Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(28)

Keats’ face darkened. “I simply refuse to believe that you—you, of all people—would accept the ramblings of an obviously misguided woman as truth. You’re so under her spell that you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I saw the technology she carries with her,” Alastair insisted, his voice rising. “It was no parlour trick.”

Keats opened his mouth to deliver a broadside, then stopped. “My God, you’re serious.”

“If you handed me a Bible, I’d swear upon it.” Alastair took a deep breath. “Her lover, Mr. Stone, was from the future as well. That is why she dared not go to the police. As she put it, how do you solve the murder of a man who hasn’t been born yet?”

Keats rose from his chair and paced in the small room, his face wrinkled in thought. As he passed Jacynda, she shyly pointed at the cheese. He handed her some and she started to nibble on it, watching him the entire time.



Keats finally came to rest in his chair.

“This is too outlandish to believe,” he declared with a shake of the head. “It can’t be possible to journey through time.” He looked back up at Alastair. “Can it?”

Sensing an opening, Alastair pressed his advantage. “Yet it is possible to send wireless messages through the air, to light whole streets with electricity. We even journey by train beneath London’s streets. Feats that would have seemed remarkable to people a hundred years ago!”

Keats stared at Jacynda for a long time. She was nibbling on a second piece of cheese. “She gave me a list of Effington’s warehouses. I wondered at the time how she’d gotten them all. It must have taken a great deal of effort to collect that information.”

“Not with her contacts in 2057.”

For a moment, it looked to Alastair as if Keats were coming to terms with the concept. Then he shook his head. “I cannot accept this. I admit that she acts in an unusual manner most of the time, but to believe it is because…” His brows furrowed.

“You know I am not given to exaggeration, Keats. Remember, I saw the technology myself. She used it on you after your head injury.”

Keats stared at him. “I…remember feeling so cold. Like I was… Then I felt better, warmer. I thought it was because of the blanket.” He glanced over at Jacynda again. The cheese plate was empty, and she was eagerly eyeing the teapot.

The sergeant issued a long sigh. “So, what is it like? Have we gained utopia?”

Alastair relaxed, despite the skepticism in his friend’s tone.

“I sense that’s not the case,” he replied. “Although their medicine is infinitely superior, all is not well. Jacynda’s job, as I understand it, is to keep time on track. They send visitors to different eras, and apparently some of them are inclined to meddle.”

“So nothing much changes, then,” Keats replied sourly.

“Not that I can tell. She has tenacious enemies. Mark my words, this—” he pointed toward the darkened circle at her temple, “is something far more unholy than a knock on the head.”



“Something from her time?” Keats inquired, sounding curious in spite of himself.

“I fear so.” Alastair offered Jacynda a cup of tea. “Here, it will warm you.” She looked at Keats for approval. He gave a nod and she took the cup. When Alastair went to put his hand on her forehead, she shrank backward.

“I promise I will not hurt you,” he repeated gently. She nodded and he touched her skin. “No fever, at least.”

“That’s a miracle,” Keats remarked. “She was wet up to her waist. I had no way of warming her.”

“River,” she murmured.

“What?” Alastair asked.

“River. Cold. Threw me in.”

Keats leaned closer. “Someone threw you in the river?”

She nodded and then pointed to her neck. “Brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Not brother.”

“Was it the same fellow who stabbed you?” Keats pressed.

“I doubt it,” Alastair remarked. “He was found guilty of her lover’s murder and is incarcerated in her time. At least that’s what she told me.”

“Lord, she has more enemies than I do.” Keats watched her swirling the tea in her cup, entranced by the eddies. “How will you treat her?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps her memory will return spontaneously, but I doubt it. I will consult Reuben. He may be able to offer some advice.”

“At least she’s off the streets,” Keats allowed. He began to pull on his socks and then his boots. “I miss my good pair. These make my feet ache.”

“While you’re here, I should examine your rib, ensure it is healing properly,” Alastair offered.

“No need. It’s doing fine. I’d best leave. If Ramsey finds me on this side of the river…” Keats took down the last bit of his tea with a gulp.



“Jacynda?” he said, kneeling in front of her. He took one of her hands and kissed it. “Alastair will take care of you. You can trust him.”

She looked from him to the doctor and back. A nod.

Like a small child who has to be told what to believe.

The sergeant reluctantly rose. “At least that worry is resolved.”