Time Rovers 03 Madman's Dance Read Online Free Page B

had provided him with a substantial sum to support his medical work amongst the poor. That gift had given him hope for the future.
    With a rustle of paper, Pratchett expertly encased the book in brown wrapping and then tied the package with twine.
    “Have they had any luck finding Sergeant Keats?” the bookstore owner asked.
    Alastair was jarred out of his reverie. “Pardon?”
    “Keats. The wanted man. I noted he is a friend of yours. There was some mention of it in the papers. I’ve been following his career since he arrived at the Yard. Well, him and others.” Pratchett looked chagrined. “You see, I always wanted to be a copper, but my ancestors were all stubby, so I failed to meet the height requirements.” He paused for a quick breath before rattling on. “I don’t believe he did it for a second. Only ignorant men throw away a promising future over that sort of woman.”
    “I agree.”
    “I’m willing to wager he’s on the trail of the murderer,” Pratchett surmised. “It’ll make great reading in the newspapers when he finally catches his man, and a comeuppance for those who look down on his stature.”
    Alastair couldn’t help but warm to the bookseller. “Did you read about the inquest?”
    “I did. That’s how I learned that the sergeant is a short fellow, like me. Do you know that the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette wrote an article in his paper about that very thing?”
    “No, I was not aware of that.”
    “He says the reason they can’t find the Ripper is because the constabulary has no room for clever little ferrets of men in the London detective force . I totally agree with Mr. Stead on that point. Why should height be a barrier to detection?”
    “I agree. Well, hopefully Keats has his day in court.” Alastair picked up the parcel. “Do you mind if I check Miss Lassiter’s room?”
    “Not in the least. If she’s trusted you with a key, I shall as well.”
    “Thank you.”
    Jacynda’s room looked untouched. The bed was made, the fireplace cold. The edge of her Gladstone peeped out from under the bed frame. He nudged it farther underneath with his boot. Then he sat on the foot of the hard bed, cradling his head in his hands. The scene came back to him with vivid clarity: the smell of the burning tobacco, her pleas for help as her fists hammered on the warehouse doors. Smoke pouring out around the hinges as the rum barrels exploded like cannon fire.
    You cannot be dead.
    Chapter 3
     
    2057 A.D.
    Time Protocol Board
    T.E. Morrisey noted with displeasure that the meeting was being held in a private room inside the Time Protocol Board complex. That meant there would be no public record. Furthering his irritation was the stipulation that his assistant and legal advisor, Fulham, not be admitted.
    “Just a friendly chat,” one of the board members had remarked with false bonhomie. “ The Genius needs no legal representative.”
    Morrisey detested that label. Though he held a score of patents and had created the Fast Forward software that powered the time immersion industry, he didn’t consider himself a genius. He just paid attention, noting things that others missed. Like this room, for example. It was decorated in what Miss Lassiter might call Corporate Dull. No elegant artwork on the walls, tatami mats on the floor or a waterfall gracing a corner. In Morrisey’s eyes, the room had no soul. It mirrored its owners.
    Most of that was the fault of the current chairman, Marvin Davies, a sixty-something career politico with a penchant for bad haircuts. If they could manipulate DNA to create the perfect politician, Davies would be the result. He had little to no knowledge of time travel, which set the standard for the other five members of the board. M.A. Fletcher, the one board member who actually knew something of the industry, was noticeably absent. That was the most striking change since Morrisey was last here.
    First came the warm, caring approach. They’d offered him tea served