Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(22)

What is going on? Why am I suddenly of no importance to this project?

There was a tap on the door. The servers knew never to interrupt them unless they were summoned. Satyr was up and moving in an instant, vanishing into nothing as the knife came out of his pocket.

“Not to concern yourself, Mr. S. It is one of our associates.” The Ascendant put down his cup. “Come!”



That was unwise. His superior had no notion who was on the other side of the door. To Satyr’s surprise, the man who entered was one of his associates. Or at least he was presenting as such. The Lead Assassin remained vigilant.

“Ah, Tobin, there you are,” the Ascendant called in a welcoming tone, beckoning the man forward. “Please come in.”

Satyr returned to his usual form, eyeing the newcomer. Tobin was equally uneasy. He made the customary sweeping motion with his finger across his left wrist, the sign that he was one of the Seven.

Satyr closed the knife and dropped it back into his pocket. Secondary assassins were not invited to this breakfast meeting. That was reserved for the Lead Assassin only, a perquisite of rank.

“Sir,” Tobin greeted, giving a slight bow. He repeated the gesture to Satyr, but the bow wasn’t as deep as it should have been.

Currying favor, are we? The junior assassin was ambitious. Not necessarily a bad trait, but one that put Satyr on edge. There was only one position higher than Tobin’s at present—his own.

“I trust you have good news for me?” the Ascendant inquired.

With another cautious glance toward Satyr, Tobin replied, “Yes, sir. She met her end last evening on Southwark Bridge.”

She? “What is this?” Satyr asked.

“You seemed to have an issue with removing Miss Lassiter, so I asked Tobin here to tidy up the situation. And so he did. Well done, young man.”

The flame of Satyr’s anger ignited. Only the Lead Assassin was allowed to assign a contract to one of the juniors, as he was the best judge of which man and technique should be employed. How dare the Ascendant go around him as if he were some inefficient clerk? “Sir—”

“I know it’s a breach of protocol, but I felt it necessary,” the Ascendant replied. “So how did you do it, Tobin? Did you take my suggestion?”

Suggestion? Now he’s dictating technique. This is outrageous!

Tobin, emboldened by the Ascendant’s praise, explained “Yes, sir. I bribed one of the staff who told me which inmates had been admitted in the last week. Once I knew which one it was, I left, changed forms and returned as Miss Lassiter’s brother. I gave them false dismissal papers, after which she went meekly to her death.”



Their superior leaned forward. “How did you dispatch her?”

“I lured her into a carriage and then strangled her. I threw her body in the river. It sank immediately.”

“Splendid,” the Ascendant remarked, raising an eyebrow in Satyr’s direction. “According to the Lead Assassin the lady was hard to kill.”

“I did not find it so,” the young assassin replied, offering Satyr a smug glance.

Liar. Satyr’s face was a mask of calm. Beneath, lava boiled in his veins. “I will be filing a protest with the Twenty, sir,” he announced. “Your actions are unacceptable.”

“Oh, don’t be a fusspot, Mr. S.,” the Ascendant retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I just needed to have a good night’s sleep knowing the young woman is no longer a threat.”

“You never said why that was the case.”

“That is not your concern.” At that, he rose. “Come along, Tobin, you can walk me to the cab stand. I want to hear all the details.”

“Yes, sir.”

Satyr remained standing long after the Ascendant and the junior assassin had departed, the lava in his veins now white-hot. The Lassiter woman was to be his kill, the crowning moment in his career, and at a time of his choosing. To have Tobin dispatch her was an insult to both him and the victim.

He forced himself to pour more of the dark tea. Fate had a way of turning the tables on men and their petty ambitions. A showdown was coming, and it would be his task to ensure he’d be the last one standing when all the scores were settled.

~??~??~??~



When Cynda awoke, the watermen were readying the boat for the day’s work. They were on the shore. Cold, she edged closer to the fire as Syd watched her sullenly. He only had one arm and the other one ended in a hook. That scared her.



She yawned, letting the tarp fall away.

Alf turned toward her. “Here, girl,” he said, offering her a cup of something hot. “Tea. It’ll warm ya.” She took the cup, watching the other waterman warily.

Syd shook his head. “Right quiet fer a woman. Most of them yammer yer ears off.”

Alf nodded. “My second missus was like that. Yap, yap, yap. That’s why I went to work on the water. She couldn’t folla me there.”

Syd burst out into laughter, then grew solemn. “What’s yer name, girl?”

She tried to remember, but all she could think of was the handkerchief. Cynda set aside the battered tin cup and reached into a soggy pocket. Pulling out the white fabric, she stared at it. Why was it important? When she unfolded it, soggy pieces of paper clung to the inside.

She held the cloth closer to the fire, trying to understand. There were bits of ink still readable. She squinted at the writing.