Her Majesty, at her age. Her own spiritualist conspiring against her. My blasted spiritualist. We trusted you, Tibor. Damn you, sir.”
Charismo thought fast. “A trial would cause considerable scandal.”
The duke chuckled, the laugh of a harsh man. “There will be no trial, sir. I have declared you insane and, while you languish inside Bethlehem Lunatic Asylum, I shall systematically erase you from history. Your works will be unofficially banned, your books burned, your songs will never again be heard on the music-hall stage. We shall see which of us survives to see the new century.” A loud click from the earpiece signaled that the conversation was over.
“No!” Charismo protested to Jeffers. “No, I will not stand for it. I am Tibor Charismo.”
Jeffers drew himself to attention. “You are a traitor, sir, possibly foreign to boot. The madhouse is too good for you.”
“This is all a mistake, Captain. If you search downstairs in the kitchen, you will find my manservant. He is the real criminal here.”
“We found your manservant. He, at least, died with honor.”
Reality finally dropped on Charismo like an anvil from the sky. “Barnum dead? I am lost.”
Jeffers stepped close. “There is an option, sir, but I would be amazed if you availed yourself of it. You may accept my challenge and we can end this affair right now.” The captain took off his left glove and struck Charismo across the cheek, causing his mask to fly off.
Jeffers stepped back in momentary horror, but his stiff upper lip quickly reasserted itself.
“My God, man. You are an animal.”
The left side of Tibor’s face was covered with green and brown reptilian scales, which seemed to change color as he moved.
“It was the wormhole!” he howled. “Quantum mutation. The professor swore it would not happen to me.”
Jeffers clicked his fingers. “Take him. I will not fight an animal.”
Tibor continued his rant, even as the privates dragged him from the room to the ambulance outside.
“Make sure he is locked away from the other inmates,” said Jeffers, stamping on the Farspeak until the casing gave up its entrails of wires and fuses. “And send up some squaddies. I want everything taken from this house and burned.” Charismo’s cries echoed through the ruins of his devastated hallway and set the ambulance horses a-whinnying in distress.
Albert Garrick watched events unfold, leaning forward on the park bench in rapt attention. One minute all was quiet on Grosvenor Square, and the next a squad of Her Majesty’s finest had double-timed it to the front door with an honest-to-God cannon in tow, followed by a black carriage.
“Well, blimey,” he said, forgetting his carefully cultivated accent for a moment. “This is a right royal turnup.”
Whatever maneuver was about to be employed would certainly not go off half-cocked. There were enough troops here to fight the Boxers.
The soldiers expertly swiveled their cannon and blew the door in, sending a flock of starlings soaring into the sky.
A battle in London town. How extraordinary!
It occurred to Garrick that the presence of all these soldiers would hamper his efforts to cancel Charismo’s contract with the Rams.
And all because I neglected to kill Riley in his bed all those years ago. Could that be the whole reason? Would Charismo pit himself against a man of my caliber over the life of a child?
Suddenly Garrick remembered the first time he had spied a Timekey.
Riley’s father had one on his person. I took it from his corpse and delivered it to Charismo. He asked for the device specifically.
It occurred to Garrick then that Mr. Tibor Charismo had seen the future and was benefitting from his knowledge.
But not anymore. Charismo has gone too far with someone, and now the military are involved, which would suggest a government connection, perhaps even the monarchy.
This pleased Garrick greatly, as he had always thought the man a trifle smug and had never liked his music. Another Brick in Yonder Wall. Honestly.
The spirit of Felix Sharp suddenly made the connection, and Garrick physically reeled with the realization.
He knew that song, or rather Agent Sharp knew it, because it originated in the future. Tibor Charismo had not only been to the future, he belonged there.
Garrick closed his eyes, focusing on his train of thought. He pictured Charismo’s face, then allowed his memory to make it younger and draw on a ratty beard.
Tibor Charismo was Terry Carter, the missing witness. Agent Sharp had the file in his desk. William Riley had been his handler.
This put a completely different complexion on the matter. Charismo could not