Dooms Day Book

There was no response. She was not sure he could respond, that his muscles were not somehow contracting on their own, the way the clerk’s had, but she couldn’t wait until the spasm, if that was what it was, had passed. It might rupture at any minute.

She stepped away a minute and then knelt down by his feet, and reached up under his folded legs, gripping the knife. Roche moaned, and she pulled the knife down a little and then moved it forward slowly, carefully, till it touched the bubo.

His kick caught her full in the ribs, sending her sprawling. She let go of the knife, and it skittered loudly across the stone floor. The kick had knocked the wind out of Kivrin, and she lay there, gasping for air, taking long, wheezing breaths. She tried to sit up. Pain stabbed at her right side, and she fell back, clutching at her ribs.

Roche was still screaming, a long, impossible sound like a tortured animal. Kivrin rolled slowly onto her left side, holding her hand tightly against her ribs, so she could see him. He rocked back and forth like a child, screaming all the while, his naked legs drawn up protectively to his chest. She could not see the bubo.

Kivrin tried to raise herself, bracing her hand against the stone floor until she was half-sitting, and then edging it toward her till she could put both hands down and get onto her knees. She cried out, little whimpering screams that were lost in Roche’s. He must have broken some ribs. She spat on her hand, afraid of seeing blood.

When she was finally on her knees, she sat back on her feet a minute, huddling against the pain. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She half-crawled towards him on her knees, using her right hand as a crutch. The effort made her breathe more deeply, and every breath stabbed into her side. “It’s all right, Roche,” she whispered. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He pulled his legs up spasmodically at the sound of her voice, and she moved around to his side, between him and the side wall, well out of his reach. When he kicked her, he had knocked over one of St. Catherine’s candles, and it lay in a yellow puddle beside him, still burning. Kivrin set it upright and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Shh, Roche,” she said. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”

He stopped screaming. “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning over him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was only trying to lance the bubo.”

His knees pulled up even tighter than before. Kivrin picked up the red candle and held it above his naked backside. She could see the bubo, black and hard in the candle’s light. She had not even pierced it. She raised the candle higher, trying to see where the knife had gone. It had clattered away in the direction of the tomb. She held the candle out in that direction, hoping to catch a glint of metal. She couldn’t see anything.

She started to stand up, moving carefully to guard against the pain, but halfway to her feet it caught at her, and she cried out and bent forward.

“What is it?” Roche said. His eyes were open, and there was a little blood at the corner of his mouth. She wondered if he had bitten through his tongue when he was screaming. “Have I done hurt to you?”

“No,” she said, kneeling back down beside him. “No. You have done no hurt.” She blotted at his mouth with the sleeve of her jerkin.

“You must,” he said, and when he opened his mouth, more blood leaked out. He swallowed. “You must say the prayers for the dying.”

“No,” she said. “You will not die.” She wiped at his mouth again. “But I must lance your bubo before it ruptures.”

“Do not,” he said, and she did not know whether he meant don’t lance the bubo or don’t leave. His teeth were gritted, and blood was leaking between them. She sank into a sitting position, careful not to cry out, and took his head onto her lap.

“Requiem aeternam dona eis,” he said and made a gurgling sound, “et lux perpetua.”

The blood was seeping from the roof of his mouth. She propped his head up higher, wadding the purple coverlet under it, wiping his mouth and chin with her jerkin. It was sodden with blood. She reached off to the side for his alb. “Do not,” he said.

“I won’t,” she said. “I’m right here.”

“Pray for me,” he said and tried to bring his hands together on his chest. “Wreck—” He choked on the word he was trying to say, and it ended in a gurgling sound.

“Requiem aeternam,” Kivrin said. She folded her own hands. “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,” she said.

“Et lux—” he said.

The red candle beside Kivrin flickered out, and the church was filled with the sharp smell of smoke. She glanced round at the other candles. There was only one left, the last of Lady Imeyne’s wax candles, and it was burnt nearly down to the lip of its holder.

“Et lux perpetua,” Kivrin said.