Dooms Day Book

“Colin’s train was turned back,” Mary said. “He’s safely at home by now.”

“Oh, good,” Montoya said and put the phone down. Gilchrist leaped for it.

“Mr. Latimer, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Mary said. She broke open a pair of imperm gloves, put them on, and began assembling a punch.

“Gilchrist here. I wish to speak with the Senior Tutor,” Gilchrist said into the telephone. “Yes. I’m trying to reach Mr. Basingame. Yes, I’ll wait.”

The Senior Tutor has no idea where he is, Dunworthy thought, and neither has the bursar. He’d already spoken to them when he was trying to stop the drop. The bursar hadn’t even known he was in Scotland.

“I’m glad they found the kid,” Montoya said, looking at her digital. “How long do you think they’ll keep us here? I’ve got to get back to my dig before it turns into a swamp. We’re excavating Skendgate’s churchyard right now. Most of the graves date from the 1400’s, but we’ve got some Black Deaths and a few pre-William the Conquerors. Last week we found a knight’s tomb. Beautiful condition. I wonder if Kivrin’s there yet?”

Dunworthy assumed she meant at the village and not in one of the graves. “I hope so,” he said.

“I told her to start recording her observations of Skendgate immediately, the village and the church. Especially the tomb. The inscription’s partly warn off, and some of the carving. The date’s readable, though. 1318.”

“It’s an emergency,” Gilchrist said. He fumed through a long pause. “I know he’s fishing in Scotland. I want to know where.”

Mary put a plaster on Latimer’s arm and motioned to Gilchrist. He shook his head at her. She went over to the medic and shook her awake. She followed her over to the tray, blinking sleepily.

“There are so many things only direct observation can tell us,” Montoya said. “I told Kivrin to record every detail. I hope there’s room on the corder. It’s so small.” She looked at her watch again. “Of course it had to be. Did you get a chance to see it before they implanted it? It really does look like a bone spur.”

“Bone spur?” Dunworthy said, watching the medic’s blood spurt into the vial.

“That’s so it can’t cause an anachronism even if it’s discovered. It fits right against the palmar surface of the scaphoid bone.” She rubbed the wrist bone above the thumb.

Mary motioned to Dunworthy, and the medic stood up, rolling down her sleeve. Dunworthy took her place in the chair. Mary peeled the back from a monitor, stuck it to the inside of Dunworthy’s wrist, and handed him a temp to swallow.

“Have the bursar call me at this number as soon as he returns,” Gilchrist said, and hung up.

Montoya snatched up the phone, punched in a number and said, “Hi. Can you tell me the quarantine perimeters? I need to know if Witney’s inside it? My dig’s there.” Whoever she was talking to apparently told her no. “Then who can I talk to about getting the perimeters changed? It’s an emergency.”

They’re worried about their “emergencies,” Dunworthy thought, and neither of them’s even given a thought to worrying about Kivrin. Well, what was there to worry about? Her corder had been disguised to look like a bone spur so it wouldn’t cause an anachronism when the contemps decided to chop off her hands before they burned her at the stake.

Mary took his blood pressure and then jabbed him with the punch. “If the phone ever becomes available,” she said, slapping on the plaster and motioning to Gilchrist, who was standing next to Montoya, looking impatient. “You might ring up William Gaddson and warn him that his mother’s coming.”

Montoya said, “Yes. The number for the National Trust,” hung up the phone, and scribbled a number on one of the brochures.

The phone trilled. Gilchrist, halfway to Mary, launched himself at it, grabbing it up before Montoya could reach it. “No,” he said and handed it grudgingly over to Dunworthy.

It was Finch. He was in the bursar’s office “Have you got Badri’s medical records?” Dunworthy said.

“Yes,sir. The police are here, sir. They’re looking for places to put all the detainees who don’t live in Oxford.”

“And they want us to put them up at Balliol,” Dunworthy said.

“Yes, sir. How many shall I tell them we can take?”

Mary had stood up, Gilchrist’s vial of blood in hand, and was signalling to Dunworthy.

“Wait a moment, please,” he said, and punched hold on the mouthpiece.

“Are they asking you to board detainees?” Mary asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Don’t commit to filling all your rooms,” she said. “We may need infirmary space.”

Dunworthy took his hand away and said, “Tell them we can put them in Fisher and whatever rooms are left in Salvin. If you haven’t assigned rooms to the bellringers, double them up. Tell the police Infirmary has asked for Bulkeley-Johnson as an emergency ward. Did you say you’d found Badri’s medical records?”

“Yes, sir. I had the very devil of a time finding them. The bursar had filed them under Badri comma Chaudhuri, and the Americans—”

“Did you find his NHS number?”

“Yes, sir.”