Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,236

show slippage of less than an hour, five, slippage of less than five minutes. I’m running divergence checks and DAR’s to try to find out what it is.”

I know what it is, Dunworthy thought. It’s the Black Death. The function of the slippage was to prevent interactions that might affect history. Five minutes slippage meant there were no anachronisms, no critical meetings the continuum must keep from happening. It meant the drop was to an uninhabited area. It meant the plague had been there. And all the contemps were dead.

Colin didn’t come in the morning, and after lunch Dunworthy walked to the public phone again and rang Finch. “I haven’t been able to find a doctor willing to take on new cases,” Finch said. “I’ve telephoned every doctor and medic within the perimeter. A good many of them are still down with flu,” he apologized, “and several of them—”

He stopped, but Dunworthy knew what he had intended to say. Several of them had died, including the one who would certainly have helped, who would have given him the inoculations and discharged Badri.

“Great-aunt Mary wouldn’t have given up,” Colin had said. She wouldn’t have, he thought, in spite of the sister and Mrs. Gaddson and a band of pain below the ribs. If she were here, she would have helped him however she could.

He walked back to his room. The sister had posted a large placard reading “Absolutely No Visitors Allowed” on his door, but she was not at her desk or in his room. Colin was, carrying a large damp parcel.

“The sister’s in the ward,” Colin said, grinning. “Ms. Piantini very conveniently fainted. You should have seen her. She’s very good at it.” He fumbled with the string. “The nurse just came on duty, but you needn’t worry about her either. She’s in the linen room with William Gaddson.” He opened the parcel. It was full of clothing: a long black doublet and black breeches, neither of them remotely mediaeval, and a pair of women’s black tights.

“Where did you get this?” Dunworthy said. “A production of Hamlet?”

“Richard III,” Colin said. “Keble did it last term. I took the hump out.”

“Is there a cloak?” Dunworthy said, sorting through the clothing. “Tell Finch to find me a cloak. A long cloak that will cover everything.”

“I will,” Colin said absently. He was fumbling intently with the band on his green jacket. It sprang open, and Colin threw it off his shoulders. “Well? What do you think?”

He had done considerably better than Finch. The boots were wrong—they looked like a pair of gardener’s Wellingtons—but the brown burlap smock and shapeless gray-brown trousers looked like the illustration of a serf in Colin’s book.

“The trousers have a strip,” Colin said, “but you can’t see it under the shirt. I copied it out of the book. I’m supposed to be your squire.”

He should have anticipated this. “Colin,” he said, “you can’t go with me.”

“Why not?” Colin said. “I can help you find her. I’m good at finding things.”

“It’s impossible. The—”

“Oh, now you’re going to tell me how dangerous it is in the Middle Ages, aren’t you? Well, it’s rather dangerous here, isn’t it? What about Aunt Mary? She’d have been safer in the Middle Ages, wouldn’t she? I’ve been doing lots of dangerous things. Taking medicine to people and putting up placards in the wards. While you were ill, I did all sorts of dangerous things you don’t even know about—”

“Colin—”

“You’re too old to go alone. And Great-aunt Mary told me to take care of you. What if you have a relapse?”

“Colin—”

“My mother doesn’t care if I go.”

“But I do. I can’t take you with me.”

“So I’m to sit here and wait,” he said bitterly, “and nobody will tell me anything, and I won’t know whether you’re alive or dead.” He picked up his jacket. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“Can I come to the laboratory at least?”

“Yes.”

“I still think you should let me go,” he said. He began folding the tights. “Shall I leave your costume here?”

“Better not. The sister might confiscate it.”

“What’s all this, Mr. Dunworthy?” Mrs. Gaddson said.

They both jumped. She came into the room, bearing her Bible.

“Colin’s been collecting for the clothing drive,” Dunworthy said, helping him wad the clothing into a bundle. “For the detainees.”

“Passing clothes from one person to another is an excellent way of spreading infection,” she said to Dunworthy.

Colin scooped up the bundle and ducked out.

“And allowing a child to come here and risk catching something! He offered to come and