The Devil's Workshop

“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.”