the proteins. We should be able to begin inoculating by the tenth.”
The tenth. And that was when they could begin giving immunizations. How long would it take to immunize the quarantine area? A week? Two? Before Gilchrist and the idiot protesters considered it safe to open the laboratory?
“That’s too long,” Dunworthy said.
“I know,” Mary said, and sighed. “God knows how many cases we’ll have by then. There have been twenty new ones already this morning.”
“Do you think it’s a mutant strain?” Dunworthy asked.
She thought about it. “No. I think it’s much more likely that Badri caught it from someone at that dance in Headington. There may have been New Hindus there, or Earthers, or someone else who doesn’t believe in antivirals or modern medicine. The Canadian goose flu of 2010, if you’ll remember, was traced back to a Christian Science commune. There’s a source. We’ll find it.”
“And what about Kivrin in the meantime? What if you don’t find the source by the rendezvous? Kivrin’s supposed to come back on the sixth of January. Will you have it sourced by then?”
“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “She may not want to come back to a century that’s rapidly becoming a ten. She may want to stay in 1320.”
If she’s in 1320, he thought, and went up to see Badri. He had not mentioned rats since Christmas night. He was back to the afternoon at Balliol when he had come looking for Dunworthy. “Laboratory?” he murmured when he saw Dunworthy. He tried feebly to hand him a note, and then seemed to sink into sleep, exhausted by the effort.
Dunworthy stayed only a few minutes and then went to see Gilchrist.
It was raining hard again by the time he reached Brasenose. The gaggle of picketers were huddling underneath their banner, shivering.
The porter was standing at the lodge desk, taking the decorations off the little Christmas tree. He glanced up at Dunworthy and looked suddenly alarmed. Dunworthy walked past him and through the gate.
“You can’t go in there, Mr. Dunworthy,” the porter called after him. “The college is restricted.”
Dunworthy walked into the quad. Gilchrist’s rooms were in the building behind the laboratory. He hurried toward them, expecting the porter to catch up to him and try to stop him.
The laboratory had a large yellow sign on it that read “No Admittance Without Authorization,” and an electronic alarm attached to the doorjamb.
“Mr. Dunworthy,” Gilchrist said, striding toward him through the rain. The porter must have phoned him. “The laboratory is off-limits.”
“I came to see you,” Dunworthy said.
The porter came up, trailing a tinsel garland. “Shall I phone for the University police?” he asked.
“That won’t be necessary. Come up to my rooms,” he said to Dunworthy. “I have something I want you to see.”
He led Dunworthy into his office, sat down at his cluttered desk, and put on an elaborate mask with some sort of filters.
“I’ve just spoken to the WIC,” he said. His voice sounded hollow, as if it were coming from a great distance. “The virus is a previously unsequenced virus whose source is unknown.”
“It’s been sequenced now,” Dunworthy said, “and the analogue and vaccine are due to arrive in a few days. Dr. Ahrens has arranged for Brasenose to be given immunization priority, and I’m attempting to locate a tech who can read the fix as soon as immunization has been completed.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Gilchrist said hollowly. “I’ve been conducting research into the incidence of influenza in the 1300s. There are clear indications that a series of influenza epidemics in the first half of the fourteenth century severely weakened the populace, thereby lowering their resistance in the Black Death.”
He picked up an ancient-looking book. “I have found six separate references to outbreaks between October of 1318 and February of 1321.” He held up a book and began to read. ‘ “After the harvest there came upon all of Dorset a fever so fierce as to leave many dead. This fever began with an aching in the head and confusion in all the parts. The doctors bled them, but many died in despite.’ ”
A fever. In an age of fevers—typhoid and cholera and measles, all of them producing “aching of the head and confusion in all the parts.”
“1319. The Bath Assizes for the previous year were canceled,” Gilchrist said, holding up another book. “ ‘A malady of the chest that fell upon the court so that none, nor judge nor jury, were left to hear the cases,’ ” Gilchrist said. He looked at