Ripping Time

"No..." Je

"I'm sorry, Je

Je

Then she remembered Ianira. "Oh, God! Ianira!"

Noah's stride faltered for just a moment. "I know." The detective's voice was rough. "I tried to follow him, the instant I knew you weren't critically wounded. But he disappeared into that rat's maze of streets down in SoHo. Which, coincidentally, is exactly the same thing we did. I had to get us out of there fast, after all the shooting left that hit-man dead in front of the Opera House. The door man and some people in a passing carriage went shouting for a constable."

"But—but Noah, he's got her—"

"Do you have any idea who he was?"

She gulped down terror, tried to think past the memory of that gun levelled at her face, that mad, calm voice telling her it was nothing personal. "He said he was a doctor. Ianira found him, while I was struggling with that killer. I think he was down by those columns."

Noah nodded. "That'd be the Opera House, it's just down the way from where you were attacked."

"He took Ianira's pulse and she... she went into shock. Tried to get away from him, starting ranting something that sounded awful. In ancient Greek. Whatever she said, he understood it and his face... he snarled at her. I've never seen such hatred, such murderous fury..."

Noah's quiet voice intruded. "That's damned odd, don't you think?"

Je

"Damned odd," Noah muttered. "Doesn't sound like an up-time hit at all."

"No." Then, voice breaking, "We have to find her! I let him... let him take her away..."

"No, you didn't. Don't argue! For Christ sake, Je

Very quietly and very messily, Je

"Aw, shit..." Noah muttered, then speeded up. "I gotta get you out of this raw air." Noah braced her head against a solid shoulder, easing the coat to protect her face from the cold, and hurried through the darkened city. Occasional carriages rattled past, a greyed-out blur to Je

At least half-an-hour later, Noah Armstrong carried Je

Noah spoke curtly. "Je

"Ianira?" Marcus whispered again.

The detective paused. "She's alive. Somewhere. It's complicated. A man helped them, shot one of the hit-men. But when he touched her, she went into prophetic trance and whatever she said, it really upset him. He shot Je

The ex-slave had gone ashen, stood trembling in the shabby house they'd rented, eyes wet and lips unsteady. At a slight sound behind him, he turned his shaken gaze downward.

"Daddy?" A beautiful little girl of about seven had appeared in the doorway from the back of the house. "Daddy, did Noah bring Mama?"

Je

"No, Misia," Marcus choked out, going to his knees to hug the little girl close. "Noah and Je

The little girl nodded, wide eyes wet and scared as she stared up at Je

"This is Je

No child of seven should possess eyes like Artemisia's, dark as mahogany and too wise and haunted for her age, eyes which had, like her mother's, seen far too much at far too early a point in life. She disappeared into the back of the house. Marcus said raggedly, "I will bring the hot water bottle, then go for Dr. Mindel."

"Good. And take my Colt Thunderer with you. Put it up, when you get back, someplace where the girls can't reach it."

Marcus took Noah's revolver and disappeared into the kitchen.

Noah carried Je

"Yeah?" The detective carried her into a neat, heartlessly plain bedroom and settled her gently into a deep feather bed.

"Why... why is Artemisia so much older? I don't understand..."

Noah dragged off the wet, bedraggled bo

"You're too foggy to work it out, aren't you? The Denver Gate opens into 1885. The Brita