leaving.

- Darling, please.
- Out.

You heard it all, I imagine, Dr. Probyn.

All that has been promised,
it may still be yours.

But when?

In due course.

By which you mean after I have
facilitated you and your son's

flight from these walls.

Ah...

It would seem illogical on my part

not to take the promised payment
whilst you are still proximate.

Would you see me beg?

I would not.

But men must be bribed.

Our friend, Guard Theakston,

the good men of the London Wall Laundry

who were to accept the two
of you aboard their cart

the morning after next,
they will not oblige

if I cannot hand to them their incentive.

Now, it will bring nothing
but, ah, sadness to us all,

but I cannot see how it may now be done.

Harry, Apples, Freddy, Edward,
Edward, Zebra... Hafeez.

These are the magazines we took
from the dead lawyer's office?

- Yes, Inspector.
- Not a little amount of bedside

reading for you then.

I shall get about it
presently, however, Inspector.

You're the educated man, Sergeant.

Are you familiar with this tale?

Yeah, founder one Abdullah Quilliam.

He was born William Henry Quilliam,
son of a watchmaker from Liverpool.

Changed his name upon
taking up Mohammedanism.

- Eh?
- An Englishman, sir,

now adhering to an eastern religion,

one he promotes and
debates beneath that title.

Look here, Sayid Al-Qadir.

Seems our dead man is not only a subscriber

but a contributor also.

Quite so, sir.

The sun of Islam now rises from the west.

_

How where they, Rose?

- How were who?
- You know, your audience, the house.

Oh.

Much as ever.

Thank you.

That dead lead we pulled from the Western.

It's quite some firebrand he was.

We British, he says, are sea wolves
living off the pillage of the Earth.

Hmm.

Such opinion enough to turn
his father's beard blue.

Why does that worry you, Bennet?

He's an upright fella, Bengal Lancer,

sports his stripes with a
pride some might call immodest,

but... I have some feeling for him.

He's never seen the country he serves,

comes here to pay tribute to his Queen,

finds her capital has
taken his boy from him.

You see his grief, and it moves you,

a father's grief.

- Now, Rose.
- Am I not to be allowed my regret,

- Bennet?
- I did not say that,

but you behave on occasion as if
it were myself inflicts it upon you.

And why should you not?

I have not given you what
you had a right to expect.

You give me yourself,
Rose. You give me your love.

- That is all I've ever...
- Don't say it.

It is not all.

It is not.

You may deny it, but the
whole world knows it, Bennet.

They look at their Chief of Police,

and they say to themselves, well,

If he will take a one-time
bonner as his wife.

Oh, for Christ's...

He should have known that nothing can ever

grow within that dry, old hat that she

- now keeps between her legs.
- You will stop this.

- But...
- I will not hear it!

My love, these are no man or
woman's thoughts but your own.

Then why, Bennet?

Why can we not give ourselves a child?

Who believed but you, Edmund,
that your Mathilda lived?

All those that cared for you, myself,

Mr. Drake, all thought
it but a forlorn dream,

wrong-headed and only harmful to yourself.

And yet, you had certainty. You knew.

Isaac did not do this thing.

I know it as you knew your daughter lived,

he did not do this thing.

And think, Edmund, on
what else that might mean,

the true killer still walking
the streets you once knew as home.

You will have missed the last
train by now, I think, Miss Goren.

We shall make a room up for you.

The lady left before daylight, I believe.

She left a note for you, however.

Oh, you read it, I imagine.

- What does it say?
- I do not understand it.

There's only one line.

It is a fragment of verse from the Talmud.

The Hebrew teachings given by God to Moses.

Perhaps.

How does it continue?

Save one life,

- you save the world entire.
- _

Inspector Drake, it is you
who's ordered a manhunt,

- fellow called Hafeez.
- It is.

He is wanted for questioning
in a murder inquiry.

Never mind that,
Inspector. You come with me.

Yes, sir.

This is Inspector Constantine.

Our beloved special branch.

You know this man.

Come, Mr. Drake.

It can surely come as no shock to you.

It's no shock to myself, after all,

that you, here in this
gutter, once more give shelter

to dissidents and vile extremism.

- What is this?
- This man Hafeez,

he is on a watch list.

I would not give that much
credence for this man's word.

This peculiar elevation of
yours, Drake, I'm confused.

It's unlikely to be merited
by a sudden emergence

of brains in that gorilla skull of yours.

- Who do you think you're...
- Sergeant, leave him.

Francis Thatcher, mother dead,
father invalided on a coal barge.

Sister, Lily,

two counts of soliciting
before her 18th birthday.

But you are the sole breadwinner
in that household now.

Are you not, Sergeant?

Sergeant Drummond, a man full grown,

still living with his mother.

Do your colleagues here smirk at such?

Assistant Commissioner, should you

wish to be appraised of my intelligence,

I suggest we leave.

Inspector Drake will
join us, Mr. Constantine.

I insist.

As you prefer, sir.

But you need to hear
what Hafeez has to say.

Muslim Patriotic League,

it's mostly an institution
which bears loyalty to its Queen.

There are factions, sirs,

splinterings that do not envision such
loyalties favourable to men of their faith.

Did I not promise to send word, Major?

I did not undertake to
wait for it, however,

and the man who speaks to crowds is

never such a hard man to find.

Imran Hafeez will now speak.

Brothers,

we are now everywhere under attack,

and even as our Empress
Queen summons her subjects

from the furthest reaches of her dominion,

her whole nation's press

makes a relentless and vituperative attack

against the Ottoman
Sultan and his caliphate.

It is therefore incumbent upon us,

we Muslim men,

advanced by the privilege
of our British educations,

to illuminate the path forward
to those of our brothers

who are not so advantaged,

a path which leads away
from this Empress Queen,

whose rule is soon to be so
loudly cheered in this city,

away from her, and toward, perhaps,
a more natural leader and benefactor.

He, Abdul Hamid II,

The Sublime Khan, Caliph to all Islam.

They find such fault in the
country which raises them up!

Well, let that country

put these moon-faces back down!

Excuse me.

Sorry.

Ha, hey!

Angel, here!

Little moon-face googoo lawyer,

trying to tell good
Englishmen how they must work,

how they must live.

Ah!

Imran, evil child that you
are, you stand behind me.

What's this? You got some toy
soldier to do your fighting for you.

My name is Risaldar-Major Haroun Al-Qadir.

I have travelled to London
to pay tribute to my Queen.

My Queen is your Queen.

And yet no white working man in the docks

is invited to march in front of her.

No, we're cursed and forgot.

Huh?!

Major Al-Qadir.

I cannot believe you are
not at fault for this.

Come!

Mr. Drake, sir.

I believe you wish to
interview this man, Mr. Drake.

Pune, India. The deputy
governor of that state

assassinated at a Jubilee tea
party by this man, Javad Akran.

He, as Mr. Hafeez, as
Sayid Al-Qadir, your victim,

also a graduate of Deccan College.

Hafeez, do you know who this
gentleman is, his back to us?

That, Mr. Dove, is Mr. Abdul Karim.

- The Munshi.
- The same.

Victoria's brown right arm,

an invited guest to a gathering of our
Muslim Patriotic League's top brass.

And here in pleasing colloquy
with Mr. Imran Hafeez,

your murder suspect.

This watched report number
3691, Friday 18th of June 1897,

which for those hard of counting,
Mr. Drake, is this Friday just passed.

Subject Hafeez, Imran observed
in an urgent gesticulation

with subject Al-Qadir,
Sayid, your murder victim.

Shoving and punching
between both gentlemen.

And this latter gentleman now washes up,

his throat cut on a Whitechapel dockside.

All this but days from the most
significant act of patronage

our glorious empire has ever known.

Makes me restive, Mr. Dove.

It makes me urgent curious.

So I shall be taking this Mr. Hafeez,

and I shall see that curiosity fed.

On whose authority, Mr. Constantine?

On my own, Mr. Drake, on that
of the realm's inviolability.

Forgive me, Mr. Dove.

These spies, it is their
business to imagine threat

where none yet exists, but what
we have here in our deadroom

is a sight more real than the fantasies he

summons up of Indian
cuckoos in our Queen's nest.

Mr. Dove, surely you see the
greater scale of our priorities here.

Mr. Hafeez will be remanded
to Inspector Drake's care.

And if I have you overruled?

Who here overrules me?

Do not think me gone for long.

_

_

_

Margate, Chatham, and fast to London
Victoria, ladies and gentlemen.

Roy, that's your girl, Kay.

Christ. No.

Not that I seek your pleasure, Mr. Hafeez,

but there is motive for
you to be grateful to me.

Shall I show you the
cold body of your friend?

It is a sight you would
not forget in a hurry,

not unless it was you who
stuck the knife in his neck,

which is the way I
currently look at the world.

Do you deny it?

Would such denial be
plausible to you, Inspector?

Why don't you try me?

Each night, they wipe it clean.

It is not permitted, they say.

But what can they do to me
that is not already done?

I keep the image of it here,
retranscribe each day and continue on.

You once told me the language of
the universe was written in numbers.

Now it seems you seek
numbers within language,

Hebrew, your language,

- your writing system.
- Mine is the true belief.

Our language is the true language

because our language is
nothing if it is not numbers.

Show me.

Certainly.

This, aleph, you may call it the letter A.

This, bet, B.

The sign values... aleph, one, bet, two.

The Hebrew word for father, Av,

written aleph, bet. One
plus two equals three. You follow?

Now see this, the Torah,

handed to Moses by God

and irreducibly this sequence of numbers.

The Garden of Eden, kedem.

Numerical sum... 144.

Etz Chaim... Tree of Life.

Numerical sum... 233.

144, 233... divide the
larger sum by the smaller.

1 and, ah, a little over 6/10.

Correct.

In other words, it approaches...

The golden ratio.

The root structure of life itself.

Its coded secrets imprinted here.

Forgive me, Mr. Bloom, but
your thesis is much changed.

The entropy of the
universe tends to a maximum.

Everything from the smaller
system to our entire world

moves always, irretrievably,
from order to chaos.

Your words stated to me.

And now I find that you
are seeking the root system

not of that entropy but of a
divine order that you once denied.

I am not as I was. It is true.

Mister?

Reid.

Inspector Reid, as was.

Mr. Bloom, do you know why you are here?

What it is that you
have been sentenced for?

The guilt that men assume is yours?

Do you know what it is
awaits you in this place?

I... I hope you will return
and talk with me again.

It is rare here to find someone
with whom I might share my work.

I shall.

And perhaps I might
share a puzzle of my own.

You are fixed to that
view today, Miss Susan.

It is of interest to me today.

Of course.

It must go hard to think...

well, to know that you will not feel
that free sky above you after all.

- Do you gloat, Doctor?
- No.

Perhaps a little.

Perhaps I am in fact relieved that the 55

souls you accounted for
will now have their justice.

It, ah... it had been
troubling me, I, ah, do confess.

Well, I am glad to have removed
such disquiet from your conscience.

I wonder, will you offer
a prayer for my soul

in return, as you stand over my
corpse and confirm my passing?

- Oh, I shall.
- Hmm.

Perhaps also stand at
that commoner's boneyard,

offer greeting to that husband of yours,

as he does what he can to comfort your boy.

No, God damn you.

By my reckoning, I'd say you were set
on one form of mischief or another.

You send no news. You
don't answer your mail.

- You send none.
- I don't speak for myself.

He's quite the crestfallen
soldier for awhile or so.

But as you say, I am not the
strike of a man for nostalgia,

not then, not now. So if you forgive me,
Reid, I've got bad business to attend.

Do you have any objection
to my walking with you?

- Plenty.
- Then call a policeman.

The sea air is agreeable, Reid.

It's brought out the
well-fed plutocrat in you.

- That is silver in your beard, is it not?
- It is grey, Reid.

Silver, I'd be drawing a pension.

- Social visit?
- It is not.

Well, why don't you
state your business, Reid?

Midsummer it may be, but the day is short.

Isaac Bloom.

Yeah, sentenced to hang.

- On your conviction.
- Not mine, Reid, not mine.

You conducted the
autopsy. You assembled the

- forensical evidence for your inspector.
- I did.

But why, Reid? Why the care?

You miss this all so much?

- The care was asked of me.
- Who by?

- Well, it doesn't matter.
- Oh, it doesn't, does it?

- He was my friend.
- So was Drake, Reid.

I don't see you giving one snide
farthing for his well-being.

Bennet Drake is not one
day's grace from the hangman.

Should he find you lurking about the place,

however putting that
mistrustful mind of yours

to the querying of his
professional conduct,

no man was ever more loyal
to another than he to you,

but I think that even he
would be moved to your injuring

- in such a circumstance.
- Which is why I ask you.

Excuse me.

Do you pay my wages? You do not. He does.

And it's a poor assumption of
yours that this faithlessness

you imagine so ingrained in
me would by one simple tug

on my tit sell Drake out to you,

a man who all here thought had now
ascended to loftier company altogether.

No, Reid, why don't you
find yourself another pigeon.

You follow me, I'm gonna shoot you.

You are a sneaky fellow, American.

I do not like sneaky fellows, in truth.

Now, this, I imagine, is
that elephant horn purported

thieved from the customs house.

I prefer liberated.

That place, they burn it all, you know,

if the crown's duty is not paid.

Why shouldn't an honest wharfinger not
profit from such thriftless squandering?

Why, indeed?

Because you thieve from the Queen, Abel.

- Act for that good lady, do you?
- On occasion.

- Sporting which colour?
- Blue.

I'm Inspector Drake's
surgeon over at Leman Street.

Do your fire your cannons
across my bow, Captain Jackson?

I cannot imagine for why, when
you owe me one sovereign tonne

for the berth to New York City I
have brokered, in no little secrecy,

for you, and your wife, and child.

I had assumed you came to settle,

but your current manner suggests otherwise.

Do you cancel your billet therefore?

I hope not to.

Yeah, yeah.

Christ, Abel, what is this stuff?

Turmeric.

Trot it down with some onions,
diced side of bacon, hot stock,

good eating.

But the staining,

it is the very devil.

But enough of my galley skills.

I should like my cash spending from you.

I, ah... I don't have it.

Oh, but I have laid out, Captain,

therefore you must also. Them's the rules.

I thought to do so in an
alternative currency, however,

until I can hand you
those hundred sovereigns.

Then name your tender.

Knowledge.

By way of example, I might
be able to share with you

the timing of when the true blue
men at Leman Street themselves

go hunting for elephant
horn or other such booty.

We transact under
different terms, therefore.

Well, we... we renegotiate the terms.

Those being, Captain?

_

You, Mr. Drake, you think the
man correct in his suspicions?

This man, Constantine,

I know him not a good man, sir,

and most every thought
he ever had an evil one.

But this... what my son...

what Sayid has written

is not only evil thoughts,
he has written them.

He has proclaimed them.

Major, we understand, do we not,

the difference between thinking
a thing and doing a thing?

That it is action which
makes matter real, not ideas.

Yet, I do not think such ideas came to him

without the influence of Imran Hafeez,

his death, therefore, similarly so.

Well, Mr. Hafeez, he is the
thinking kind, not the doing kind.

This man, Constantine,
he wishes to torture him.

You understand?

Ideas do not merit such
a fate, not in my opinion.

He will not talk to me, Major.

And I believe he might to you.

_

_

_

Christ.

It is good of you, Rose, to
come at such rapid request.

Of course, Susan.

You are forever my friend.

Then I am indeed fortunate, as is my son.

I do not know what spell I've been beneath
to have neglected the thought for so long,

but I am awake now, Rose,

and awoken to a horror...

What horror, Susan?

What is to become of my boy?

Rose, I do not think his
father can care of him,

or at least that the thought
of that does not ease my fear.

He is not equipped, in my opinion.

Then, Rose, where else will there
be for him but the workhouse?

Well, there is one home I might think of.

There is?

Ours.

Yours?

Oh, I would love him,
love him fierce, Susan.

Love him because he is himself, but...

all the more because he is you also.

And I will forever keep him
in mind of the truth of you,

my friend...

not no woman out there
who won't hold you to be.

The woman that Mr. Drake
holds me to be, Rose.

No, Bennet Drake will do
and behave as I instruct.

You may trust in that.

- Mrs. Drake.
- Hello, Drum.

Is he here?

He is.

Rose.

Jesus Christ, what's the
purpose of such machinery

- if it cannot be...
- Everything's all right,

innit?

Bennet, I have kept secrets from you.

Okay, this should be good.

Well?

Best you get it off your chest then, Rose.

Once a week, sometimes twice,

I have lied to you on the
subject of where I've been.

Newgate, Bennet, in the
gaol there with Miss Susan.

You what, Rose?

Now, Bennet, you swallow
that rage of yours.

Firstly, it's not as if I
announce your cuckoldings here.

Second, I'm not even
close to getting started.

We wish for a child, you and I.

- Well, we do, but...
- No... Bennet!

You are the one in a press, so the
quicker I say this and you agree,

the quicker you may be back at it.

Well, you tell me what it
is I'm agreeing to, then.

I am trying, Bennet.

There is a little boy we could have,

one who lives already,

one who is in desperate need
of us to give him a home,

to protect him, a little boy who...

Her boy, you mean?

She asks it of us.

What is it she calls him?

Connor...

Judge.

This boy Connor has a father, Rose.

None that is any use to him.

Not unless it is the skill to cheat at
a gaming table at 6:00 in the morning,

or shoot a bottle of rum of the
upturned behind of a musical hoofer,

but not what it is to be a man,
Not the man you are, Bennet.

I don't seem to recall you complaining
overly when it was your behind, darling.

Slippery soul that you are.

No, I will not have you
stand in judgement of me,

not you of all.

They are up there, Captain
Jackson, your wife, your child,

and she, as you well know, soon to go
to her end, but yet you do not visit.

You pay them no mind.

Your son, your living flesh.

Are you done?

Ah... your man downstairs, he's
got staining about the wound.

Now, at first I thought simply
contusion, discolouring therefore,

but all these Indians... it was
caused by contact with turmeric.

It's a spice. It's a powder.

So my thinking, it was about the cuffs

or the wrists of the sleeve
as the knife was pulled across.

- Bennet.
- Rose,

as I said, the boy has a father.

When the mother is gone, it
is up to Jackson to resolve.

Right?

Take him.

This hatred of my empire and Queen,

these were my son's true beliefs?

They were, Major Al-Qadir.

I cannot believe he came to them

- without you.
- Hmm.

And which beliefs did he
come to because of you?

I am his father.

That is a notional term, sir.

You have a cheek.

You always did.

I recall the first time my
mother asked him to eat with us.

He said I do not eat with my fingers.

My mother asked him, why?

He said my father says it is so.

My mother asked him,
and where is your father?

Sayid replied, he marches
to war in Kandahar.

She asked him, who it was
would then rule in Afghanistan.

He replied, why, the Empress Victoria.

So we showed him how to eat with his hands

while you were at war.

If we believe another person
is wrong, which is worse?

To persuade that person
with violence or with ideas?

And if ideas bring men to violence,

if these ideas of Sayid's
brought another to...

Why will you not speak?

Did you not care for him?

Like a brother.

And brothers fight.

You are watched, Imran,

by men, who, though, yes,
we serve the same Queen,

I see no honour in them.

Why did you fight with Sayid?

I do not know who killed
your son, but yes, we fought.

And we did so because...

he stole.

Your son was a thief.

Hello, Nora. Thank you. Sorry, the time.

No-no, it was quite all right, Edmund.

Valerie's spending the
evening with her grandfather.

Besides, Mathilda and I
have been enjoying ourselves.

Soot, Father?

Mathilda reassured me
that there had been no...

that that lady was accommodated
without any impropriety.

But Edmund, you are unlike
any man I've ever known.

Your kindness towards that poor creature,

your refusal to reject your
past life in that place,

that terrible, abject place,

surely this,

you and I here now, our girls,
surely this is your reward

the longed for salving of your wounds.

Dear Edmund, I... I know
you think me a proper woman

and you are a gallant man, but
desire is not a stranger to me.

- Dear, do you... do you feel that desire?
- I do.

Then I am yours. You know this.

- W... why, here?!
- Here.

Ah!

Look at me, my love.

Look at me, my love.

Won't you look at me?

Ah!

They were zakah, Mr. Drake, alms.

And it was almost 200 pounds, for the
Indian merchant seamen on the docks.

- Lascars?
- Yes, sir.

Funds were raised to be distributed

among those men who were
left without a ship to crew

to ease their need.

And, ah...

my Sayid stole it.

He steals the money meant for the lascars,

- therefore they kill him.
- No.

See here, a draft amendment
to the Merchant Shipping Act.

Authors, Mr. R. Ahmad and Mr. SKA Al-Qadir.

To give more robust and far
reaching legal protection

in this country to the status
of those merchant seamen

from the South Asian colonies.

He, Mr. Hafeez also,
they fight for lascars.

Now, this was a cornerstone
of his legal career.

Why would he steal from them,
and why would they kill him?

Please, Inspector, there
is a particular clause

that by law they would then be allowed to
find other work whilst they remain here.

That is cause for more than offence. There
are slim pickings down on those docks.

And Mr. Sayid lobbied
that they be stretched

even further to accommodate men
of both different colour and creed.

Stevedores, lumpers, lightmen.

All of whom may have cause
to handle a cargo of turmeric.

But what of these 200 nicker, sir?

Christ knows.

Mr. Drummond, you will by morning

have found each and every
shipment of South Asian spices

to have been lumped ashore between
St. Catherine's and the Isle of Dogs.

Sergeant Thatcher, the bunkhouse
for foreign shipping crews

- on West India Dock Road.
- The stranger's home, sir?

Yes, you and I are paying a visit.

We shall see what those lascars
know about the thief, Potter Chowdey.

Inspector Drake, sir, if I may.

DS Thatcher has many admirable qualities,

but I'm not sure the
speaking of Urdu is one.

You crowing cock, Drum.

Do you want that snide
little nose of yours broke?

Come now, Sergeant. We are one uniform.

Major, would you consider...

Word from the top, Inspector Drake.

Colonial Secretary Chamberlain himself,

you are to release your prisoner to me.

I would not have had it happen this way.

If I learn that this man
has been injured or harmed

in any way, your Secretary
Chamberlain shall hear from me, sir.

And you imagine he shall
give two tosses, do you?

He's the colonial secretary,
and you're the colonial.

You are to him no more
than a trained circus pony.

Best you understand that.

Here is the lesson, Major.

They dress you in this costume

and puff you full of a
confected self-importance,

the purpose of which is only this...

that we here in this country may
slowly bleed your country dry,

whilst your back is turned,
parading in our honour.

Now...

I shall be taking this
little insurrectionist

and putting him under the boot.

Mr. Drake, there is not a thing to be done.

There may be now, however.

We will show our special branch

that they are dogs barking
up the wrong tree entirely.

Mr. Drummond, those dockside
work gangs, get to the wires.

Sergeant Thatcher. Major Al-Qadir, sir,

with me, if you please.

The spice shipments, Assistant
Commissioner, all those from South India.

There were five in the last
fortnight, and these are names

of those men to lead those work gangs.

One such name chimes heavy with me, sir.

And which one is that, Sergeant?

Teague.

He's a union steward.

One moment, if you will, sir.

His daughter, Kay Teague,

she threw herself over the dock gates
at the Western only this morning.

- That is rich coincidence, Mr. Drummond.
- Is it not, sir?

See the news communicated

- to Inspector Drake.
- I will, sir.

Reassure him that I myself
will investigate these others.

Very good, Assistant Commissioner.

He says that, ah, he and
many of the other men here,

that they knew my Sayid, but that all
they understood of him was solidarity,

his love for his own people.

If this man stole, he did
so with love in his heart,

and only to give to
another in greater need.

And does he have any indication as
to whose that greater need might be?

It is thought Sayid had a
lover here, who he met here.

He says... um... he says
she is a white woman.

Roy Teague's daughter?

We have a testimony here.

Says there is a young white
woman who shared intimacies

with Major Al-Qadir's son.

Understood, Sergeant.

Give my thanks to Mr. Dove.

There is a wake we must attend.

- Is Roy Teague here?
- No, sir.

He could not bear the sight and bolted.

Ah...!

What trouble brings you
here, young Mr. Dove?

I've a worry which roots
itself in these parts.

Why, you surprise me.

This is that Indian fellow which
washed ashore at the Western then?

This Indian nurtured opinions...

- on this country, on its ruler,
- Ugh...

she who will soon pass
not too far from here.

You know I only had opinions, Abel.

He had stolen 200 sterling, also.

Two tonnes?

Your masters fear some plot afoot, do they?

I believe it fear alone.

Yeah, well...

But there are other
indications bring me down here.

Spice cargoes...

turmeric...

the work gangs who brought
such shipments ashore.

And my name among them.

It was not you nor none of your own

who opened the man's throat for him?

It was not me, Augustus.

There is not one atom of
life, human or otherwise,

which lands on this stretch of water
without that you know its nature.

This is true.

Then what is at the root of this, Abel.

Well...

- 200 pounds gone missing, you say?
- _

No need to unsettle yourself, my lad.

This is not some grand foreign
plot, but local mischief.

And you, despite all,
are no longer a local boy.

Have I ever done all but
truth and right by you?

You leave doctor's orders to dock folk.

Golem!

Stop! Wait!

Golem's back!

Goren, Goren, Deborah Goren.

Deborah Goren?

Ah... the orphanage.

Ah....

She will speak for me.
She will speak for me.

Respect.

Please, calm yourselves.

My friends, please, calm yourselves!

He was there because I invited him!

- I invited him!
- Why would you invite

Edmund Reid, inspector as he was,

into the rooms of Isaac Bloom?

Why, Deborah?

He is a friend to Isaac, as am I.

I offer my apologies for them, sir.

You are unknown to them.

Myself, however...

Max Steiner.

I understood you had their London.

I had. I have.

Mr. Reid and I, we share, I hope,

a fear that Isaac's
conviction may be unsafe.

Is that true?

I had, er... I had hoped to investigate.

Well, then you do know that only a week

prior to the murder or Ratovski,
Isaac set upon another rabbi.

That other rabbi was myself, Mr. Reid.

I visited him to inquire if
he may need some help from me.

He answered that he needed no
help, because he had found God.

I replied that this was a good thing,

but no, he tells me he
does not talk about belief,

but that he has actually found him.

I warned him that false prophecy

was a grave sin, at which he laughed,

knocked me to the ground and kicked me.

I imagine you have told
all this to Mr. Drake.

I did.

Golem?

No, that was never proved, never.

What does he say?

There's a belief in the community

that it's being haunted by a monster.

Golem.

What gave them this belief.

Well, they said that children
awoke with a dark figure

standing over their beds, an
etching scratched in the walls,

the jaws of savage creatures. Er...

On occasion, they thought
they had trapped it,

but it was strong and fast,
and leapt from roof to roof.

And this, they believe to have been Bloom?

Yes, they believe.

It's perfect, you see?

If you had known what you had done,

I would have hailed it a master stroke.

The boy'll be safe, cared for while we,

you know, reassemble ourselves.

- How will this reassembling take place?
- Yeah, it's all under good control.

But then once we are prepared,
all we have to do is take him.

From Rose? It would kill her.

That is a metaphor, darling.

The killing that comes
your way, that ain't.

Do you understand what
you raise in me, Matthew?

- If this absurd plot of yours fails...
- It won't.

Well, if it does...

I will not spend my last day on
Earth in vain, desperate hope.

No, you will.

You have faith in me, Caitlin.

Not a single night in three years

have I climbed into my
bed and not dreamt of what

it would be to smell you there.

Do you think that I'm gonna let
the world steal that from me?

You think again.

We have no funds with which
to run, and I will be hunted.

Don't you see, darling? That's
entirely the beauty of it.

But the man, Probyn.

It is he who must confirm
that the hangman's job is done,

and the bond we had,
surely it is broken now.

Shh, shh, shh, shh.

You're gonna leave Probyn to me.

Guns and horses.

Ah...

Come on in, Roy.

Take a seat and a drink.

Yeah...

No doubt this has been quite
the ugliest of days for you.

Our condolences for your daughter.

I will take the drink, Croker.

I don't think I'll trust you enough to sit.

Fair enough answer.

Do you have it?

Word is you have something urgent to relay

to me on the subject of my Kay.

Word is, Roy, you do not
hand that sack of money to me,

I shall see the whole world apprised

of who it was cut that Indian
gentleman's throat for him.

Why would you do such a thing, Roy?

Not for you to question what I do

in the interest of my
family or my community.

Oh, it is murdering has
clearly advanced the interests

of both those constituents.

Your community's
suffering every blue bottle

this side of the Old Gate
Pub crawling up its fundament.

And your family, well, Roy...

it is masterful self-delusion to
think you have helped them one jot.

That gold-skinned grandson of yours...

where's his ma now?

Phwoah, end of the year you were
always a hot head and a rabble-rouser,

too eager for a moan and a bullhorn

when a moment's contemplation might have

brought you some perspective.

But you are emotional,

and you are political,

always tossing on about
the rights of working man,

and forgetting that the
rice-eaters and the coolies

you hate so much, that
they too are working men.

They are not of this city, and
they are not of this country.

Men like that lawyer...

Ah, the Mohammedan lad
that was up your Kay, him.

Yes, him.

And telling us we have to
compete for the same scraps

as those murdering, moon-faced bastards!

Ah, correct me if I'm wrong, it
is you what's done the murdering?

In all truth, Roy, I knew it

the moment you kicked up
such rage when I had Nate here

wash him up at the Western.

I do like me a pineapple. How about you?

I like it good enough.

Now,

you see, this pineapple
is a lascar brought here

on the world's ocean currents.

Piece of fruit is not a man.

But it... it provides
for a man, however, right?

Its cultivation, its
shipping, its trade, and so...

such fruits become part of our lives.

Lascars, all their colour,
plenty more besides,

they will all in good time,
likewise become as such.

Not if working men in this city stay tight.

Ah... you need to take a look about.

There is a city out there...

tuned to cheer its Queen as
she parades her way through it.

But what is that Queen?

She is an empress, but her
empire is not solely England, boy.

It is the world.

And therefore, the world comes to London,

and London becomes the world.

This is not because
Englishmen are good or pretty,

but because we understood
quicker than all, good trade

made for greater power.

Power which you will always lack for,

Roy, until you understand
that there is but one boat

afloat in this world, and it is this.

You roll for the future times...

or the future times will roll over you.

It was a Burmese silk
captain showed me that.

Slip a knife between a man's ribs

without him even feeling it.

See what a man might learn

if he opens his heart to the world, Roy?

But you, as we know,
are an ignorant fellow.

A man of the riverside, and yet you

cannot so much as place a dead man

in that river and get him lost.

You need to weigh the cargo down, Roy,

and let your tide help you through.

Nate here knows how.

I showed him. Yeah.

You are going deep, my friend,

out into the estuary,
the black river mouth,

the belly of the seas beyond.

You're the husband, are you not?

I am, Doctor.

What is it you want?

Have you, er... you found the wherewithal?

Of a kind.

Well, I'll show you if you ask nice.

Shh! Shhh!

You got a wife, Probyn?

You love her?

- Mmm.
- Well, mine I love.

And the thought that I
would let a white boiled egg

such as yourself stop me from living

out my days with her, well,
what kind of man would I be?

Say what?

Oh, what do I want? Well, I want you
to help her as you contracted to do.

Are you really gonna quibble
with a pistol in your mouth?

You don't do this, I will kill you.

How does that sound?

There is no time, however.

It... it is but hours
away. I... I... I can't.

The men...... the laundry.

The plan cannot work.

Well, there's a new plan, however.

Now, it's you the prison governor's

gonna look to for
confirmation of her death,

- correct?
- Uh-huh.

Mr. Bloom.

Mr. Bloom.

Do you know a man named Steiner?

He is a rabbi in Whitechapel.

He says you assaulted him.

Did you?

He would not allow my work.

And my work is nothing if
it is not in support of him.

He would not see this!

Eh... I know, sir.

I see the way you look at me, but you

need not concern yourself.

I feel the regret. I feel the shame.

Will you explain something to me, sir?

- If I can.
- What is a golem?

Um, may mean many things.

An unformed being of
human shape, but not human,

a monster made by other
men to protect or attack.

Not evil, neither good.

The children of Whitechapel
report seeing such a being, sir,

a dark figure entering
the rooms of the young,

leaping from rooftops.

My people have avid imaginations.

Your people now imagine that
figure to be yourself, Mr. Bloom.

But I am not strong.

I have no athleticism.

Why would I seek to frighten children?

I... I am occupied!

Do you know a man named
Ratovski, a rabbi, also.

Of course.

Leon Ratovski's work on vector spaces

has been deeply influential, but...

but he... he is dead.

- How is he dead?
- He... he is killed.

At whose hand?

I believe you play games with me.

Then tell me.

By my hand, so it is said.

And do you deny it?

I was not believed.

- Will you deny it now?
- What is the use?

I might believe you!

I dream often these days of my
home, of all I might have been,

had I not been forced to leave there,

not had the need to learn
this tongue of yours.

Your instinct as regards
the tidal patterns,

your workings were sound.

Such strong forces colliding,
they will create a vortex.

But the breakwater, this, erm,
pier, they have built houses.

The vortex, gives it shape,
drives it into the land.

- So the pier must be removed.
- That will not help.

Pier, no pier, the vortex is made.

This land not to be lived on.

Mr. Bloom, please,

did you kill Leon Ratovski?

Leon Ratovski was my friend.

And you know he was in Whitechapel?

I did. He visited me.

But he did not come to
Whitechapel to visit me.

- Then why?
- To see another.

- He said, to right a wrong.
- A wrong?

- What kind?
- An abandonment, he said.

- A child.
- Which?

I promised not to say.

And I would not ask my
friend to break an oath.

And he left you then, yes?

Mr. Reid,

I could no more kill Leon Ratovski

than I could kill myself.

Oh, Mr. Drake, kind of
you to save me the trouble.

You may take your prisoner back yourself.

Mr. Hafeez, sir, I am sorry.

I am sorry.

Yes, it is a sadness to cause
such suffering without reward.

He told you nothing, then?

No, no.

Too much, in fact.

Anything I asked him,
he screamed confirmation.

Too eager to please, you see.

And I never trust the word of
a man who's too eager to please.

Nah, no monster, he.

Your prisoner, Inspector.

Come, sir.

Inspector.

What?

I didn't know what to do with him, sir.

He waits in your office, therefore.

Who does?

Go and see.

Hello, Bennet.

And this you've done on nothing
but the suspicion of one woman?

A woman who... forgive me, Mr. Reid.

I currently lack for
energy and therefore tact,

but this is a woman for whom
you shamed your wife, is it not?

I did warn you.

What?

You knew?

You knew he was here, pushing his refined
nose into work he had long since abandoned?

Now, Drake, I merely told him...

Do not now me nothing, Jackson!

I do not know why I should
feel the slightest taken aback.

The pair of you always were
like two rats in a sack!

What did he tell you?

He told me nothing, Bennet.

He made heavy point of it.

Did he tell you how we made the case?

No. As I am trying to say,

- I know nothing.
- Did he tell you about the clothes

we found in Bloom's apartment?

Your genius here took fingerprints

from the white breast placket of his shirt.

Quite so, Mr. Reid, fingerprints.

But accredited this
time, given as evidence.

The victim, Rabbi Ratovski's
bloody fingerprints

stuck on a shirt of Isaac Bloom.

And not one word of denial
did he make, Mr. Reid.

He did so to me.

Did you know, Bennet,
that Ratovski and Bloom

were friends, students of
mathematics together in Paris?

Mr. Reid, I do not think you
may call me Bennet no longer.

And I care not whether they were students
of mathematics or cat shit together!

Sergeant Drummond, you will
meet us in the dead room.

- Yes, sir.
- And you will bring the Ratovski

file with you.

Follow me, if you will, Mr. Reid.

Give it to him.

Thank you, Sergeant. Leave us.

Is he still there?

It was up to you to move him.

Have a good butcher's at this, Mr. Reid.

What's this compressor technology?

Ah, it's a, ah, evaporative cycle...
ammonia, carbon dioxide, and ether.

Listen to me, the both of you!

I do not give two silent sods
about the technology of it.

This, Mr. Reid, you should save
your shock and awe for this.

Now, we did not release
such knowledge to the press,

but you ask him what they are.

What are they, Captain?

Those are bite marks, Reid...
flesh torn out with teeth.

The case file, clause 15... read it.

Found beneath suspect's cot,
one morsel of human flesh.

Weight 1 and a ½ pounds as
confirmed by Captain Jackson.

Characteristics consistent with
that removed from victim's thorax.

He will hang.

He will.

He won't be a lone heathen.

You will visit her at last, then?

Yeah, last day on Earth, I believe I will.

Please, please, Connor, it's for the best.

A song, Rose, he likes a song.

A pinch of cinnamon and
brown sugar and hot milk.

Take him.

Come, Miss S. You must ready yourself.

The three of you in harness once again.

I'm glad you shan't be lonely.

_

Mathilda, Mathilda, are you coming?

_

Wrong corpse, Captain.

Ah, Christ, Matthew, you might
at least remove this contraption

before you have at me.

Don't ever die for real. Understand?

Right this way.

Lovely. It is a rare pleasure
to have someone so pretty

bunkered down here amongst us.

Please.

There.

Ah, do not fear. We will keep you safe,

until your affairs are all in order.

Oh, I...

See? I have fitted a bolt for your door.

It is true then.

It is.

I hope you are not angered.

Why would I feel anger, Mr. Reid?

My friend is home.

What will you do for work?

I haven't given it too much thought.

Oh.

It would not be so hard, I
think, to have a warrant card

made for you, should you wish it.

Needs must, you would
work under me, however.

And the man, Bloom, that matter is shut.

The men cannot see me
challenged, nor will I be.

So, Mr. Reid, what is your wish?

Sync & corrections by PetaG
www.addic7ed.com