Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,217

with 32 percent mortality even with antimicrobials and T-cell enhancement, and that was without adding in the supply shortages and so many of the staff being down. As it was, we had nearly nineteen percent mortality and a good number of the cases are still critical.”

She picked up his wrist and looked at the screen behind his head. “Your fever’s down a bit,” she said. “You’re very lucky, you know. The analogue didn’t work on anyone already infected. Dr. Ahrens—” she said, and then stopped. He wondered what Mary had said. That he would pack it in. “You’re very lucky,” she said again. “Now try to sleep.”

He slept, and when he woke again, Mrs. Gaddson was standing over him, poised for attack with her Bible.

“ ‘He will bring upon thee all the diseases of Egypt,’ ” she said as soon as he had opened his eyes. “ ‘Also every sickness and every plague, until thou be destroyed.’ ”

“ ‘And ye shall be delivered into the hand of the enemy,’ ” Dunworthy murmured.

“What?” Mrs. Gaddson demanded.

“Nothing.”

She had lost her place. She flipped back and forth through the pages, searching for pestilences, and began reading. “ ‘… Because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world.’ ”

God would never have sent him if He’d known what would happen, Dunworthy thought. Herod and the slaughter of the innocents and Gethsemane.

“Read to me from St. Matthew,” he said. “Chapter 26, verse 39.”

Mrs. Gaddson stopped, looking irritated, and then leafed through the pages to Matthew. “ ‘And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.’ ”

God didn’t know where His Son was, Dunworthy thought. He had sent His only begotten Son into the world, and something had gone wrong with the fix, someone had turned off the net, so that He couldn’t get to him, and they had arrested him and put a crown of thorns on his head and nailed him to a cross.

“Chapter 27,” he said. “Verse 46.”

She pursed her lips and turned the page. “I really do not feel these are appropriate Scriptures for—”

“Read it,” he said.

“ ‘And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Ehi, Eloi, lama sabacthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ ”

Kivrin would have no idea what had happened. She would think she had the wrong place or the wrong time, that she had lost count of the days somehow during the plague, that something had gone wrong with the drop. She would think they had forsaken her.

“Well?” Mrs. Gaddson said. “Any other requests?”

“No.”

Mrs. Gaddson flipped back to the Old Testament. “ ‘For they shall fall by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence,’ ” she read. “ ‘He that is far off shall die of the pestilence.’ ”

In spite of everything, he slept, waking finally to something that was not endless afternoon. It was still raining, but now there were shadows in the room and the bells were chiming four o’clock. William’s nurse helped him to the lavatory. The book had gone, and he wondered if Colin had come back without his remembering, but when the nurse opened the door of the bedstand for his slippers, he saw it lying there. He asked the nurse to crank his bed to sitting, and when she had gone he put on his spectacles and took the book out again.

The plague had spread so randomly, so viciously, the contemps had been unable to believe it was a natural disease. They had accused lepers and old women and the mentally impaired of poisoning wells and putting curses on them. Anyone strange, anyone foreign was immediately suspected. In Sussex they had stoned two travelers to death. In Yorkshire they had burnt a young woman at the stake.

“So that’s where it got to,” Colin said, coming into the room. “I thought I’d lost it.”

He was wearing his green jacket and was very wet. “I had to carry the handbell cases over to Holy Re-Formed for Ms. Taylor, and it’s absolutely pouring.”

Relief washed over him at the mention of Ms. Taylor’s name, and he realized he had not asked after any of the detainees for fear it would be bad news.

“Is Ms. Taylor all right then?”

Colin touched the bottom of his jacket, and it sprang open, spraying water everywhere. “Yes. They’re doing some bell thing at Holy Re-Formed on the fifteenth.”