Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,143

Everyone looked up.

“Kivrin has a head,” Agnes said. “I have a head, but poor Rosemund has none.”

Eliwys caught hold of Agnes by both arms. “Those are but foolish games,” she said. “Say not such things.”

“The shadow—” Agnes said, looking like she was going to cry.

“Sit you down by Lady Katherine and be still,” Eliwys said. She brought her over to Kivrin and almost pushed her onto the bench. “You are grown too wild.”

Agnes huddled next to Kivrin, trying to decide whether to cry or not. Kivrin had lost count, but she picked up where she had left off. Forty-six, forty-seven.

“I want my bell,” Agnes said, climbing off the bench.

“Nay, we must sit quietly,” Kivrin said. She took Agnes onto her lap.

“Tell me of Christmas.”

“I can’t, Agnes. I can’t remember.”

“Do you remember naught that you can tell me?”

I remember it all, Kivrin thought. The shops are full of ribbons, satin and mylar and velvet, red and gold and blue, brighter even than my woad-dyed cloak, and there’s light everywhere and music. Great Tom and Magdalen’s bells and Christmas carols.

She thought of the Carfax carillon, trying to play “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,” and the tired old piped-in carols in the shops along the High. Those carols haven’t even been written yet, Kivrin thought, and felt a sudden wash of homesickness.

“I would ring my bell,” Agnes said, struggling to get off Kivrin’s lap. “Give it to me.” She held out her wrist.

“I will tie it on if you will lie down a little on the bench beside me,” Kivrin said.

She started to pucker up into a pout again. “Must I sleep?”

“No. I will tell you a story,” Kivrin said, untying the bell from her own wrist, where she had put it for safekeeping. “Once—” she said and then stopped, wondering if “once upon a time” dated as far back as 1320 and what sort of stories the contemps told their children. Stories about wolves and about witches whose skin turned black when they were given extreme unction.

“There once was a maiden,” she said, tying the bell on Agnes’s chubby wrist. The red ribbon had already begun to fray at the edges. It wouldn’t tolerate many more knottings and unknottings. She bent over it. “A maiden who lived—”

“Is this the maiden?” a woman’s voice said.

Kivrin looked up. It was Bloet’s sister Yvolde, with Imeyne behind her. She stared at Kivrin, her mouth pinched with disapproval, and then shook her head.

“Nay, this is not Uluric’s daughter,” she said. “That maid was short and dark.”

“Nor de Ferrers’s ward?” Imeyne said.

“She is dead,” Yvolde said. “Do you remember naught of who you are?” she asked Kivrin.

“Nay, good lady,” Kivrin said, remembering too late that she was supposed to keep her eyes modestly on the floor.

“She was struck upon the head,” Agnes volunteered.

“Yet you remember your name and how to speak. Are you of good family?”

“I do not remember my family, good lady,” Kivrin said, trying to keep her voice meek.

Yvolde sniffed. “She sounds of the west. Have you sent to Bath for news?”

“Nay,” Imeyne said. “My son’s wife would wait on his arrival. You have heard naught from Oxenford?”

“Nay, but there is much illness there,” Yvolde said.

Rosemund came up. “Know you Lady Katherine’s family, Lady Yvolde?” she asked.

Yvolde turned her pinched look on her. “Nay. Where is the brooch my brother gave you?”

“I … ’tis on my cloak,” Rosemund stammered.

“Do you not honor his gifts enough to wear them?”

“Go and fetch it,” Lady Imeyne said. “I would see this brooch.”

Rosemund’s chin went up, but she went over to the outer wall where the cloaks hung.

“She shows as little eagerness for my brother’s gifts as for his presence,” Yvolde said. “She spoke not once to him at supper.”

Rosemund came back, carrying her green cloak with the brooch pinned to it. She showed it wordlessly to Imeyne. “I would see it,” Agnes said, and Rosemund bent down to show her.

The brooch had red stones set on a round gold ring, and the pin in the center. It had no hinge, but had to be pulled up and stuck through the garment. Letters ran around the outside of the ring: “Io suiicen lui dami amo.”

“What does it say?” Agnes said, pointing to the letters ringing the gold circle.

“I know not,” Rosemund said in a tone that clearly meant “And I don’t care.”

Yvolde’s jaw tightened, and Kivrin said hastily, “It says, ‘You are here in place of the friend I love,’ Agnes,” and then realized sickly what she had