Connie Willis - Doomsday Book

Apparently Mary was thinking the same thing. "These bellringers of yours, when did they arrive in England?"

"I don't know. But they only arrived in Oxford this afternoon, after Badri was at the net."

"Well, ask them anyway. When they landed, where they've been, whether any of them have been ill. One of them might have relations in Oxford and have come up early. You've no American undergraduates in college?"

"No. Montoya's an American."

"I hadn't thought of that," Mary said. "How long has she been here?"

"All term. But she might have been in contact with someone visiting from America."

"I'll ask her when she comes in for her bloodwork," she said. "I'd like you to question Badri about any Americans he knows, or students who've been to the States on exchange."

"He's asleep."

"And so should you be," she said. "I didn't mean now." She patted his arm. "There's no necessity of waiting till seven. I'll send someone in to take blood and BP so you can go home to bed." She took Dunworthy's wrist and looked at the temp monitor. "Any chills?"

"No."

"Headache?"

"Yes."

"That's because you're exhausted." She dropped his wrist. "I'll send someone straightaway."

She looked at Colin, stretched out on the floor. "Colin will have to be tested as well, at least till we're certain it's droplet."

Colin's mouth had fallen open, but the gobstopper was still firmly in place in his cheek. Dunworthy wondered if he were likely to choke. "What about your nephew?" he said. "Would you like me to take him back to Balliol with me?"

She looked immediately grateful. "Would you? I hate to burden you with him, but I doubt I'll be home till we get this under control." She sighed. "Poor boy. I hope his Christmas won't be too spoilt."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Dunworthy said.

"Well, I'm very grateful," Mary said. "And I'll see to the tests immediately."

She left. Colin sat up immediately.

"What sort of tests?" he asked. "Does this mean I might get the virus?"

"I sincerely hope not," Dunworthy said, thinking of Badri's flushed face, his labored breathing.

"But I might," Colin said.

"The chances are very slim," Dunworthy said. "I shouldn't worry about it."

"I'm not worried." He held out his arm. "I think I'm getting a rash," he said eagerly, pointing to a freckle.

"That isn't a symptom of the virus," Dunworthy said. "Collect your things. I'm taking you home with me after the tests." He gathered up his muffler and overcoat from the chairs he'd draped them over.

"What are the symptoms, then?"

"Fever and difficulty breathing," Dunworthy said. Mary's shopping bag was on the floor by Latimer's chair. He decided they'd best take it with them.

The nurse came in, carrying her bloodwork tray.

"I feel hot," Colin said. He clutched his throat dramatically. "I can't breathe."

The nurse took a startled step backward, clinking her tray.

Dunworthy grabbed Colin's arm. "Don't be alarmed," he said to the nurse. "It's only a case of gobstopper poisoning."

Colin grinned and bared his arm fearlessly for the blood test, then stuffed the jumper into the duffel and pulled on his still-damp jacket while Dunworthy had his blood drawn.

The nurse said, "Dr. Ahrens said you needn't wait for the results," and left.

Dunworthy put on his overcoat, picked up Mary's shopping bag, and led Colin down the corridor and out through the casualties ward. He couldn't see Mary anywhere, but she had said they needn't wait, and he was suddenly so tired he couldn't stand.

They went outside. It was just beginning to get light out and still raining. Dunworthy hesitated under the hospital porch, wondering if he should ring for a taxi, but he had no desire to have Gilchrist show up for his tests while they were waiting and have to hear his plans for sending Kivrin to the Black Death and the battle of Agincourt. He fished Mary's collapsible umbrella out of her bag and put it up.

"Thank goodness you're still here," Montoya said, skidding up on a bicycle, spraying water. "I need to find Basingame."

So do we all, Dunworthy thought, wondering where she had been during all those telephone conversations.

She got off the bike, pushed it up the rack, and keyed the lock. "His secretary said no one knows where he is. Can you believe that?"

"Yes," Dunworthy said. "I've been trying most of today…yesterday to reach him. He's on holiday somewhere in Scotland, no one knows exactly where. Fishing, according to his wife."

"At this time of year?" she said. "Who would go fishing in Scotland in December? Surely his wife knows where he is or has a number where he can be reached or something."

Dunworthy shook his head.

"This is ridiculous! I go to all the trouble to get the National Health Board to grant me access to my dig, and Basingame's on vacation!" She reached under her slick and brought out a sheaf of colored papers. "They agreed to give me a waiver if the Head of History would sign an affidavit saying the dig was a project necessary and essential to the welfare of the university. How could he just go off like this without telling anybody?" She slapped the papers against her leg, and raindrops flew everywhere. "I have to get this signed before the whole dig floats away. Where's Gilchrist?"

"He should be here shortly for his blood tests," Dunworthy said. "If you manage to find Basingame, tell him he needs to come back immediately. Tell him we've got a quarantine here, we don't know where an historian is, and the tech is too ill to tell us."

"Fishing," Montoya said disgustedly, heading for Casualties. "If my dig is ruined, he's going to have a lot to answer for."

"Come along," Dunworthy said to Colin, anxious to be gone before anyone else showed up. He held the umbrella so it would cover Colin, too, and then gave up. Colin walked rapidly ahead, managing to hit nearly every puddle, then dawdled behind to look at shop windows and a stranded worm on the pavement.

There was no one on the streets, though whether that was from the quarantine or the early hour, Dunworthy couldn't tell. Perhaps they'll all be asleep, he thought, and we can sneak in and go straight to bed.

"I thought there'd be more going on," Colin said, sounding disappointed. "Sirens and all that."

"And dead-carts going through the streets, calling, 'Bring out your dead'?" Dunworthy said. "You should have gone with Kivrin. Quarantines in the Middle Ages were far more exciting than this one's likely to be, with only four cases and a vaccine on its way from the States."

"Who is this Kivrin person?" Colin asked. "Your daughter?"

"She's my pupil. She's just gone to 1320."

"Time travel? Apocalyptic!"

They turned the corner of the Broad. "The Middle Ages?" Colin said. "That's Napoleon, isn't it? Trafalgar, and all that?"

"It's the Hundred Years' War," Dunworthy said, and Colin looked blank. What are they teaching children in the schools these days? he thought. "Knights and ladies and castles."

"The Crusades?"

"The Crusades are a bit earlier."

"That's where I'd want to go. The Crusades."

They were at Balliol's gate. "Quiet, now," Dunworthy said. "Everyone will be asleep."

There was no one at the porter's gate, and no one in the front quadrangle. Lights were on in the hall, the bellringers having breakfast probably, but there were no lights in the senior common room, and none in Salvin. If they could get up the stairs without seeing anyone and without Colin's suddenly announcing he was hungry, they might make it safely to his rooms.

"Shhh," he said, turning back to caution Colin, who had stopped in the quad to take out his gobstopper and examine its color, which was now a purplish-black. "We don't want to wake everyone," he said, his finger to his lips, turned around, and collided with a couple in the doorway.