Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(36)

“Copper,” the man mumbled.

“Evening, cheesemonger. Any word?”

The man shook his head. “Nothing. It’s quiet right now.”

“Quiet in a good way or…”

Another shake of the head. “People are scared.”

“Because of our Irish friend?”

“No.”

That surprised Ramsey. “Someone new in town?”

“No. Has something to do with those explosives.”

“Flaherty has those,” Ramsey said, testing the waters.

A shake of the head. “I’ve heard rumors that he doesn’t.”

Then Keats was right. “Anything else?”

“That’s all I got.”

Ramsey offered a coin. “If you hear anything more, let me know.”

With one last look at Anderson, the informant slipped into the shadows.

Ramsey grumbled, “You think you know all the rats, and another crawls out of the woodwork.”

“This alley is rank,” Anderson commented, twitching his nose.

“They don’t stink in Chicago?”

The edges of the fellow’s mouth tugged slightly upward. “No, we pave them in gold. I thought everyone knew that.”



Ramsey laughed. “Shite is more likely. I heard about your big stockyard.”

There was the sound of footsteps as a snaggly-toothed man emerged out of the shadows.

“Oy, it’s that rozzer come to spy on us.”

“Old Dan. Been a while, hasn’t it?” Ramsey looked over at Anderson and gestured toward the newcomer. “Dan here went to Pentonville Prison for robbery. Twice.” He lowered his voice. “Keeps making the same mistakes. He’s not quick on the uptake.”

Old Dan snorted. “Yer the copper who put me there. Whatcha doin’ on my patch?”

“London is my patch, gents. Maybe someone didn’t you tell you that.”

“Ya think ya own it all, don’t ya?” The man spat. “I hates rozzers. Same with me mates here.” Three other men emerged out of the shadows.

Ramsey laughed. “Is this enough like Chicago for you, Mr. Anderson?”

“Just like home.”

The inspector put his hands on his hips. “It’s this way, gents. You walk off and we call it even. You mess with us, you go to the clink. You might even end up with something broken. That would be a shame, though I certainly won’t cry about it.”

“There’s four of us. We like those kinds of odds, rozzer,” Old Dan replied.

As the toughs moved forward, the inspector squared off, raising his fists. Anderson just stood there. The moment one of them came into range, his hand flicked out and caught the man across the neck. The fellow was down in an instant, moaning in pain.

The inspector’s face broke into an ecstatic smile. “Last chance, gents. You can walk away right now, or you’re up for a proper kicking.”

Half an hour later, they were in a hansom heading toward the Yard.

“What was it you did back there?” Ramsey asked incredulously. “I’ve never seen someone dropped that fast!”



“Posh detective secret,” Anderson replied with a rare grin. “Can’t share it with you.”

The inspector guffawed. “I deserved that. I about split a gut when they took to their heels.”

“It’ll make a good article for the paper. Of course, I’ll say you dropped the man instead of me.”

“No. Tell it like it happened.” Ramsey switched back to business. “Keats’ arraignment is in the morning. Once that’s done, we’ll take a day in the country.”

“After Whitechapel, it’ll be a nice change,” Anderson replied.

“Anything is a nice change after this sewer.”





Chapter 12




Alastair stood across the street, gathering his courage. Tonight, he would be taking an extraordinary gamble. The Artifice Club was a large, five-story structure with Doric columns. Inside were a series of rooms housing various gentlemen’s clubs. The Conclave was at home in #8, which for some arcane reason shifted locations within the building on a daily basis.

Of the four members, Alastair was the most junior. George Hastings, nominally the leader of the group, ruled mostly by an overbearing attitude. His lackey, Edward Cartwright, always sided with him. Then there was Malachi Livingston, the man Jacynda believed was from her time.

Alastair shivered, focusing harder on the image he presented. People walking by would see a middle-aged man, well dressed in top hat and cape. They saw what he wished them to see. Nevertheless, even the shifters were not immune to discovery. He’d have to surrender his outer garments to the room steward, so he had purchased them just this afternoon. Tomorrow morning, he would resell them, hopefully not receiving the worse end of the bargain.

As he waited, he realized how far he’d fallen. He had intended only to use his ability for Keats’ benefit, but now it was for Jacynda’s. Tomorrow, it might be for someone else’s. Each step took him further down a road he’d never intended to travel.

Though he hated to admit it, this deception was a matter of necessity, even were it not for Jacynda’s condition. If Livingston were absent from the club for too long, they’d vote a replacement, most likely another one of Hastings’ toadies. Hastings was not known for rational decisions: he’d hired thugs to destroy Alastair’s clinic when the doctor refused to follow The Conclave’s orders. Ironically, that had led to the doctor’s new situation with Reuben Bishop. Nevertheless, Alastair certainly wasn’t about to thank the old warhorse.