Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(152)

And it worked.

“When did this visitation arrive, sir?” Satyr asked, voice ripsaw sharp.



“It was two nights before the holy feast of St. Michael, in late September. I remember it clearly. I was in my study, praying. I summoned you the next day and put the plan in motion.”

“We ordered you to acquire a single load of explosives,” one of the Twenty protested. “You acted without our approval.”

Aha. The sheep are getting cranky.

“At St. Michael’s behest, I altered the plan. Neither you nor the Lead Assassin were to be made aware that you were doing God’s holy work.” The Ascendant chuckled dryly. “I found that quite entertaining.”

Clearly, Satyr did not. He tightened his grip on the head of his cane, the only outward sign of his increasing anger. “What did this messenger look like?” he queried.

“Dressed much as you are. Black suit and such. He stood erect with the authority of God, and had a voice that reached to the ends of the earth.”

Copeland? Was it possible?

“It fits,” she heard from her shoulder. Cynda gave a minute nod.

“Did the archangel order my murder?” she asked.

“Yes, which Satyr badly bungled.”

The Lead Assassin’s knuckles went white on the cane.

“It was revealed to me that a holy battle would be enjoined and all must be purified by fire. The heathens, Gog and Magog, would be destroyed on the ninth day of the eleventh month.”

“Neither I nor the Twenty were informed of this holy crusade of yours,” Satyr said. He moved slowly into a new position, closer to the pack. Tobin stiffened, sensing the threat.

“No. It was my task alone,” the Ascendant replied, waving a dismissive hand toward the group. “You would not have understood.”

“That was unwise, Ascendant,” one of them said, stepping forward.

Tobin was on the move in an instant, but Satyr was faster. He put himself between the assassin and the man who had dared to speak up.



“No, Tobin,” Satyr said. “That’s not the way it works.”

“I can kill you,” the junior assassin replied, his voice wavering.

“No you can’t,” Cynda sneered. “You couldn’t even kill me.”

Tobin made the mistake of looking toward her. The knife was at his throat before he could react.

“Think carefully about your future,” Satyr advised. “You’ve had your warning.” He gave him a shove toward their superior.

“Why did you order the murder of Adelaide Winston?” Cynda asked. The murmuring in the Twenty grew.

Those Revelations just keep coming.

The Ascendant didn’t answer. The bold man stepped forward one more pace. “Why did you have the Intermediary killed?” he demanded.

“She was going to have me replaced,” their leader replied. “I think you should take a lesson from that.”

“You’ve lost, don’t you see it?” Cynda chided.

“No! You have hampered our work, but this was just the opening trumpet blast. We will still succeed!”

“With what?”

“The explosives, of course. We still have thirty-seven half barrels and plenty of dynamite. We shall begin anew tomorrow morning. Tomorrow London will burn!”

“You can’t do that,” someone protested from the back of the group.

“I can. I shall,” the Ascendant replied. “If you oppose me, you are my enemy.”

She gave that time to sink in.

“Just how many of the Twenty are required to vote the Ascendant out of office?” Cynda inquired.

“Seventeen,” Satyr replied instantly.

Cynda did a quick head count. They only had sixteen.

There’s got to be a way. “What does it take to become a member of the Twenty?”

“Nomination by another member,” Satyr replied, “but you must be Transitive.”



Damn. That was her final card in the game.

“Miss Lassiter?” Satyr asked. “A test, if you will permit me.”

Another one? She could only nod, unsure where he was headed.

“One of my assassins is in this room, and he is currently invisible. Point him out to me.”

“This is nonsense!” the Ascendant protested. “No one can see a Virtual when they are hiding their form.”

Cynda swiveled, looking for the characteristic bloom. There it was, standing near one of the wooden posts that supported the massive roof.

She pointed. “There.”

“Archer. Reveal yourself.”

The one named Archer materialized into view as gasps and frenzied whispering broke out amongst the Twenty.

“This has no bearing,” the Ascendant insisted. “She is not one of us.”

“If she can truly see us, she is as much Transitive as we are. A Perceiver ranks even higher than a Virtual, because they are so rare,” Satyr countered smoothly.

Cynda could have kissed him for that, though that would have put her within knife range. There was no guarantee how long their truce might last.

“She is deceiving all of you. She is the Devil’s whore, can you not see it?”

He’d gone too far. “Now wait a minute—” Cynda began.