The city of London sought in the heat of summer, 1858. But it was not merely the sun that parched the metropolis. An even more repellent force infested its very heart: the River Thames. Years of industrial discharges had transformed London's lifeblood into a stench. The stench was all-consuming, a miasma that clung to every cobblestone and pervaded

The year eight hundred forty-five AD. A chill wind swept across the Seine River, carrying with it the scent emanating from salt and fear. The Norsemen had arrived, a stormy swarm of warriors seeking glory. Their longships, like wolves, sliced through the waters, their standards billowing in the wind. A city once proud now trembled beneath the shado