Alex Grecian - Devil's Workshop

“What kind of work is that?”

“The work of justice.”

“Justice?”

“Walter, you’ve spent the morning hours chasing prisoners. Why?”

“Because they escaped from prison.”

“But you have skills. Aren’t they better used to do something besides running round the city poking under rocks for villains?”

“You would rather let them be free?”

“Not at all,” March said. “But what good is a prison? If prisons worked, if that were a system that functioned properly, why then these men would already be reformed, would they not? You wouldn’t have to worry about where they are. You wouldn’t have to catch them again.”

“A prison is-”

“A prison is a cage,” March said. “That is all it is. A cage where we keep our most dangerous animals, those men we deem not fit to mingle with society. We keep them all in one place, where we can see them and feel safe. We do it for ourselves, for our peace of mind. But what of the men in that cage?”

“What of them?”

“Have we not done them a disservice?”

“How so?”

“If we’re to keep them in a cage, shouldn’t we teach them something? What do they learn there? It’s not a frivolous question. What do they learn by being caged? I believe the answer is nothing. They learn nothing.”

“One hopes some of them might reform their ways.”

“One hopes? Some of them? How often do you suppose that happens?”

“I wouldn’t know. Ask the head warder when we find Cinderhouse and return him to Bridewell.”

“Why would your Cinderhouse, or any of them, bother to reform at all? Listen, there’s no incentive to reform. We give them no reason. Criminals are such stupid people, Walter. They’re children, really. They must be taught. They must be shown the error of their ways. They must experience true justice.”

“A prison sentence is justice.”

“No, Walter, a prison sentence is law. Law and justice are very different concepts. How many people did Cinderhouse kill? Since you mentioned him by name, let’s use him as an example. How many were murdered by him?”

“I don’t know. Two policemen. There were children, certainly, but we don’t know how many over the years. We think he killed his wife and son. There were three small skeletons buried behind a carriage house.”

“Children.”

Day nodded. He had moved incrementally closer to March as they talked. He was now roughly four feet away from him, close enough to grab March’s arm before the retired detective inspector could get the revolver out of his pocket. He tensed, ready to spring at March, but the older man sensed the slight change in Day’s body language and stepped back, farther into the shadows of the tunnel. He snuffed his candle and became a disembodied voice in the darkness. Day relaxed visibly, but began to slowly inch toward March again.

“So,” March said, “this person killed children. What did he do to them? Did he hurt them first? Before he killed them?”

“I don’t know. I’d rather not. .” Day sighed. “I think he probably did, yes.”

“Is it justice, then, that he be caged?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to him. Perhaps if we find him, I could ask him.”

“Don’t be crude. No, of course there’s no justice in it. Those children are gone. Those policemen are gone. And their killer hasn’t learned anything, has he? How much better would it be for him if he experienced everything that he did to those children? What if he were made to feel what they felt, to truly feel their fear and their pain? What do you think? Wouldn’t that be more likely to change a man than simply putting him away, out of sight, behind bars?”

“Perhaps.”

“No, not perhaps. I’m right, Walter. That’s justice. Make the man experience his crimes firsthand. It’s the only way.”

“The law is the only way.”

“The law is a failure.”

“The law is the law, Inspector March. You should know that. You were the best.”

“I was deluded.”

“And now? You’ve joined some secret club and you believe the scales have suddenly fallen from your eyes?”

“The Karstphanomen, Walter, is not a club. It’s a society. And it’s a great thing we’re undertaking here. We are the ones who set those prisoners free. We caused the train wreck. We had a man inside Bridewell, and he made sure the right prisoners escaped.”

“If that’s true. . Adrian, if what you say is true, then you set murderers free in this city. In my city. My wife and unborn son may be in danger because of you.”

“It went wrong. There were supposed to be men at the gate to gather the prisoners up as they came through. They never would have made it beyond the main gate. We had a wagon, but it broke a wheel. We arrived just minutes too late.”

Realization washed over Day and he turned from the voice, looked at the shackles again. Candle wax had dripped down over the metal and pooled, dull pink, like blood and water.

“This place. .”

“Yes,” March said. “This place is where we bring murderers, molesters, perversions of humanity. This place is the classroom where they receive instruction.”

“You’re mad.”

“No, Walter, I’m angry. Madness would be to stand by and do nothing.”

“Adrian, I. . No, I understand now. It was the Ripper case. He did this to you, didn’t he? You never caught him, and the stress of it all, the pressure you must have been under to catch Jack the Ripper. . I can’t imagine. But this isn’t the answer, man. Come with me. There are doctors who could-”

“There are doctors among us, Walter. Does that surprise you? The Karstphanomen has doctors, lawyers, Lords. . Yes, even policemen. There’s a member of the royal family among us. We are not madmen. We are enthusiastic proponents of justice.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Very many. And, Walter, I’ve proposed you for membership.”

“Never.”

“You’re too quick to speak. Wait until you see what we’ve done.”

“I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know any of this. Adrian, if anything you’re saying is even remotely true, I’m going to have to arrest you.”

“You won’t arrest me. When you see what we do, when you see it firsthand, you’ll help me.”

“Help you to do what? Torture people?”

“They deserve it.”

“I thought you said you were teaching them something.”

“We are.”

“Are you teaching them? Or are you hurting them because you feel they deserve it?”

“Both, actually. Why can’t it be both?”

“Can you hear yourself? You’ve become a zealot.”

“Walter, you’re wrong. I didn’t fail. I caught Jack. I really did catch him.”

“You caught Jack the Ripper?”

“Lusk and Aberline and I. We caught him. Saucy Jack is down here right now. Has been for more than a year.”

“Oh my God.”

“Would you like to see him?”

“I. .”

“Come with me. Just let me show you what we’ve done, and then you can arrest me if you still want to. I’ll go quietly.”

“I don’t want to see.”

“Yes, you do.”

Day took a step back. His heel hit the iron ring in the floor and it clanked against the stones. He turned and looked at the chains, at the hard-packed walls, at the dim glow of the candle. He could barely breathe. Monstrous things had happened here among the bones of untold previous generations. These men thought he could be one of them, had discussed him down here in the mud and clay. While he lay beside his wife and unborn child above them, evil men had made plans for Walter Day.

He turned back to the dark tunnel where his mentor lurked.

“Very well,” he said. His voice sounded far away to him, like someone else speaking. “Give me back my revolver. Then show me Jack the Ripper.”