Sephora gave a glittering smile. Precisely my thought.
To war, my lady, Wescomb toasted, raising his glass.
To victory, she replied, clinking her glass against his.
Stretched out on the bed, Cynda stared at the dingy ceiling. A slight breeze pushed aside the window curtain, flowing over her face. On the street, an eel-pie vendor touted his wares in a singsong chant. Her stomach growled, reminding her that food was a necessity.
According to Annabelle, neither Chris nor Dr. Samuelson had stayed at the boarding house during the past few weeks, though a young man matching Chris’ description had called at the establishment and made inquiries regarding the missing shrink.
That had been six days ago. The only other place TIC used in Whitechapel—Moody’s Rooms on Green Street near the London Hospital—hadn’t seen them either. With no photo of Samuelson to go by, she was reduced to trudging through the pubs asking about the elusive tourist and hoping the pocket watch would quake when she got close. That would be a supreme hassle. Better to go with Ralph’s suggestion—check the asylums. Maybe someone would remember him.
If she were lucky, she’d intersect with Chris somewhere along the way. Cynda sought the memory of the last time they’d been together. It’d been a long, leisurely weekend full of quiet talk and vigorous sex. He’d just returned from Elizabethan England and the defeat of the Spanish Armada. In fine form, Chris had quoted Shakespeare while they’d made love. He always made her laugh.
Now he was missing. If there had to be a last time together, it couldn’t have been more perfect.
Cynda shuddered at the thought. No way. He’s just lost his interface, that’s all. In her heart, she knew her explanation didn’t fly. If Chris had lost his interface, he’d stay put at the boarding house to wait for a Rover to fetch him home.
During one of their all-night sessions, he’d admitted he’d become a Rover for the money, and wanted to start his own business. Her needs were more primal; though she craved the security of a steady job and the means to help her family, it was the adrenalin rush that fueled her desire to leap time. Boredom was an abomination. Who else could say they’d ridden with Genghis Khan or stood on the deck of the Titanic moments before it kissed the fated iceberg?
Who the hell would want to? she muttered to herself. Well-adjusted people didn’t seek risk. She was born to be a Time Rover.
Now she felt trapped, just like that rat so snuggly cocooned in the giant spider’s silken threads. Chris’ disappearance had changed everything.
Now, the risk was personal.
Cynda scanned the street, her vision clear for a change. Two men walked past her, giving her the eye. Did they think she was a prostitute, or were they after the contents of her purse? Hard to tell. If she’d been home, Cynda would have accessed the PSI unit on her left wrist. Hers was a wristwatch, though they were available in a variety of forms to suit the wearer. The interface would analyze the gents’ ESR Chips and determine if they posed a threat. More expensive upgrades allowed you to access their marital status, financial rating and how many people they’d slept with. Depending on the upgrade, she could even snoop their college transcripts, blood type and current medical conditions. If she came under attack, a distress signal was sent to the nearest law enforcement center and a CopBot dispatched. The Personal Security Interfaces acted as the ultimate electronic guard dog while keeping tabs on you at the same time.
But not here. The Skeptics would love this place. No technology to speak of, at least nothing intrusive like the PSI units. You were on your own. You made a mistake, it cost you. Sometimes you only got to make one.
The two men halted at the end of the street, still watching her.
A shiver crawled across her shoulders. The mission had changed; this was no simple retrieval. She needed help if she was to find Chris and the missing academic.
A door opened and closed behind her. It was the doctor. A quick glance revealed the pair was still at the corner.
Dour as he was, Dr. Montrose might prove the ideal remedy to her situation.
Once again, Alastair found Miss Lassiter on the stairs outside the boarding house. She was dressed in navy, and the color suited her complexion. As he exited the building, she stared at him thoughtfully, and then nodded as if some decision had been made.
I have to find some food, she announced. Would you like to join me?
Alastair shook his head. My…situation does not allow such extravagances.
She appeared puzzled. He realized he’d have to be more candid.
All my spare income goes to the clinic.
Oh, I see. What do you usually eat for supper? she quizzed.
I have an apple.
She blinked in amazement. That’s it? He nodded.
Nonsense. You have to eat.
Miss Lassiter, I assure you that—
I still owe you for your treatment the other night. Consider a meal payment for your services.
He joined her on the sidewalk. In truth, you do not owe me anything. I have an arrangement with Annabelle to treat her guests should they become ill. That arrangement compensates for a portion of my rent.
She frowned at him and tapped a foot. It was a girlish gesture that seemed out of place for a woman. We are at an impasse, Doctor. I would like to pay for your supper. You are being…stubborn. How can we work this out?
He frowned back at her. I am not the one being stubborn.
More foot tapping, followed by a quick glance toward the corner. It is likely that if I go out on my own tonight, I might have a relapse.
Are you still seeing blue creatures? he asked.
Maybe, she replied. She looked down the street again. This time, his eyes followed. Two men loitered at the corner.
Are they the reason for her invitation?
Are you requesting that I accompany you this evening, as your physician, lest you become incapacitated?
Exactly.
And in recompense, you will purchase my meal?
A quick nod, followed by a smile of triumph. He knew that look; Lady Sephora wore it when she was determined to get her own way. Lord Wescomb had once advised that when a woman adopted that expression, a man should just accept defeat and retire gracefully from the field.
He took her arm. I know a dining hall that serves healthy food at reasonable prices.
I knew you’d see it my way, she said and gave him a bright smile.
As if I had any other option, madam.