Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,211

were many steeds.” He kicked the horse forward toward Roche, but Eliwys didn’t move.

Roche stepped forward with the sack of food. The boy leaned down, grabbed it, and wheeled the stallion around, nearly running Eliwys down. She didn’t try to get out of the way.

Kivrin stepped forward and caught hold of one of the reins. “Don’t go back to the bishop,” she said.

He jerked up on the reins, looking more frightened of her than of Eliwys.

She didn’t let go. “Go north,” she said. “The plague isn’t there yet.”

He wrenched the reins free, kicked the stallion forward, and galloped out of the courtyard.

“Stay off the main roads,” Kivrin called after him. “Speak to no one.”

Eliwys still stood where she was.

“Come,” Kivrin said to her. “We must find Agnes.”

“My husband and Gawyn will have ridden first to Courcy to warn Sir Bloet,” she said, and let Kivrin lead her back to the house.

Kivrin left her by the fire and went to look in the barn. Agnes wasn’t there, but she found her own cloak, left there Christmas Eve. She flung it around her and went up into the loft. She looked in the brewhouse and Roche searched the other buildings, but they didn’t find her. A cold wind had sprung up while they stood talking to the messenger, and it smelled like snow.

“Perhaps she is in the house,” Roche said. “Looked you behind the high seat?”

She searched the house again, looking behind the high seat and under the bed in the bower. Maisry still lay whimpering where Kivrin had left her, and she had to resist the temptation to kick her. She asked Lady Imeyne, kneeling to the wall, if she had seen Agnes or not.

The old woman ignored her, moving her links of chain and her lips silently.

Kivrin shook her shoulder. “Did you see her go out?”

Lady Imeyne turned and looked at her, her eyes glittering. “She is to blame,” she said.

“Agnes?” Kivrin said, outraged. “How could it be her fault?”

Imeyne shook her head and looked past Kivrin at Maisry. “God punishes us for Maisry’s wickedness.”

“Agnes is missing and it grows dark,” Kivrin said. “We must find her. Did you not see where she went?”

“To blame,” she whispered and turned back to the wall.

It was getting late now, and the wind was whistling around the screens. Kivrin ran out to the passage and onto the green.

It was like the day she had tried to find the drop on her own. There was no one on the snow-covered green, and the wind whipped and tore at her clothes as she ran. A bell was ringing somewhere far off to the northeast, slowly, a funeral toll.

Agnes had loved the bell tower, Kivrin went in and shouted Agnes’s name even though she could see up to the bellrope. She went out and stood looking at the huts, trying to think where Agnes would have gone.

Not the huts, unless she had got cold. Her puppy. She had wanted to go see her puppy’s grave. Kivrin hadn’t told her she’d buried it in the woods. Agnes had told her it had to be buried in the churchyard. Kivrin could see she wasn’t there, but she went through the lychgate.

Agnes had been there. The prints of her little boots led from grave to grave and then off to the north side of the church. Kivrin looked up the hill at the beginning of the woods, thinking, What if she went into the woods? We’ll never find her.

She ran around the side of the church. The prints stopped and circled back to the church. Kivrin opened the door. It was nearly dark inside and colder than the wind-whipped churchyard. “Agnes!” she called.

There was no answer, but there was a faint sound up by the altar, like a rat scurrying out of sight. “Agnes?” Kivrin said, peering into the gloom behind the tomb, in the side aisles. “Are you here?” she said.

“Kivrin?” a quavering little voice said.

“Agnes?” she said, and ran in its direction. “Where are you?”

She was by the statue of St. Catherine, huddled among the candles at its base in her red cape and hood. She had pressed herself against the rough stone skirts of the statue, eyes wide and frightened. Her face was red and damp with tears. “Kivrin?” she cried, and flung herself into her arms.

“What are you doing here, Agnes?” Kivrin said, angry with relief. She hugged her tightly. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She buried her wet face against Kivrin’s neck. “Hiding,” she