Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(145)

“Is Theo dead?”

“Not yet.”

She shivered. “How do I find them?”

“Copeland has a cat’s-paw here in ’88 named Hezekiah Grant. He’s the weakest link in the chain.”

“The Ascendant,” she whispered. Theo had spoken of him. She fumbled with the silver pendant, pulling it out. If this had Grant’s address in the files…

“Don’t bother,” Anderson advised. “He’s in hiding. Within a few hours, Grant will be contacting you. You should be preparing yourself for that moment. It’s your best chance to get Morrisey back alive.”

A second later, Cynda was staring at empty air.

~??~??~??~





Too slow. Five stories in each warehouse. Thousands of barrels to search. Most of them were the huge ones, but a smaller one could be tucked in amongst them. Keats heard the men muttering. They realized the futility of this gesture as much as he did.

He moved to the next barrel. “Mind you, be careful!” he warned.

“If’n I was bein’ careful, guv, I’d be in a pub right now ’steada in here with ya,” someone called back.

“He has a point.”

Keats turned toward the familiar voice. “Hello, my friend. How is life in the East End these days?”

“Quiet so far,” Alastair replied, shifting a barrel to examine it. “Fisher was given orders to pull the constables back and let Jacynda and her people handle the problem.”

“Who issued that order?” Keats asked, taken by surprise.

“Warren.”

Keats snorted. “I had hoped she’d be out of this.”

“You’re mad if you think that. According to Mr. Morrisey, you should find one of those coins in each of these barrels. He said you should remove it first thing. It’s how the detonations are triggered.”

“Of course,” Keats muttered under his breath.

Ramsey thumped down the row. “Doctor, we have need of you. One of the lads tangled with a hogshead and got his foot mashed.”

Alastair threw Keats a resigned look. “I’ll be happy to help.”

They’d taken only a few steps when there was a muted explosion. Shouts erupted outside.

“Where did that come from?” Keats called to a man near the door. “Was the blast on this side of the river?”

The man shook his head. “North, I think.”

The East End.

Keats waited for the watchman to return so they could lock up. Of all the warehouses, this was the least full, the easiest to check. They had to have missed something. He ducked inside for one last look.



He walked down the closest row again. This was futile. No wonder the newspaper accounts had reported no one knew exactly where the bombs had been placed.

As he returned to the double doors, he noted a piece of tarp in a corner. Had they looked under it? Keats knelt and flung the cover aside. He was rewarded with a barrel decorated with strange red writing on the side. A quick shift of the cask brought the dynamite into sight.

“How did we miss you?” he muttered. As his fingers deftly worked the rope holding the dynamite in place, a glancing blow struck him hard on the back of the head. He slumped against the barrel, struggling to remain conscious.

“Bloody rozzer!” A swift kick hit his thigh, then there was the sound of running footsteps.

Besides the pounding of his head, there was some sort of queer buzzing sound. A moment later, he was grabbed by the collar and hauled to his feet. “Too close,” a voice said. “We’re out of here.”

Then everything went frigid black.

Keats came to his senses, his head on fire, mind tumbling like an acrobat in a stage show. He wanted nothing better than to vomit.

“You okay?” a voice asked.

He made it to his knees, bending over in an effort to reduce the throbbing headache. Slowly lifting his head, he studied the man. Young. Worried, if the expression in his eyes counted for anything. Then he saw the pocket watch in the fellow’s hand.

“You’re one of them?” he managed to croak.

The man nodded. “I’m Hopkins. I work with Lassiter. I’m sorry I did that, but the bomb was due to go off right after I found you. I jumped us back a couple minutes to be safe, then disarmed it.”

“Thank you,” he said, still stunned. “You saved my life.”

“Part of the job. Lassiter would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

“I heard an explosion. Is Jacynda unharmed?”



“Last time I saw her.”

Keats rubbed the back of his neck. Blast, that hurts. “Did you see who hit me?”

“No, sorry.”

“Not surprising, really. Nobody likes a copper.”

The newcomer offered his hand, and Keats used it to rise.

“We’ll work as a team. There are six more. Either they’re already in place or will arrive shortly before they detonate,” he said. Hopkins tapped his interface. “I can find them for you,” he added, a smug grin on his face.

“Arrive from where?”

“Best you not know.”

“Do I have to go into that blackness again?” Keats asked. “I didn’t like that a bit.”