Episode 1 - Even Greater London

EPISODE 1

SCENE 1.

F/X: OCEAN SOUNDS

FISHERMAN: You're afraid, Inspector. There's no shame in it.

FLEET: I'm not– Where is he? His boat should be here by now. You're sure this is the right dock?

FISHERMAN: Don't you worry, land-boy. What's on your man's telegram again?

FLEET: "Arriving two a.m. January 16th – stop. Carstol docks – stop. Dock number 2,120 – stop."

That's it down there in front of us. But there's no boat in it. There's no boats anywhere.

FISHERMAN: Aye. Nothing but the ocean and the moonlight.

FLEET: And about 8,000 docks bobbing around and making me queasy because all of this land used to be the Severn estuary.

FISHERMAN: Aye.

FLEET: And the one train back to London Central tonight, which we will miss if he doesn't arrive soon.

FISHERMAN: Aye.

FLEET: And the any number of people waiting at any point on the way there to steal his invaluable cargo and, if necessary, do in the only protection for said cargo, i.e. me.

FISHERMAN: Aye.

FLEET: Don't look at me like that.

FISHERMAN: There's no shame in it, Fleet.

FLEET: (SIGHS)

NARRATOR: Like most people paying any kind of attention, Inspector Archibald Fleet couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. Or, more likely, that everything was just slightly wrong. The everything in question was London in 1887. Even Greater London , to use its proper title, which nobody ever did.

An uninterrupted urban plane encompassing the entire lower half of England, and for complex reasons, only the upper third of the Isle of Wight. It was on the west coast of Even Greater London, in the forty miles of the Carstol docklands – built over what used to be open water between what used to be the separate cities of Cardiff and Bristol – that Fleet was waiting for a most important visitor. A visitor of great reknown. A visitor who was to solve all of Fleet's problems, by replacing them with far worse ones.

FISHERMAN: Everyone feels afraid when they see the ocean at night. And if they don't, they should.

FLEET: I told you, you don't have to stay. Don't you have some... I don't know... fisherman-preparation to be doing somewhere?

FISHERMAN: Fear is what lets you know you're alive, Fleet.

FLEET: I'm not afraid.

FISHERMAN: You're shivering.

FLEET: It's two in the morning and we're standing in front of a freezing ocean. How are you not shivering?

FISHERMAN: I don't feel the cold any more. I don't feel anything any more. A life on the ocean, that's all I know. A lifetime of regret. Did I ever tell you about Agatha?

FLEET: What do you mean, did you ever? We just met about 20 minutes ago. I just wanted you to show me down to the docks.

FISHERMAN: She was beautiful, my Agatha. I didn't deserve her. She didn't deserve to be wedded to a man who was already wedded to the ocean.

FLEET: Look, Fisherman. Eyes like sapphires.

FLEET: Very good.

FISHERMAN: And such a beautiful dancer.

FLEET: Lovely.

FISHERMAN: If you know what I mean.

FLEET: Well, I thought I did, but then you said "If you know what I mean".

FISHERMAN: Is he often late, your man?

FLEET: I have no idea, he hasn't been in the country for twenty years.

FISHERMAN: Not a very glamorous mission for a detective, is it? Babysitting a tourist.

FLEET: Dr Salik is not a tourist, he's a scientist. He's transformed the whole... he built the tower!

FISHERMAN: What tower?

FLEET: The tower.

FISHERMAN: Still. A detective. With intellect, I assume, and skills. You enjoy making sure people get on the right train so they can get home to their teddy bears and cocoa?

FLEET: It doesn't matter whether I enjoy it. This is what I was asked to do.

FISHERMAN: Agatha asked me not to be away at sea for so long. We'd get by, she said. But I wanted to earn my way up to captain. And I did. But by then she was gone.

FLEET: Really, don't let me keep you.

FISHERMAN: Do you know what I regret most, Fleet?

FLEET: He's late! What if something's happened to him?

FISHERMAN: What I regret most, Fleet?

FLEET: (SIGHS) What?

FISHERMAN: What I regret most... was losing Agatha.

FLEET: Yes, I think you've made that very clear. And I will really regret having to go back and tell my superiors why I haven't–

FISHERMAN: Fleet, look!

FLEET: Quiet, Fisherman. Look!

FISHERMAN: Look!

FLEET: Shhh... Is that?

FISHERMAN: Aye. A submarine. Just like the one Agatha–

FLEET: No more Agatha! I suppose that's him.

FISHERMAN: Let's go then!

FLEET: You really don't have to co–. Oh come on then.

SCENE 2.

FLEET: (SHOUT-WHISPERING) Dr Salik? Dr Salik?

F/X: METAL DOOR OPENS

SALIK: (SHOUTING) Ahhhhh!

PAUSE

FLEET: Dr Salik.

SALIK: (LAUGHING LOUDLY)

FLEET: Dr Salik?

SALIK: (ALTERNATING LAUGHING AND LOUD INHALATION)

FLEET: Are you alright?

SALIK: Am I alright? I am standing in the moonlight, breathing God's own air, air gloriously uncorrupted by the coppery toxicity of 65 matching 900 ampere hour accumulator cells.

FLEET: Good. I'm Inspector Fleet. I'm here to escort you to London Central.

SALIK: Indeed. And who is your nautical companion?

FLEET: This is… actually what did you say your name was?

F/X: GUN COCKS

FLEET: (GASP)

SALIK: (GASP)

FISHERMAN: That's my name, alright?

FLEET: Fisherman?

FISHERMAN: Not really, no. Dr Salik and I have to have a very short conversation somewhere that's not here. So you, Fleet, stay where you are, and Salik come with me.

FLEET: He's not going anywhere. Why don't you just put the gun down.

FISHERMAN: Why would I put the gun down? Neither of you have one.

FLEET: What is it you want?

SALIK: He wants me, he said already.

FLEET: Doctor, please.

FISHERMAN: Enough. Salik, come with me.

SALIK: No.

FISHERMAN: No?

SALIK: I'm staying here.

FISHERMAN: You're not staying here, you're following me or I will shoot you both.

SALIK: Then shoot us, you fiend. The Inspector and I do not fear death.

FLEET: But all the same–

FISHERMAN: Dr Salik, you're coming with me if I have to drag you there my–

F/X: ELECTRICAL DISCHARGE

(CRIES)

F/X: BODY COLLAPSES

FLEET: My god! He's dead!

SALIK: He's not dead, he'll be fine in a bit.

FLEET: What happened to him?

SALIK: Well, he touched my jacket, you see. You mustn't touch my jacket. Dreadful.

FLEET: I–

SALIK: Why didn't you simply subdue him by force?

FLEET: What force? He had a gun! He would have shot me before I made it two steps!

SALIK: It is alright, Inspector. Some men are cowards.

FLEET: I'm not a coward, I just don't want to die. I think that's reasonable.

SALIK: Haven't we a train to catch?

FLEET: But what about him?

SALIK: We can tell a local constable to come here and pick him up. He'll be unconscious for a while.

FLEET: But aren't you concerned? Someone was here pointing a gun at you, and you've only just set foot back in the country!

SALIK: That's what you're here for, is it not?

FLEET: Yes, yes it is.

SCENE 3.

NARRATOR: Later that morning, 70 miles to the north, another train completed its journey south from Yorkshire, pulling to a stop where the tracks ended, at the magisterial station "London Border North", a mile-square rail terminus complex that now formed the heart and principal function of the commercial district previously known as Birmingham. London Border North was a triumph of engineering, no material or indeed human cost having been spared to solve what had come to be known as the Two Northern Problems: first, how to manage the practicalities of mass southward migration into the far wealthier Even Greater London; and second, how to extract as much money as possible from the people making the journey. In the end, both problems were solved by Chief Urban Boundary Planner Bartholomew Poole, who realised the true potential in forcing thousands of travelers at a time to switch trains and wait for what was in theory but not in reality a predictable period of time, and that, in such an environment, there was no upper limit on the amount of money people will pay for a sandwich. Exiting from the first class carriage of their train were Clara Entwhistle and her mother Lady Lucretia.

CLARA: "Welcome to London". Well, that's nice, isn't it?

LADY LUCRETIA: Being welcomed by a person is nice, dear. To be welcomed by a sign is vulgar.

CLARA: Mother, you can't disagree with being welcomed! It's not an option! We are welcome! To London! It's exciting! Look at the size of this station!

LADY LUCRETIA: Don't be excited, dear, it exacerbates your freckles.

CLARA: Oh, that boy's selling the Illustrated London News! One moment, mother.

LADY LUCRETIA: I will not "one moment". What need have you for a newspaper?

CLARA: I like to keep up to date with current affairs.

LADY LUCRETIA: You can read my copy of this month's All a Lady Need Know . Disagreement resolved. Now come along, our train to Marylebone is leaving imminently and we have to get through here.

NARRATOR: “Here” was border control, a necessary irritation for those traveling into London, the only alternative being the uncrossably dense Midlands Forest, a natural-seeming but quite deliberately planted northern border for London stretching from east to west coast by way of Derbyshire. The Forest was quite beautiful, although since it had been populated with some 25,000 wolves to discourage crossings, this was never fully appreciated, including, disappointingly, by the wolves. None of this was designed to prevent travel into London – only to ensure the proper paperwork was done.

GUARD: Names.

CLARA: Clara Entwhistle. And this is my mother, Lady Lucretia.

GUARD: Occupations?

LADY LUCRETIA: (OFFENDED) Occupations?

CLARA: Well, my mother's occupation is... Lady, I suppose. And I (PAUSE) am a journalist.

GUARD: Are you bringing any animals into London?

LADY LUCRETIA: Hang on a minute.

CLARA: No animals.

GUARD: What about those birds?

CLARA: Oh yes, two birds please.

LADY LUCRETIA: What do you mean "journalist"? You mean you're keeping a journal. Very ladylike, although I wouldn't call it an occupation, more a pastime or hobb–

CLARA: No, mother. I've been offered a position at the Morning Chronicler.

LADY LUCRETIA: I thought we were coming to a ball! You were going to catch yourself a husband!

CLARA: I didn't know how to tell you. I was planning on explaining once we got there. Perhaps by putting a note for you in the classifieds.

LADY LUCRETIA: Well, I've never felt so betrayed in all my life. I'm going home immediately.

CLARA: Mother don't! Come with me, you'll enjoy it.

LADY LUCRETIA: I'm sorry, Clara. I promised your father one thing. Well, actually I promised him several things, but there was one promise I kept – which was that if something happened to him, I would raise you as he would see fit. And as you have somehow managed to contrive for yourself a salaried job – (TO GUARD) offense intended –

GUARD: (HURT) Oh.

LADY LUCRETIA: – I have clearly failed.

CLARA: But father didn't know best, Mother. That's why he went out sailing in the dead of night and never returned!

LADY LUCRETIA: That was just one of his ways.

CLARA: I know but it killed him.

LADY LUCRETIA: It's what he would have wanted.

CLARA: To be killed at sea? Or for you to abandon me at London Border North?

LADY LUCRETIA: Both! This is your brother's fault of course, encouraging you to “educate” yourself, the very idea! You used to be so good at cross-stitch and now it's all hypothetical moral systems this and Kant's categorical imperative that. Why couldn't you just have married a duke, moved to Saxony and died of scarlet fever like your sister?

CLARA: I just want different things.

LADY LUCRETIA: Well I hope those different things include providing for yourself!

CLARA: They do.

LADY LUCRETIA: (WAILS, EXITING)

CLARA: Mother, don't …. (SIGH)

GUARD: Don't look too glum, Miss. Your mother was a truly dreadful woman. Anything else I can help you with?

CLARA: Yes. Is there anywhere in this station one can get a stiff drink?

GUARD: Almost everywhere, Miss. Welcome to London.

F/X: RUBBER STAMP

Next!

SCENE 4.

NARRATOR: A stiff drink and an even stiffer sandwich later, Clara was on the train from London Border North towards London Central. Without her mother to distract her she found herself staring out the window at the passing city. Some things have to be seen to be believed. Some things can be seen and still not believed. And a few things, when seen, cause whatever belief you had before to be thrown right out the window. Hurtling through the unbroken urban fabric of Even Greater London, on a train with no engine and propelled by it was not clear what, Clara was having just such an experience.

TICKET INSPECTOR: May I see your ticket, miss?

CLARA: I, but, but, the–

TICKET INSPECTOR: I said, may I see your ticket, miss?

CLARA: Oh, yes, sorry. I was just looking out the, the, the win–

NARRATOR: Describing the scale and richness of Even Greater London is a task that has sent many people quite mad. Suffice it to say that what Clara saw from her carriage window was an ocean of homes, shops, offices and public houses, all stitched together with roads and criss-crossed by an untidy lattice of rail tracks, stretching endlessly in every direction. A few minutes more of this and Clara would be in dire need of an extended rest at Didcot National Insanitorium. It was for this reason – and also because he knew that it would fall to him to take the unfortunate passenger there if it came to that – that the ticket inspector did the following:

F/X: PULLING BLIND

CLARA: What are you doing? Why did you close the blind?

TICKET INSPECTOR: The reality of it's not good for you, miss. Pummels the mind. Trust me. Easier just to shut the blinds and read the paper.

CLARA: My word. It's just– the size of it. How many people even live here?

TICKET INSPECTOR: It's not clear. There's a rather large team of census-takers, but by the time they get from one side to the other, everything's out of date. So they just keep roaming around, counting, and hoping to run into one another so they can compare notes.

CLARA: And all those railway bridges, I've never seen anything like it - I swear I saw four, no, five all crossing each other.

TICKET INSPECTOR: Oh yes. Brunel's quite mad. Well, I'll leave you to enjoy your journey, miss - although as it's your first time in London might I recommend you make use of our information carriage.

CLARA: Information carriage?

TICKET INSPECTOR: Just through there, miss.

NARRATOR: The ticket inspector pointed through to carriage B. Inside, suspended in parallel along the length of the ceiling were twelve thin record cylinders, spinning slowly, and each with its grooved surface painted with the flag of a different nation. Clara found an empty seat, picked up the earpiece resting on a hook on the back of the seat in front of her, and started to listen.

AUDIO GUIDE: (D) ¡Bienvenido amigo! Bienvenido al tren del centro de Londres. Por tu seguridad...

CLARA: Oh good lord... Oh! Maybe if I turn this–

F/X: CLICK

AUDIO GUIDE: ...jederzeit. Der Zug stoppt regelmäßig Passagiere zu ermöglichen ...

F/X: CLICK

AUDIO GUIDE: ...husdjur med dig, särskilt i tunnlar.

F/X: CLICK

AUDIO GUIDE: Under no circumstances,

F/X: CLICK

AUDIO GUIDE: ...et cela ne peut pas être assez souligné fortement...

CLARA: Wait! Damn it.

F/X: CLICK

AUDIO GUIDE: ...because of the obvious mortal danger that poses. Now sit back and enjoy this guide to London, brought to you by The Salik Energy Company.

MUSICAL INTRO

AUDIO GUIDE: Welcome to Even Greater London - the centre of the Empire. While here, be sure to visit the magnificent, electrospectacular, beating heart of the city, the Tower. The Tower is responsible for the generation of electricity for the entirety of Even Greater London, and transmitting the energy freely through the clouds and the sky to countless receivers across the city. Why, even the train on which you are traveling is powered by the Tower's electrical beneficence.

And with no need for an engine, that means more space on board for social pursuits, whether it be important business conversations for the gentlemen or, for the ladies, a dedicated carriage in which to play whist and protect your delicate senses from important business conversations. All this and more made possible by the Tower, Dr Salik's gift to the British Empire and testament to Man's supremacy over nature. Why not arrange a visit today? And when I say visit, I mean take a pleasant stroll up to but absolutely no further than the perimeter fencing.

Please, don't cross the perimeter fencing. Crossing the perimeter fencing is a crime, and can lead to any or all of: a fine; a letter of condemnation to your employer; being arrested by the Yeomen Warders of the Tower; being shot by the Yeomen Warders of the Tower; and being set upon by the hungry, vicious ravens of the Yeomen Warders of the Tower.

F/X: SWITCH

CLARA: Probably give that a miss.

SCENE 5.

NARRATOR: Meanwhile, Inspector Fleet had escorted Dr Salik to his home in Mayfair and returned to Scotland Yard. He made his way down to the detective unit, which was – following budget cuts and an ill-judged wager with the cleaning staff – located in the fourth of the building's sub-basements. Below the detective unit was the fifth sub-basement, the contents of which no-one seemed to know. Whatever it was it was unspeakably horrid.

The door was unlabelled, instead, showing, at head height, a life-like painting of the smiling face of a young girl, above whom, in friendly, bubbly letters, were the words “come in”. Obviously, no one ever did. Fleet hurried past the light flickering up the stairs from the fifth sub-basement's door, and walked into the detective unit's reception area.

WAVERLEY: Good afternoon, Archie. How was Carstol?

FLEET: Big, Miss Waverley.

WAVERLEY: I'd like to go one of these days.

FLEET: Well, there's not much to see, unless you like lots of boats. Actually, come to think of it, there were no boats. How do you feel about seeing no boats?

WAVERLEY: Not really one way or the other.

FLEET: Yes, I'm much the same. But it all made me feel rather unwell in fact.

WAVERLEY: What? The no boats?

FLEET: No, the land. Well, the sort of land – it shifts beneath your feet. A man likes to feel like he's on solid ground, not some viscous mass. I can't help feeling let down by Brunel really.

WAVERLEY: You should write to him.

FLEET: Oh I did, when the docklands first opened.

WAVERLEY: Did he reply?

FLEET: His lawyer did. Something about me being in breach of their polite request that I stop writing to him about his bridges.

WAVERLEY: But you weren't writing about his bridges.

FLEET: That's what I wrote back! I've always liked you, Miss Waverley.

WAVERLEY: And did they reply?

FLEET: Yes! With a signed photographic portrait of Brunel! The nerve.

WAVERLEY: What time does your shift end?

FLEET: Two hours.

WAVERLEY: Just enough time for you to talk to Keller then.

FLEET: What do you mean just enough time to talk to Keller?

WAVERLEY: I mean exactly that.

FLEET: I've never liked you, Miss Waverley.

WAVERLEY: Go on.

SCENE 6.

NARRATOR: Fleet entered the office of Chief Inspector Keller. Sat behind a very large oak desk, on an enormous, dark green leather chair, and holding a considerably-sized fountain pen over a vertiginous stack of papers, a small child of about eleven or twelve years of age looked up at Fleet.

GEORGE: Ah, Fleet. Come in. Take a seat.

FLEET: Yes... Chief... Inspector? What's happened to you?

KELLER: (LAUGHS)

FLEET: (SHRIEKS)

KELLER: It's not me, Fleet. It's my eldest son, George. Ha, the look on your face.

FLEET: Where on earth were you hiding?

KELLER: That's for me to know and my foes twenty years ago in the jungles of Zanzibar never to have learned. (LAUGHS) The look on their faces! But no, they died with honour.

FLEET: Pleasure to meet you, George.

GEORGE: Yes, Inspector.

KELLER: Georgie's here on "Bring your son to work day". Doesn't make the least sense to me. I mean, he's got a job of his own, don't you George?

GEORGE: Yes, father.

KELLER: He's a junior engineer in Brunel's 14th engineering division. He's building a twin-track rail tunnel to the Isle of Wight, aren't you George?

GEORGE: Yes, father.

FLEET: Very impressive!

KELLER: Not by himself, of course.

FLEET: No.

KELLER: He's got a team of labourers.

FLEET: Yes.

KELLER: They don't just hand him a shovel and say "Have at it, boy."

FLEET: No.

KELLER: I mean, they do to the other boys, but they're the labourers. That's exactly what they hand and say to those boys, respectively.

FLEET: Yes.

KELLER: I mean, unless it's not a shovel they need, but rather a pick or a rake of some kind, I don't know, I'm not a labourer. George, do your boys use rakes?

GEORGE: No, father. Mostly just shovels.

KELLER: You see, Fleet. That's leadership. Now George, run along and play stick and hoop with Miss Waverley for a while. Fleet and I have a sensitive case to discuss.

GEORGE: Yes, father.

KELLER: And remember George, what's the one kind of ship that can never sink?

GEORGE: Friendship, daddy?

KELLER: No, George. The Phalanx class warships that defend the east cost of London from Prussian aggressors. Because if they do sink, we're all dead. Run along now.

FLEET: Nice boy.

KELLER: Yes he is. But a few years working under Brunel will sort that out. So, what about Salik?

FLEET: Safely delivered to his residence in Mayfair. Equipment already there when we arrived. He sent it separately, apparently with the idea of using himself as a decoy.

KELLER: Did it work?

FLEET: Well, there's someone in the cells at Carstol with probably the worst headache I can imagine, so… yes?

KELLER: Good. Have the report on my desk in an hour. You'll have to make all the copies by hand. The triplicator's broken.

FLEET: That'll take hours! Can't we do the copies when it's fixed?

KELLER: It's not going to be fixed, Fleet. They're going to send us one of those new quadruplicators. You know what those maniacs are working on now, don't you? A quint uplicator. I've lived too long.

FLEET: Why don't I bring you the report, and when the machine arrives, of however many plicates–

KELLER: Just write the damn copies, Fleet! Only one time I've broken that rule in 33 years as a police officer. Led to the death of three good men.

FLEET: So–

KELLER: I don't like to talk about it.

FLEET: It's fine, I don't–

KELLER: Fly fishing, if you must know.

FLEET: Righ–

KELLER: Never again. Never again.

FLEET: I take it they drowned?

KELLER: If only, Fleet! What I would have given for them to have drowned! Not in place of them being alive, obviously.

FLEET: No.

KELLER: No. That would be monstrous.

FLEET: Of course.

KELLER: I mean instead of what happened to them. God rest their poor, shattered souls.

FLEET: Chief Inspector? Yesterday, before I went off to Carstol to collect Salik – who was that leaving your office? I don't think I've seen him before.

KELLER: That's Whitlock, the new Chief Yeoman Warder of the Tower. I'm surprised you haven't run into him yet. You spend a bit of time around the Tower, don't you?

FLEET: I try not to. Beefeaters give me the creeps.

KELLER: The Yeoman Warders are our partners in civil protection, Fleet. So it's important to remain, you know, civil. That's why I met with Whitlock and ended up listening to him tell his damned adventure stories for an hour. The braggart! If you've ever seen a goat he's wrestled ten lions before breakfast!

FLEET: Simultaneously, or in sequence?

KELLER: Do you know, I didn't think to ask. For some reason it wasn't at the forefront of my mind, why would that be, oh yes because he's also told me they've expanded their operating radius.

FLEET: Again?

KELLER: Yes, again, Fleet. They've received approval from the Home Secretary yesterday. Now they're the only investigatory force operating within a full one mile radius of the Tower. I understand the need for precaution, but still.

FLEET: Did they give a reason?

KELLER: The Warders don't give reasons to us, Fleet. Anyway, that's the way the Home Secretary likes it, in his infinite wisdom, so that's the way it's–

F/X: BUZZ

KELLER: Oh for God's–

F/X: CLICK

KELLER: Yes?

WAVERLEY: (D) A Dr. Salik to see you, sir.

KELLER: Salik? What the devil is he doing here?

FLEET: I'll go write up that report then.

KELLER: Fleet, if you leave this room I will skin you.

FLEET: Alright then.

KELLER: You'd better send him in, Miss Waverley. Fleet, what do you suppose the odds are of this being Salik personally delivering a thank-you gift basket?

FLEET: Poor, sir.

KELLER: Indeed, Fleet. Indeed.

SCENE 7.

NARRATOR: There was a saying in Even Greater London which ran: “To get ahead, get a Bell”. Many people assumed that it referred to the fairly recent craze for attaching a small bell to the handle of your bicycle in order to signal to those ahead of you that you wished to overtake them. These people were wrong, and would have done well to purchase a copy of Miscellany of Popular and Less Popular Aphorisms , by the beloved writer, social commentator and bon vivant Michael Monkfish, not least because he really could have done with the money. No, the phrase “To get ahead, get a Bell”, in fact referred to the ubiquitous Bell family, some of the most influential men and women in Even Greater London. Everyone who was anyone was in some way connected to a Bell, whether by friendship, employment, or more likely just meeting by chance at one of Michael Monkfish's imprudently luxurious champagne shindigs. Into the office of Augusta Bell, Editor of The Morning Chronicler , walked Clara Entwhistle.

AUGUSTA: Ah Miss Entwhistle. Come in, come in. So, you're my new secretary. Splendid.

Take this down. "To my brother Julius. Birthday felicitations. Regards, Augusta."

Feel free to edit out anywhere I went overboard on the feelings.

CLARA: No, there seems to have been some sort of error. I thought I was accepted for a job as a journalist.

AUGUSTA: Oh dear, well I'm sorry to have wasted your time, but you've been misinformed. I'm afraid we don't have any vacancies at present for reporters, but I'll keep you on file and...

F/X: PHONE RINGS. RECEIVER PICKED UP

AUGUSTA: What now? Ah, Jenkins. What do you want? Yes, the new crime reporter, lovely chap.

Yes? Yes? What do you mean "stabbed"? Well, yes, no, obviously I know what– Well no Jenkins, don't be absurd, I'm sure the blood's not everywhere .

Is it in Spain, Jenkins? Is the blood halfway up Ben Nevis? No. Then get a hold of yourself.

Well then get a towel first. Well then a curtain, I don't know! Do I have to think of everything?

F/X: RECEIVER PLACED DOWN

AUGUSTA: Well, Miss Entwhistle, it appears we have an opening after all. How does crime take your fancy? Writing about it, obviously, not committing it. Although a healthy disregard for police “rules” about who “is” and “is not” allowed to attend a crime scene and who “can” and “cannot” remove bits of evidence, might come in handy.

CLARA: Is it safe?

AUGUSTA: Depends what you mean by “safe”. Can I promise you that your loved ones won't be kidnapped, garrotted, buried in shallow graves, their fingers chopped off and delivered to you in an envelope marked “fragile” and to top it all off with insufficient postage?

CLARA: No. But what guarantees are there that that wouldn't happen as a matter of course? That actual scenario or…?

AUGUSTA: Will your job take you to some of the most dangerous neighbourhoods? Of course. Will you get shot in the face and your body sold on for medical experimentation? Who can say?

CLARA: Again, I feel like these are alarmingly specific examples.

AUGUSTA: The point is that you're doing a public service. And since reading about crime is the nation's second favourite pastime, after committing it, I think you'll find it pretty steady work.

CLARA: But–

AUGUSTA: No, no, it's quite all right Miss Entwhistle. It's not for everyone, not everyone has what it takes, not everyone has l'esprit du stylo . I just took you for… never mind.

CLARA: Took me for what?

AUGUSTA: A journalist .

CLARA: I'll do it.

AUGUSTA: Excellent. Welcome aboard and all that. Here's an advance on your wages and the key to your new lodgings.

CLARA: Thank you, Miss Bell. You won't regret this.

AUGUSTA: I'm not the regretting type, Miss Entwhistle. But your time is now my paper's time, and you're wasting it sitting in my office. Go find me some news.

SCENE 8.

NARRATOR: Meanwhile, in a far nicer part of the city than Clara's new lodgings, Fleet entered the residence of Dr Salik. Salik's house was in one of a very small number of neighbourhoods in Even Greater London where the residents had sufficient wealth and therefore importance to keep away the worst effects of the rapidly expanding city, whether it be the crowds, the trains screaming along viaducts overhead, or the network of public address systems playing out, every morning and evening, a live address to the city by the unholy mixture of flesh and machine that most people still agreed was, on balance, Queen Victoria. Here in Mayfair you could almost forget the Tower had ever been built at all, except if you looked in any direction other than directly away from it. Inside Salik's home, Fleet was studying the crime scene.

FLEET: Nice place you have here.

SALIK: Thank you, Inspector. Please excuse the dust. It has been a long time since I last visited.

FLEET: Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm surprised you haven't been robbed before. I mean, the chandeliers in this room alone… the tapestries hanging over the staircases... and is that a suit of armour through there?

SALIK: A gift from the Prussian ambassador. Before all the recent unpleasantness, of course.

FLEET: Yes. But you have been robbed, correct?

SALIK: That is what I have been telling you!

FLEET: Well, I only ask because your reception area here appears to be full of, let's see, thirty boxes of highly valuable scientific equipment.

SALIK: Trinkets! All of this can be acquired with money. And in that sense it has no value at all.

FLEET: So what has actually been stolen?

SALIK: My work , Inspector. My work ! The culmination of a lifetime of discovery. A most wonderful set of insights, assembled in my mind over many years and in many cities. Nothing I have ever done before comes close to it. It is…

FLEET: Your work .

SALIK: Exactly.

FLEET: I see. (PAUSE) So, what's been stolen, exactly?

SALIK: I've told you!

FLEET: It's just, if there's a physical item, it's going to make my job a lot easier.

SALIK: Of course. It is my notebook.

FLEET: Ah! Right. Good. Mental assemblies are tricky. Notebooks are more the kind of thing I can work with. Now, which box was it in?

SALIK: Are you mad? Something so valuable is always on my person! I keep it in my inside jacket pocket, here.

FLEET: The same jacket you were wearing this morning.

SALIK: Yes.

FLEET: I thought your jacket electrocuted people.

SALIK: Only when I'm traveling, Inspector! I deactivate it when I am at home. Otherwise it wouldn't be a lot of fun for Mr Leopold now, would it?

FLEET: Mr Leopold being…

SALIK: My cat, Inspector.

FLEET: I see.

SALIK: He's possibly the only being on this earth that truly understands me. And there's so much I don't understand about him.

FLEET: Right. Could you have lost the notebook on the way here, on the train perhaps.

SALIK: Impossible. I was skimming a few pages as I walked through the door, then I carefully replaced it in my pocket.

FLEET: And when did you discover it was gone?

SALIK: One hour later.

FLEET: And who else has been here?

SALIK: No-one. I have been by myself.

FLEET: I see. And when did you open the window?

SALIK: Which window?

FLEET: That window.

SALIK: That window is closed.

FLEET: Yes, but it's been opened. Look, the runners are clean of dust from where it's been lifted. And the dust is disturbed on the floor.

SALIK: I– What are you saying, Inspector?

FLEET: Well, if you didn't open the window, and you didn't take off the jacket, I'd say you've been pickpocketed.

SALIK: In my own home? Without me noticing their entering or leaving, and with no-one else present? Surely not!

FLEET: Dr Salik, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be–

SALIK: A ghost!

FLEET: No, doctor. No.

SALIK: Very well, Inspector. Let us say you are correct. How will you proceed?

FLEET: A thief of this skill won't be easy to find. Let me make some inquiries.

SALIK: Make them quickly, Inspector. There is more than you know at stake.

SCENE 9.

NARRATOR: Fleet worked through the day and long into the night, but he could find no-one who knew anything about Salik's notebook or indeed a thief with the kind of skill required to pickpocket a man in his own home. Exhausted, he returned home and collapsed into bed, where he fell into a deep, revitalizing sleep, lasting precisely 36 seconds.

F/X: BANGING ON DOOR

CLARA: Inspector.

F/X: BANGING ON DOOR

CLARA: Inspector Fleet, open up please.

FLEET: Of course.

F/X: BANGING ON DOOR

FLEET: I'm coming.

F/X: BANGING ON DOOR, DOOR OPENS

FLEET: Yes?

CLARA: Inspector Fleet.

FLEET: Yes?

CLARA: Clara Entwhistle. Journalist. Morning Chronicler. And you are?

FLEET: Inspector Fleet.

CLARA: Sorry, I'm nervous. I'm Clara Entwhistle, Journalist–

FLEET: Can I help you, Miss Entwhistle? Only, it's extremely late, or early, or whatever the hell half past three in the morning is.

CLARA: Yes, it's just–

FLEET: What on earth are you even doing out as this hour? It's not at all safe for you.

CLARA: It's fine, really. I had to come find you. It's about Dr Salik. He's dead.

FLEET: What? How?

CLARA: Well, someone's killed him, I think.

FLEET: But specifically…

CLARA: A terrible series of blows to the head and body.

FLEET: But less specifically…

CLARA: A fight at a pub?

FLEET: There we go.

CLARA: He seems to have been involved in a fight at a pub.

FLEET: And you know this because?

CLARA: My birds woke me up in the middle of the night, I looked out the window and saw him in the street. I went right to him.

FLEET: And?

CLARA: Well, he was already dead. So I summoned a nearby constable. He's there now and I offered to come find you.

FLEET: The constable knew I was on Salik's case?

CLARA: What case?

FLEET: The theft of Salik's notebook.

CLARA: No, no we didn't know anything about that.

FLEET: Well then why on earth have you come for me?

CLARA: Well, Salik asked us to.

FLEET: What? You said he was dead before you got there!

CLARA: He was. But he was holding a slip of paper. He must have written on it in his last moments.

FLEET: What did it say?

CLARA: "Get Fleet."

FLEET: (SIGHS) Of course it did.

END