Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(135)

Theo took it from her. “No. In this time period, England’s sixpence coins are silver. This is…”

“What?” Keats asked eagerly.

“Not silver,” Theo replied. He shifted the coin around with a finger. “I’ll run some tests. It may just be a crude forgery attempt.”

Alastair cut in. “I understand some of what you do, sir, but why involve yourself so deeply in our time? Why take the risk?”

“Because we all have something to lose,” Theo replied. “If history changes, it ripples forward. The world we know will be altered forever.”

Cynda watched the two Victorians come to grips with that.

“At least you’ve given us a chance,” Alastair said.

“Only one,” Theo replied. He gestured toward the second map. “If we fail, that’s our legacy.”



~??~??~??~



Behind them, a clock struck eight in Fisher’s private study. The chief inspector drummed his fingers on the desktop. In Keats’ experience, that was an indication of considerable mental turmoil. He gave Alastair a worried look.

Fisher leaned toward them. “How could Miss Lassiter possess this amount of detail unless she is involved in the plot?”

“She is not an anarchist, sir,” Keats insisted. “She just has contacts that are very free with their knowledge.”

Fisher’s brows furrowed. The finger drumming continued, increasing in tempo. “You wish me to go to the police commissioner and inform him that we have uncovered a conspiracy to incinerate most of London, and that all the evidence we have is based solely upon a woman who has recently had a mental collapse?”

“Yes,” Alastair replied without hesitation.

Fisher’s frown deepened. “Yet you say Flaherty has no part in this, which leaves your people as the prime suspects.”

“Yes, sir,” Keats admitted.

The chief inspector tapped the map that lay in front of him. “Why so many explosions?”

“With a firestorm at their backs, the displaced will have few places to head but west, toward their richer neighbors. Anarchy will be the result.”

Fisher began to tap his tented fingers together. A decision was imminent.

“I am of two minds on this, but I dare not risk the city. I shall present this to Sir Charles. I question whether he will believe me, especially if he finds you’re involved, Sergeant.”

Which is why I have no future at the Yard.

“While you are doing that, sir, I would like to go to Rotherhithe, see what I can learn there. Jacynda’s source was very vague about the placement of the explosives in that area. I will need help to find them.”



“How many constables will you require?”

“To tell you the truth, I believe Fenians would be better.”

“Fenians?” Fisher exclaimed.

“I know it sounds outrageous, but they have as much to lose as anyone. They will be blamed for this, even if the plot proves to be of a different nature.”

“It would be better if you use constables,” Fisher advised.

“On the contrary,” Keats countered, “the dockworkers will be able to move through the warehouses more quickly, as well as spot anything that looks out of place.”

“Well then, I shall trust your judgement, but keep some constables at the ready in case of trouble, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will make arrangements to handle the bombs in the East End. If Miss Lassiter and her companions wish to assist, then fine, but we are in charge of this operation.”

“Yes, sir,” Keats confirmed with a nod.

Fisher turned to the doctor. “I’d like you to come with me. Your sincerity may tilt the police commissioner into believing this incredible tale. After all, you know Miss Lassiter’s reputation better than I.”

Alastair barely hid his surprise. “As you wish, Chief Inspector.”

“Speaking of which, where is she?” Fisher asked. “Why did she not come with you?”

“Marshalling aid of her own, I believe,” Alastair replied.

The chief inspector snorted. “At least it won’t be just us in the soup if this goes wrong.”

~??~??~??~



Retrieving his belongings from Mrs. O’Neill’s boarding house had fallen out like Keats had anticipated. The Rotherhithe landlady swore at him for being a rozzer, then handed over his personal effects. He’d left her the extra tobacco in gratitude for not making the ordeal any harder than it was.

As he walked away, Keats stuck his spare pipe and the list of warehouses in a pocket and discarded the rest. He had no need for the theatrical makeup Jacynda had given him. No need to run from the law any longer.



Nevertheless, there were times when he could still feel the chains on his wrists, hear them dragging across the ground as he moved. Still feel the cap being pulled down over his face. Someone had willingly tossed him to the executioner. Someone who had much to hide. When this was over, he would begin his own hunt.

He wandered around Rotherhithe until he found an unoccupied set of stairs leading to the Thames. There, he sat and studied Jacynda’s list. Effington had owned a number of warehouses. Fifteen, to be exact.

He heard the sound of boots behind him. “Good evening, Clancy.”