Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(160)

He stared at her, confusion etched on his face. She could imagine what was parading through his mind.

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m feeling generous,” she joked.

“Tell me why,” he repeated, more emphatically this time.

“Because not all monsters are evil.”

~??~??~??~



Saturday, 10 November, 1888

Alastair looked up when the clinic door swung open. One of Hopkins’ somber men stepped inside, allowing a figure to pass. It seemed frail by comparison to the bulky guard.



“Jacynda?”

He was across the room in an instant, taking inventory as he moved. She looked unnaturally pale, her eyes hollow. There was a cut on her cheek. Then he noticed how she was cradling her left arm. The fingers on that hand were thickly coated with dried blood.

He put an arm around her waist and guided her toward a chair.

“No. Must see Theo first,” she murmured.

“You are in shock and need—”

“Theo first,” she repeated.

He gave in and took her into his office, where the patient rested on the cot under a mound of warmed blankets. She sank into the chair slowly, oblivious to anything but him.

“How is he?” she asked, her voice more fragile now.

“Much better. He’s warming up, bit by bit. I’ve stabilized him as much as I can. Your people will have to do the rest.”

Jacynda leaned over and placed a kiss on the patient’s forehead, then murmured something in his ear. Then she looked up at Alastair.

“Now you can work on my arm.”

Alastair cleared his throat. “Tell me if you can feel me touching each of your fingers in turn,” he ordered. He carefully performed his exam, taking care not to hurt her any further.

“They’re fine,” she said. “How’s Keats?”

“Doing as well as expected. I received a note about an hour ago—he’s located the remainder of the explosives and is in the process of moving them to a secure location.”

Cynda smiled to herself: Satyr had come through. “That’s excellent news. Will it save Keats’ job?”

“Not from his perspective. He’s already given the chief inspector his resignation.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that.”

The door that led to the parlour swung open as Mrs. Butler pushed her way in. She was carrying a tray of instruments.

“I boiled them as you asked, sir.”



“Thank you, Mrs. Butler. Is Davy here?”

“No. Still out sellin’ papers. I bet he’s makin’ a fortune, what with all that went on today.” She looked at Cynda, then at her arm. “Good heavens.”

“When he comes back, I need to send him out for some supplies,” Alastair explained. “I wasn’t anticipating a full house tonight.”

Cynda smirked and that earned her a raised eyebrow.

The moment the door closed behind the housekeeper, Hopkins strode in. Once he was sure only the doc was present, he let loose.

“Why did you take off on us?” he demanded. “What the hell have you been up to?”

Alastair started at the oath, and shot him a frown.

Cynda eyed the junior Rover. “I was busy sending Copeland home.”

“Home? You caught him?” he blurted.

“Yes.” She delivered her own frown. “So where were you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I sent you a message asking you to join the party. You never showed.”

The Rover’s anger faded. He flipped open his watch, twisted the dial, then shook his head. “There’s nothing here.”

She pulled her interface out with the free hand and offered it to him. He accessed the files. “I didn’t get this.” His interface vibrated.

Hopkins raised his head. “No, no, he knew I wanted to be in on the capture.” Then he swore. “The message just arrived.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Well, it’s done. He’s at Guv.”

“Copeland’s finally ours,” Hopkins muttered. Then he smiled. “Thanks. I owe you one. I can’t wait to be there for the trial.”

Cynda turned her attention to the doc. “So how bad is it?”

“You’re very fortunate there is no muscle or tendon damage,” he responded. “Still, it will need suturing.”

“Then sew it up.” She’d already dosed herself with the Dinky Doc. The pain level was manageable.



“You’ll have a nasty scar if I do.”

She looked down at the long slash. “That’s okay.” I want to remember this night for the rest of my life.

Despite the painkiller, she winced when he applied the disinfectant. Raw acid would have been more welcome.

“That’s probably what he’s using,” Mr. Spider joked. He was positioned on Theo’s pillow, feet tucked under him like a housecat.

Hopkins was getting itchy. “What about Morrisey?”

“We’ll send Theo home after the doc is done playing seamstress.”

“Stop moving,” Alastair grumbled.

“Sorry.” The tugging on the skin continued as he redoubled his efforts with the needle. Despite the Dinky Doc, it stung, making her eyes water.