The Nevers

Good morning, Mrs. True.

Mrs. True.

Miss Adair.

-You look very fine. -I think so, too.

What are you walking around here for? That's what I'm saying.

-Oh, I just-- -No, wait!

Will you do something about this man, please?

Read it in "The Star"!

Maladie kills fifth victim!

Murder spree soon to eclipse The Ripper!

I don't suppose you know how this all works out.

The ripplings don't come when they're called.

Well, let's just try to keep it civil.

Not like with the innkeeper.

-He had a shotgun. -I've heard that excuse before.

When they have shotguns.

-What's the, uh, girl? -Myrtle Haplisch.

Something to do with her voice.

Good day, Mr. Haplisch.

Yes.

-Are you, uh-- -I'm Amalia True.

This is my colleague, Penance Adair.

The reverend told you we were coming?

Oh, yeah. About Myrtle.

Um, come... in.

Missus!

Please, come through to the, um, parlor.

They're saying Myrtle might be...

Touched?

We, we heard about those girls the last few years.

They're... not right.

Neither right nor wrong, being Touched is not a defect of character.

But isn't that killer...

Mal-Maladie. Isn't she one of them?

Maladie's homicidal. I don't know if she's Touched.

-We don't know if Myrtle is. -Oh, she's Touched, all right.

Touched by Red Boot Teddy!

We're, um, of a mind,

there's a Satanic element.

She's Lucifer's vessel, is what.

He speaks through her.

Up!

Yes, uh, the reverend mentioned an affliction of the tongue.

'Cause old Satan is squattin' on it.

Spewing out his foulness,

-making a chamber pot of our Myrtle's mouth.

Well, that's a bit descriptive.

Oh, uh, new kettle.

-It tells you when it's, um-- -Sophie!

Is Myrtle here at home, then?

-Why is she chained? -Infection.

W-w-we got the others.

Out. Get out. Get out, I say.

Myrtle was the only one could earn a wage with the new labor laws.

Now this.

Myrtle, I'm Penance and that's Mrs. True.

May I sit?

Uh, we've come to help with what's been troublin' ya.

There's plenty of girls who've been shown

a strangeness of some kind. A "turn."

But Mrs. True and I, we've worked with them, and they come up fine.

Would you like that?

Speak, Myrtle.

You mean, "Speak, Satan"?

See?

Myrtle, you can understand me, yes?

Chinese?!

Most of it. Some of it may have been Russian.

And I want to say... Turkish?

-Huh. I'd guess every known language is crowding her mind.

How would a girl like Myrtle learn Chinese?

She's never even seen a Chinaman.

Well, at least we can rule out

any sort of Satanic influence.

-Those acrobats. What?

No! They just tumbled about.

They come to Barney Park doing flips and balancing.

They had an unnatural air.

I said it then. And there was a monkey!

-He looked right at me. -Yes. Well...

-Allow me to be frank-- -After being grateful

-for the chance to give Myrtle the kind of care...

Keep them down here.

Right.

Gentlemen.

Might we be civil?

You bitch!

Penance!

Shiner!

Aah!

Get the carriage!

Da! The lady did a wrestle!

Aah!

Come on. Let's go!

Now! Myrtle, run!

True!

Did you see that face?

-I think I preferred when people just had shotguns.

Oh, no. No, I didn't.

We can't outrun them. We're going to have to change it out.

Uh, you mean-- It's only a prototype.

This is weird for us, too.

Heads down!

Out of the way!

One side!

I, I think it's best if you come stay with us for a bit.

If that suits ya.

We can, we can deal with those fellas.

We can find out what they want, or what they...

are. How are we gonna deal with those fellas?

True?

We're going to the opera.

See? We already got a plan.

It's just a woman.

Five men murdered. I'd say she's more than that.

Yes, murder.

Very distressing.

This "Maladie" is a lunatic.

Scotland Yard has their Special Detail to catch her.

What matter if she's Touched? This is beneath us.

She is not killing whores, your grace.

These are respectable men.

Psychoanalysts.

Well, the Prime Minister intends to take

a public position on the Touched.

We need to decide what it is.

A few women pulling parlor tricks--

It's not just women.

And it's not a few.

There are hundreds, at least,

of unique, inexplicable afflictions.

Lavinia Bidlow has made a cause of them.

Which is why the PM needs to take a--

Women are being attacked,

accused of witchcraft, or some island voodoo, and--

Fairy stories.

These are biological anomalies,

caused by electricity.

Uh, Lord Massen?

A girl started in my engine works last month

wiping down the plating press.

She slipped. Got her arm caught in the press.

And then she pulled it back out.

Three tons of pressure,

and she snapped the hydraulic without so much as a bruise.

-People cheered. Well, I say enlist her.

Point her at the bloody Boers.

A machine breaks. Again, gentlemen,

this isn't a troop deployment,

or a, a market crash.

The Prime Minister will not be taking a position on the Touched.

Nor will he allow any official debate on the subject.

Not until we understand the nature and breadth of the attack.

-Attack? -You're declaring the Touched

a direct threat against the empire.

-Which we here are sworn to protect.

Contra hostes omnes.

And this attack is expected to come...

It came three years ago.

Third of August, 1896.

A Monday. Rather gray.

Not one case of someone being Touched before then.

Not one outside London.

Those reported overseas were all here at the time.

And not one man of stature afflicted.

That's the genius of it.

They came at us through our women.

"They"?

I'm still not sure I can equate a few bizarre anecdotes

with the Mongol horde.

Only a blind man measures the length of a blade

by how much is in his belly.

-Your overstep the mark, Massen. -This was designed

so that we would see the parts...

and not the whole.

Philanthropists like Lavinia Bidlow

see the suffering of the afflicted.

The common throng see a macabre murderess.

And you see a broken machine.

That is exactly what I see.

The greatest machine.

The heart of our empire brought to a shuddering halt

by the caprice and ambitions of those

for whom ambition was never meant.

This is the Age of Power.

-New power. -The X-ray.

-The wireless. -Electricity.

We are the first generation accustomed to the impossible.

What women are appalled by today,

they will accept tomorrow,

and demand the day after that.

And the immigrant. And the deviant.

-That is the power being wielded,

and not by us.

The blade is in, gentlemen.

We need to know whose hand is on the hilt.

Nobody gets through.

Put your back into it, Jones,

-you lazy-- Yes, sir.

We get any further behind, I'll pluck the lot of ya!