Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,216

I would.”

He looked indignant, but at the same time tired, worried. Dunworthy thought of him haunting the corridors and sitting in the waiting room, waiting for news. No wonder he looked older.

“And just now Mrs. Gaddson said I was only to tell you good news because bad news would very likely make you have a relapse and die and it would be my fault.”

“Mrs. Gaddson’s still keeping up morale, I see,” Dunworthy said. He smiled at Colin. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of her coming down with the virus?”

Colin looked astonished. “The epidemic’s stopped,” he said. “They’re lifting the quarantine next week.”

The analogue had arrived, then, after all Mary’s pleading. He wondered if it had come in time to help Badri, and then wondered if that was the bad news Mrs. Gaddson didn’t want told. I have already been told the bad news, he thought. The fix is lost, and Kivrin is in 1348.

“Tell me some good news,” he said.

“Well, nobody’s fallen ill for two days,” Colin said, “and the supplies finally came through, so we’ve something decent to eat.”

“You’ve got some new clothes as well, I see.”

Colin glanced down at the green jacket. “This is one of the Christmas presents from my mother. She sent them after—” He stopped and frowned. “She sent me some vids, and a set of face plasters as well.”

Dunworthy wondered if she had waited till after the epidemic was effectively over before bothering to ship Colin’s gifts, and what Mary had had to say about it.

“See,” Colin said, standing up. “The jacket strips up automatically. You just touch the button, like this. You won’t have to tell me to strip it up anymore.”

The sister came rustling in. “Did he wake you up?” she demanded.

“I told you so,” Colin muttered. “I didn’t, Sister. I was so quiet you couldn’t even hear me turn the pages.”

“He didn’t wake me up, and he’s not bothering me,” Dunworthy said before she could ask her next question. “He’s telling me only good news.”

“You shouldn’t be telling Mr. Dunworthy anything. He must rest,” she said and hung a bag of clear liquid on the drip. “Mr. Dunworthy is still too ill to be bothered with visitors.” She hustled Colin out of the room.

“If you’re so worried over visitors, why don’t you stop Mrs. Gaddson reading Scripture to him?” Colin protested. “She’d make anybody ill.” He stopped short at the door, glaring at the sister. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Is there anything you’d like?”

“How is Badri?” Dunworthy asked and braced himself for the answer.

“Better,” Colin said. “He was almost well, but he had a relapse. He’s a good deal better now, though. He wants to see you.”

“No,” Dunworthy said, but the sister had already shut the door.

“It’s not Badri’s fault,” Mary had said, and of course it wasn’t. Disorientation was one of the Early Symptoms. He thought of himself, unable to punch in Andrews’s number, of Ms. Piantini making mistake after mistake on the handbells, murmuring “Sorry,” over and over.

“Sorry,” he murmured. It had not been Badri’s fault. It was his. He had been so worried about the apprentice’s calculations that he had infected Badri with his fears, so worried that Badri had decided to refeed the coordinates.

Colin had left his book lying on the bed. Dunworthy pulled it toward him. It seemed impossibly heavy, so heavy his arm shook with the effort of holding it open, but he propped that side against the rail and turned the pages, almost unreadable from the angle he was lying at, till he found what he was looking for.

The Black Death had hit Oxford at Christmas, shutting down the universities and causing those who were able to to flee to the surrounding villages, carrying the plague with them. Those who couldn’t died in the thousands, so many there were “none left to keep possession or make up a competent number to bury the dead.” And the few who were left barricaded themselves inside the colleges, hiding and looking for someone to blame.

He fell asleep with his spectacles on, but when the nurse removed them, he woke. It was William’s nurse, and she smiled at him.

“Sorry,” she said, putting them in the drawer. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dunworthy squinted at her. “Colin says the epidemic’s over.”

“Yes,” she said, looking at the screens behind him. “They found the source of the virus and got the analogue all at the same time, and only just in time. Probability was projecting an 85 percent morbidity rate