Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,232

tuo,” he said. “Requiescat in pace. Amen.” He started off to ring the bell.

There isn’t time for that, Kivrin thought, and then took off toward the manor. She could be half packed by the time Roche had tolled the death knell, and she could tell him her plan, and he could load the donkey, and they could go. She ran across the courtyard and into the manor. They would have to take coals to start the fire with. They could use Imeyne’s medicine casket.

She went into the hall. Rosemund was still asleep. That was good. There was no point in waking her until they were ready to leave. She tiptoed past her and got the casket and emptied it out. She laid it next to the fire and started out to the kitchen.

“I woke and you were not here,” Rosemund said. She sat up on her pallet. “I was afraid you had gone.”

“We’re all going,” Kivrin said. “We’re going to go to Scotland.” She went over to her. “You must rest for the journey. I will be back in a bit.”

“Where are you going?” Rosemund said.

“Only to the kitchen. Are you hungry? I will bring you some porridge. Now lie down and rest.”

“I do not like to be alone,” Rosemund said. “Can you not stay with me a little?”

I don’t have time for this, Kivrin thought. “I’m only going to the kitchen. And Father Roche is here. Can’t you hear him? He’s ringing the bell. I’ll only be a few minutes. All right?” She smiled cheerfully at Rosemund, and she nodded reluctantly. “I’ll be back soon.”

She nearly ran outside. Roche was still ringing the death knell, slowly, steadily. Hurry, she thought, we don’t have much time. She searched the kitchen, setting the food on the table. There was a round of cheese and plenty of manchets left—she stacked them like plates in a wadmal sack, put in the cheese, and carried it out to the well.

Rosemund was standing in the door of the manor, holding on to the jamb. “Can I not sit in the kitchen with you?” she asked. She had put on her kirtle and her shoes, but she was already shivering in the cold air.

“It is too cold,” Kivrin said, hurrying over to her. “And you must rest.”

“When you are gone, I fear you will not come back,” she said.

“I’m right here,” Kivrin said, but she went inside and fetched Rosemund’s cloak and an armload of furs.

“You can sit here on the doorstep,” she said, “and watch me pack.” She put the cloak over Rosemund’s shoulders and sat her down, piling the furs about her like a nest. “All right?”

The brooch that Sir Bloet had given Rosemund was still at the neck of the cloak. She fumbled with the fastening, her thin hands trembling a little. “Do we go to Courcy?” she asked.

“No,” Kivrin said, and pinned the brooch for her. Io suiicien lui dami amo. You are here in place of the friend I love. “We’re going to Scotland. We will be safe from the plague there.”

“Think you my father died from the plague?”

Kivrin hesitated.

“My mother said he was only delayed or unable to come. She said perhaps my brothers were ill, and he would come when they were recovered.”

“And so he may,” Kivrin said, tucking a fur around Rosemund’s feet. “We’ll leave a letter for him so he’ll know where we went.”

Rosemund shook her head. “If he lived, he would have come for me.”

Kivrin wrapped a coverlid around Rosemund’s thin shoulders. “I must fetch food for us to take,” Kivrin said gently.

Rosemund nodded, and Kivrin went across to the kitchen. There was a sack of onions against the wall and another of apples. They were wizened, and most of them had brown spots, but Kivrin lugged the sack outside. They would not need to be cooked and they would all be in need of vitamins before spring.

“Would you like an apple?” she asked Rosemund.

“Yes,” Rosemund said, and Kivrin searched through the sack, trying to find one that was still firm and unwrinkled. She unearthed a reddish-green one, polished it on her leather hose, and took it to her, smiling at the memory of how good an apple would have tasted when she was ill.

But after the first bite, Rosemund seemed to lose interest. She leaned back against the doorjamb and looked quietly up at the sky, listening to the steady toll of Roche’s bell.

Kivrin went back to sorting the apples, picking out the ones worth