Madman's Dance (Time Rovers)

by Jana Oliver

  Copeland’s eyes widened in abject terror. He shook his head, trying to mouth words.

  “Say hi to Klein for me,” she told him.

  Chris’ murderer vanished in those pinwheels of light the Ascendant had found so compelling: a devil headed home. Guv would take it from there.

  This one’s for you, Theo.

  Chapter 22

  It took some effort to adjust the Dinky Doc one-handed. Once it was set, she pressed it against her neck and tried to relax. The dizziness evaporated, along with the ache in her chest. The wound would clot quicker now, but she still felt weird. It would take some time for the neural med to dissipate.

  When she went to collect the knife, it was gone.

  Cynda’s eyes tracked upward. Satyr was caressing the blade reverentially.

  “Well done. I am impressed,” he remarked. “You sure you don’t want a job as an assassin? I’m short a couple.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Since the beginning.” He spread his hands. “I couldn’t resist following you. You’re so entertaining, Twig.”

  Her attention remained on the knife. “Is there a new Ascendant?”

  “Yes, they elected Cartwright since he cast the first vote. He’s a very malleable soul. He’ll live longer than most of them.”

  “What about the rest of the explosives?”

  “The previous Ascendant was ever so kind to tell me where they’re located right before he met his end. I dispatched an anonymous note to your Sergeant Keats. I would guess that at this very moment the cache is being retrieved.”

  Keats will be the hero, again. “Thanks.”

  Satyr nodded. He scrutinized the blade in his hand. “Fine, isn’t it? I see why the Ripper liked it. Too unwieldy in my opinion, but then he was a novice.”

  “Novice?”

  “All that hacking. Second-rate,” he observed, shaking his head in disapproval. “The mark of a true psychopath.”

  “This from a guy who cut off Ahearn’s balls?”

  Satyr looked hurt. “He deserved that. I left him near Traitor’s Gate for a reason.”

  Her puzzled frown made him explain.

  “He’d always had his eye on Fiona Flaherty, even though he was married. He kept after her. When she threatened to tell her father, Ahearn took his revenge. He followed her back to Effington’s house and sold her out to Effington for a few coins. When she resisted Hugo’s advances, he revealed her true identity to me.”

  “So that’s why you chopped him up.”

  A nod. “He betrayed his employer’s trust. He deserved what he got.”

  “But you told the Ascendant about Fiona.”

  The assassin scowled. “That was a mistake. He promptly ordered me to kidnap her as leverage against her father. I did not approve of that. It was not proper.”

  “Didn’t fit your code of honor?”

  When there was no reply, she realized that’s exactly what he meant.

  The last of adrenalin bled away. Suddenly she felt washed out, like she hadn’t slept for months. She was too tired to fight anymore. She just wanted to see Theo.

  A triple beep came from her interface, reminding her that the rest of the world was still on schedule. “The constable is due here in three minutes. Does our truce still hold?”

  “Certainly, Twig.”

  Cynda nodded. Taking him at his word, she collapsed the baton. Satyr dropped the knife and gave it a kick; it halted at her feet. She struggled to jam it in inside the Gladstone. Leaving it behind would open up an entirely new branch of Ripper investigation.

  “Allow me.” To her unease, Satyr stepped to her side, knelt and inserted the knife into the bag. She threw the medication patch inside and he snapped the bag shut.

  Without a word, he pulled out his handkerchief, then expertly tied it around the wound. It slowly soaked up the blood. “Best I can do,” he said. “Looks very nasty.”

  As she stood, she scooped up the coat. Her interface sat open on the ground. He picked it up and for a moment, she thought he intended to keep it. Surely he knew what it was. Instead, he handed it to her.

  “Yours, I believe.” She clicked the stem to halt the recording.

  “They’re going to need a new female on the Twenty.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  When Satyr helped her with her coat, carefully positioning it to allow for her injured arm, their eyes met.

  “We’re kindred spirits now,” he said, his voice curiously mellow. “You were one heartbeat away from murder. Revenge was within your grasp, yet you backed away. You kept your humanity.”

  “It was very close,” she admitted.

  “It always is.”

  As Cynda put the baton into an inside pocket, it thunked against the spare interface. She made the decision in a heartbeat. She tossed the pocket watch to Satyr. He deftly caught it, blinking in confusion.

  “You need a Dinky Doc?”

  “No. The clueless Rover was so kind as to lend me his.”

  He clicked open the dial and then looked back up. She had just given him the means to go anywhere, any time.

  “They can follow me if I use this,” Satyr replied, gesturing toward the interface.

  “It’s untraceable. When the heat gets too much, go somewhere they can’t find you.”

  He stared at her, confusion etched on his face. She could imagine what was parading through his mind.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I’m feeling generous,” she joked.

  “Tell me why,” he repeated, more emphatically this time.

  “Because not all monsters are evil.”

  ~••~••~••~

  Saturday, 10 November, 1888

  Alastair looked up when the clinic door swung open. One of Hopkins’ somber men stepped inside, allowing a figure to pass. It seemed frail by comparison to the bulky guard.

  “Jacynda?”

  He was across the room in an instant, taking inventory as he moved. She looked unnaturally pale, her eyes hollow. There was a cut on her cheek. Then he noticed how she was cradling her left arm. The fingers on that hand were thickly coated with dried blood.

  He put an arm around her waist and guided her toward a chair.

  “No. Must see Theo first,” she murmured.

  “You are in shock and need—”

  “Theo first,” she repeated.

  He gave in and took her into his office, where the patient rested on the cot under a mound of warmed blankets. She sank into the chair slowly, oblivious to anything but him.

  “How is he?” she asked, her voice more fragile now.

  “Much better. He’s warming up, bit by bit. I’ve stabilized him as much as I can. Your people will have to do the rest.”

  Jacynda leaned over and placed a kiss on the patient’s forehead, then murmured something in his ear. Then she looked up at Alastair.

  “Now you can work on my arm.”

  Alastair cleared his throat. “Tell me if you can feel me touching each of your fingers in turn,” he ordered. He carefully performed his exam, taking care not to hurt her any further.

  “They’re fine,” she said. “How’s Keats?”

  “Doing as well as expected. I received a note about an hour ago—he’s located the remainder of the explosives and is in the process of moving them to a secure location.”

  Cynda smiled to herself: Satyr had come through. “That’s excellent news. Will it save Keats’ job?”

  “Not from his perspective. He’s already given the chief inspector his resignation.”

  “I’m truly sorry to hear that.”

  The door that led to the parlour swung open as Mrs. Butler pushed her way in. She was carrying a tray of instruments.

  “I boiled them as you asked, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Butler. Is Davy here?”

  “No. Still out sellin’ papers. I bet he’s makin’ a fortune, what with all that went on today.” She looked at Cynda, then at her arm. �
�Good heavens.”

  “When he comes back, I need to send him out for some supplies,” Alastair explained. “I wasn’t anticipating a full house tonight.”

  Cynda smirked and that earned her a raised eyebrow.

  The moment the door closed behind the housekeeper, Hopkins strode in. Once he was sure only the doc was present, he let loose.

  “Why did you take off on us?” he demanded. “What the hell have you been up to?”

  Alastair started at the oath, and shot him a frown.

  Cynda eyed the junior Rover. “I was busy sending Copeland home.”

  “Home? You caught him?” he blurted.

  “Yes.” She delivered her own frown. “So where were you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I sent you a message asking you to join the party. You never showed.”

  The Rover’s anger faded. He flipped open his watch, twisted the dial, then shook his head. “There’s nothing here.”

  She pulled her interface out with the free hand and offered it to him. He accessed the files. “I didn’t get this.” His interface vibrated.

  Hopkins raised his head. “No, no, he knew I wanted to be in on the capture.” Then he swore. “The message just arrived.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Well, it’s done. He’s at Guv.”

  “Copeland’s finally ours,” Hopkins muttered. Then he smiled. “Thanks. I owe you one. I can’t wait to be there for the trial.”

  Cynda turned her attention to the doc. “So how bad is it?”

  “You’re very fortunate there is no muscle or tendon damage,” he responded. “Still, it will need suturing.”

  “Then sew it up.” She’d already dosed herself with the Dinky Doc. The pain level was manageable.

  “You’ll have a nasty scar if I do.”

  She looked down at the long slash. “That’s okay.” I want to remember this night for the rest of my life.

  Despite the painkiller, she winced when he applied the disinfectant. Raw acid would have been more welcome.

  “That’s probably what he’s using,” Mr. Spider joked. He was positioned on Theo’s pillow, feet tucked under him like a housecat.

  Hopkins was getting itchy. “What about Morrisey?”

  “We’ll send Theo home after the doc is done playing seamstress.”

  “Stop moving,” Alastair grumbled.

  “Sorry.” The tugging on the skin continued as he redoubled his efforts with the needle. Despite the Dinky Doc, it stung, making her eyes water.

  “You done yet?”

  Alastair glowered in response.

  Apparently not.

  Oblivious, Theo slept through her arrangements. Cynda set his interface, clipped the chain to his wrist and placed it in his hand. Then she wound a bandage around it, tying it off so he wouldn’t lose contact with the watch. No contact, no 2058. Finally, she gave him a kiss, knowing he’d not feel it. The hole in her chest grew wider.

  Hopkins knelt next to the bed. “Klein wants you to stay here, make sure everything’s secure. He needs time to settle things down, start proceedings against TPB. If you return now, it’ll just muddy the waters.”

  “What about Morrisey?”

  “TPB won’t touch him, not in his condition,” Hopkins reassured. “Not once they realize Copeland is to blame for all this.”

  Not all of it. “Did Klein say anything about him?”

  “No and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to tip our hand to TPB. I don’t think they can listen in our interface traffic, but you never know.”

  She nodded. “I’ll stay here until I get the all clear.”

  The young man gently placed a hand on her uninjured arm. “Thanks. Having Copeland out of circulation means a lot me.”

  Cynda nodded, too tired to talk. Instead, she rose and moved out of the way as he clicked Theo’s watch shut.

  10…9…8

  “Let’s go!” he ordered. Hopkins and the three other Guv agents vanished. The transfer effect began to form around Theo. Then he was gone.

  I’ll be home soon, now that I have a reason.

  “I’ll never grow accustomed to that,” Alastair said, shielding his eyes from the doorway. “How soon will we know if he made it in good shape?”

  “Soon.” I hope. She gnawed the inside of her lip raw until her interface lit up.

  Now you owe me three beers.

  “What does that mean?” Alastair asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “It means everything’s going to be fine,” she whispered.

  Intermittent sleep, endless side-hops, the chaos of the last twenty-four hours. They all came to collect their bill. It was a big one.

  At Alastair’s suggestion, Cynda pulled herself up the stairs to a spare room, tossed her clothes in random directions, then poured cold water into the basin to remove the remaining blood. Once that was completed, she collapsed into the bed. The feather mattress enfolded her like a mother’s arms, and she sighed into its softness. Stuffing her interface under the pillow was her last conscious act.

  Her interface woke her, buzzing incessantly until it dragged her out of her zombie-like state. Then it went quiet. It started up again, nagging at her like an electronic spouse.

  “What do you want?” she snarled, digging under the pillow. “I’ve done my bit. Go away!”

  More buzzing, followed by something that sounded like one of those old British cop cars. The two tones wavered back and forth, sawing away at her nerves.

  Cynda hauled herself to the small desk in the room and logged onto GuvNet. As the screen lit up, she groaned and trudged over to the door, locking it and stuffing a sock in the keyhole. Mrs. Butler, bless her soul, might feel inclined to bring her guest some tea at the wrong moment.

  The screen erupted into a blur of type. None of it mentioned Theo. Maybe that was a good sign.

  Where have you been?

  She had no desire to play nice. Who’s this?

  Who do you think? Is your interface defective?

  Had to be Ralph. Interface fine. Rover isn’t. No sleep.

  Suck it up. We got problems.

  Is TEM okay?

  Healing. Hopkins gave us a full report.

  What’s the problem?

  The screen lit up. So where is he?

  “He” had to mean Copeland. Look under the rocks. I sent him to Guv.

  Guv doesn’t have him.

  That broke her haze immediately. Transfer at 11:40 or so on 9 November, 1888.

  There was a long pause. Too long for good news.

  “Come on, guy, this century, will you?” she complained. “I want some more sleep. I’ve earned it.”

  “We both have,” her delusion added and then yawned. She leaned back in the chair and started to doze when the response came through.

  No go. Transfer diverted.

  To where?

  Same time, different location.

  Anyone else would have panicked. Cynda let out another yawn. The last she’d seen of Copeland, he was in no shape to harm anyone. He wasn’t going to get better overnight, especially not in Victorian London.

  Cyn? Ralph prompted.

  I’ll look around. “When I’m damn good and ready.” Or they could send Hopkins. Why did it always have to be her?

  A series of numbers started flying across the screen.

  And that meant? she typed blearily.

  Coordinates. It’s where he landed in 1888. Use your interface to pinpoint them.

  You can’t tell on your end?

  Coordinates still wonky here. Can’t recalibrate until Guv says it’s okay.

  Cynda dug around in the room until she could find something to write on, and then made note of the numbers, not quite sure how to store them in the device.

  Got them. I’ll be in touch.

  TEM says to tell you two words: unfinished business. Whatever that means.

  She smiled. Message received.

  Though she’d not been expecting it, a heal shield arrived a few
minutes later. She applied the shield to her arm to cover the wound. It would sped the healing, cut the pain and look remarkably like her own skin.

  “Thanks, Ralph,” she said, tucking her sleeve around the nearly invisible shield. When it finally evaporated the wound would be healed, though the suture marks would still be there. That was okay.

  She set the interface to roust her out at eight in the morning. Until then, she was off-duty.

  The coordinates Ralph had given her turned out to be quite specific. London Bridge. As she stood near the railing, feeling the breeze against her face, she checked the interface dial again.

  “Another three hundred feet out.” Which put the location in the middle of the Thames.

  Copeland wasn’t stupid. He knew not to transfer into water. That was a death sentence.

  “He had no choice, I suspect,” someone observed.

  Anderson. He hadn’t been there a moment ago.

  “So how can you just appear in the middle of a bridge without anyone thinking that’s weird? Except me, of course.”

  “You’d be amazed what we humans will ignore,” he replied.

  She peered down into the water. “I sent Copeland to…” she waved to indicate the future. “Why did he bounce back here?”

  “His future bosses did not appreciate his failure, so they diverted him. It’s a very unpleasant way of dealing with failure.”

  “That’s why he looked so terrified,” she murmured. “I figured it was because he’d have to face Klein.”

  “The Government was the least of his problems.”

  “Who are those future bosses?”

  Anderson leaned against the rail, watching a boat glide underneath the bridge. “We’re not particularly sure. It’s much like here—you can’t quite put your finger on who is pulling the strings.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell Morrisey about the coins in the first place?”

  “Some things we knew, some things we didn’t. As it was, we’ve done a lot of meddling here, more than we probably should have.”

  “What sort of meddling?”

  He looked over at her. “I was with Inspector Ramsey throughout the Keats’ investigation. Though he didn’t need much help, I made sure he was aware of any clues he’d missed. I was the one who persuaded the academics to loan you their interfaces, and I convinced the police commissioner to allow you and Morrisey to handle the bombs in the East End.”