be allowed to talk to anyone. If he had a Timekey, then he could demonstrate its workings, and Garrick could become a fugitive once more.
I must act now, he thought. Carpe diem. The circumstances are far from ideal, but the risk is acceptable.
Garrick’s on-the-hoof plan involved subduing the carriage driver and then hopefully absconding with Charismo in the back.
He might even believe I am rescuing him.
Garrick smiled grimly. This misapprehension would not last for long.
The blossoming scheme dried up and withered when two soldiers emerged from the house with Charismo suspended between them, his short legs bicycling the air.
There is no time. No time.
Garrick knew that, even with his speed, he could not vault the railings and overpower the driver in time.
But all was not lost. Garrick was nothing if not adaptable. He stepped behind the trunk of a large hawthorn bush and pulled his laser-sighted pistol. It was a shame to waste a bullet on the likes of Charismo, but at least it would be only one.
Garrick sighted quickly along the barrel and placed a red dot over Charismo’s heart.
I will never know the full truth of why you wished me dead, he thought. It is a pity we could not chat, you and I, but better a niggling mystery than a dangerous loose end.
Garrick’s finger was about to squeeze the trigger when he noticed that the carriage was actually a secure ambulance, with the Bethlehem Lunatic Asylum logo inked on the side.
They are taking him to Bethlehem, Garrick realized.
He watched bemused as Charismo was stripped down and roughly bundled into an asylum work shirt. His clothes were tossed onto a growing pile of his possessions on the basement stairwell, which was doused with lamp oil and set alight.
Charismo’s Timekey is busted now, if he kept it, Garrick realized with some satisfaction. Tibor can talk of wormholes to his heart’s content, and all it will earn him is a spike between the eyes.
Garrick pocketed his gun and strolled casually toward the far side of the park.
I will come to find you, Tibor, he thought. Before very long I will know all of your secrets. After all, you don’t need them anymore.
In seconds, Garrick’s mind was once again focused on his main mission to find Chevie and Riley, with absolutely no idea that he had come within a hair’s breadth of snagging them for the second time.
By this time, my spies will be scouring the city, he thought, all craving the reward for information on the boy with the odd eyes and his Injun companion.
Although slightly aggrieved at being denied the opportunity to question Charismo, Garrick judged it to be a fair morning’s work, all in all.
One more enemy safely out of the way, he thought, whistling the opening bars of Another Brick in Yonder Wall.
Only two remain.
The Old Nichol
THE OLD NICHOL ROOKERY. BETHNAL GREEN. LONDON. 1898
Chevie tried to flag down a cab, but she was filthy from her trips up and down Charismo’s chimney and no driver would halt until she stood half in the road, waving Malarkey’s gold purse. As the hansom clattered away, Chevie slumped on the seat beside Riley and wondered where in the universe they could go in order to earn a minute’s respite. Her ribs ached from the various scrapes that Victorian London had inflicted on her person, and she realized that somewhere in the midst of this misadventure she had developed a constant ringing in her left ear.
Riley was recovering, but in no shape to journey far. They needed to find a place to hide until she could figure out their next move.
It would be irresponsible to allow Garrick to run amok in London with all the knowledge in his head, which he would definitely not be using to put an end to war and starvation. Simply put: Garrick had to be stopped. But how? She had no idea. This was Riley’s world, and they would have to put their heads together on a problem as big as Garrick. And to do that they would have to lie low somewhere until they were fit enough to fight back.
Chevie slapped Riley’s cheek gently.
“Come on, Riley. Wake up, partner. There must be somewhere this lunatic won’t follow us. Where is Garrick afraid to go?”
She was forced to repeat the question several times before it penetrated Riley’s addled skull, but as soon as he understood the question, he knew the answer: the Old Nichol. His face paled and his hands shook at the very idea.