Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(134)

She heard Alastair murmur, “My God. So many dead.”

“I see Newgate Prison survives,” Keats observed sardonically. “How fitting.” Pages rustled as he began to count the circles on the map. “Nineteen explosions?”

Theo’s groggy voice came from the bedroom doorway, “They use a half-barrel of gunpowder, three sticks of dynamite.” He was haphazardly tucking in his shirt, oblivious to the startled expressions from their visitors.

“Go back to bed,” Cynda ordered. “You need your rest.”

“Just make the introductions,” he retorted, running a hand through his hair in an effort to tidy himself.

She opened her mouth to argue, but decided against it. “This is Dr. Alastair Montrose,” she announced, “and Detective-Sergeant Jonathon Keats.” She angled a thumb in Theo’s direction. “Gentlemen, this is T.E. Morrisey, my boss, and the man who made time travel possible.”

“I am honored, sir,” Alastair said, stepping forward. “I must admit to being in awe of your accomplishments.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Morrisey,” Keats replied tersely, keen to get past the pleasantries. “What else can you tell us about these devices?”

“I did not find a triggering mechanism, so they must light them by hand,” Theo replied. “Nevertheless, all of the explosions are at precisely-timed intervals.”

“How do they accomplish that?” Keats asked.

“I am not sure.”

And that’s driving you nuts.

“The newspapers say that the dockland bombs were all in warehouses owned by Hugo Effington,” Cynda reported. “That should narrow it down a bit.”

“Still, we’ll have to go through them all one by one,” Keats muttered. “It will take considerable time.” He scrutinized Theo. “Who do you believe is behind this plot, sir?”

“The Ascendant,” Morrisey said. “It’s why he had Adelaide Winston murdered, to buy himself time. As Intermediary, she was pushing for his replacement.”



“How in heaven’s name do you know—” Keats began.

“I’m one of you.”

The two Victorians traded looks.

“Hezekiah Grant is your leader at present. Do either of you know him?” The two men shook their heads. “I’m not surprised. He seems to have led a nondescript life,” Theo said.

Cynda scowled. “Not very nondescript when he orders people killed right and left.”

“That wasn’t in his original timeline,” Theo explained. “Something has happened to him.”

“Or someone,” she mused. “I keep wondering where Copeland is in all this. It’s not like the old military jock to be out of the picture for very long.”

“Who?” Alastair asked.

“Someone from our time,” Theo answered. His tone said he wasn’t willing to say more.

“He’s not one of the good guys,” Cynda explained.

Keats shifted the top map aside, staring hard at the one indicating the primary detonation sites. “Destruction of this magnitude will disrupt Parliament, even the Royals. In catastrophe, there is always an opportunity for assassination.” He looked up. “We have to inform the chief inspector. He must take precautions to secure the city and protect the Royal Family.”

“He’s not going to believe Jacynda is from the future,” Alastair protested.

“Just tell him I have inside information,” Cynda advised. “He might think Pinkerton’s has better sources than the Yard.”

“Then let’s hope he’s in a receptive frame of mind. He was very dismayed this morning when I suggested we might be involved. Now I have to tell him just how bad it can get.”

“Take the first map, not the second,” Theo said. “Hint at the level of destruction. That’s all he can know.”

Keats nodded, rolling up the appropriate document and tucking it under his arm.

“We’ll handle the bombs in the East End,” Morrisey insisted. “You just concentrate on those in Rotherhithe.”



Keats shook his head. “Fisher will not approve of your involvement.”

“He does not have a choice.”

The sergeant’s eyebrow rose. “You are the visitor here, sir. Just because you’re Jacynda’s superior does not mean I trust you.”

Before this degenerated any further, Cynda jumped in, “He’s one of the reasons you’re alive, Keats. If he hadn’t helped me rebuild my brain, you’d be six feet under right now.”

Keats tugged on his collar without realizing it. “You vouch for him, then?”

“Without reservation.”

“I see.” He thought for a moment, then dug in his trouser pocket, sorting through a handful of coins. He selected one in particular.

“Flaherty divided up the explosives between different warehouses in Wapping and Rotherhithe,” Keats explained. “After he was done, someone else moved them, without his knowledge.” The sergeant held a coin. “I found this in one of those empty warehouses, under some gunpowder. Perhaps you can tell me what this is.”

The coin spiraled into the air, and Cynda caught it. “Looks like sixpence.”