drop is, but I’ve broken some ribs, I think, and all the horses are gone. I don’t think I can get up on Roche’s donkey without a saddle.
I’m going to try to see to it that Ms. Montoya finds this. Tell Mr. Latimer adjectival inflection was still prominent in 1348. And tell Mr. Gilchrist he was wrong. The statistics weren’t exaggerated.
(Break)
I don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened. I know you would have come to get me if you could, but I couldn’t have gone anyway, not with Agnes ill.
I wanted to come, and if I hadn’t, they would have been all alone, and nobody would have ever known how frightened and brave and irreplaceable they were.
(Break)
It’s strange. When I couldn’t find the drop and the plague came, you seemed so far away I would not ever be able to find you again. But I know now that you were here all along, and that nothing, not the Black Death nor seven hundred years, nor death nor things to come nor any other creature could ever separate me from your caring and concern. It was with me every minute.
34
“Colin!” Dunworthy shouted, grabbing Colin’s arm as he dived under the drape and into the net, head down. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
Colin twisted free of his grasp. “I don’t think you should go alone!”
“You can’t just break through the net! This isn’t a quarantine perimeter. What if the net had opened? You could have been killed!” He took hold of Colin’s arm again and started toward the console. “Badri! Hold the drop!”
Badri was not there. Dunworthy squinted nearsightedly at where the console had been. They were in a forest, surrounded by trees. There was snow on the ground, and the air sparkled with crystals.
“If you go alone, who’ll take care of you?” Colin said. “What if you have a relapse?” He looked past Dunworthy, and his mouth fell open. “Are we there?”
Dunworthy let go of Colin’s arm and grabbed in his jerkin for his spectacles.
“Badri!” he shouted. “Open the drop!” He put on his spectacles. They were covered with frost. He yanked them off again and scraped at the lenses. “Badri!”
“Where are we?” Colin asked.
Dunworthy hooked his spectacles over his ears and looked around at the trees. They were ancient, the ivy twining their trunks silver with frost. There was no sign of Kivrin.
He had expected her to be here, which was ridiculous. They had already opened the drop and not found her, but he had hoped that when she realized where she was, she would come back to the drop and wait. But she wasn’t here, and there was no sign she had ever been.
The snow they were standing in was smooth and free of footprints. It was deep enough to hide any she might have left before it fell, but it wasn’t deep enough to have hidden the smashed cart and the scattered boxes. And there was no sign of the Oxford-Bath road.
“I don’t know where we are,” he said.
“Well, I know it’s not Oxford,” Colin said, stamping through the snow. “Because it’s not raining.”
Dunworthy looked up through the trees at the pale, clear sky. If there had been the same amount of slippage as in Kivrin’s drop, it would be midmorning.
Colin darted off through the snow toward a thicket of reddish willows.
“Where are you going?” Dunworthy said.
“To find a road. The drop’s supposed to be near a road, isn’t it?” He plunged into the thicket and disappeared.
“Colin!” he shouted, starting after him. “Come back here.”
“Here it is!” Colin called from somewhere beyond the willows. “The road’s here!”
“Come back here!” Dunworthy shouted.
Colin reappeared, holding the willows apart.
“Come here,” he said more calmly.
“It goes up a hill,” he said, squeezing through the willows into the clearing. “We can climb it and see where we are.”
He was already wet, his brown coat covered with snow from the willows, and he looked wary, braced for bad news.
“You’re sending me back, aren’t you?”
“I must,” Dunworthy said, but his heart sank at the prospect. Badri would not have the drop open for at least two hours, and he was not certain how long it would stay open. He didn’t have two hours to spare, waiting here to send Colin through, and he couldn’t leave him behind. “You’re my responsibility.”
“And you’re mine,” Colin said stubbornly. “Great-aunt Mary told me to take care of you. What if you have a relapse?”
“You don’t understand. The Black Death—”
“It’s all right. Really. I’ve