Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,32

out there.”

“As long as it takes to get blood samples from all of you and run an antibodies count on them,” Mary said, and Montoya must have gotten the message because she straightened out her arm and held it still. Mary filled a vial with her blood, gave her her temp, and slid a tach bracelet on. Dunworthy watched her, wondering if she had been telling the truth. She hadn’t said Montoya could leave after they had the test results, only that she had to stay here until they were in. And what then? Would they be taken to an isolation ward together or separately? Or given some sort of medication? Or more tests?

Mary took Montoya’s tach bracelet off and handed her the last set of papers. “Mr. Latimer? You’re next.”

Latimer stood up, holding his papers. He looked at them confusedly, then set them down on the chair he’d been sitting on, and started over to Mary. Halfway there, he turned and went back for Mary’s shopping bag. “You left this at Brasenose,” he said, holding it out to Mary.

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “Just set it next to the table, won’t you? These gloves are sterile.”

Latimer set the bag down, tipping it slightly. The end of the muffler trailed out on the floor. He methodically tucked it back in.

“I’d completely forgotten I left it there,” Mary said, watching him. “In all the excitement, I—” She clapped her gloved hand over her mouth. “Oh, my Lord! Colin! I’d forgotten all about him. What time is it?”

“Four-oh-eight,” Montoya said without looking at her digital.

“He was supposed to come in at three,” Mary said, standing up and clattering the vials of blood in their carrier.

“Perhaps when you weren’t there he went round to your rooms,” Dunworthy said.

She shook her head. “This is the first time he’s been to Oxford. That’s why I told him I’d be there to meet him. I never even gave him a thought until now,” she said, almost to herself.

“Well, then, he’ll still be at the Underground station,” Dunworthy said. “Shall I go and fetch him?”

“No,” she said. “You’ve been exposed.”

“I’ll phone the station then. You can tell him to take a taxi here. Where was he coming in? Cornmarket?”

“Yes, Cornmarket.”

Dunworthy rang up information, got through on the third try, got the number off the screen, and rang the station. The line was engaged. He hit disconnect and punched the number in again.

“Is Colin your grandson?” Montoya said. She had put aside her papers. The others didn’t seem to be paying any attention to this latest development. Gilchrist was filling in his forms and glaring, as if this were one more example of negligence and incompetence. Latimer was sitting patiently by the tray, his sleeve rolled up. The medic was still asleep.

“Colin’s my great-nephew,” Mary said. “He was coming up on the tube to spend Christmas with me.”

“What time was the quarantine called?”

“Ten past three,” Mary said.

Dunworthy held up his hand to indicate he’d gotten through. “Is that Cornmarket Underground Station?” he said. It obviously was. He could see the gates and a lot of people behind an irritated-looking Stationmaster. “I’m phoning about a boy who came in on the tube at three o’clock. He’s twelve. He would have come in from London.” Dunworthy held his hand over the receiver and asked Mary, “What does he look like?”

“He’s blond and has blue eyes. He’s tall for his age.”

“Tall,” Dunworthy said loudly over the sound of the crowd. “His name is Colin—”

“Templer,” Mary said. “Deirdre said he’d take the tube from Marble Arch at one.”

“Colin Templer. Have you seen him?”

“What the bloody hell do you mean have I seen him?” the Stationmaster shouted. “I’ve got five hundred people in this station and you want to know if I’ve seen a little boy. Look at this mess.”

The visual abruptly showed a milling crowd. Dunworthy scanned it, looking for a tallish boy with blond hair and blue eyes. It switched back to the Stationmaster.

“There’s just been a temp quarantine,” he shouted over the roar that seemed to get louder by the minute, “and I’ve got a station full of people who want to know why the trains have stopped and why don’t I do something about it. I’ve got all I can do to keep them from tearing the place apart. I can’t bother about a boy.”

“His name is Colin Templer,” Dunworthy shouted. “His great-aunt was supposed to meet him.”

“Well, why didn’t she then and make one less problem for me