Dooms Day Book

She laid her hand on his cheek and got to her knees. Dunworthy offered her his hand, but she stood up by herself, her hand pressed to her side, and walked down the nave.

At the door she turned and looked back into the darkness. “He told me where the drop was when he was dying, so I could go back to heaven. He told me he wanted me to leave him there and go, so that when he came I would already be there,” she said, and went out into the snow.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The snow fell silently, peacefully on the stallion and the donkey waiting by the lychgate. Dunworthy helped Kivrin onto the stallion, and she did not flinch away from his touch as he had been afraid she would, but as soon as she was up, she leaned away from his grasp and took hold of the reins. As soon as he removed his hands, she slumped back against the saddle, her hand against her side.

Dunworthy was shivering now, clenching his teeth against it so Colin wouldn’t see. It took three tries to get him onto the donkey, and he thought he might slip off at any minute.

“I think I’d better lead your mule,” Colin said, looking disapprovingly at him.

“There isn’t time,” Dunworthy said. “It’s getting dark. You ride behind Kivrin.”

Colin led the stallion over to the lychgate, climbed up on the lintel, and scrambled up behind Kivrin.

“Do you have the locator?” Dunworthy said, trying to kick the donkey without falling off.

“I know the way,” Kivrin said.

“Yes,” Colin said. He held it up. “And the pocket torch.” He flicked it on, and then shone it all around the churchyard, as if looking for something they might have left behind. He seemed to notice the graves for the first time.

“Is that where you buried everybody?” he said, holding the light steady on the smooth white mounds.

“Yes,” Kivrin said.

“Did they die a long time ago?”

She turned the stallion and started it up the hill. “No,” she said.

The cow followed them partway up the hill, its swollen udders swinging, and then stopped and began lowing pitifully. Dunworthy looked back at it. It mooed uncertainly at him, and then ambled back down the road toward the village. They were nearly to the top of the hill, and the snow was letting up, but below, in the village, it was still snowing hard. The graves were covered completely, and the church was obscured, the bell tower scarcely visible at all.

Kivrin did not so much as glance back. She rode steadily forward, sitting very straight, with Colin on behind her, holding not to Kivrin’s waist but to the high back of the saddle. The snow came down fitfully, and then in single flakes, and by the time they were in thick woods again, it had nearly stopped.

Dunworthy followed the horse, trying to keep up with its steady gait, trying not to give way to the fever. The aspirin was not working—he had taken it with too little water—and he could feel the fever beginning to overtake him, beginning to shut out the woods and the donkey’s bony back and Colin’s voice.

He was talking cheerfully to Kivrin, telling her about the epidemic, and the way he told it, it sounded like an adventure. “They said there was a quarantine and we’d have to go back to London, but I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to see Great-Aunt Mary. So I sneaked through the barrier, and the guard saw me and said, ‘You there! Stop!’ and started to chase me, and I ran down the street and into this alley.”

They stopped, and Colin and Kivrin dismounted. Colin took off his muffler, and she pulled up her blood-stiff smock and tied it around her ribs. Dunworthy knew the pain must be even worse than he’d thought, that he should try at least to help her, but he was afraid that if he got down off the donkey, he would not be able to get back on.

Kivrin and Colin mounted again, she helping him up, and they set off again, slowing at every turning and side path to check their direction, Colin hunching over the locator’s screen and pointing, Kivrin nodding in confirmation.

“This was where I fell off the donkey,” Kivrin said when they stopped at a fork. “That first night. I was so sick. I thought he was a cutthroat.”

They came to another fork. It had stopped snowing, but the clouds above the trees were dark and heavy. Colin had to shine his torch on the locator to read it. He pointed down the right– hand path, and got on behind Kivrin again, telling her his adventures.

“Mr. Dunworthy said, ‘You’ve lost the fix,’ and then he went straight over into Mr. Gilchrist and they both fell down,” Colin said. “Mr. Gilchrist was acting like he’d done it on purpose, he wouldn’t even help me cover him up. He was shivering like blood, and he had a fever, and I kept shouting, ‘Mr. Dunworthy! Mr. Dunworthy!’ but he couldn’t hear me. And Mr. Gilchrist kept saying, ‘I’m holding you personally responsible.’”

It began to spit snow again, and the wind picked up. Dunworthy clung to the donkey’s stiff mane, shivering.

“They wouldn’t tell me anything,” Colin said, “and when I tried to get in to see Great-Aunt Mary, they said, ‘We don’t allow children.’”