Later that afternoon as evening approached, a group of outsiders swarmed through Whitechapel. Two dozen RVS personnel accompanied 40 police officers in a methodical sweep of the entire impoverished neighborhood.

When King Allo heard how Jack the Ripper terrorized Sir Coulter’s world, and how the man was never caught and the entire investigation became a media spectacle lasting years . . . and when he heard Hedgefield’s conclusion that an enhanced killer could be on the loose replicating the Ripper scenario in this world, he unleashed the RVS with orders to work with police and bring the physicker in.

Rip suggested that even if Cream was not Jack the Ripper, if this world’s version was anything like his, everyone would be better off if the man were taken off the streets.

Their cab dropped them off and Rip found himself walking alongside Blair on a trash-strewn street with decrepit four-story buildings on either side blocking out the late afternoon sun. Already, long shadows and a distinct lack of lamplight made the surroundings look foreboding.

Street urchins and winos watched them walk past. A few unsavory types melted into the shadows, unwilling to approach Venture Society members in the late afternoon light.

In his mind’s eye, Rip’s implant displayed a simple message: [You have joined a group mission. Find the physicker known as Neill Cream and bring him to the nearest police station for questioning.]

Easier said than done, he thought.

This was something the police could not do without Venture Society help. If Cream was indeed the enhanced villain Marissa Fisher and her girls faced on the airship, mundane officers would have a very hard time taking him by force.

Heck, even multiple RVS members may have a hard time taking him by force.

In total, five teams were to accompany the police on this mission. Many had already been deployed by the time Rip and Blair found the rendezvous point. Hedgefield and Sperry were coordinating their respective groups, telling people which blocks to canvas.

Raising some eyebrows, Marissa Fisher showed up with her four oldest students. All wore khaki blouses and riding skirts along with knee-high black leather boots.

“Most unbecoming,” Sperry grumbled when he saw the young girls walking up.

“These students captured two black airships recently, Chief Inspector,” Marissa snapped at him. “Intact, I might add, unlike Sir Coulter’s efforts.”

Everyone turned and looked at Rip.

He smiled and nodded in agreement, only feeling slightly embarrassed with all eyes on him.

“It’s true. I just destroyed them. These fine young ladies did a good job the other night.”

Marissa appeared satisfied at the statement. Hedgefield assured Sperry that the young ladies had all received their badges recently, and were fully vetted members of the RVS.

Most important, he noted, they were all enhanced.

Mollified, Sperry turned his attention to a new group of police officers walking up to the meeting spot. He gave out orders to them while ignoring everyone else.

Hedgefield said they were looking for groups of three RVS members to accompany teams comprised of six officers each. They divided the neighborhood up into a grid, determined to scour it all.

Marissa appeared loath to split up her girls, but the fact remained that five RVS personnel were too many to accompany a group of policemen. And now that she had established the girls were fully capable and were indeed RVS personnel, she was left with no choice but to divide them up.

Blair graciously offered to take a couple. Hedgefield said a group of four would be fine under the circumstances. Ultimately, Marissa decided to let Anna and Molly go with Rip and Blair. For her part, she took Matilda and Evelyn.

Everyone split up, Rip and Blair walked behind a group of policemen, and two teenage girls walked behind them as they headed for their section of the neighborhood.

The few times Rip looked over his shoulder, he noted the girls wore big smiles while trying to see everything, taking it all in. They seemed delighted to be out and about on a real mission.

He thought they looked altogether too happy. Maybe they did not get much freedom in that school . . .

Maybe they don’t go outside much. No one has a tan.

The officers spread out across the block. They pounded on doors and stopped people in the street. One by one, each individual they queried denied seeing a physicker in a black cloak, or meeting a man named Cream.

Rip and Blair kept their eyes and ears open. Most of the tenement housing here looked dilapidated. Some buildings were in such bad shape, a strong wind might blow them down, Rip thought.

The girls following them stared at everything wide-eyed. Idly, Rip wondered again how sheltered their life had been. Were they upper class girls, growing up in the school and rarely venturing out into impoverished neighborhoods like this one? That would certainly explain their fascination with the environment.

Or maybe they’re just kids, out experiencing the world for the first time.

One by one, the officers returned to a fellow who walked slightly ahead of the RVS procession. This man, a sergeant, was nominally head of the group, a concession to the police hard fought for by Sperry, who insisted each group have an officer in charge. They gave their reports to the man, detailing what the civilians said. No one had seen or heard of their quarry.

At last, on the final block in their part of the grid, one of the officers excitedly waved at the sergeant as he spoke with a streetwalker standing under a lamppost. The sergeant hurried that way. Rip, Blair and the girls quickly followed.

The prostitute was not old, really, but she wasn’t young, either. She had the look of a woman who had been used all her life. Most of all, Rip thought, she looked tired even though it was not yet early evening.

She looked at Blair and the girls, sizing them up in a derisive, jaded glance. All three were younger, and more attractive. Dismissing them, she refocused on the two police officers facing her.

“Tell him what you told me, please.”

“Right, I seen the physicker. Said his name was Cream. He gave me some pills for my ailments. For free, too. Nice fella. Said maybe I could pay him back someday soon, if you know what I mean.”

She glanced at the two teens, who openly stared at her with a mixture of horror and fascination.

She shrugged at them, as if to say, “This is the way of the world. Get used to it, girls.”

Before the sergeant could say anything else, Rip said, “May we see the pills?”

She turned her attention to Rip and her expression softened somewhat. She shrugged again and dug into a pocket hidden under her skirts. Taking out a small pillbox, she handed it to Rip.

He held the box and concentrated on it, brows furrowed. Then he opened it and stared at the three pills it contained. He touched them with a finger and sniffed, still frowning.

“I would not take these, if I were you.”

“Oh? And why not? The physicker said they would help me.”

“Did he tell you what’s actually in the pills?”

“No. No, that he didn’t. But he assured me they would help. He’s a physicker.”

She nodded firmly, as if that explained everything.

“What do you suggest are in the pills, Sir Coulter?” the police sergeant said.

The cop’s suspicious nature kicked in, Rip noticed.

“My best guess? Strychnine.”

The prostitute gasped. The officers stared at him.

Standing beside him, Blair asked, “What makes you think that, Ripley?”

“Cream, on my world, was an expert in poisons. He often gave pills made of strychnine to patients he wanted to kill. Such as prostitutes, no offense ma’am, and other female patients. Call it a hunch, but I’m going to bet that’s what’s in these pills.”

“Right. Well then, you can take them. I don’t want them. Rotten blighter.”

“Can you tell us where you saw him last?” the sergeant said. “Do you know where the bloke is now?”

“Aye, I can tell you that. His building is right over there. He slunk right to it after giving me these.”

She pointed and everyone turned to look at a door across the street.

The sergeant grabbed the whistle hanging on his neck and moved to put it in his mouth. Rip stopped him, gripping his wrist.

“Don’t. He’ll hear it. We’ll go in and check things out. If things get bad, then you can call for help.”

The sergeant deflated. He did not like being told what to do, but at the same time he could see the logic in it.

“Alright then. Have it your way, Sir Coulter. But at the first sign of trouble, I’m whistling for backup.”