Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(146)

“No. That was so against the rules I don’t want to even think about it.”

Keats winced, his head spinning again. He tried to steady himself and nearly fell.

“Hold still.” Something cold pressed against Keats neck. He remembered that sensation. It’d been that night in the carriage, after Flaherty had struck him on the head. Jacynda had put something against his neck and he’d felt so much better. The same was happening now. His headache eased immediately and with it, the dizziness.

“What did you do to me?”

“I played doctor, but don’t tell anyone.” The man rolled his eyes. “Lassiter is so not a good influence.” He stuck something in his pocket, then held his pocket watch in front of him like a compass. Revived, Keats followed him, rolling his neck from side to side to diminish a slight cramp.

“You know about the coins?” Keats nodded. “Just keep them far away from anything flammable,” Hopkins explained. “And don’t put them in your pocket,” he said, gesturing toward one of his own. It sported a sizeable scorch mark.

As they walked the row of warehouses, Hopkins studied the watch dial and then smiled broadly. “It’s already in place. That’ll make it easier.”



“I don’t understand,” Keats replied.

“They changed the bomb delivery schedule in the East End. Made it lot harder. They didn’t over here. Probably figured we wouldn’t find them in time.” Hopkins gestured. “In this one,” he advised, “ground floor, near the north end.”

“How long do we have?” Keats asked.

“Five and a half minutes, as long as they don’t change the timing.”

Keats didn’t want to think about that.

“All right lads. It’s in here,” Keats called out. The dockworkers swept in, racing down the row of casks while calling out encouragement to each other, betting who would be able to find the bomb before the other.

Inspector Ramsey stomped over. “Any luck?”

“Found one in the first warehouse. It’s taken care of.” Keats did the introductions. “Hopkins works with Miss Lassiter.”

“Pinkerton’s?” Ramsey asked. The young man nodded. “Are there any of you left in America?”

“Probably not,” Hopkins replied, smiling.

A dockworker skittered out the door of the nearest building.

“Oy, rozzer. It’s here!” he shouted, jumping up and down like he’d found the Crown Jewels.

Keats took off at a run. The barrel was in an empty space near the back of the building, a knot of men ringed around it.

“The rest of you lads clear off. Go help the others, and I’ll work on this one.”

There was the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps.

Keats dropped to his knees and carefully removed the dynamite, setting it on the floor near him. Then he dug out the cork and went hunting inside for that strange coin. He couldn’t find it. Swearing under his breath, he kept digging. He found the paper liner that kept the gunpowder dry. Something cool brushed his fingers. He pulled out the coin and sighed with relief. He jammed the cork back into the cask and waved forward one of the constables who was nervously hovering nearby. “Roll this out of here,” he ordered.



He was surprised to find Ramsey standing just behind him. “What was the thing you took out of the barrel?”

Keats displayed it on his palm. “A very strange coin. According to Hopkins, it detonates the gunpowder.”

He watched as the color drained out of Ramsey’s face. “There’s more here than you’re telling me.”

“There’s more here than I know.”

The moment they cleared the door, two dockworkers sang out, beckoning them forward. Keats split off toward one warehouse and Ramsey toward another. In the distance they could see Hopkins and Alastair entering a third.

By God, we’re going to do it.

~??~??~??~



The question was always the same, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t have the answer. Theo spit a gob of blood from his mouth, narrowly missing Copeland’s boot. It earned him another backhand across the face. The pain was everywhere now, every nerve competing to shout its own private agony.

He’d been beaten by Copeland’s men, then taken to a huge building. When he’d first arrived, it had smelled of wool. Now he could only smell his own blood.

Copeland’s face came into view. “It’s an easy question—where’s Defoe?”

“Don’t know,” Theo said in the barest of whispers.

“Where’d you see him last?”

“Here, in London. He transferred, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Morrisey stared at him through swelling eyes. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Why did you go back home?”

“Looking for Defoe,” Theo lied.

“Not buying that. You could just send a message. What were you up to?”



When Theo didn’t reply, another fist landed in his stomach. As he fought not to vomit, Copeland started to circle him, like a lion.

There was a commotion. Through the painful haze, Morrisey tried to focus on what was happening. Voices. One was panicky. Copeland’s was harsh.