Oy!
We got a flyer.
- Hello. - Hello.
I'm sorry about yesterday.
What are you hiding, Philo?
Hiding?
Have you ever let anyone love you?
I see.
What happened?
Did she hurt you?
Did you hurt her?
Good morning.
Mrs. Fyfe, where is breakfast?
It's half 6:00.
- I should be late for work. - Right away, Mr. Bagstock.
Taking the long way to work this morning, Berwick?
Sorry, Inspector.
Wanted to catch you early.
We got another one.
- Another one? - Dead Pix.
Found her this morning on the South Bank, just off the road.
Get back, you jackals! Get back! Get back!
Get back! Move away!
What kind of animal...?
Come on, you don't want to be watching this. Back.
Pull yourself together, mate.
Get back! Move away!
This couldn't have happened more than a couple of hours ago.
Oh, after Jack threw himself off a roof?
Did we get the wrong bloke?
This isn't Jack. He targets the head, and he doesn't gut them.
Copycat, then? A sympathizer?
Whoever it was, he finished her off in there.
- How do you know? - Spillway leads to the river.
Blood trail goes this way, into here.
Send some men into the sewers.
If he went that way, he could be anywhere by now.
It's only a Pix.
We still need to put a name to her.
Ladies who found her said she was Aisling Querelle.
- They knew her? - She's famous, apparently.
Or was, back in the day. A singer.
Have Morange take a look at her,
and get her last-known from records.
Maybe there's something at her home for us to go on.
- All right! - Well, I've had enough fun.
Come on! Now, go and get to work!
There you go, mate.
Push, push.
Aisling Querelle.
Third floor, number 16.
Waste of time, if you ask me. I don't care if it's procedure.
For a reason.
You never know what we might find.
Motive.
Suspect.
Well, I doubt the killer would be dumb enough to hide out here.
Expensive piece of kit for a Pix.
Ugh! You little...!
Berwick.
Hey, you!
Don't shoot! Don't shoot!
And you thought I wouldn't find a suspect.
Suspect? What's going on? What's happened?
What's happening is you murdered Aisling Querelle.
- What? - Body's not even cold,
and here you are pilfering her home.
- Murdered? - Ms. Querelle was found dead this morning.
Oh, no.
Aisling?
How? Who? Who would want Aisling killed?
That's what I'm trying to determine,
along with what you might be doing in her flat.
Well, she was my friend from years ago.
I only just arrived in the Burgue this morning.
I need somewhere to shelter.
Aisling wasn't here. The door was open.
- I let myself in. - To her closet?
I heard you coming. I was frightened. I hid.
F-Fike. Fike, what are you doing down-down here?
Here we go. There, my boy.
Kobolds. Vicious things.
How dare you. He's my star.
You said you were her friend.
Who would want to see Ms. Querelle come to harm?
I don't know.
We were both performers, she and I,
but she was the real artist, an angel.
She was a being from another world.
Listen.
That's a faerish tune, isn't it?
That was when she was at the height of her fame
and the toast of Burgue society.
But I knew her first
when she sang at a little cafe on the Row.
I'd never heard anything like it.
And soon there were carriages lined up round the block,
the rich and powerful clamoring to get in.
She gave a recital at Finistere Crossing.
Once, even a command performance
at Balefire Hall.
Did she marry? Are there children to talk to?
Her life was her art,
which is why it hit her so hard
when she fell out of favor.
And, uh, after that,
she became something of a recluse, I'm afraid to say.
When did you see her last?
Years ago, sometime in the aughts.
I told you, I have just arrived back in the Burgue.
I've been away such a long time.
Well, you won't be leaving anytime soon.
What do you mean? I'm still a suspect?
- Till I find a better one. - The police.
You have a dead Pix, and all you do is file a report
- and forget about her. - No.
I'll find whoever did this.
You can count on it.
That is the best china, for special guests.
For visitors from the professions,
we use the second-best china.
Yes, ma'am.
Am I gonna have to tell Master Spurnrose and Miss Imogen
about last night?
What?
You think I didn't notice you sneak out?
I told you I'd be keeping my eye on you, girl.
Please don't tell, Afissa.
I don't want any trouble.
Are you on the lixer?
- No. - Tell me the truth, girl.
Nothing like that.
Well, what is it, then?
I found out someone I knew from Tirnanoc is here in the Burgue.
A lover?
Believe me, I never want to see
that man's face again for as long as I live.
Right, you take the tray, and I'll get the door.
Mr. Wigsby here to see you, sir, miss.
Ah, good morning, Wigsby.
Morning. I came as soon as I could.
You wrote of a situation?
I certainly did.
Cheswith House.
There, across the way.
I heard someone was taking residence.
Not someone. A Puck.
All puffed up in silken finery.
He carries a ridiculous walking stick
and has a human manservant.
She's not serious.
I laid eyes on him myself.
Needless to say, it's a situation
that cannot be allowed to stand.
Well, I sympathize with your distress, Miss Imogen...
assuredly, I do... but...
I know of no law explicitly banning
- the sale of property. - It is simply not done.
Assuredly not.
The gossip has been that Cheswith was
in debt when he died.
Perhaps it's true and his heirs
chose to sell to the highest bidder.
- Well, to hell with them, then. - Imogen, please.
Surely, there's something you can do, Wigsby.
I'm afraid there is no recourse.
Right.
Wigsby, you've been our solicitor since Father.
- Hmm. - If you say there's no recourse, there's no recourse.
We'll simply have to do our best to ignore our new neighbor.
That-that is the spirit, dear.
We'll pretend he's not even here.
- Would you take some tea? - Thank you, yes.
How's Mrs. Wigsby these days?
In fine health and tolerable disposition.
Mr. Breakspear?
Mr. Breakspear, are you decent?
Oh, fuck.
Begging your pardon, sir, but I really think it best
we get you back home to Balefire.
- He's not here. - What?
Little shit ran out on me last night.
Without paying, I might add.
Wouldn't have left without these, would he?
Shite.
Abducted?
Where? How?
A house of assignation on Carnival Row.
I told him to stay off the Row. I bloody told him!
- What should we do, Winetrout? - There's nothing to do, Lady Piety,
except wait for a ransom demand.
- Wait? - Winetrout's right.
To these brigands, this is a business.
They understand that if they don't return
the hostages unharmed, people will stop paying.
The fewer that know of this, the better.
Longerbane would make a scandal of it.
- Absalom... - They won't harm the boy,
not if they get what they want.
And rest assured, once Jonah's safely home,
we will find who was responsible
and hang them from the tallest lamp in Argyle Square.
Which one of you is Quill?
Sir, I'd... I'd like to explain.
- I would appreciate that. - Well, it was raining.
I went across the street to get out of the wet.
- You see, the horses... - Who took my son?
I wouldn't know.
Well, you must have seen something.
Heard something.
Everything seemed normal.
Normal?
I'm sorry, sir.
- I didn't think... - Obviously, you didn't think!
Otherwise, you wouldn't have been hiding across the street,
protecting your Critch hide from the rain
- instead of protecting my son. - Sorry. Please, sir.
Please, I would do anything to protect...
Get him out of my sight.
I never want to see his face again.
On those who attended the jester's burial,
nary a smile was to be found.
But they swore they heard a final chuckle
from six feet underground.
Bravo! Bravo!
Thank you. Thank you very much.
Thank you. Thank you so much.
Most kind. Thank you.
Okay. Well, let's start again.
Cassiopeia, you missed your cue.
Close the curtains, and let's start again.
- Are those...? - Kobolds.
My grandmama got me one when I was a girl.
Horrid little things.
Come along, Vignette.
There they are. All the usual faces.
Promenading about, this way and that way,
like so many leaves in the wind.
It looks like it might rain after all.
Where's my parasol?
Sorry, miss.
You don't know the first thing
about being a lady's maid, do you?
Run back and fetch it.
Lively, now.
Excuse me. Could I...?
- Excuse me, would you mind if I came...? - Sorry.
Excuse me.
Allow me.
Oh, thank...
Thank you.
Quite the deluge, isn't it, Miss Imogen?
You know my name.
I made inquiries.
You left quite the impression on me the other day.
As did you, most assuredly.
Believe me,
I am quite aware of the reaction
my arrival to the neighborhood has provoked.
Then perhaps you ought consider a different address.
But I like it here.
The Crossing is lovely.
As are its residents.
How dare you speak to me like that.
- Then how should I speak with you? - Preferably, not at all.
I know what you're about, girl.
I can smell it on you.
You know what's in it, don't you?
Piss from a Trow bitch in heat.
What do you know?
I know there isn't a man that can resist,
and I also know you needn't have bothered.
It was fucking pouring down with rain.
- Where were you at? - Yeah, by the coast.
- I was walking out. - Yeah, I know it. Yeah.
So, this carriage just overturned on the road, right?
- Yeah? - And I'm helping this gent get out.
What, he fell out of the carriage?
Yeah, he got stuck. His shoe got stuck.
- Right. - Comes right off his foot.
Only, it's not his foot.
- What are you talking about? - It's a hoof.
- A hoof? What, like a Puck's? - Yeah.
- He's a fucking half-blood. - Bloody hell.
- Hello, Philo. - You want one, mate?
- No, I'm all right. - All right.
So, what, you took him in?
Of course I fucking took him in.
You get a year for that, Cuppins.
'Cause he's trying to pass.
- Right, right. - Yeah. Trying to pass.
Did they teach you anything at the academy?
They're getting cheeky, aren't they?
Fuck.
So, that's today.
- So these, I'll finish with those? - Yes.
Uh, and learn how to spell "necessary."
Yes, sir.
Mate.
What is it, Philo?
I've got a coach waiting.
Missus and I are going on holiday.
My autopsy request was denied.
Coroner's a busy man.
- Good day, Filkins. - Morning, governor.
I'm not gonna waste his time on a Pix.
Now, you get these writs done today, Filkins.
- Will do, governor. - Sir, with all due respect,
this wasn't some lixer deal gone wrong.
She was a quiet sort. She never bothered anyone.
Hey, you brought down bloody Jack yesterday.
You're the man of the hour.
Now, let Berwick handle this.
Eh?
She was brutalized.
She was torn apart.
Somebody wanted her more than just dead.
- I want to find out why. - And I'm not gonna stop you,
but I won't be wasting the coroner's time, either.
- Where to, Inspector? - The Row.
Morning, Doc.
Philo.
I've got one for you. The usual fee?
- When? - Soon as you can get there.
Give me an hour.
Sewed her up,
put everything back more or less where it belongs.
More or less? What kind of doctor were you back in Puyan?
The only doctor you could find to do an autopsy
on a Critch.
I'd guess she's about 90 from her wing veining.
There's some distension in her lady bits,
so she at least had one pregnancy,
and there's some atrophy in her coracoideus.
Wing muscle. Normal for her age.
Anything else?
No liver.
No liver?
Must have been left behind in the mess.
Or the killer made off with it.
Why would he do that?
Good question.
Was it a blade or a talon that killed her?
Hard to say.
Either way, her sternum was cut straight through.
That takes some strength.
Could a man have done it?
With enough hate in him, aye.
"Enough hate."
- Evening, lads. - Hello, Sergeant.
Darius.
Hello, Philo.
Sorry I couldn't come sooner.
Work.
You are a mate.
What happened to your face?
Oh, it's nothing.
How was your day, then?
Same old, same old.
Yours?
There was a killing.
On the Row.
Same old, same old.
- This Pix was different, though. - How so?
She was a singer back in the day.
She had a voice.
Haunting.
Can't get it out of my head.
Well, there's only one thing you can do about that, then.
Solve the case.
Get a fucking different song in your head, mate.
♪ Take the hard way ♪
- Don't. - ♪ To Merriana ♪
♪ Follow me, I met her there ♪
♪ Against them pack shites ♪
♪ We will battle ♪
♪ Taking ground and holding dear ♪
♪ It's a hard way, but there's no other ♪
♪ For we are soldiers of the Burgue ♪
♪ Of the Burgue! ♪
You know you don't have to come here every day.
Could've just as easily been me behind them bars
instead of you.
Tomorrow, then.
Tomorrow.
Can I help you?
Keep up with what you're doing.
Till next Austery.
For that's how long it will take you to pay off your debts
for your passage here.
What if I told you there was a quicker way?
Don't. I warn you.
Well, you see here.
Now, I lost everything.
Everything my family ever had.
Now all I have to show for it is your miserable Critch cunt.
Fuck you!
Shut your mouth, you little fae whore.
You listen to me.
Ezra?
What's happened?
I-I caught her stealing.
The little thief had her hand in the incidentals jar.
And she's gone, just like that?
She owes months on her contract.
Even so, we-we can't have somebody we don't trust
living under our roof, can we?
Well, she's not gonna get away with it,
I can assure you of that.
First thing tomorrow morning, we're going straight
to the constabulary to report her.
She'll end up on a ship back where she came from,
if I have anything to say about it.
Well, you don't have to go back.
Let that fop come looking for you.
I'll show him a "Critch cunt."
Are you sure you're all right?
What? Yes. Sorry.
It's something else, really.
It's just, um...
I found Philo.
I tracked the bastard down.
I didn't hurt him.
I wanted to, but you were right.
I realized I've wasted my whole life on all that.
It's time for a fresh start.
Well, I like the sound of that. What you got in mind?
I was wondering if you could have a word with your boss.
This isn't a plan to piss off your ex-lover, is it?
No.
- You want to work here? - I could.
- Vignette, listen... - Why not?
Working for my own kind. Making my own money.
Because you're a ghastly fuck.
I'm magnificent, you cow.
Sorry, sorry.
You are.
Oh, it's just not you, Vini.
It's not you, either.
You're a poet laureate, for tit's sake.
Yes, but let's be honest, the poems were mostly about sex.
- I'm serious. - So am I.
This city doesn't care who you were.
You have to make the best of the choices you've got.
What choices?
I can't go back to that fucking house.
You won't let me work here. What else is there?
I do know a bloke who knows some people.
What sort of people?
They call themselves the Black Raven.
They're fae?
Mainly ex-blockade runners from the Wing Brigade.
Proud faerish-homeland types
without a homeland to fight for, just fighting to get by.
Get by how?
Any way they can, I suppose.
Running lots, gaming, contraband,
potshine, lixer.
It'll put you squarely on the other side of the law
more often than not.
Sounds perfect.
They're meeting tonight. I'll get you an introduction.
Any word?
Nothing yet.
We ought to have received a ransom demand by now.
I would have thought so, too.
But there's nothing we can do but wait.
Well, what if there were?
I ask you to keep an open mind.
Come.
What is this, Piety?
She's the best chance we have of getting Jonah home safe.
I won't have this witch in my presence.
This "witch" has advised my family for generations.
Haruspexy is quackery and superstition.
- I won't abide it! - Quackery?
It was she who brought us together, and well you know it.
My father would never have agreed
for me to marry a Burguishman
had she not foreseen that you were destined
for great things, your son even greater.
Even so, Critch magic is a sin against the Martyr.
But it works.
Do you want our boy home or not?
More than my life.
Then let her proceed.
A sacrifice is required.
The dearer to the House Breakspear, the better.
Yes.
Yes, it all makes sense now.
The man who took your son is known to you.
Known to us? Are you certain?
It is he who would stand athwart you,
he who would drive you from your seat of power.
Ritter Longerbane.
It is he who has your son.
You're Tourmaline's friend?
Vignette Stonemoss.
Eyes open, mouth shut, Vignette.
Tighter.
Snug as a bug.
I heard you got caught last night.
I'm just trying to understand.
I told you, I gave them the slip.
They had you coated and cuffed.
How did you give them the slip?
Maybe you could show me.
Go on, get yourself out of all that,
like you did last night.
I'm timing you.
- Who's this? - Tourmaline's friend.
Ah, right. The lady's maid.
- What's your name, girl? - Vignette.
Vignette, I'm Dahlia.
Hamlyn tells me you spent some years
getting our countrymen out of Anoun before coming over.
That's right.
Good on you. That's righteous work, that.
Didn't spend quite so long lady's maiding, though, did you?
Wasn't for me.
Hmm. Me, neither.
This is one of my old wing corsets, in fact.
You've probably had to wear something like it.
Do you know why?
They didn't want me to fly off.
Uh, no, it's more than that.
It's envy.
You see, Vignette, a bird isn't afraid of falling.
No, we're free.
The leggers can't stand to see it.
So they have to cripple us.
They have to make us like them.
Weak. Heavy.
Afraid of falling.
What really happened last night, Wren?
Time's up.
The police have been looking for a foothold
in my organization for some time.
So, when one of mine spends a night in police custody
that she won't say shit about, what am I to do?
Have to protect my own.
The way I see it,
a faerishyn who picks the groundlings over us
belongs to the ground.
Now, if you have a problem with that, you should turn and go.
No. I'm done with them.
I won't work for none but my own kind.
Good.
It's customary that I task you to prove yourself.
Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it.
I want you to take the flag that's hanging in the rotunda
of the constabulary, and bring it back to me.
In plain view of all those bluejackets?
Do you know what we do here?
We get things where they need to be.
If you're going to be one of us, I need to know
there isn't a shred of this city you can't touch.
So, what's it to be, girl?
V-I-G-N-E-T-T-E, Vignette.
Stonemoss.
That's stone, as in stone, and moss, as in moss.
Right, right, right, right.
You'll need to fill out a writ of noncompliance,
and then we can issue an arrest warrant.
Thank you, sir.
Very well, but do hurry up.
She's been missing for 12 hours.
Running all the way, ma'am.
What was that about?
Oh, some Pix broke her contract.
The gentleman from the constabulary.
Good morning, sir. Mm, take a seat, please.
You have news... has the little thief been found?
No.
Though I am here about the writ you filed.
How much is the contract in question worth?
It's 50 guilders, sir.
- I would settle it. - 50 guilders?
On a policeman's salary?
Why in heaven's name would you waste that kind of money?
Will you release the writ and give her her freedom
if I pay what's owed?
- Yes. - No.
- Yes. - Ezra.
Whatever's got into you?
Imogen, I will explain in a moment, please.
One last thing.
The girl's no thief.
Why did she run?
I thought so.
I'll show myself out.
I don't understand.
Father left us 10,000 a year,
and now you're telling me you squandered it?
Do you have any idea how much it takes to support a household?
Do you? A-Any at all?
So we have coal delivered by the cartload,
fresh flowers every day,
and that is to say nothing about what it costs
to keep you in the latest fashion.
You would lay the blame for this debacle on me?
I am merely trying to make you understand I had no choice
but to try and take the resources that Father left us
and grow them to reflect our needs.
I trusted that you had our financial matters in hand.
And I do.
Now, I will right this situation.
I-I aim to procure a loan
to fund the refurbishment of another ship.
Oh, by the Martyr,
did you learn nothing from what happened?
It was bad luck.
A storm.
There is money to be made in this business still.
- Of that, I'm certain. - And what is it
that you intend to offer the bank as collateral
for this loan you hope to procure?
Why, the house, of course.
No, Ezra, this house is all we have.
We'll be on the street.
I aim to adjust our fate. You must have faith.
Oh, faith be damned.
It is my fate, too, and I will have a say in it.
And what do you know of anything?
Apart from what to wear to which function?
Who's been seen with whom?
Now, I am the master here.
I will make the decisions!
Wh-Who's... who's there?
Please.
Answer me.
Do you have any fucking idea who I am?
I'm Jonah Breakspear!
My father will crush you for this.
You're dead! The lot of you, dead!
You did well.
My husband's convinced that it was Longerbane who took Jonah.
Piety, I've served your family for many years.
Never before have I been asked to lie.
Well, there's always a first time.
Besides, I've always hated that fucking bear.
There he is, that ridiculous Puck.
Preening for passersby, desperate for attention.
Does he really think his money can buy him acceptance here?
Dear Mr. Agreus:
My behavior yesterday was unneighborly.
You're welcome to call on me at your earliest pleasure.
Sincerely, Imogen Spurnrose.
Afissa.
Don't just stand there. What did he say?
That he would be pleased to take tea with you tomorrow.
Of course he is.
- Unless there's anything else, miss? - Uh-uh.
Everything appears to be in order.
So the writ has been released?
She's free to do as she pleases.
Thank you.
- Inspector. - What?
We have a problem upstairs.
She's asking to see the dead Pix.
I only need a few moments with her.
It's all right, Berwick.
You're a Mima.
- What order are you with? - Revanscleer.
The investigation is ongoing, Mima.
The body is evidence.
She was a person first, and she cannot rest like this,
not after what happened.
She must be anointed.
Please.
In love we begin,
to light we return.
Love begets love and light begets light.
We are one with all that is
and ever will be.
How well did you know Aisling?
She lit a candle at my shrine every week.
For who, I couldn't say.
Can you think of anyone who would've wished her harm?
A pall hangs over her.
She was taken by a great evil.
Hard to see.
But sense...
something unnatural.
Neither man nor fae.
You don't seem surprised.
I've heard my fair share lately.
I met a man just the other night
who claimed he saw some "dark god"
lurking beneath the city.
- And you didn't believe him. - He was mad, down to his death.
The old ways can summon things
that would drive a man mad to look upon.
You're saying magic did this?
Magic is just your word for all the things
you and yours haven't yet discovered.
And I'd remind you there was a time,
not so long ago in the scheme of things,
when my species was among them.
Thank you, Inspector.
If anything goes wrong, just go. Promise me.
Oy! Is someone gonna talk to me or not?
- Shut up and wait your turn. - Ah!
I was robbed! Does no one care?
I said shut up.
It only happened around the corner.
You could still catch 'em if you move your fat arse.
- Yeah, you tell him, Pix. - What? What'd you say?
Hey!
Hey, hey, where do you think you are?
Bloody hell!
- I've got her. - Don't be daft, man.
If you miss, you'll bring down the whole bloody dome!
- After her, lads! Come on! - Go!
- Get her! - Right away, sir!
Get back here!
Hey!
Stop! Get back here!
I got it.
Get that bloody Critch!
Vignette.
The Raven. I know you know better.
- What do you care? Give it to me. - Go.
- Not without that flag. - They'll arrest you.
And just think of all the things I could tell them.
They don't know, do they?
They don't know the truth about you.
Are you threatening me?
Maybe.
Or maybe it's mercy.
You'd never.
You'd never tell them.
Do you really want to take that chance?