Ripping Time by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

Margo forcibly thrust away the memory, concentrating on the raucous street corner with its shouting voices and rumbling wagons and the sharp clop of horses’ hooves on the limerock and cobbled roads—and her charges in the Ripper Watch Team. Furious with herself, Margo gulped down air that reeked of fresh dung and last week’s refuse and the tidal mud of the river and realized that no more than a split second had passed. Dominica Nosette was stalking down Whitechapel Road, oblivious to everything and Doug Tanglewood was hot on her trail so she wouldn’t step straight in front of an express wagon loaded with casks from St. Katharine’s Docks. Guy Pendergast was still talking to people at the edge of the crowd, asking questions he probably shouldn’t have have been asking. Dr. Kostenka was intent on recording the political rally, a historic one, Margo knew. The speaker at the center of the crowd was supporting the first London County Council elections, a race hotly contested by the radicals for control of London’s East End. Conroy Melvyn was staring, fascinated, at the man speaking.

Only Shahdi Feroz had noticed Margo’s brief distress. Her dark-eyed gaze rested squarely on Margo. Her brows had drawn down in visible concern. “Are you all right?” she asked softly, moving closer to touch Margo’s arm.

“Yes,” Margo lied, “I’m fine. Just cold. Come on, we’d better get moving.”

She genuinely didn’t have time to deal with that; certainly not here and now. She had a job to do. Remembering her mother—anything at all about her mother—was worse than useless. It was old news, ancient history. She didn’t have time to shed any more tears or even to hate her parents for being what they’d been or doing what they’d done. If she hoped to work as an independent time scout one day, she had to keep herself focused on tomorrow. Not to mention today . . .