Alex Scarrow - City of Shadows

‘At the end of the twentieth century several historians considered there might be a royal connection to the murders.’ Bob paged his mind for further details. ‘Context: London in the 1880s was as close as it was ever going to come to a workers’ revolution similar in nature to the one that occurred in Russia.’

‘Well, that certainly seems true enough,’ said Rashim. He cocked an ear at the faint noises of rioting coming from Farringdon Street.

Maddy nodded. ‘Jack the Ripper should never have been identified. The ninth of November should have been the last Ripper victim and then it all stops, and becomes a mystery forevermore. Only… a month ago, ninth of November, something very different happened. The last victim killed him instead… and has now become the figurehead for a revolution.’

‘Oh boy,’ squealed SpongeBubba, ‘someone’s been naught-eee!’

Maddy could see that Bob was eager to say something. ‘You think we should intervene?’

‘This is a significant contamination. The point of contamination origin in terms of time and space is very close to us.’

‘You think we should intervene, Bob?’

‘I am not programmed to define agency policy, Maddy.’

‘Oh, cut the crud, Bob. Just speak your mind!’

‘Give him a rest, Maddy,’ said Liam. ‘He can’t do opinions. He’s not really made that way.’ He got up, wandered across the dungeon and patted Bob affectionately. ‘But we are made that way.’

She nodded at that. ‘OK… then this seems to be the first test case for our new mission parameters. That’s a pretty big change going on outside. So… I guess the way we deal with this is we check the outcome. We take a look forward in time to see where this is going to take us. And depending on what we see, we’ll have to decide whether this Mary Kelly gets to live or… you know, die.’

‘That’s kind of brutal,’ said Sal. ‘That’s a lot of judgement in our hands.’

‘Yeah… I sort of didn’t think about that bit.’ Maddy chewed her lip. ‘That kinda makes us judge, jury and executioner in this kind of situation. That’s a lot of… of power. Sheesh, I’m not sure how I feel about that. It was sort of easier when we were just following orders.’

‘There’s a quote I can think of,’ said Liam. ‘I don’t know if it helps us or not.’

‘Go on, let’s have it.’

‘With great power comes great responsibility.’

‘What is that… Shakespeare or something?’

‘Uh… no. Spider-Man.’

15 December 1888, Holborn Viaduct, London

At about 11 p.m. the night before, they’d heard the first wagonloads of Metropolitan Police arriving to try and restore some order. The rioting increased in intensity and they heard a volley of shots being fired in the early hours of the morning. As the first touch of dawn began to lighten the night sky, the angry mob had finally melted away.

Now, in the cool steel-grey light of the morning after, with a light drizzle spitting fat drops of rain on to the cobbles, it looked like a war had been fought across Farringdon Street.

‘Hoy! Mr O’Connor, Dr Anwar!’ It was Delbert Hook and his assistant, Bertie. They emerged from the warren of archways and passageways to join them, standing just outside their side door, beneath the looming iron arches of Holborn Viaduct.

‘Spent the blimmin’ night, me an’ Bertie, guarding our front entrance and praying we wasn’t about to be cleared out and robbed blind.’ He shook his head and tutted. ‘Blasted anarchists, some of them even ’ad a go at our doors with ’ammers an’ the like.’

He finally noticed Maddy and Sal; his scowl washed away and was replaced with a greasy charm. ‘And who are these delightful young ladies?’

‘Friends of ours. This is Maddy Carter.’

Delbert reached for her offered hand. She’d expected it to be shaken; instead, he stooped and kissed her knuckles. ‘ Enchante! ’ he said with cavalier flamboyance. ‘That’s French, that is, love.’

‘Right,’ she said, doing her best to smile. ‘Yeah, I sort of figured that. Hello.’

‘And this is Saleena Vikram.’

Sal stuck her hand out and chuckled at Delbert’s theatrical gesture. ‘Your moustache tickles!’ She giggled as he kissed the back of her hand.

He stood up, straightened his rumpled waistcoat. ‘Are you ladies ’ere to help with Dr Anwar’s experiments?’

Maddy looked to Liam for the answer. He’d mentioned that he’d spun Delbert Hook a vague cover story to do with science and experiments. She wasn’t so sure she liked the idea of being seen as some sort of mere lab assistant to Rashim, though; just because she was female she had to be the gopher not the brains?

Typically sexist.

She sighed. ‘We’re here to help him out, I guess. And you… you must be our landlord, Mr Hook? Liam’s told me a little bit about you.’

‘Mr Delbert Hook at your service, ma’am. Although you can also call me Del if you so wish. Self-made businessman. Importer and exporter of the finest goods in the world. You name it, and I can probably get ’old of it. And if I can’t, I’ll know someone who can. And this tall drink of milk standing behind me is Bertie.’

The young man offered a limp, pen-pusher’s hand to the girls. ‘Herbert actually. I do his accounts for him.’

Delbert looked out. Shopkeepers were already trying to restore some semblance of order to the street, brushing up piles of debris, the shards of glass, damaged, soiled goods looted from their stores and discarded in the dirt of the road. ‘Shocking business this is. We’ve ’ad this going on in the East End of London for the last four nights in a row now. First time it’s spread here to Holborn, though. Never thought it would come this way.’

‘I was reading about it in yesterday’s paper,’ said Maddy. ‘This has something to do with those murders in Whitechapel, doesn’t it?’

Delbert sucked on his teeth. ‘Any excuse for these yobbos to make a ruckus and take all they want, as far as I can see.’

‘They’re anarchists,’ said Herbert. ‘Workers, the common man. And they have good reason to be angry, Del. It’s an unjust country. The rich get richer and the poor starve. Those murders…’ Herbert paused and stroked his thin, pencil-line moustache. ‘That was just the tinderbox to the fire. There were riots brewing anyway, but that lady, Miss Mary Kelly, she’s an inspiration to the poor, isn’t she? An inspiration to the oppressed proletariat.’

‘Proletariat?’ Delbert turned round slowly and looked up at his assistant. ‘Listen to yer and yer poncey posh-boy talk. Since when did you swallow a whole blimmin’ dictionary?’

‘I read a lot, Del. When I’m not keeping your business running for you, or humping boxes around for you, I actually read. You should give it a try.’

‘You think this is going to get worse?’ Maddy directed her question at the young man.

Herbert nodded, his eyes wide, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a fisherman’s float. ‘Oh yes, Miss Carter, I think this’ll get a great deal worse.’

They let Delbert and Herbert get back to patching up the damage to the front doors to their business and decided to take a walk down Farringdon Street. Then along Blackfriars Passage, all the way down to the River Thames. Across the city’s skyline, beyond London Bridge, they could see smudges of smoke rising up to the overcast sky. Hundreds of smouldering fires from the riots last night. It seemed the unrest had spread out of the East End in all directions — south over the river to Newington, into the City of London. And, if the view hadn’t been obscured by the tall quayside warehouses along the river’s edge, Maddy suspected they’d see more hairline columns of smoke to the north of them.