Dooms Day Book

The prep room door flared open, and Kivrin and Gilchrist came into the room, Kivrin holding her long skirts up as she stepped over the scattered boxes. She was wearing the white rabbit-fur-lined cloak and the bright blue kirtle she had come to show him yesterday. She had told him the cloak was hand-woven. It looked like an old wool blanket someone had draped over her shoulders, and the kirtle’s sleeves were too long. They nearly covered her hands. Her long, fair hair was held back by a fillet and fell loosely onto her shoulders. She still didn’t look old enough to cross the street by herself.

Dunworthy stood up, ready to pound on the glass again as soon as she looked in his direction, but she stopped midway into the clutter, her face still half-averted from him, looked down at the marks on the floor, stepped forward a little, and arranged her dragging skirts around her.

Gilchrist went over to Badri, said something to him, and picked up a carryboard that was lying on top of the console. He began checking items off with a brisk poke of the light pen.

Kivrin said something to him and pointed at the brass-bound casket. Montoya straightened impatiently up from leaning over Badri’s shoulder, and came over to where Kivrin was standing, shaking her head. Kivrin said something else, more firmly and Montoya knelt down and moved the trunk over next to the wagon.

Gilchrist checked another item off his list. He said something to Latimer, and Latimer went and got a flat metal box and handed it to Gilchrist. He said something to Kivrin, and she brought her flattened hands together in front of her chest. She bent her head over them and began speaking.

“Is he having her practice praying?” Dunworthy said. “That will be useful, since God’s help may be the only help she gets on this practicum.”

Mary blew her nose again. “They’re checking the implant.”

“What implant?”

“A special chip-corder so she can record her field work. Most of the contemps can’t read or write, so I implanted an ear and an A-to-D in one wrist and a memory in the other. She activates it by pressing the pads of her palms together. When she’s speaking into it, it looks like she’s praying. The chips have a two-point-five gigabyte capacity, so she’ll be able to record her observations for the full two and a half weeks.”

“You should have implanted a locator as well so she could call for help.”

Gilchrist was messing with the flat metal box. He shook his head and then moved Kivrin’s folded hands up a little higher. The too-long sleeve fell back. Her hand was cut. A thin brown line of dried blood ran down the cut.

“Something’s wrong,” Dunworthy said, turning toward Mary. “She’s hurt.”

Kivrin was talking into her hands again. Gilchrist nodded. Kivrin looked at him, saw Dunworthy, and flashed him a delighted smile. Her temple was bloody, too. Her hair under the fillet was matted with it. Gilchrist looked up, saw Dunworthy, and hurried toward the thin-glass partition, looking irritated.

“She hasn’t even gone yet, and they’ve already let her be injured!” Dunworthy pounded on the glass.

Gilchrist walked over to the wall panel, pressed a key, and then came over and stood in front of Dunworthy. “Mr. Dunworthy,” he said. He nodded at Mary. “Dr. Ahrens. I’m so pleased you decided to come see Kivrin off.” He put the faintest emphasis on the last three words, so that they sounded like a threat.

“What’s happened to Kivrin?” Dunworthy said.

“Happened?” Gilchrist said, sounding surprised. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Kivrin had started over to the partition, holding up the skirt of her kirtle with a bloody hand. There was a reddish bruise on her cheek.

“I want to speak to her.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t time,” Gilchrist said. “We have a schedule to keep to.”

“I demand to speak to her.”

Gilchrist pursed his lips and two white lines appeared on either side of his nose. “May I remind you, Mr. Dunworthy,” he said coldly, “that this drop is Brasenose’s, not Balliol’s. I of course appreciate the assistance you have given in loaning us your tech, and I respect your many years of experience as an historian, but I assure you I have everything well in hand.”

“Then why is your historian injured before she’s even left?”

“Oh, Mr. Dunworthy, I’m so glad you came,” Kivrin said, coming up to the glass. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to you. Isn’t this exciting?”

Exciting. “You’re bleeding,” Dunworthy said. “What’s gone wrong?”

“Nothing,” Kivrin said, touching her temple gingerly and then looking at her fingers. “It’s part of the costume.” She looked past him at Mary. “Dr. Ahrens, you came, too. I’m so glad.”

Mary had stood up, still holding her shopping bag. “I want to see your antiviral inoculation,” she said. “Have you had any other reaction besides the swelling? Any itching?”