Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(4)

“No witnesses?”

Satyr’s hand tightened on the knife. “No.”

“What of Miss Lassiter? I do not note an article regarding her demise.”

“That situation is under control.”

“Is she alive or dead?”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

A grunt of disapproval. “Satyr, you are my Lead Assassin. I would expect such distraction from one of your juniors. I have repeatedly asked you to remove this person, and you are ignoring my orders.”

“I am not distracted, sir. Miss Lassiter is dead, at least in the mental sense.”

“I am not in the mood for cryptic games!” the Ascendant snapped.

Satyr deliberately placed his knife on the table to avoid employing it on something other than the food. Then he looked deep into the Ascendant’s eyes. To the man’s credit, he didn’t look away. His predecessor had always blinked. That one hadn’t lasted long.

“At present, Miss Lassiter’s mental capacity is that of a child,” Satyr explained, holding his irritation in check. “She has no memory to speak of. She doesn’t even know her own name.”

The Ascendant settled back with a frown. “How did you accomplish this?”

“I do not reveal my techniques, sir. You know that.”

The frown deepened. “You assure me that she is no longer a threat.”

“No threat at all.”



“Why didn’t you just kill her?” his superior demanded.

“This seemed a better solution.”

“Where is she now?”

“In Bedlam.”

“Under her own name?”

“I am not stupid, sir,” Satyr hissed.

“Well, of course not. What if she regains her memories?”

“Highly unlikely.” He snatched up his knife and attacked the links with considerable annoyance. “If she does, I’ll promptly cut her throat.”

“No need to be petulant. My concern lies with the safety of my plan.”

“Your plan, as much of it as I am able to fathom, is on track, sir. Effington is dead. By serendipity, Detective-Sergeant Keats is the lead suspect in Nicci Hallcox’s murder, and the explosives are secure. I’d say you’re worrying too much.”

The Ascendant tossed his napkin on the table and rose. “I sense you are going to be difficult this morning, Mr. S., so I shall take the remainder of my breakfast at my club. When you cease being so tedious, feel free to join me again.”

The moment his superior was out the door and on the street, Satyr felt his appetite fade. In the end, he couldn’t cut Miss Lassiter’s throat or pierce her heart like he had Effington. That killing had been righteous; hers would have been heinous. It would have been like crushing a rare butterfly just to know what it felt like.

His hand sank into a pocket and retrieved the silver tube, the device he’d used to render her a huddled, blank-faced bundle of humanity. He turned it, studying how the light from the gas lamps glinted off the shining surface. Such a simple instrument to cause such destruction.

An odd sensation stirred within him. Remorse? He doubted it, yet there was a tight band around his throat just the same.





Chapter 2




Detective-Sergeant Jonathon Keats sat in the dining hall, just one of many laborers enjoying the substantial food at cheap prices. Of course, he wasn’t there in any official capacity. To the locals he was known as Sean Murphy, and while one eye was on the newspaper, the other searched for anyone who resembled a constable. Caution had quickly become second nature.

With the babble of voices, Keats found it hard to concentrate on his paper.



QUESTIONS ARISE IN MAYFAIR CASE

Did Scotland Yard Shield One of Their Own?

Keats Still On the Run

As if I ever would have had relations with such a despicable woman. The thought was repulsive, enough to make him regret the meal he’d just eaten. In his opinion, Nicci Hallcox was not a beauty, even en mirage. If anything, it was that she represented all that was dark within the human soul. Yet for many, he had to concede, that darkness was an irresistible lure.

As it happened, Nicci considered his revulsion to be a challenge. The last time she’d suggested he spend a night in her bed, she’d dangled a most appealing bait: information about the cache of stolen explosives Desmond Flaherty had so boldly carted off. Instead of taking that bait, Keats had stomped off, swearing he’d find the explosives without her help. In doing so, he’d fanned her wrath and that of her drunken butler.

My first mistake.

There was the scrape of a chair on the wooden floor as a dockworker seated himself farther down the long table. “I heard some toff got burnt up,” he remarked before tucking into his food.

The fire in Wapping was on everyone’s lips. Any blaze that started within a warehouse was of interest in the docks. Keats busily scanned the newsprint until he found the article. To his surprise, he noted his best friend, Alastair Montrose, had been present.



Probably trying to find me. A pang of remorse shot through him. The last few weeks had seen their friendship grow as they’d stood by each other in their darkest hours.

If only I could send him a note, let him know what has happened. But he dared not. Inspector Ramsey, in particular, would be watching the doctor closely, no doubt monitoring his mail for just such a letter.