digging in the mud, a perfect chance to come in contact with a reservoir.
Colin came in, soaked to the skin. “They ran out of placards,” he said, rummaging through his duffel. “London’s sending some more tomorrow.” He unearthed his gobstopper and popped it, lint and all, into his mouth. “Do you know who’s standing on your staircase?” he asked. He flung himself onto the window seat and opened his Middle Ages book. “William and some girl. Kissing and talking all lovey-dovey. I could scarcely get past.”
Dunworthy opened the door. William disengaged himself reluctantly from a small brunette in a Burberry and came in.
“Do you know where Ms. Montoya is?” Dunworthy asked.
“No. The NHS said she’s out at the dig, but she’s not answering the phone. She’s probably out in the churchyard or somewhere on the farm and can’t hear it. I thought of using a screamer, but then I remembered this girl who’s reading archaeohistory and …” He nodded toward the small brunette. “She told me she saw the assignment sheets out at the dig, and Badri was signed up for Saturday and Sunday.”
“A screamer? What’s that?”
“You hook it to the line and it magnifies the ring on the other end. If the person’s out in the garden or in the shower or something.”
“Can you put one on this phone?”
“They’re a bit too complicated for me. I know a student who might be able to rig it, though. I’ve got her number in my rooms.” He left, holding hands with the brunette.
“You know, if Ms. Montoya is at the dig, I could get you through the perimeter,” Colin said. He took his gobstopper out and examined it. “It’d be easy. There are lots of places that aren’t watched. The guards don’t like to stand out in the rain.”
“I have no intention of breaking quarantine,” Dunworthy said. “We are trying to stop this epidemic, not spread it.”
“That’s how the plague was spread during the Black Death,” Colin said, taking the gobstopper out and examining it. It was a sickly yellow. “They kept trying to run away from it, but they just took it along with them.”
William stuck his head in the door. “She says it’d take two days to set it up, but she’s got one on her phone if you want to use that.”
Colin grabbed for his jacket. “Can I go?”
“No,” Dunworthy said. “And get out of those wet clothes. I don’t want you catching the flu.” He went down the stairs with William.
“She’s an undergratudate at Shrewsbury,” William said, heading off through the rain.
Colin caught up with them halfway across the quad. “I can’t catch it. I had my enhancement,” he said. “They didn’t have quarantines during the Black Death, so it went everywhere.” He pulled his muffler out of his jacket pocket. “Botley Road’s a good place to sneak through the perimeter. There’s a pub on the corner by the blockade, and the guard nips in now and again for something to keep warm.”
“Fasten your jacket,” Dunworthy said.
The girl turned out to be Polly Wilson. She told Dunworthy she had been working on an optical traitor that could break into the console, but hadn’t managed it yet. Dunworthy phoned the dig, but there was no answer.
“Let it ring,” Polly said. “She may have a long trek to get to it. The screamer’s got a range of half a kilometer.”
He let it ring for ten minutes, put the receiver down, waited five minutes, tried again and let it ring a quarter of an hour before admitting defeat. Polly was looking longingly at William, and Colin was shivering in his wet jacket. Dunworthy took him home and put him to bed.
“Or I could sneak through the perimeter and tell her to phone you,” Colin said, putting his gobstopper back in the duffel. “If you’re worried about being too old to go. I’m very good at getting through perimeters.”
Dunworthy waited till William returned the next morning and then went back to Shrewsbury and tried again, but to no avail. “I’ll set it to ring at half-hour intervals,” Polly said, walking him to the gate. “You wouldn’t know if William has any other girlfriends, would you?”
“No,” Dunworthy said.
The sound of bells clanged out suddenly from the direction of Christ Church, pealing loudly through the rain. “Has someone switched that horrid carillon on again?” Polly asked, leaning out to listen.
“No,” he said. “It’s the Americans.” He cocked his head in the direction of the sound, trying to determine whether Ms. Taylor had settled