Penny Dreadful

Previously on Penny Dreadful:

- Why are you here? -I believe I'm cursed to see things.

If you think you're touched by the demon, then you best walk out that door.

The man concerns me. She has a protector.

Mr. Chandler? - Lupus Dei.

He shall be your challenge, daughter.

I want to know who did this to you.

Get better, Mr. Roper. We have much to talk about.

- My name is Dorian Gray. -Angelique. This is where I work.

- I hope you know what you've bought. -I do.

Cosmetically, she's transformed.

Lily, may I introduce John Clare.

Meet the new man we've hired. It is good to meet you.

That face will make our fortune.

[THUMPING AND MAN GRUNTS AND WOMAN SCREAMS]

Mrs. Poole. Sir Malcolm.

- What do they know? Nothing.

I can misdirect them as you see fit.

No. Let her follow the bread crumbs to me.

You have to learn to protect yourself.

From whom? Legions.

Remember this. When Lucifer fell, he did not fall alone.

They will hunt you until the end of days.

And then?

They burned her alive.

When I left the moors...

...I thought I would never hear that wicked language again.

Or confront that evil.

Mr. Chandler felt you needed to know.

"For thee are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies...

...but against mighty powers in this dark realm."

"And against evil spirits in heavenly places."

So these Nightcomers practise a form of black magic...

...while you practise a form of--?

Practising magic is unbelievable enough. Do we need to parse it'?

We need to know what these things are.

Yes, they're witches, understood.

Witchcraft has a long history in many cultures, doctor.

As do fairies and sprites, but they don't walk about greater London.

These do.

My apologies.

And their goal?

They're servants to the devil.

Doing his bidding to serve their own ends.

Whatever those may be.

All of which leaves us where, exactly?

A threat to which we can now give a name.

And a language we need to decipher.

I'm on.

Take a look, won't you?

Mr. Chandler was more right than he knew.

It is a puzzle, and more complicated than it first appeared...

...which just about gave me the vapours, I can tell you.

It's not so much an actual language...

...as a collection of known languages forming new patterns.

But within this thicket of obfuscation, our old friends Greek and Latin.

Translating the Greek was easy enough...

...though the idiom is decidedly pre-grammar, if you will.

One fragment...

...emerged to me here.

"So God looked down on his defeated angels and..."

That "and" suggests what?

More to come.

Precisely, so I started hunting for the continuation...

...and I found this in Latin.

So, Mr. Chandler, care to test your skill?

"Found them to be evil angels, so he cast them out.

He took..."

- Took what? -Aren't you all dying to know?

It's a story.

A narrative that continues.

Language to language.

Greek to Latin to Sumerian to Arabic...

...to ten other obscure languages and pictographs...

...changing language from relic to relic.

Is it the story of Lucifer, then?

- The angel cast out by God? Time will tell.

How could this one monk know all these languages?

He didn't.

- The demon did. Exactly.

Recall, Brother Gregory was only writing down what he heard...

...apparently, in whatever language it came t0 him.

Do you know what I think this is?

Yes, I think it's a story...

...but you made one mistake in your translation, Mr. Chandler...

...more than understandable, given the archaic script and usage.

Look again.

Not "them."

"US-"

"Found us to be evil angels, so he cast us out."

It's not just a story.

It's an autobiography.

The memoirs of the devil.

This is all giving me a headache.

You should talk to a doctor.

You know, once, I would have thought all of this impossible.

And now?

I know nothing's impossible.

Whatever we can imagine, far worse is true.

And far better.

You think so?

I choose to.

Miss Ives, I have...

...a personal favour to ask of you.

Would you mind accompanying me somewhere tomorrow?

On, well, uh...

...an errand of sorts.

Of course, doctor.

May I call at 10?

- Gladly. -Thank you.

What are you doing?

Watching.

For what?

Those things...

...that hunt at night.

Lions.

The train stops in the tunnel.

The lights go out for a brief moment.

No one in the carriages on either side saw anything.

No one came and no one went.

So how did he do it?

Sir?

How did he come and go?

Carrying a baby, no less...

...which apparently didn't squall or cry out in transit.

Perhaps he killed it here.

Then why take it?

And the wounds...

...like a surgeon.

Precise, elegant.

Unlike the other animal butchery we've seen.

No, we're going about this all wrong.

We're pursuing patterns of logic...

...when the answer lies elsewhere.

Where?

Magic.

And how are we to afford another exhibition?

It'll pay for itself in time.

What makes you think that Harry Public's gonna plunk down 2 bob...

...to see those bloody things?

Go to the corner right now, you'll find the answer.

They line up three deep for the Police Gazette...

...and the penny dreadfuls, and those are only pictures.

We give them it fully formed.

Horror in all its horror.

Yeah, time will prove it, eh?

A husband could use a show of support from his wife.

Besides, with this, we're not simulating anything...

...because it's all real.

Flesh and blood, and pumping hearts and all.

Here. Look at this.

We add another entrance here at the corner.

Two attractions, two gates.

Two admissions.

Give them a discount for buying both.

They go down the stairs here.

I don't follow. Where are you keeping them?

In this half of the cellar, if I can rent it off the tobacconist.

- You see? -Gonna keep them in the cellar?

- All the time? -Of course.

They don't need the light.

They're freaks.

- I know you're there. -

- Sorry, miss. -Everyone does it.

A chance to observe life at its most natural, being unobserved.

I can always tell.

The molecules change in the air, you see.

Everything vibrates.

I'll, uh--

I'll go.

Mr. Clare, don't be such a mouse.

Now, tell me.

Does this look like Mr. Gladstone?

He's been prime minister so many times...

...we have to keep making him older.

I think it does.

Ageing them is easy.

Everyone knows you have to add wrinkles and sagging skin and such.

But the trick...

...is the eyes.

They get cloudy as you get older.

You have to change the eyes.

What do your eyes look like?

Um...

They're, um-- They're not beautiful.

Are they cloudy?

No.

What colour are they?

No. Let me guess.

- Miss-- -Blue?

No, you're no blue-eyed boy.

Not green, I sense.

I'll say brown.

Feathery brown, like an owl's wing.

No, not brown.

Well, tell me.

They're, um...

Yellow.

Well, that makes a change.

Not a lemon yellow, I hope.