Connie Willis - To Say Nothing of the Dog

I rang up Mr. Dunworthy. “We’ve got it,” I said. “We need you to get us back to Oxford. Can you send a heli?”

“Princess Victoria’s attending the consecration,” he said, which didn’t seem to be an answer to my question.

“Security measures,” Verity explained. “No helis, aircraft, or zoomers allowed in the vicinity.”

“Can you arrange ground transport then?” I asked Mr. Dunworthy.

“The tube’s faster than any ground transport that we can send,” he said. “Why not just bring it on the tube?”

“We can’t,” I said. “We need at least,” I looked over at the treasures, which Verity was already carting down the attic stairs, “270 to three hundred cubic feet of transport space.”

“For the bishop’s bird stump?” he said. “It hasn’t grown, has it?”

“I’ll explain when I get there,” I said. I gave him Mrs. Bittner’s address. “Have a crew waiting for us when we get there,” I said. “Don’t let the consecration begin till we arrive. Is Finch there?”

“No, he’s over at the cathedral,” Mr. Dunworthy said.

“Tell him to stall,” I said. “And don’t let Lady Schrapnell find out about this if you can help it. Ring me back as soon as you’ve arranged for transport.”

I stuck the handheld in my blazer pocket, picked up the bishop’s bird stump, and started down the stairs with it. The handheld rang.

“Ned,” Lady Schrapnell said. “Where have you been? The consecration’s in less than three-quarters of an hour!”

“I know,” I said. “We’re coming as fast as we can, but we need transport. Can you arrange for a lorry? Or tube transport?”

“Tube transport is only for cargo,” she said. “I don’t want you to let the bishop’s bird stump out of your sight for one second. It’s been lost once. I don’t want it lost again.”

“Neither do I,” I said and rang off.

I picked up the bishop’s bird stump again. The handheld rang.

It was Mr. Dunworthy. “You will not believe what that woman wants us to do! She wants you to take the bishop’s bird stump to the nearest net and take it back in time to two days ago so it can be cleaned and polished before the consecration.”

“Did you tell her that’s impossible, that objects can’t be in two places at the same time?”

“Of course I told her, and she said—”

“ ‘Laws are made to be broken,’ ” I said. “I know. Are you sending us a lorry?”

“There’s not a single lorry in Coventry. Lady Schrapnell recruited every single one in four counties for the consecration. Carruthers is ringing up car and solar rental agencies.”

“But we’ve got to have three hundred cubic feet,” I said. “Can’t you send a lorry from Oxford?”

“Princess Victoria,” he said. “It would take hours to get there.”

“Because of all the traffic,” Verity interpreted.

“If there’s too much traffic for a lorry to get to us, how are we supposed to get to the cathedral?”

“Everyone will be at the cathedral by the time you arrive. Oh, good,” he said to someone else. “Carruthers has got hold of a rental agency.”

“Good,” I said, and thought of something. “Don’t send a solar. It’s overcast here, looks like it might rain at any minute.”

“Oh, dear. Lady Schrapnell’s determined to have the sun shining for the consecration,” he said, and rang off.

This time I made it all the way down to the second floor with the bishop’s bird stump before the handheld rang again. It was Mr. Dunworthy again. “We’re sending a car.”

“A car won’t be big enough for—” I began.

“It should be there in ten minutes,” he said. “T.J. needs to talk to you about the incongruity.”

“Tell him I’ll talk to him when I get back,” I said, and rang off.

The handheld rang. I switched it off and finished carrying the bishop’s bird stump down to the little foyer, which was already filled with things.

“They’re sending a car,” I said to Verity. “It should be here in ten minutes,” and went in the parlor to see Mrs. Bittner.

“They’re sending a car to take us to the consecration,” I told her. She was sitting in one of the chintz-covered chairs. “Can I fetch you your coat? Or your bag?”

“No, thank you,” she said quietly. “You’re certain it’s a good idea to take the bishop’s bird stump out into the world, that it won’t alter history?”

“It already has,” I said. “And so have you. You realize what you’ve done means, don’t you? Because of you, we’ve discovered a whole class of objects which can be brought forward through the net. Other treasures which were destroyed by fire. Artworks and books and—”

“Sir Richard Burton’s writings,” she said. She looked up at me. “His wife burnt them after he died. Because she loved him.”

I sat down on the sofa. “Do you not want us to take the bishop’s bird stump?” I said.

“No.” She shook her white head. “No. It belongs in the cathedral.”

I leaned forward and took her hands. “Because of you, the past won’t be as irretrievable as we thought it was.”

“Parts of the past,” she said quietly. “You’d best go bring the rest of the things down.”

I nodded and started back up to the attic. Halfway up the stairs I ran into Verity, carefully carrying down the capper’s pall on her outstretched arms.

“It’s simply amazing,” she said in a very good imitation of Mrs. Mering’s voice, “the treasures people have in their attics.”

I grinned at her and went on up. I brought down the children’s cross and the altar plate and was on my way down with the Sixteenth-Century wooden chest when Verity called up the stairs to me. “The car’s here.”

“It’s not a solar, is it?” I called down to her.

“No,” she said. “It’s a hearse.”

“Does it have the coffin in it?”

“No.”

“Good. Then it should be large enough,” I said, and carried out the chest.

It was an ancient fossil-fueled hearse which looked like it had been used in the Pandemic, but it was at least large and opened at the back. The driver was staring at the heap of treasures. “Having a jumble sale, are you?”

“Yes,” I said, and put the chest in the back.

“It’ll never all fit,” he said.

I shoved the chest as far forward as it would go and took the silver candelabrum Verity handed me. “It’ll fit,” I said. “I am an old hand at packing. Give me that.”

It all fit, though the only way we could make it work was by putting the statue of St. Michael in the front seat. “Mrs. Bittner can sit up front,” I told Verity, “but you and I will have to sit in the back.”

“What about the bishop’s bird stump?” she said.

“It can sit on my lap.”

I went back inside to the parlor. “We’ve got the car loaded,” I said to Mrs. Bittner, “are you ready?” even though it was obvious she wasn’t. She was still sitting quietly in the chintz-covered chair.

She shook her head. “I will not be going with you after all,” she said. “My bronchitis—”

“Not going?” Verity said from the door. “But you’re the one who saved the treasures. You should go and see them in the cathedral.”

“I have already seen them in the cathedral,” she said. “They cannot look any more beautiful than they did that night, among the flames.”

“Your husband would want you there,” Verity said. “He loved the cathedral.”

“It is only an outward symbol of a larger reality,” she said. “Like the continuum.”

The driver stuck his head in the door. “I thought you said you were in a hurry.”

“We’re coming,” I said over my shoulder.