Madman's Dance (Time Rovers) Read online

  Theo knew precisely where the barrel should be without consulting his map. It was conspicuously absent. He circled the yard, twice. No bomb.

  A prickle of warning swarmed up his back. He turned to find a man watching him from beside the gate that led to the alley.

  “Copeland,” he said, tensing.

  His nemesis greeted him with a sadistic smile. “The geek freak himself. I couldn’t believe when they said you were here.”

  “What do you have to do with this?”

  “Almost everything.” Copeland pulled something out of his pocket. It looked like a Vespa box. Before he could react, Theo was on his knees, fighting for breath.

  “Neuro-blocker,” Copeland informed him. “The great equalizer.” He dialed the thing down a couple notches and administered another dose.

  As Theo folded over, nose nearly touching the mud in an effort to pull enough air into his lungs, he heard Copeland call out. A short time later, three sets of worn boots lined up in front of him.

  “Warm him up a bit, lads. He needs to get into the proper frame of mind.”

  ~••~••~••~

  “Lassiter?” Hopkins trudged into view.

  “Did you find them?” Cynda asked.

  “No. You?” She shook her head. He issued a choice expletive. “I talked to the others. They’re having the same problem. I don’t understand,” he complained. “Morrisey said the bombs were there.”

  “Now they aren’t,” she replied, staring at her pocket watch. Just past eleven. She began to wind the interface.

  “You’re not supposed to sync up,” he warned.

  Cynda ignored him. Hopkins sucked in a deep breath, waiting for the first concussion. All they heard was a dog barking in the distance.

  “You got lucky,” he said.

  “Luck has nothing to do with it. That means the barrels are not within fifty yards of here.”

  “So sayeth the Morrisey,” Hopkins muttered.

  The second hand marched forward, but there was no indication that she’d synced up with 2058. Cynda gave it another wind. Nothing. “What’s yours doing?”

  Reluctantly, Hopkins performed the same movements. His head slowly rose, eyes wide. “I’m not syncing at all. Not even with Guv. It’s like they’re not there.”

  Cynda waited as he came to grips with what that meant.

  “The time distortion has moved passed us,” he said in a barely audible voice. “We’re stuck here, aren’t we?”

  “You got it.”

  As Hopkins paced and stewed, Cynda sat on a well curb, trying to parse out the future without a roadmap. Every now and then she’d look down at her interface. There were thirteen minutes left before the first explosion. Providing their foes would keep to the same schedule as before.

  “Why not? They have the upper hand,” Mr. Spider commented. He was watching one of his real cousins rebuild its web on the pump spout after the rainstorm.

  Despite the desperate situation, she found herself fascinated by the small creature. It was weaving anchor threads from the spout to the water pipe. When one of the threads didn’t attach, the spider tried it in another location. When that didn’t work, it moved to different place on the spout. That thread caught.

  “It’s adapting to the pump spout’s curve,” she murmured. “Changing the design as it goes.”

  “I told you we were smart,” Mr. Spider remarked. “So are you.”

  She didn’t feel that way right now. Theo would have worked this out in a flash, with time to spare.

  Cynda looked back at her fellow Rover. “Why are they using advanced technology to trigger the explosions, but letting some local tote the barrels around?” she asked, skeptically. “Doesn’t make sense. It’s too dangerous: the cops are everywhere.”

  “They did it the first time.” He was still on the move, churning up the mud, burning off energy. She’d been like that once, before the NMR.

  Before Theo.

  She was about to tell him to knock it off when it hit her.

  “No footprints,” she exclaimed.

  Her tone of voice made him stop. “What?”

  “Theo said there were no footprints around the barrels. It was bothering him. He finally chalked it up to the heavy rain.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Unless they were never there in the first place.” She thumped her forehead with a palm, like it would jolt something loose. “Come on. How are they doing this?” Another thump. “How can they deliver the bombs on short notice without using a local?”

  A second later, her mouth dropped open. “Oh geez. That’s it!” she announced.

  “What?”

  “They use a time jump. No hassles with the cops, no chance of being delayed. Damn, that’s brilliant.”

  “You’ve lost it, Lassiter.” Hopkins shook his interface at her. “No time travel, remember? We’re orphaned, and so are they.”

  “Just because we can’t access the time stream doesn’t mean the people ahead of us have the same problem,” she argued. “The disconnect may not have reached them yet. Their interfaces may still work, at least in the short term.”

  “Even if that’s true, no one would transfer explosives through the time stream,” he protested. “That’s insane.”

  “Not through time. A side-hop, here in ’88. You can set those so fine there’s virtually no time differential. You do it right, you don’t access the stream.”

  “But they’ll set off their own bombs.”

  “Not if they configured their time pulses correctly.”

  Slowly the light dawned in Hopkins’ eyes. Then he sagged in defeat. “We tipped our hand too soon. They can deliver the barrels seconds before they detonate. We won’t be able to stay ahead of them unless we can jump ourselves.”

  He sat next to her on the well curb. “We’re done for. We’ll never get back. My future is gone.”

  “Mine too,” she said. “I was supposed to become a legend and—” She leapt to her feet. “Of course! They’re here somewhere. I know it.”

  “The bombs?” he asked, completely confused.

  “No, my entourage. They’ve followed me since I first arrived in ’88. Why miss the final curtain?”

  To her relief, Cynda found them almost immediately. Thomas was leaning up against a lamppost arguing with Prudence. They jolted to attention when she skidded to a halt in front of them.

  “Hi guys,” she said. “Life’s sucking here, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “We were debating that very point,” Thomas replied.

  The younger Rover arrived at that moment. “Hopkins, meet Thomas and Prudence. They’re academics from upstream.”

  “Hello,” Pru said gamely.

  Hopkins only nodded, his frown deeper now.

  “Are your interfaces still working?” Cynda asked.

  “Yes,” Thomas confirmed warily. “Why?”

  She grinned. “Good, we need to borrow them.”

  “That’s not possible,” Prudence told her. “It will cost us our grant.”

  “It will cost you more than that if this plot goes all the way,” Cynda shot back. “Your future’s just as much at risk as ours.”

  Pru shook her head, but with a definite lack of conviction.

  Cynda got the sense they were waiting for something. But what?

  “How about…” Mr. Spider whispered in her ear. Then she grinned.

  Cynda produced the pistol with a decided flourish. “Consider this the first inter-century timepiece robbery.” She gestured toward her companion. “Give the nice Rover your pretty pocket watches and we’ll be on our way.”

  Thomas beamed his approval. “We have no choice. Right, Pru?”

  “That’s how I see it,” she agreed.

  The interfaces changed hands.

  “Do they work the same?” Hopkins asked, the frown still in place.

  “Roughly,” Thomas replied. “Just be careful with the settings. They’re precise to the millisecond.”


  Whoa.

  “What about the time pulse problem?” Hopkins asked, still dubious.

  “You won’t have any difficulties,” Pru said with a wink. “They’re configured differently.”

  For the first time that day, Cynda felt a surge of hope. “You do the first six, Hopkins, I’ll get the last six.”

  “But what about Morrisey?”

  What about Theo? The shard of worry buried itself deeper into her chest.

  “Assume he’s not in the picture,” she said, trying to ignore what that meant. “Catch up with me when you can.”

  Dropping the gun into her pocket, Cynda saluted the pair. “We’ll be back.” Hopefully.

  Hopkins tossed an interface in her direction, and then vanished.

  “Show off,” Cynda muttered. She followed a few seconds later.

  Thomas heaved a heavy sigh of relief the instant they were gone.

  “The first inter-century timepiece robbery, and we were here,” Pru crowed. “It’ll be a great anecdote for the book.”

  Thomas tugged on her sleeve, angling his head toward the newcomer who had just joined them.

  Pru reined in her enthusiasm. “Good morning, Mr. Anderson. I trust that’s how you wanted that to go?”

  Robert Anderson nodded. “Exactly. Thank you. I always appreciate the help of upstream academics.”

  “We didn’t anticipate it getting this chaotic, to be honest,” Pru confided. “Her timeline is way off.”

  “It’s all off-kilter right now.”

  “We will get our interfaces back, won’t we?” Pru asked nervously. “We’re not allowed to stay a full day.”

  Anderson stared into the distance, thoughtful. “If this doesn’t succeed, it won’t matter anyway.”

  11:27:55. No sign of a bomb at the first location. Advanced technology wasn’t always your ally. She wouldn’t necessarily hear or see the barrel arrive, not with how silent her two observers’ transfers had been. Cynda ground her teeth and forced herself to wait.

  “Come on, you jerks.” The worry registered more sharply now. What was Theo doing? No doubt he’d realized the situation, but why hadn’t he checked in with her or Hopkins?

  “Eleven twenty-eight,” the spider announced.

  “I know, I know.”

  Cynda began to hum to relieve her accelerating nerves. To her surprise, what came to mind was an old Rover ditty that became progressively bawdier as the song progressed. It was Chris’ favorite. Somehow, it seemed to help.

  She kept her voice low. “If I were a Rover I’d do London town. I’d do the town from bottom to Crown. There’d be no man that I’d turn down, if I were a Rover in London town. I’d start with a bootjack, he’d have the knack, then find me a copper who’d do me right proper…”

  She continued to hum the naughtier bits and then suddenly broke off. Near the privy was a barrel. It hadn’t been there a few seconds before.

  There was no time for finesse. She sprinted across the open stretch and launched herself at the container, ripping the three sticks of dynamite off the side and flinging them in all directions. Flipping open the knife Theo had provided, she pierced the cork bung and pulled. It popped out, and she drove a hand inside the barrel.

  “Where are you?” The interface began to vibrate—the one-minute warning. “Don’t be shy. Come to Mama…”

  If Theo was wrong about this… Her fingers touched something metal nestled on top of a paper liner.

  Up came the coin. “Yes!” She slung it into the nearest mud puddle, triggered her interface and hurled herself to the next location.

  Hopkins paced back and forth between a pub and the fence near the street. He’d become a Rover because it’d sounded so amazing. Now he could be stuck here for life, however short that would be. Or get blown to bits. That’d really piss off his mom. She’d wanted him to be a dentist.

  He slowly completed another circuit, conjugating one of his favorite swear words under his breath. Then again. A cask appeared out of nowhere.

  “Oh God, Lassiter was right.”

  ~••~••~••~

  Cynda propped herself up against a fence, exhausted. She’d hopped back five minutes to rest because her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Once she caught her breath, she’d go after the remaining casks.

  “Good job,” her delusion said.

  “Thanks,” she wheezed. “I never would have seen that last one if you hadn’t pointed it out.”

  The spider acknowledged the compliment. “We make a good team.”

  “Got that right. Let’s just not do the umbrella trick for a while, okay?”

  “Lassiter?” It was Hopkins. She’d never get used to those silent transfers.

  He was staring at her, his face smudged with what appeared to be gunpowder. “Who are you talking to?”

  No reason to hide the truth any longer. “I was talking with my hallucination. Don’t worry, you keep traveling and you’ll earn one of your own.” Or more than one.

  “You actually talk to it?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Sure. He’s been a great deal of help.”

  The expression on Hopkins’ face said he thought she was over the edge. Your turn’s coming, kid.

  “Did you get them?” she asked.

  “Yes. The interface seemed to be able to sense where they were. Made it a lot easier.”

  She straightened up. “I’m going to disarm Theo’s two, then try to find him. You go to Rotherhithe and help Keats. We have no idea if the bombs are already in place over there, or they’ll ferry them in at the last minute. I’ll join you as soon as I know the boss is okay.” Then it dawned on her Hopkins probably didn’t have a clue what the sergeant looked like. She fumbled for her pendant. “I have a picture of him.”

  “No need. I studied the files before I came. Thought it best I know which Victorians you’d been interacting with.”

  Smart guy. “See you sooner...”

  “Or later,” he shot back with a grin, trading the old Rover joke between them.

  They coordinated their interfaces and went their separate ways.

  Chapter 17

  Cynda would have gotten them all if it hadn’t been for the bowler. When she couldn’t find Theo at the first location, she disarmed his bomb, her nerves taut. She’d been about to move onto number two when she spied the bowler lying in the mud. Its brim was ripped and battered. A broken umbrella lay nearby.

  Heart sinking, she dropped to her knees to study the footprints around the hat. This was more than push back. This felt like an ambush.

  In the distance she heard a hollow thump, the last bomb detonating right on schedule. “Oh, God.” Cynda flipped open the interface, intending to jump back and warn Theo of the ambush.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  She whirled to find a man watching her. He was of medium build, dressed like a Victorian. He’d arrived without her hearing him.

  A Future. “Why not?”

  His expression went flat, like someone trying to project an image of impartiality. “Because you just can’t. There’s a reason this has happened.”

  She glowered at him, gripping the interface so tightly the stem dug into her palm. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

  “I’m Robert Anderson. I’m from your future.”

  The man Rover One had spoken of. “You have anything to do with this?” she asked, gesturing toward the hat.

  “No.”

  “Then who has him? Copeland?”

  Anderson held out his hand. “I’m sorry, but I have to have the interface first. Then I’ll tell you.”

  “That’s blackmail!”

  “I need to get this back to the academics or there will be consequences upstream. We’ve bent the rules as far as we dare at this point.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying?” she demanded, livid at being cornered like this.

  Anderson frowned. “Nothing but my word.”

  “Which means nothing to me. You might be the guy who talke
d to Defoe, you might not.”

  “I am. I’m also the one who off-timed him to New York and sent you to the Thames the night your lover died.”

  She reeled back. “Why are you guys doing this?”

  “Because we have to. Things are so off track we have no choice.” He gestured toward the watch. “Please, just give me the interface.”

  “Damn you!” With a cry of anguish, she tossed it at him. Anderson caught it on the fly.

  “Thank you.” He tucked it in a pocket. “Copeland has your boss.”

  “Where?” she snapped.

  “Defoe is the key to all this,” he replied, avoiding her question. “Copeland’s masters want him. We’ve hidden Rover One in the time stream while we figure out why he’s so important to them.”

  “Why take Theo?”

  “Your boss is leverage. All that matters to Copeland is that he remain on the good side of his employers. He’ll do anything to stay alive.”

  Anything.

  “Is Theo dead?”

  “Not yet.”

  She shivered. “How do I find them?”

  “Copeland has a cat’s-paw here in ’88 named Hezekiah Grant. He’s the weakest link in the chain.”

  “The Ascendant,” she whispered. Theo had spoken of him. She fumbled with the silver pendant, pulling it out. If this had Grant’s address in the files…

  “Don’t bother,” Anderson advised. “He’s in hiding. Within a few hours, Grant will be contacting you. You should be preparing yourself for that moment. It’s your best chance to get Morrisey back alive.”

  A second later, Cynda was staring at empty air.

  ~••~••~••~

  Too slow. Five stories in each warehouse. Thousands of barrels to search. Most of them were the huge ones, but a smaller one could be tucked in amongst them. Keats heard the men muttering. They realized the futility of this gesture as much as he did.

  He moved to the next barrel. “Mind you, be careful!” he warned.

  “If’n I was bein’ careful, guv, I’d be in a pub right now ’steada in here with ya,” someone called back.

  “He has a point.”