Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(112)

Jacynda turned toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone en mirage,” he whispered. “Very near.”

Casually, she surveyed the scene. “Near the lamp post. The one who looks like a clerk.”

“How do you know he’s—?”

“Later,” she whispered back.

“He was at the inquest, in the back of the room,” Alastair observed. “I thought I felt something, but I wasn’t sure.”

“I knew I should have sat further back,” she said.

“I would not advise a confrontation on a city street.”

He heard her sigh. “All right, I’ll behave myself.”

He helped her aboard the cab. She supplied the address and the jarvey urged the horse forward. Once they were rolling through the streets, she lifted the veil.

“That’s better,” she said, scratching her nose.

Alastair took hold of her free hand and squeezed it affectionately.

“It is so good to see you again. I did not have the opportunity to tell you last night.”

“How’s Keats?”

“Bitter. The stay of execution came at the very last moment. At least they hadn’t put the rope on his neck yet.” He felt his companion wince. “I’m sorry, that was crude of me.”



She squeezed his hand. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have been there.”

“He was quite brave.” Better than I would have been.

“I was outside the prison, waiting to see if they raised the flag. Morrisey kept telling me to have hope, but—”

“Morrisey?” he asked, puzzled.

“Theo Morrisey, my boss. He showed up this morning. He has this silly notion of keeping me safe.”

Alastair couldn’t keep the frown away. “Is he someone you can trust?”

“What? Oh, yes. He’s fine.”

“I see,” Alastair murmured. He leaned closer. “You said you could tell that fellow on the street was not as he appeared,” he said, keeping the conversation cryptic, though he doubted the hansom driver could hear them. “How?”

“It’s been that way ever since this,” she replied, tapping her temple.

Alastair blinked in surprise. “I’d keep that secret. Perceivers are not well regarded, and you’re not even one of us.”

She gave him a strange look, but held her silence. That wasn’t like Jacynda. She still tended toward profanity, but something was different about her. Why did that surprise him? She had undergone such a profound mental disruption. Certainly she would be altered, wouldn’t she?

“What did they do to you, exactly?” he asked.

“They used a device that disrupted my memories, sort of…erased my brain,” she said.

“How long did it take for you to heal?” he asked.

“Nearly four months.”

“That long?” he exclaimed, astonished. “I had thought that with your advanced medicine, it would have gone more quickly.”

“I started with almost nothing, only my name. It just took time.” She let out a small chuckle. “Plus a medication error.”

When she didn’t offer any further information, he decided not to press further. The uncertainty in her voice told him she wasn’t completely healed, no matter how she tried to cover it.



He would have placed a kiss on her cheek when he bid her farewell at the hotel, but the veil was in the way again. A squeeze of her shoulder sufficed. As he climbed back into the hansom, calling out his address, he felt that odd sensation.

Their watcher had followed them.

~??~??~??~



The Lord Chief Justice’s chambers were more crowded than was comfortable. Extra chairs had been brought in, but still it was chock-a-block.

Fisher chose a seat away from the fire, knowing the room would get toasty soon enough. Ramsey sat next to him, the heavy bags under his eyes bearing witness to his lost sleep. Next to the inspector sat Kingsbury, appearing equally worn.

Fisher willed himself to relax. It failed. His nerves had been in a tangle since the moment a reporter had barreled out of the prison shouting the news.

A stay of execution. He had almost wept on the spot.

Ramsey lightly touched his sleeve. “It’s truly a second chance, sir,” the inspector murmured. “We can set this right.”

“That is my prayer.”

On the other side of the room, Justice Hawkins was settling in, as was Arnett and two men he did not know.

“Who are they?” he asked Kingsbury.

“The one on the right is from Home Office, the other no less than an emissary from His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.”

“There does not seem to be goodwill between them,” Fisher observed.

“No, there isn’t,” Kingsbury replied. “Home Office is taking a hiding in the papers. I gather the Queen is quite distressed by this whole disaster. Home Office has tried to shift the blame to Warren, but it’s not working as well as they’d hoped.” Kingsbury looked up. “Ah, here he is.”

They all rose in respect as Baron Coleridge, the Lord Chief Justice, entered his chambers.



“Do be seated,” he said, looking around the room as he sat behind his desk. He glanced down at a list of names his clerk had given him upon his entry.