Dooms Day Book

“Well?” Colin said. “Are we going to it?”

It was the only village visible, if it was a village, and it looked to be no more than a kilometer away. If it was not Skendgate, it was at least in the proper direction, and if it had one of Montoya’s “distinguishing characteristics,” they could use it to get their bearings.

“You must keep with me at all times and speak to no one, do you understand?”

Colin nodded, clearly not listening. “I think the road is this way,” he said and ran down the far side of the hill.

Dunworthy followed, trying not to think how many villages there were, how little time there was, how tired he was after only one hill.

“How did you talk William into the streptomycin inoculations?” he asked when he caught up to Colin.

“He wanted Great-Aunt Mary’s med number so he could forge the authorizations. It was in the kit in her shopping bag.”

“And you refused to give it to him unless he agreed?”

“Yes, and I told him I’d tell his mother about all his girls,” he said and ran off ahead again.

The road he’d seen was a hedge. Dunworthy refused to set off through the field it bordered. “We must keep to the roads,” he said.

“This is quicker,” Colin protested. “It isn’t as if we can get lost. We’ve got the locator.”

Dunworthy refused to argue. He continued on, looking for a turning. The narrow fields gave way to woods and the road turned back to the north.

“What if there isn’t a road?” Colin said after half a kilometer, but at the next turning there was one.

It was narrower than the one past the drop, and no one had travelled along it since the snow. They waded into it, their feet breaking through the frozen crust at every step. Dunworthy looked anxiously ahead for a glimpse of the village, but the woods were too thick to see through.

The snow made it slow going, and he was already out-of– breath, the tightness in his chest like an iron band.

“What do we do when we get there?” Colin asked, striding effortlessly through the snow.

“You stay out of sight and wait for me,” Dunworthy said. “Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yes,” Colin said. “Are you certain this is the right road?”

He was not certain at all. It had been curving west, away from the direction Dunworthy thought the village lay in, and just ahead it bent north again. He peered anxiously through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of stone or thatch.

“The village wasn’t this far, I’m sure of it,” Colin said, rubbing his arms. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

It had not been hours, but it had been at least an hour, and they had not come to so much as a cottar’s hut, let alone a village. There were a score of villages here, but where?

Colin took out his locator. “See,” he said, showing Dunworthy the readout. “We’ve come too far south. I think we should go back to the other road.”

Dunworthy looked at the readout and then at the map. They were nearly straight south of the drop and over three kilometers from it. They would have to retrace their steps nearly all the way, with no hope of finding Kivrin in that time, and at the end of it, he was not certain he would be able to go any farther. He already felt done in, the band tightening round his chest with every step, and he had a sharp pain midway up his ribs. He turned and looked at the curve ahead, trying to think what to do.

“My feet are freezing,” Colin said. He stamped his feet in the snow, and a bird flew up, startled, and flapped away. Dunworthy looked up, frowning. The sky was becoming overcast.

“We should have followed the hedge,” Colin said. “It would have been much—”

“Hush,” Dunworthy said.

“What is it?” Colin whispered. “Is someone coming?”

“Shh,” Dunworthy whispered. He backed Colin to the edge of the road and listened again. He’d thought he’d heard a horse, but now he couldn’t hear anything. It might only have been the bird.

He motioned Colin behind a tree. “Stay here,” he whispered and crept forward till he could see around the curve.

The black stallion was tied to a thorn bush. Dunworthy backed hastily behind a spruce tree and stood still, trying to see the rider. There was no one in the road. He waited, trying to quiet his own breathing so he could hear, but no one came, and he could hear nothing but the stallion’s pacing.

It was saddled, and its bridle was chased with silver, but it looked thin, its ribs standing out sharply against the girth. The girth itself was loose, and the saddle slipped a little to the side as it stepped backward. The stallion tossed his head, pulling hard against the reins. He was obviously trying to free himself, and as Dunworthy moved closer he could see he was not tied but tangled in the brambles.

He stepped into the road. The stallion turned his head toward him and began to whinny wildly.

“There, there, it’s all right,” he said, coming up carefully on its left side. He put his hand on its neck, and it stopped whinnying and began nosing at Dunworthy, looking for food.

He looked for some grass sticking up through the snow to feed her, but the area around the thornbush was nearly bare of snow.