"Mr. Dunworthy, you're exposing yourself to the virus — " the nurse said.
Mary came in, pulling on a pair of imperm gloves. "You're not supposed to be in here without SPG's, James," she said.
"I told him, Dr. Ahrens," the nurse said, but he barged past me and — "
"Did you leave Kivrin a message at the dig that she was to work on the tomb?" Dunworthy insisted.
Badri nodded his head weakly.
"She was exposed to the virus," Dunworthy said to Mary. "On Sunday. Four days before she left."
"Oh, no," Mary breathed.
"What is it? What's happened?" Badri said, trying to push himself up in the bed. "Where's Kivrin?" He looked from Dunworthy to Mary. "You pulled her out, didn't you? As soon as you realized what had happened? Didn't you pull her out?"
"What had happened — ?" Mary said.
"You have to have pulled her out," Badri said. "She's not in 1320. She's in 1348."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"That's impossible," Dunworthy said.
"1348?" Mary said bewilderedly. "But that can't be. That's the year of the Black Death."
She can't be in 1348, Dunworthy thought. Andrews said the possible maximal slippage was only five years. Badri said Puhalski's coordinates were correct.
"1348?" Mary said again. He saw her glance at the screens on the wall behind Badri, as if hoping he was still delirious. "Are you certain?"
Badri nodded. "I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw the slippage — ," he said, and sounded as bewildered as Mary.
"There couldn't have been enough slippage for her to be in 1348," Dunworthy cut in. "I had Andrews run parameter checks. He said the maximal slippage was only five years."
Badri shook his head. "It wasn't the slippage. That was only four hours. It was too small. Minimal slippage on a drip that far in the past should have been at least forty-eight hours."
The slippage had not been too great. It had been too small. I didn't ask Andrews what the minimal slippage was, only the maximal.
"I don't know what happened," Badri said. "I had such a headache. The whole time I was setting the net, I had a headache."
"That was the virus," Mary said. She looked stunned. "Headache and disorientation are the first symptoms." She sank down in the chair beside the bed. "1348."
1348. He could not seem to take this in. He had been worried about Kivrin catching the Indian flu, he had been worried about there being too much slippage, and all the time she was in 1348. The plague had hit Oxford in 1348. At Christmastime.
"As soon as I saw how small the slippage was, I knew there was something wrong," Badri said, so I called up the coordinates- -"
"You said you checked Puhalski's coordinates," Dunworthy said accusingly.
"He was only a first-year apprentice. He'd never even done a remote. And Gilchrist didn't have the least idea what he was doing. I tried to tell you. Wasn't she at the rendezvous?" He looked at Dunworthy. "Why didn't you pull her out?"
"We didn't know," Mary said, still sitting there stunned. "You weren't able to tell us anything. You were delirious."
"The plague killed fifty million people," Dunworthy said. "It killed half of Europe."
"James," Mary said.
"I tried to tell you," Badri said. "That's why I came to get you. So we could pull her out before she left the rendezvous."
He had tried to tell him. He had run all the way to the pub. He had run out in the pouring rain without his coat to tell him, pushing his way between the Christmas shoppers and their shopping bags and umbrellas as if they weren't there, and arrived wet and half-frozen, his teeth chattering with the fever. There's something wrong.
I tried to tell you. He had. "It killed half of Europe," he had said, and "it was the rats," and "What year is it?" He had tried to tell him.
"If it wasn't the slippage, it has to have been an error in the coordinates," Dunworthy said, gripping the end of the bed.
Badri shrank back against the propped pillows like a cornered animal.
"You said Puhalski's coordinates were correct."
"James," Mary said warningly.
"The coordinates are the only other thing that could go wrong," he shouted. "Anything else would have aborted the drop. You said you checked them twice. You said you couldn't find any mistakes."
"I couldn't," Badri said. "But I didn't trust them. I was afraid he'd made a mistake in the sidereal calculations that wouldn't show up." His face went gray. "I refed them myself. The morning of the drop."
The morning of the drop. When he had had the terrific headache. When he was already feverish and disoriented. Dunworthy remembered him typing at the console, frowning at the display screens. I watched him do it, he thought. I stood and watched him send Kivrin to the Black Death.
"I don't know what happened," Badri said. "I must have — "
"The plague wiped out whole villages," Dunworthy said. "So many people died, there was no one left to bury them."
"Leave him alone, James," Mary said. "It's not his fault. He was ill."
"Ill," he said. "Kivrin was exposed to the Indian flu. She's in 1348."
"James," Mary said.
He didn't wait to hear it. He yanked the door open and plunged out.
Colin was balancing on a chair in the corridor, tipping it back so the front two legs were off the ground. "There you are," he said.
Dunworthy walked rapidly past him.
"Where are you going?" Colin said, tipping the chair forward with a crash. "Great-Aunt Mary said not to let you leave till you'd had your enhancement." He lurched sideways, caught himself on his hands, and scrambled up. "Why aren't you wearing your SPG's?"
Dunworthy shoved through the ward doors.
Colin came skidding through the doors. "Great-Aunt Mary said I was absolutely not to let you leave."
"I don't have time for inoculations," Dunworthy said. "She's in 1348."
"Great-Aunt Mary?"
He started down the corridor.
"Kivrin?" Colin asked, running to catch up. "She can't be. That's when the Black Death was, isn't it?"
Dunworthy shoved open the door to the stairs and started down them two at a time.
"I don't understand," Colin said. "How did she end up in 1348?"
Dunworthy pushed open the door at the foot of the stairs and started down the corridor to the call box, fishing in his overcoat for the pocket calendar Colin had given him.
"How are you going to pull her out?" Colin asked. "The laboratory's locked."
Dunworthy pulled out the pocket calendar and began turning pages. He'd written Andrews' number in the back.
"Mr. Gilchrist won't let you in. How are you going to get into the laboratory? He said he wouldn't let you in."
Andrews' number was on the last page. He picked up the receiver.
"If he does let you in, who's going to run the net? Mr. Chaudhuri?"
"Andrews," Dunworthy said shortly and began punching in the number.
"I thought he wouldn't come. Because of the virus."
Dunworthy put the receiver to his ear. "I'm not leaving her there."
A woman answered. "24837 here," she said. "H.F. Shepherds', Limited."
Dunworthy looked blankly at the pocket calendar in his hand. "I'm trying to reach Ronald Andrews," he said. "What number is this?"
"24837," she said impatiently. "There's no one here by that name."
He slammed the phone down. "Idiot telephone service," he said. He punched in the number again.
"Even if he agrees to come, how are you going to find her?" Colin asked, looking over his shoulder at the receiver. "She won't be there, will she? The rendezvous isn't for three days."
Dunworthy listened to the telephone's ringing, wondering what Kivrin had done when she realized where she was. Gone back to the rendezvous and waited there, no doubt. If she was able to. If she was not ill. If she had not been accused of bringing the plague to Skendgate.