Dooms Day Book

“I know,” he said, and let his hand drop.

She stood up carefully, holding onto the rough trunk of the oak, and then straightened and stood free of it.

“I got it all on the corder,” she said. “Everything that happened.”

Like John Clyn, he thought, looking at her ragged hair, her dirty face. A true historian, writing in the empty church, surrounded by graves. I, seeing so many evils, have put into writing all the things that I have witnessed. Lest things which should be remembered perish with time.

Kivrin turned her palms up and looked at her wrists in the twilight. “Father Roche and Agnes and Rosemund and all of them,” she said. “I got it all down.”

She traced a line down the side of her wrist with her finger. “Io suuicien lui damo amo,” she said softly. “You are here in place of the friends I love.”

“Kivrin,” Dunworthy said.

“Come on!” Colin said. “It’s starting. Can’t you hear the bell?”

“Yes,” Dunworthy said. It was Ms. Piantini on the tenor, ringing the leadin to “When At Last My Savior Cometh.”

Kivrin came and stood next to Dunworthy. She placed her hands together, as if she were praying.

“I can see Badri!” Colin said. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “She’s all right!” he shouted. “We saved her!”

Ms. Piantini’s tenor clanged, and the other bells chimed in joyously. The air began to glitter, like snowflakes.

“Apocalyptic!” Colin said, his face alight.

Kivrin reached out for Dunworthy’s hand and clasped it tightly in her own.

“I knew you’d come,” she said, and the net opened.