Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(25)

A bridge. Someone had stolen it.

“Miss?” It was a man dressed in blue with a tall helmet. He had a kind face, or she would have run away. “Are you ill, miss?”

Cynda shook her head and pointed toward the far shore. “I need to go…there.”

“To the castle?”

She didn’t think she wanted a castle. “Do crazy people live there?” she asked.

“Sometimes. Years ago, I heard.”

“Not now?”

He shook his head and then pointed. “There’s a subway over there, miss. It’ll take you to the other side. Just mind your step on those stairs.”

“Thank you.” She set off in the direction he’d indicated. The longer she studied the white tower, the more it didn’t seem right. It didn’t have any of those white columns like the other place. Still, across the water felt right so she kept hunting for the subway the blue-suited man had talked about.

To her surprise the subway looked like a little hut. When she stepped inside, she realized that inside the hut was a hole in the ground. A man came out of it, then another. Subway. Did she like those? She didn’t know. This one had a stairway that spiraled deep into the earth. She started down. Each step increased her anxiety. Her heart sped up, her mouth went dry. A headache started up behind her eyes, thudding with each increasing heartbeat.

At the bottom of the stairs, she peered into the giant iron tube that stretched in front of her. It wasn’t very wide. Though there were lights, it was hard to see because of the haze.

Under the river.

Condensation rippled down the walls as echoes assaulted her ears. Voices. Footsteps. She shivered, clutching the shawl tighter. She froze as a figure emerged from the mist. It was a man carrying a bag. Up the stairs he went, humming to himself. Then another man, this one limping with a cane. Then two women, their high voices resounding off the metal walls.



As she edged into the tube, the flooring flexed beneath her feet. She shrieked and fell against a damp wall. She could feel the wall bending toward her. Fear gripped her and she began to cry. The iron tube would smother her, drown her, or crush her to death. She could feel its menace, hear the water searching for a way to get to her.

She flew up the stairs, tripping on her skirts as she went.

Once outside, she sped away as if something would snatch her, hurl her back into the subway’s mouth. Only when she was a safe distance did she sink to her knees, her chest heaving in panic.

Subways were bad. Very bad. There had to be another way across the river. If not, she’d swim it. No matter what, she had to get to the other side.

~??~??~??~



Fortified by a couple of pints of ale, Keats’ headache had eased but not the problem of how to find Flaherty.

“How’d ya know about the dynamite?” Clancy asked him in a low voice as they exited the pub.

“Worked for the railroad. Learned how to build tunnels.”

“I guess if ya still got all yer parts, ya did all right.”

“Wouldn’t want to do it again. I was young and foolish.”

“Like now?”

“Not so young, still foolish.”

Clancy laughed. “Flaherty could have moved the goods anywhere.”

“I agree. I think we might start on the second problem.”

“Which is?”

Keats told him about Flaherty’s daughter, how someone had taken her.

Clancy looked amazed. “Ya think maybe he’s being forced to do this?”

“Yes.”



“That’s enough to make a man piss his trousers.”

“Why?”

“Someone messin’ about with Flaherty. I always thought he was the nastiest bastard in all London. Goes to show…” Clancy chuckled. “Ya got company, Sean.”

“Rozzers?” Keats asked, looking around.

“No, it was yer girl. I didn’t recognize her right off. She was headed toward the pub. Told ya she was a goer.”

Keats turned, searching the street for Jacynda. “What is she doing here?” he grumbled, heading back the way they’d come.

Clancy shook his head. “If ya have to ask that question, Sean, I worry about ya.”

Cynda stood in the doorway, drawn by the sound of people and the smell of food. The aromas made her stomach ache, but the noise was too much so she didn’t go in. Why had she come here? Where was someone who could help her?

Outside, she found the stairs. These didn’t plummet into the earth, but stopped at the river. The tide was coming in. Cynda gingerly descended to the water’s edge and tried to judge the distance to the other side.

A wide stretch of dark water lay between her and her goal. At her feet were broken pots, pieces of rusty metal, a bottomless pail. Tying her shawl around her, she edged her way out across the short mud flat to the water. In the distance, she heard the solemn tolling of bells and the chug-chug of a steamer heading downriver.

As she walked, the river wormed its way into her boots. She shook her feet, first one and then the other, like a cat who hates getting wet. The ground was uneven, treacherous. The water dragged on her skirts and petticoats. Behind her she heard someone shout, but she ignored it, keeping the far shore in view.

The first shiver shook her thin body like a baby would a rattle. The image of cold water closing over her face came unbidden. She stopped for a second, wanting to turn back. The shivering intensified.