Dooms Day Book

“If you could call it that. He went to a Christmas dance in Headington last night. He took the tube both ways. How bad is it?”

Mary opened two tea packets and draped them over the cups. “There’s only powdered milk, I’m afraid. Do you know if he’s had any contact recently with someone from the States?”

“No. Why?”

“Do you take sugar?”

“How bad is it?”

She poured powdered milk into the cups. “The bad news is that Badri’s very ill.” She spooned in sugar. “He had his seasonals through the University, which requires broader-spectrum protection than the NHS. He should be completely protected against a five-point shift, and partially resistant to a ten– point shift. But he’s exhibiting full influenza symptoms, which indicates a major mutation.”

The kettle was screaming. “Which means an epidemic.”

“Yes.”

“A pandemic?”

“Possibly. If the WIC can’t sequence the virus quickly, or the staff bolts. Or the quarantine doesn’t hold.”

She unplugged the kettle and poured hot water into their cups. “The good news is that the WIC thinks it’s an influenza that originated in South Carolina.” She brought a cup over to Dunworthy. “In which case it’s already been sequenced and an analogue and vaccine manufactured, it responds well to antimicrobials and symptomatic treatment, and it’s not fatal.”

“How long is its incubation period?”

“Twelve to forty-eight hours.” She stood against the tea trolley and took a sip of tea. “The WIC is sending blood samples to the CDC in Atlanta for matching, and they’re sending their recommended course of treatment.”

“When did Kivrin check into infirmary on Monday for her antivirals?”

“Three o’clock,” Mary said. “She was here until nine the next morning. I kept her overnight to ensure she got a good night’s sleep.”

“Badri says he didn’t see her yesterday,” Dunworthy said, “but he could have had contact with her Monday before she went into Infirmary.”

“She’d need to have been exposed before her antiviral inoculation, and the virus have had a chance to replicate unchecked for her to be in danger, James,” Mary said. “Even if she did see Badri Monday or Tuesday, she’s in less danger of developing symptoms than you are.” She looked seriously at him over her teacup. “You’re still worried over the fix, aren’t you?”

He half shook his head. “Badri says he checked the apprentice’s coordinates and they were correct, and he’d already told Gilchrist the slippage was minimal,” he said, wishing Badri had answered him when he asked him about the slippage.

“What else is there that can have gone wrong?” Mary asked.

“I don’t know. Nothing. Except that she’s alone in the Middle Ages.”

Mary set her cup of tea down on the trolley. “She may be safer there than here. We’re going to have a good many ill patients. Influenza spreads like wildfire, and the quarantine will only make it worse. The medical staff are always the first exposed. If they come down with it, or the supply of antimicrobials gives out, this century could be the one that’s a ten.”

She pushed her hand tiredly over her untidy hair. “Sorry, it’s the fatigue speaking. This isn’t the Middle Ages, after all. It’s not even Twentieth Century. We have metabolizers and adjuvants, and if it’s the South Carolina virus, we’ve an analogue and a vaccine. But I’m still glad Colin and Kivrin are safely out of this.”

“Safely in the Middle Ages,” Dunworthy said.

Mary smiled at him. “With the cutthroats.”

The door banged open. A tallish blonde boy with large feet and a rugby duffel came in, dripping water on the floor.

“Colin!” Mary said.

“So this is where you’ve got to,” Colin said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Transcript from the Doomsday Book

(000893-000898)

Mr. Dunworthy, ad adjuvandum me festina. [2]

Book II

In the bleak midwinter

Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron,

Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow,

Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter

Long ago.

Christina Rossetti

Chapter Ten

The fire was out. Kivrin could still smell smoke in the room, but she knew it was from a fire burning in a hearth somewhere. It’s no wonder, she thought. Chimneys didn’t become extant in England until the late fourteenth century, and this is only 1320. And as soon as she had formed that thought, awareness of the rest of it came: I am in 1320, and I’ve been ill. I’ve had a fever.

For awhile she didn’t think any further than that. It was peaceful to just lie there and rest. She felt worn out, as if she had come through some terrible ordeal that took all her strength. I thought they were trying to burn me at the stake, she thought. She remembered struggling against them and the flames leaping up, licking at her hands, burning her hair.