The Devil's Workshop

Day heard fabric rip and felt something flutter against the calf of his left leg. There was a bright flash of pain and a burning sensation.

“What did you—”

“You lied to me just now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t speak Latin, but I speak German well enough, Walter Day. Do you know what the word karstphanomen actually means?”

“My leg.”

“It’s bubbles of air, karstphanomen is. Pockets in the earth. These men, this doctor and that policeman in the next cell, and who knows how many others… they call themselves that, and they believe they mete out justice. They believe they do good work while hiding in the pockets of society. Do you believe that?”

“They were wrong to keep you here.”

“Oh, most certainly. There’s no question of that. But what do you think of their notions regarding justice and law?”

“It’s my job to uphold the law.”

“And what about justice?”

“They’re the same thing.”

“No, Walter Day. The Karstphanomen are right about that, right about that one little thing. They’ve got everything else wrong, but they’re correct when they say that the law does not concern itself with justice. And yet, these men contradict their own beliefs. They hide away down here in the dark and do evil things and think themselves good men. Isn’t that silly?”

Day said nothing. He could feel something warm running down his leg, trickling into his shoe.

“Perhaps we should cut the earth away and expose them, pop their bubbles, let them bleed out onto the surface. After all, if they’re so convinced they’re correct, why should they hide?”

“What did you do to me?”

“You won’t die yet. Not of this, at any rate. I said I wouldn’t kill you today and I think it will take a bit longer than that for you to bleed to death.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I must go. But I’ll be back soon to hurt your friend and to talk to you some more. Maybe I’ll even stop the bleeding. I really do enjoy talking with you. I think this relationship is going to be interesting for us both, Walter Day.”

“Listen, let us out of here and I’ll do what I can to see that you’re not hanged.”

“Oh, how lovely of you. What do you think, maybe they’ll let me rot in the asylum? Or maybe they’ll even let me go free! I greatly appreciate your overture of friendship, but let’s wait and see what tomorrow may bring. It’s been a very long day for me and, despite the fun I’m having, I’d like to see the sun again. Then I’d like to visit a lady and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Visit a lady?”

“Yes. I haven’t enjoyed the company of a woman in a very long time.”

“No, please don’t.”

“Good night, Walter Day.”

Jack stood and took a step toward him, blocking the light and casting himself in silhouette. There was a rustle of fabric and the hood was pulled roughly over Day’s face. He heard Jack walk away, his boot heels clocking against the earth. Then silence rushed in and Day felt himself alone in the dark once again.

45

Another wagon was already stopped outside the gates of HM Prison Bridewell when Hammersmith’s carriage arrived. Inspectors Blacker and Tiffany were at the back of the other wagon with the door open, and Blacker had his weapon drawn. They both stepped back, prepared for anything, but they relaxed visibly when they saw Hammersmith.

“We’ve got one of them,” Blacker said. His smile was as big and guileless as a child’s. “Gave us a merry chase, but he never stood a chance.”

“You’ve got one, too?” Tiffany said.

“We caught the cannibal,” Hammersmith said. “Napper.”

“Good show, old boy,” Blacker said.

“Which one have you got?”

“Hoffmann,” Tiffany said. “The one killed his cousin’s lover.”

“Let’s reunite these old friends,” Blacker said. “I’ll bet they’ve missed each other.”

Tiffany nodded at the dark interior of their wagon, where Hammersmith could see a person waiting. “All right, all’s clear,” Tiffany said. “Back out slowly, now.”

“Wait a minute, Nevil, and I’ll help you with yours,” Blacker said. “These children they’ve got driving the wagons today aren’t of much use.”

“Hey!” The driver of Hammersmith’s wagon scowled down at them. His nose was dusted with freckles, a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t have to be here, you know. Got other things I could be doin’ today.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hammersmith said. “No insult intended.”

“All right, then.”

The boy went back to reading his scandal magazine. Hammersmith stepped to the back of the other wagon and pulled the truncheon from his belt. He watched carefully as the prisoner Hoffmann moved backward to the wagon’s edge and perched there awkwardly, craning his neck to see the ground three feet below him, his wrists cuffed in front of him. Hammersmith held the end of the truncheon against the back of Hoffmann’s knees while Blacker and Tiffany kept their revolvers pointed at the prisoner.

“I’m right here,” Hammersmith said. “There’s a ledge here under the wagon’s lip. You can’t see it from where you are, but I’ll guide your foot onto it and make sure you don’t fall.”

“If you do fall,” Tiffany said, “or make any other movement that I don’t like, I’ll put a hole in you.”