Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(12)

Morrisey chuckled. “And listen to you bitch for eternity? No thank you.”

Defoe issued his own cautious chuckle in deference to the healing wound. “So they still don’t know I’m here, or that I’m wounded. That’s a miracle, of sorts.”

“Loyal employees are an imperative in this business. Did you know that Fletcher is off the Board?”

“You’re kidding? I thought she was there for life. She was the only sensible one of the bunch.”

“There’s a decided lack of good sense on the Board at present.”

“So what’s Davies’ take on the ’88 mess?”

“He doesn’t think it’s a big deal. They believe that if Miss Lassiter returns to ’057, all will be well.”

Defoe snorted. “From what you’ve told me, this isn’t just a ripple.”

“Not at all. This is something much bigger.”

“So what is really happening?”

Morrisey laid it out in plain language. “A Victorian’s timeline has been completely hijacked, and if the new thread continues, Sergeant Jonathon Keats is going to hang for a murder that never occurred in the original timeline. Should the new thread gain precedence, it will continue to ripple forward, altering history.”



Although time usually mended itself rather quickly in Morrisey’s experience, this wasn’t history skinning a knee; this was a life-threatening hemorrhage.

“What a mess,” Defoe grumbled. “Did Lassiter do this?”

Morrisey frowned. “I’m not sure. I think she had some impact on Sergeant Keats’ timeline, but it should have mended itself.”

“Any word from her?”

“No,” Morrisey admitted. “She does go off-leash on occasion, but I would have thought she’d have contacted us, if nothing more than to check on your condition.”

“I told her to leave me there.”

“What, so you could die a hero?”

“Don’t start that crap,” Defoe shot back, glaring. “I get enough of it from the Vid-Net news reporters and all those damned time groupies. Lassiter was just reducing her debt. I’ve saved her enough times.”

“For which I thank you.”

Defoe gave him a puzzled look. “You’re a lot more hands off when it comes to the employees, especially the women. Why the change?”

“Before Chris left on his last trip to ’88, he asked me to watch over Miss Lassiter should anything happen to him.”

“Do you think your nephew knew he was in danger?”

“No, but he was unusually solemn. Something seemed to be weighing on his mind.”

“How did you know I was in 1888?” Defoe asked.

“An educated guess. You once said you wanted to see Richard Mansfield’s performance of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the Lyceum Theater. I figured once you’d done that, you’d remain in London for a while. You were always fond of that era.”

“Very clever.” Defoe went quiet for a time. “When I met Chris that night, he told me about Guv’s offer. They wanted me to keep an eye on things, work for them. They were worried about what TPB is up to.”

“I suspected as much.”



Defoe winced when he took too deep a breath. “I’m sorry…”

“What?” Morrisey asked, momentarily confused.

His friend looked him straight in the eyes. “After Chris…I’m sorry we ever figured out how to time travel. We should have left the fourth dimension alone, Theo. Who the hell did we think we were? Gods?”

“Not gods. At least not me.”

Defoe smiled wanly at the jest. “It’s too late now. Just like Pandora’s Box. We’ve got people jumping all over the centuries, doing this and that. I’m surprised it hasn’t gone wrong before now.”

“We’ll fix it, Harter. Then I think maybe we should step back from this. Let Guv take it on.”

“They’d be as bad as TPB,” Defoe protested.

“I don’t know. I don’t sense Davies has a conscience, but every now and then I swear I see the glimmer of one in Senior Agent Klein.”

“That’s a disturbing thought.” Defoe fussed with the sheet for a moment. “How much trouble would you be in if Klein learns I’m here?”

“From Guv, not much. I think TPB is a bigger threat at present.”

“Then give me a few days, and let Klein know I want to see him.” He adjusted the controls, upping the amount of painkiller. “I’m going to rest now.”

“I’ll stay until you’re asleep.”

Morrisey waited until the patient’s breathing was deep and regular. The blue line on the Thera-Bed had advanced considerably during the day, heralding his friend’s continued improvement.

Thank God for that. I can’t bear to lose you as well.

~??~??~??~



Wednesday, 24 October, 1888

Bethlem Royal Hospital

The new cell was much like hers, only the occupant was very strange. Why had the nice man brought her here?



“This is Mad Sammy,” the attendant explained. Then he lowered his voice, “Whatever ya do, don’t make her angry, ya understand?”