The King of London script

Ashley reminded me about the script I was writing for Creative Writing last year and wanted me to post it. I haven't looked at it since I finished my class, but I hope you guys like it.


INT. WEALTHY HOUSE - Parlor - NIGHT

This is London, 1843. Victoria has been on her throne for a few years, yet there is a great divide between the rich and the poor. Smog chokes the streets, and crime is commonplace. These are the times that try men's souls.

In a well-off part of London, a man and a woman scramble about the house. Pulling out drawers and searching through cupboards, you can tell they are in a frenzy.

WOMAN

I thought you left it in that antique drawer of your father's?

The first man, noted for his fine dress and bald head, turns from the bookcase he is inspecting.

MAN

I told you about the robberies. I wanted to leave the cheque book where no riffraff would look.

WOMAN

And where would that be?

MAN

Someplace clever!

From the stairwell comes a finely dressed gentleman. The epitome of class, he seems professional and genuine in every way. While the husband and wife appear disheveled from worry, the gentleman has not a hair out of place. In his hand, he holds the cheque book.

gentleman

I do believe this is yours?

The man clears his throat and walks over to the gentleman.

MAN

Um, yes. Yes it is. Where did you, uh, locate it?

GENTLEMAN

It was in the inside pocket of your coat.

WOMAN

Oh really?

The woman glares at her husband.

WOMAN

"Someplace secure," wasn't it?

MAN

Yes, well, what place is more secure than on your person?

He turns to the gentleman.

MAN

Thank you for finding it.

The gentleman gives a polite nod and motions them out the parlor door.

INT. WEALTHY HOUSE - sitting ROOM - NIGHT

The man and woman sit down on their fainting couch in front of their unlit fireplace. The gentleman stands in front. In the man's hand he holds a pen and an open cheque book, though we don't see the exact amount he is writing it for. He pauses before finishing.

MAN

Are you sure this is a certain bet?

GENTLEMAN

Of course. With this advance, my associates and I will be able to open the diamond mind in Africa quite soon. You read about the discovery in the newspapers, did you not? Only a fool would miss this opportunity.

The man looks at his wife. Her face grim, yet resolute, she nods. The man signs his name, tears out the cheque, and then hands it to the gentleman, as though he just signed his life away. The gentleman places his hand on the man's shoulder.

GENTLEMAN

You have made the right decision.

The gentleman leaves to get his things, though we linger on the man's face, watching his sense of doubt play out before us.

GENTLEMAN

I shall send you word of our success as soon as I am able. Soon, we shall as be as rich as the queen herself. Good evening to you both.

EXT. London street - night

The gentleman walks himself out of their fine house, through their front yard garden, out the gate, and then down the street. The air is foggy, much like any London night. He takes a corner and, under a lamp post, sees a figure in a tophat with a patch on the front, beginning the long, painful process of decay. He straightens himself up, alert.

Stranger

Well?

The gentleman smiles a devilish grin and presents the cheque.

GENTLEMAN

Easy.

The stranger takes the cheque from the gentleman and holds it aloft. Grinning stupidly, he turns back to the gentleman.

STRANGER

This is brilliant. Just brilliant. Oh, this'll be something to bring back to old Reaper.

The stranger gives the cheque back to the gentleman, who places it in his coat. They begin to walk down the street back to their hideout. The fog is as thick as pea soup.

STRANGER

What's the plan with your share, then?

GENTLEMAN

As it happens, Abigail spotted quite the nice broach at market the other day. I thought I might--

STRANGER

Abigail again. Listen Harry, m'boy. You must treat yourself before you treat Abigail. Ever since you settled down all you do is slave for her.

GENTLEMAN

She's my wife, Jacob.

STRANGER

Right, right. Now don't get offended, I meant nothing by it. I just thought you oughta reward yourself for your success.

GENTLEMAN

I don't need you giving me advice when you haven't even got yourself a wife.

STRANGER

The eternal bachelor, I am. Listen. I'm sorry if you got upset, it wasn't my place.

GENTLEMAN

I'm my own man, Jacob.

STRANGER

'Course you are.

CORNER

As they make their way down a corner, the voice of an old woman begins to sound. Changing into three pitches, she seems to be talking to more than one person. When Harry and Jacob round the corner, we see her.

She's old. Impossibly old. How her bones do not fade to dust is a mystery. Wringing her hands, she seems to carry on a conversation only with herself. Harry and Jacob exchange curious glances, then press on cautiously beside her.

Old woman (Muttering)

The weird sisters, hand in hand, posters of the sea and land. Go about, about. Thrice to thine, thrice to mine, and thrice again to make up nine. Peace, the charm's would up.

As Harry walks by, her claw of a hand reaches out and grasps his arm.

harry

Release me, old woman!

OLD WOMAN

All hail to thee, Harrison. Hail! Hail!

Jacob

Having trouble, eh Harry?

OLD WOMAN

Hail, Harrison! The king's right hand, the star in the night.

Jacob sniggers to himself, while Harry stops struggling. He seems confused, perhaps even frightned?

HARRY

Speak again, what was that?

OLD WOMAN

Hail, Harrison! Thou hast the makings of a king.

JACOB

We have no time for this, gypsy woman. Release my friend, you're scaring him.

HARRY

No no! Stay! Wait!

The old woman vanishes into the fog. Harry begins to run after her, but Jacob stops him.

JACOB

What in God's name are you doing?

HARRY

Did you not hear what she was saying?

JACOB

All I heard was gibbering nonsense. I could not pick out any words from that.

HARRY

She said... she said... that I'd be king. Rather, had the makings of one.

JACOB

I heard none of this. Do you plan on breaking up Victoria and Albert sometime soon? My, what a scandal.

Harry stares, transfixed, into the fog. Jacob frowns.

JACOB

Harrison?

Harry jolts back to reality.

HARRY

What?

JACOB

Don't put stock into her ramblings. She was some escaped Bedlamite. Come, Reaper's waiting for us.

As Harry and Jacob begin to walk off, Harry takes one last look at where the old woman stood.

INT. ABANDONED FACTORY - Night

A pair of hands scrub furiously in a basin of water. They are so raw that they are a bright red color. As we pull back, we see an older gentleman, perhaps forty, with a scar on the bottom of his chin. He appears dignified, but entirely world-weary, as if all the knowledge of life was slowly eating away at him. We come to know him as Jules "The Reaper" Magnus, the leader of the Poor Man's Army, the top gang in London.

Behind him, unseen, a voice calls out.

voice (os)

Reaper! You want me to tell the story?

reaper

No, no, Max. I was there. You don't need to tell me.

The voice belongs to a man named Maxwell Godwin, about twenty-five, and the youngest of the Poor Man's Army. Seated next to him is one of the lower crooks, practically a street urchin.

max

Right you are, Reaper!

He turns to the street urchin.

max

So, you know who ol' Dosset was, right? Reaper's second-in-command, been with him since before the queen got coronated. Hell, even before Beatrice.

Suddenly, Max stops. The sound of the hand washing has stopped. We see Reaper's back tense up, then slowly ease back into scrubbing, much harder than before. Max looks back at the street urchin, exhaling quietly.

MAX

Anyway, Dosset had been acting suspicious lately. 'Course, I didn't realize. Nobody did. 'Cept ol' Reaper, nothin' slips past him. So, he corners him after lunch, starts asking what was concerning him.

Reaper stops washing his hands at last and comes to the table where Max and the street urchin are sitting. Calmly, he takes out his switchblade, wincing a little as he pulls it from his pocket, and starts absent-mindedly playing with it. He notices Max has stopped talking to watch.

REAPER

Please continue. Don't mind me.

MAX

Right... well, you know how Reaper is. Dosset hadn't a chance. He spilled it right then and there. He'd been off associating himself with Francis Highmore.

street urchin

The one in charge of the Dreadfuls?

max

No, my granny Franny, who else?

Max boxes him on the ear as he says this, then continues.

MAX

Turns out, Dosset had been telling him the places we'd been for easy knappin'. Says he'd been missing the excitement from the good ol' days, was hopin' to relive 'em with the Dreadfuls if he could. Well, Reaper gave him all the excitement he'd been missin' let me tell you.

Max draws his index finger across his throat.

MAX

Slits him right across the throat with his knife. That one, right there.

Max motions to the knife which Reaper had taken to admiring absentmindedly.

MAX

And I saw the whole thing.

REAPER

Which I did not realize. You had snuck in.

MAX

Well I was just stoppin' by for food.

REAPER

And you got a show to go along with it. Please alert me to your presence next time.

MAX

Er... right. Of course, Reaper.

The large door to the factory opens. In come Harry and Jacob. They sit at the table, the room an uncomfortable silence. Reaper motions to Harry. Harry pulls out the cheque and hands it to Reaper. He stabs his switchblade into the table, leaving it standing straight in the air. He takes the cheque, pauses, studying it, and then smiles. It's an uncomfortable smile, as though his face was not used to the proper movements.

REAPER

Well done, gentlemen. We're still in business.

Aside from Harry and Reaper, the group is ecstatic. It's the excitement from a group that had sufferred a lot of failures recently, and finally got a win.

JACOB

Where's Dosset?

Suddenly, the festivities end. Reaper's mouth returns to its weary form.

REAPER

He's gone. He betrayed us, and now he's gone. But that is a tale for another time, one which I'm sure Maxwell here would be glad to regale you with.

Max looks down, sheepishly.

REAPER

Tonight, we have one more reason to celebrate. Our young lad, Harrison Bonham, is now my new right hand. You will excuse me if I don't applaud.

Jacob, Max, and the street urchin begin to applaud. Harry stands and bows awkwardly, then sits back down. He smiles, but it is forced, and he looks down into his lap.

MAX

We'll have a feast! My wife and I will bring food here, and we can celebrate our successes!

REAPER

That sounds like a lovely idea, Maxwell. Thank you very much.

We return to Harry. Usually the brilliant actor, here, he is so much in shock that he can barely hold back the expression of anxiety he has.