(FOREBODING MUSIC PLAYING) MAN: Roy, that's your girl Kay.

Christ.

No.

Kay!

Kay!

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING) CONSTANTINE: Pune, India.

The deputy governor of that state assassinated at a Jubilee tea party by this man.

Javed Akhram.

He, as Mr. Hafeez, as Sayeed 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, watch report number 369.

One Friday, 18th of June, 1897.

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

Subject, Hafeez Imran, observed in "urgent gesticulation" with subject Al-Qadir, Sayeed.

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.

It 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 dead room is a sight more real than the fancies 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.

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?

PROBYN: No.

(CHUCKLES) Perhaps I am, in fact, relieved that the 55 souls you accounted for will now have their justice.

It, er...

It had been troubling me, I, er, do confess.

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

-Hmm.

-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.

-SUSAN: Hmm.

Perhaps also stand at that commoners' boneyard.

Offer greeting to that husband of yours as he does what he can to comfort your boy.

(CHUCKLES SOFTLY) No, goddamn you!

(SCREAMS) 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 was quite the crestfallen soldier for a while or so.

But as you say, I am not the stripe of man for nostalgia.

Not then.

Not now.

So if you forgive me, Reid, I've got my 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.

And 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.

Then 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.

Why, Reid?

Why the care?

Have you missed 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 asked 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 --, sell Drake out to you.

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 reported thieved from the Customs House.

I prefer "liberated".

That place, they burn it all, you know?

When the crown's duty is not paid.

Why should an honest wharfinger not profit from such thriftless squandering?

Why indeed?

Because you thieve from the Queen, Abel.

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

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

JACKSON: I hope not to.

(MURMURING) Christ, Abel.

What is this stuff?

Turmeric.

Sweat 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.

JACKSON: I, er... -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 alternative currency, however.

(CROKER SCOFFS) Until I can hand you those 100 sovereigns.

(SIGHS) Then name your tender.

Knowledge.

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 Sayeed has written, these are 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.

But 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.

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 have been beneath to have neglected the thought for so long but I am awake now, Rose.

And woken to a horror.

What horror, Susan?

What is to become of my boy?

Rose, I do not think his father can care for him.

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.

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

(CRIES) -Mrs. Drake.

-ROSE: Hello, Drum.

Is he here?

He is.

Rose?

Jesus Christ.

What is the purpose of such machinery if it cannot be... DRAKE: ...everything's all right, my love?

ROSE: Bennet, I have kept secrets from you.

Now, this should be good.

Well.

Best you get it off your chest, Rose.

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

-You what, Rose?

-Now, Bennet.

You swallow that rage of yours.

Firstly, it is not as if I announce your cuckolding to you.

Second, I am not even close to getting started.

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 am 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... What is it she calls him?

Connor.

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 of the morning or shoot a bottle of rum off the upturned behind of a music hall hoofer but not what it is to be a man, not the man you are, Bennet Drake.

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

Slippery soul that you are.

No.

I will not have you stand in judgement on 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?

Er, your man, downstairs.

He's got staining about the wound.

At first I thought simply contusion, discoloring, therefore, but all these Indians, it was caused by contact with turmeric.

It's a spice, it's 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.

HAROUN: This is 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.

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 Sayeed's brought another to... Why will you not speak?

Did you not care for him?

Like a brother.

You are watched, Imran, by men who, though, yes, we serve the same Queen, I see no honor in them.

Why did you fight with Sayeed?

I do not know who killed your son.

But yes, we fought.

And we did so because...

He stole.

Your son was a thief.

They were saddka, Mr. Drake.

Alms.

And it was almost £200 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, er, my Sayeed 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. Ahmed and Mr. SKA Al-Qadir.

"To give more robust and far-reaching legal protection "in this country to the status of those merchant seaman "from the South Asian colonies."

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

Now this was the 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 offense.

There are slim pickings down on those docks.

Mr. Sayeed lobbied that they be stretched even further to accommodate men of both different color and creed.

Stevedores, lumpers, lightermen... All of whom may have cause to handle a cargo of turmeric.

But what of this 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. Katharine'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 thieved pot of charity.

DRUMMOND: Inspector Drake, sir.

If I may.

DS Thatcher has many admirable qualities but I'm not sure the speaking of Urdu is one.

(SCOFFS) You crowing cock, Drum.

Do you want that snotted 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.

(MEN SINGING) 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 is 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.

Yeah, 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.

(MAN SPEAKING URDU) (SPEAKING URDU) 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?

(SPEAKING URDU) (SPEAKING URDU) It is thought Sayeed had a lover.

Here.

Who he met here.

He says...

He says she is a white woman.

Roy Teague's daughter?

We have a testimony here says there was 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.

DRAKE: Is Roy Teague here?

MAN: No, sir.

He could not bear the sight and bolted.

(BABY CRYING) (LAUGHING) Ah... What trouble brings you here, young Mr. Dove?

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

-Well, you surprise me.

-(SCOFFS) Is this that Indian fellow which washed ashore at the Western?

This Indian nurtured opinions on this country, on its ruler.

She who will soon pass not too far from here.

He not only had opinions, Abel, he had stolen 200 sterling also.

Two tons.

Your masters fear some plot afoot, do they?

I believe it fear alone.

But there are... Other indications bring me down here.

Spice cargos.

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?

£200 gone missing, you say?

(CHUCKLES) Golem!

Stop!

Wait!

Please, wait!

Wait, wait!

Wait!

(MEN SHOUTING) Goren.

Goren?

Deborah Goren?

Deborah Goren?

-(SHOUTING) -REID: Er, the orphanage... Er, Yaw-thom, Yaw-thom.

She will speak for me.

She will speak for me.

Children, just wait.

Peace, calm yourselves!

My friends!

Peace!

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?

-Mr. Reid and I, we share, I hope, a fear that Isaac's conviction may be unsafe.

Is this true?

I had, er...

I had hoped to investigate.

(SPEAKING HEBREW) 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?

Yeah, well, they said that children awoke with a dark figure standing over their beds and etchings scratched in the walls, jaws of savage creatures.

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.

JACKSON: It's perfect you see... you know, we reassemble ourselves.

Where will this reassembling take place?

It's all under 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, darlin'.

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

We have no funds with which to run.

And I will be hunted.

Don't you see, darlin'?

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 down... Shh, shh, shh, shh, you're gonna leave Probyn to me.

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

Our condolences for your daughter.

I will take a drink, Croker.

Don't think I trust you enough to sit.

Fair enough, old son.

Do you have it?

Word is you have something urgent to relay to me.

On the subject of my Kay.

(GRUNTS) 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.

-(DOOR OPENING) Why would you do such a thing, Roy?

Not for you to question what I do in the interests of my family, or my community.

(CHUCKLING) Oh, and his murdering has clearly advanced the interests of both those constituents, your community suffering every bluebottle this side of Aldgate Pump crawling up its fundament.

And your family?

Well, Roy...

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

That gold-skin grandson of yours... Where's his ma now?

Oh, Roy, you were always a hothead 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 and men like that lawyer... Ah, the Mohammedan lad that was up your, Kay.

Him?

Yes!

Him!

Telling us we have to compete for the same scraps as those murdering, moon-face bastards.

(LAUGHS) But 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.

Ah, you need to take a look about.

There is a city out there soon 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, Roy.

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 with the future times, or the future times will roll over you.

(TEAGUE GASPING) It was a Burmese silk captain who showed me that.

Slip a knife between a man's ribs without him even feeling it.

(TEAGUE GRUNTS) See what a man might learn if he opens his heart to the world, Roy.

You are going deep, my friend, out into the estuary, the black river mouth, the belly of the seas beyond.

PROBYN: You are the husband, are you not?

I am, Doctor.

What is it you want?

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

Of a kind.

Come on, I'll show you if you ask nice.

(GRUNTS) -(SPEAKS INCOHERENTLY) -Shh, shh, shh, shh.

-(SPEAKS INCOHERENTLY) -Sorry, what?

-(SPEAKS INCOHERENTLY) -Oh, what do I want?

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

(SPEAKING INCOHERENTLY) Are you really going to quibble with a pistol in your mouth?

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

How does that sound?

(SPEAKS INCOHERENTLY) There is no time, however.

It is but hours away.

I...

I can't.

The men, the laundry, the plan cannot work!

There is a new plan, however.

Now, it's you the prison governor's gonna look to for confirmation of her death, correct?

Huh.

Mr. Bloom.

Mr. Bloom.

BLOOM: Listening.

Will you explain something to me, sir?

-If I can.

-What is a golem?

It may mean many things.

An unformed being, of human shape, but not human, a monster made by other men to protect or attack.

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 am occupied!

-Do you know a man named Rutowski?

A rabbi also?

Of course.

Leon Rutowski.

His work on vector spaces has been deeply influential.

But...

But he, er, he is dead.

How is he dead?

-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!

Mr. Reid.

I could no more kill Leon Rutowski than I could kill myself.

CONSTANTINE: Oh, Mr. Drake.

Kind of you to save me the trouble.

You may take the prisoner back yourself.

DRAKE: Mr. Hafeez, sir.

I am sorry.

I am sorry.

CONSTANTINE: 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 is too eager to please.

No.

No monster, he.

Your prisoner, Inspector.

(INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS) 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 have 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 the 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 that... Do not "now" me nothing, Jackson.

I do not know why I should feel in 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 plaquet of his shirt.

Quite so, Mr. Reid.

Fingerprints.

But accredited this time.

Given as evidence.

The victim, Rabbi Rutowski's bloody fingerprints stuck on the 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 Rutowski 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 -- together!

Follow me, if you will, Mr. Reid.

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

What's this?

Compressor technology?

It's a 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.

REID: "Found, beneath the suspect's cot, "one morsel of human flesh.

"Weight one and a half pounds, "as confirmed by Captain Jackson.

"Characteristics consistent with that removed from the victim's thorax."

He will hang.

He will.

And he won't be alone neither.

You will visit her at last, then?

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

(INAUDIBLE) (CONNOR CRYING) (SOBBING) Please, please, Connor.

It is for the best.

A song, Rose.

He likes a song.

A pinch of cinnamon and brown sugar in hot milk.

-Take him.

-(CONNOR CONTINUES CRYING) (SOBBING) Come, Miss S. You must ready yourself.

(DOOR BANGING) (DOOR OPENING) The three of you in harness once again.

I'm glad you shan't be lonely.

(FOOTSTEPS RECEDING) (INAUDIBLE) (CROWD CHEERING) SUSAN: Wrong corpse, Captain.

(SIGHS) Ow!

Christ, Matthew.

You might at least remove this contraption before you have at me.

(CHUCKLES) (GRUNTS) Don't ever die for real.

Understand?

(THUNDER CRACKING) (THUNDER RUMBLING) 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 hadn't given it too much thought.

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?

(DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYING) (MUSIC FADES OUT)