It would be impossible for you to look more vulnerable than you are, Dunworthy thought.
"If I pretend to be unconscious, then I can overhear what people are saying about me, and they won't ask a lot of questions about who I am, because it will be obvious that -- "
"It's time for you to get into position," Gilchrist said, moving threateningly over to the wall panel.
"I'm coming," Kivrin said, not budging.
"We're ready to set the net."
"I know," she said firmly. "I'll be along as soon as I've told Mr. Dunworthy and Dr. Ahrens goodbye."
Gilchrist nodded curtly and walked back into the debris. Latimer asked him something, and he snapped an answer.
"What does getting into position entail?" Dunworthy asked. "Having him take a cosh to you because Probability's told him there's a statistical possibility someone won't believe you're truly unconscious?"
"It involves lying down and closing my eyes," Kivrin said, grinning. "Don't
worry
.
"There's no reason you can't wait until tomorrow and at least give Badri time to run a parameter check," Dunworthy said.
"I want to see that inoculation again," Mary said.
"Will you two stop fretting?" Kivrin said. "My inoculation doesn't itch, the cut doesn't hurt, Badri's spent all morning running checks. I know you're worried about me, but please don't be. The drop's on the main road from Oxford to Bath about two miles from Skendgate. If no one comes along, I'll walk into the village and tell them I've been attacked by robbers. After I've determined my location so I can find the drop again." She put her hand up to the glass. "I just want to thank you both for everything you've done. I've wanted to go to the Middle Ages more than anything, and now I'm actually going."
"You're likely to experience headache and fatigue after the drop," Mary said. "They're a normal side-effect of the time lag."
Gilchrist came back over to the thin-glass. "It's time for you to get into position," he said.
"I've got to go," she said, gathering up her heavy skirts. "Thank you both so much. I wouldn't be going if it weren't for you two helping me."
"Goodbye," Mary said.
"Be careful," Dunworthy said.
"I will," Kivrin said, but Gilchrist had already pressed the wall panel, and Dunworthy couldn't hear her. She smiled, held up her hand in a little wave, and went over to the smashed wagon.
Mary sat back down and began rummaging through the shopping bag for a handkerchief. Gilchrist was reading off items from the carryboard. Kivrin nodded at each one, and he ticked them off with the light pen.
"What if she gets blood poisoning from that cut on her temple?" Dunworthy said, still standing at the glass.
"She won't get blood poisoning," Mary said. "I enhanced her immune system." She blew her nose.
Kivrin was arguing with Gilchrist about something. The white lines along his nose were sharply defined. She shook her head, and after a minute he checked off the next item with an abrupt, angry motion.
Gilchrist and the rest of Mediaeval might be incompetent, but she wasn't. She had learned Middle English and Church Latin and Anglo-Saxon. She had memorized the Latin masses and taught herself to embroider and milk a cow. She had come up with an identity and a rationale for being alone on the road between Oxford and Bath, and she had the interpreter and augmented stem cells and no appendix.
"She'll do swimmingly," Dunworthy said, "which will only serve to convince Gilchrist Mediaeval's methods aren't slipshod and dangerous."
Gilchrist walked over to the console and handed the carryboard to Badri. Kivrin folded her hands again, closer to her face this time, her mouth nearly touching them, and began to speak into them.
Mary came closer and stood beside Dunworthy, clutching her handkerchief. "When I was nineteen -- which was, oh, Lord, forty years ago, it doesn't seem that long -- my sister and I travelled all over Egypt," she said. "It was during the Pandemic. Quarantines were being slapped on all about us, and the Israelis were shooting Americans on sight, but we didn't care. I don't think it even occurred to us that we might be in danger, that we might catch it or be mistaken for Americans. We wanted to see the Pyramids."
Kivrin had stopped praying. Badri left his console and came over to where she was standing. He spoke to her for several minutes, the frown never leaving his face. She knelt and then lay down on her side next to the wagon, turning so she was on her back with one arm flung over her head and her skirts tangled about her legs. The tech arranged her skirts, pulled out the light measure, and paced around her, walked back to the console and spoke into the ear. Kivrin lay quite still, the blood on her forehead almost black under the light.
"Oh, dear, she looks so young," Mary said.
Badri spoke into the ear, glared at the results on the screen, went back to Kivrin. He stepped over her, straddling her legs, and bent down to adjust her sleeve. He took a measurement, moved her arm so it was across her face as if warding off a blow from her attackers, measured again.
"Did you see the Pyramids?" Dunworthy said.
"What?" Mary said.
"When you were in Egypt. When you went tearing about the Middle East oblivious to danger. Did you get to see the Pyramids?"
"No. Cairo was put under quarantine the day we landed." She looked at Kivrin, lying there on the floor. "But we saw the Valley of the Kings."
Badri moved Kivrin's arm a fraction of an inch, stood frowning at her for a moment, and then went back to the console. Gilchrist and Latimer followed him. Montoya stepped back to make room for all of them around the screen. Badri spoke into the console's ear, and the semi-transparent shields began to lower into place, covering Kivrin like a veil.
"We were glad we went," Mary said. "We came home without a scratch."
The shields touched the ground, draped a little like Kivrin's too-long skirts, stopped.
"Be careful," Dunworthy whispered. Mary took hold of his hand.
Latimer and Gilchrist huddled in front of the screen, watching the sudden explosion of numbers. Montoya glanced at her digital. Badri leaned forward and opened the net. The air inside the shields glittered with sudden condensation.
"Don't go," Dunworthy said.
TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOOMSDAY BOOK (000008-000242)
First entry. 23 December, 2054. Oxford. This will be a record of my historical observations of life in Oxfordshire, England, 12 December, 1320, to 28 December, 1320 (Old Style).
(Break)
Mr. Dunworthy, I'm calling this the Doomsday Book because it's supposed to be a record of life in the Middle Ages, which is what William the Conqueror's survey turned out to be, even though he intended it as a method of making sure he got every pound of gold and tax his tenants owed him.
I am also calling it the Doomsday Book because I would imagine that's what you'd like to call it, you are so convinced something awful's going to happen to me. I'm watching you in the observation area right now, telling poor Dr. Ahrens all the dreadful dangers of the 1300's. You needn't bother. She's already warned me about time lag and every single mediaeval disease, in gruesome detail, even though I'm supposed to be immune to all of them.
And
warned me about the prevalence of rape in the 1300's. And when I tell her I'll be perfectly all right she doesn't listen to me either. I will be perfectly all right, Mr. Dunworthy.
Of course you will already know that, and that I made it back in one piece and all according to schedule, by the time you get to hear this, so you won't mind my teasing you a little. I know you are only concerned for me, and I know very well that without all your help and preparation I wouldn't make it back in one piece or at all.
I am therefore dedicating The Doomsday Book to you, Mr. Dunworthy. If it weren't for you I wouldn't be standing here in kirtle and cloak, talking into this corder, waiting for Badri and Mr. Gilchrist to finish their endless calculations and wishing they would hurry so I can
go
.
(Break)
I'm here.
CHAPTER TWO
"Well," Mary said on a long, drawn-out breath. "I could do with a drink."
"I thought you had to go fetch your great-nephew," Dunworthy said, still watching the place where Kivrin had been. The air glittered with ice particles inside the veil of shields. Near the floor, frost had formed on the inside of the thin-glass.
The unholy three of Mediaeval were still watching the screens, even though they showed nothing but the flat line of arrival. "I needn't fetch Colin until three," Mary said. "You look as though you could use a bit of bracing up yourself, and the Lamb and Cross is just down the street."
"I want to wait until he has the fix," Dunworthy said, watching the tech.
There were still no data on the screens. Badri was frowning. Montoya looked at her digital and said something to Gilchrist. Gilchrist nodded, and she scooped up a bag that had been lying half under the console, waved goodbye to Latimer, and went out through the side door.
"Unlike Montoya, who obviously cannot wait to return to her dig, I would like to stay until I'm sure Kivrin got through without incident," Dunworthy said.
"I'm not suggesting you go back to Balliol," Mary said, wrestling her way into her coat, "but the fix will take at least an hour, if not two, and in the meantime, your standing here won't hurry it along. Watched pot and all that. The pub's just across the way. It's very small and quite nice, the sort of place that doesn't put up Christmas decorations or play artificial bell music." She held his overcoat out to him. "We'll have a drink and something to eat, and then you can come back here and pace holes in the floor until the fix comes in."
"I want to wait here," he said, still looking at the empty net. "Why didn't Basingame have a locator implanted in
his
wrist? The head of a History Faculty has no business going off on holiday and not even a number where he can be reached."
Gilchrist straightened himself up from the still unchanging screen and clapped Badri on the shoulders. Latimer blinked as if he wasn't sure where he was. Gilchrist shook his hand, smiling expansively. He started across the floor toward the wall panel partition, looking smug.
"Let's go," Dunworthy said, snatching his overcoat from her and opening the door. A blast of "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night" hit them. Mary darted through the door as though she were escaping, and Dunworthy pulled it to behind them and followed Mary through the quad and out through Brasenose's gate.
It was bitter cold, but it wasn't raining. It looked as though it might at any moment, though, and the crush of shoppers on the pavement in front of Brasenose had apparently decided it would. At least half of them had umbrellas already opened. A woman with a large red one and both arms full of parcels bumped into Dunworthy. "Watch where you're going, can't you?" she said, and hurried on.
"The Christmas spirit," Mary said, buttoning her coat with one hand and hanging onto her shopping bag with the other. "The pub's just down there past the chemist's," she said, nodding her head at the opposite side of the street. "It's these ghastly bells, I think. They'd ruin anyone's mood."
She started off down the pavement through the maze of umbrellas. Dunworthy debated putting his coat on and then decided it wasn't worth the struggle for so short a distance. He plunged after her, trying to keep clear of the deadly umbrellas and to determine what carol was being slaughtered now. It sounded like a cross between a call to arms and a dirge, but it was probably "Jingle Bells."
Mary was standing at the curb opposite the chemist's, digging in her shopping bag again. "What is that ghastly din supposed to be?" she said, coming up with a collapsible umbrella. "O Little Town of Bethlehem?"
"Jingle Bells," Dunworthy said and stepped out into the street.
"James!" Mary said and grabbed hold of his sleeve.
The bicycle's front tire missed him by centimeters, and the near pedal caught him on the leg. The rider swerved, shouting, "Don't you know how to cross a bleeding street?"
Dunworthy stepped backward and crashed into a six-year-old holding a plush Santa. The child's mother glared.
"Do be careful, James," Mary said.
They crossed the street, Mary leading the way. Halfway across it began to rain. Mary ducked under the chemist's overhang and tried to get her umbrella open. The chemist's window was draped in green and gold tinsel and had a sign posted in among the perfumes that said, "Save the Marston Parish Church Bells. Give to the Restoration Fund."
The carillon had finished obliterating "Jingle Bells" or "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and was now working on "We Three Kings." Dunworthy recognized the minor key.
Mary still couldn't get her umbrella up. She shoved it back in the bag and took off down the pavement again. Dunworthy followed, trying to avoid collisions, past a stationer's and a tobacconist's hung with blinking red and green lights, through the door Mary was holding open for him.
His spectacles steamed up immediately. He took them off to wipe at them with the collar of his overcoat. Mary shut the door and plunged them into a blur of brown and blissful silence.