Doomsday Book

Dunworthy went in the tower. It was as dark and cold as the church and smelled of rats. The cow poked its head in, and Colin squeezed past it and stood against the curving wall.

"You're the one who keeps saying we have to get back to the drop, that it's going to close and leave us here," Colin said. "You're the one who said we didn't have time even to find Kivrin."

Dunworthy stood there a moment, letting his eyes adjust and trying to catch his breath. He had walked too fast, and the tightness in his chest was back. He looked up at the rope. It hung above their heads in the darkness, a greasy-looking knot a foot from the frayed end.

"Can I ring it?" Colin said, staring up at it.

"You're too small," Dunworthy said.

"I'm not," he said and jumped up at the rope. He caught the end, below the knot and hung on for several moments before dropping, but the rope scarcely moved, and the bell only clanged faintly and out of tune, as if someone had hit the side of it with a rock. "It's heavy," he said.

Dunworthy raised his arms and took hold of the rough rope. It was cold and bristly. He yanked sharply down, not sure he could do any better than Colin, and the rope cut into his hands. Bong.

"It's loud!" Colin said, clapping his hands over his ears and gazing delightedly up at it.

"One," Dunworthy said. One and up. Remembering the Americans, he bent his knees and pulled straight down on the rope. Two. And up. And three.

He wondered how Kivrin had been able to ring any strokes at all with her hurt ribs. The bell was far heavier, far louder than he had imagined, and it seemed to reverberate in his head, his tightening chest. Bong.

He thought of Ms. Piantini, bending her chubby knees and counting to herself. Five. He had not appreciated what difficult work it was. Each pull seemed to yank the breath out of his lungs. Six.

He wanted to stop and rest, but he didn't want Kivrin, listening inside the church, to think he had quit, that he had only intended to finish the strokes she had begun. He tightened his grip above the knot and leaned against the stone wall for a moment, trying to ease the tightness in his chest.

"Are you all right, Mr. Dunworthy?" Colin said.

"Yes," he said, and pulled down so hard it seemed to tear his lungs open. Seven.

He should not have leaned against the wall. The stones were cold as ice. They had set him shivering again. He thought of Ms. Taylor, trying to finish the Chicago Surprise Minor, counting how many strokes were left, trying not to give in to the pounding in her head.

"I can finish it," Colin said, and Dunworthy could scarcely hear him. "I can go get Kivrin, and we can do the last two strokes. We can both pull on it."

Dunworthy shook his head. "Every man must stick to his bell," he said breathlessly and yanked down on the rope. Eight. He must not let go of the rope. Ms. Taylor had fainted and let it go, and the bell had swung right over, the rope whipping like a live thing. It had wrapped itself around Finch's neck and nearly strangled him. He must hold to it, in spite of everything.

He pulled down on the rope and hung onto it till he was certain he could stand and then let it rise. "Nine," he said.

Colin was frowning at him. "Are you having a relapse?" he said suspiciously.

"No," Dunworthy said, and let go of the rope.

The cow had its head in the door. He pushed it roughly aside and walked back to the church and went inside.

Kivrin was still kneeling beside Roche, her hand still holding his stiff one.

He stopped in front of her. "I rang the bell," he said.

She looked up without nodding.

"Don't you think we'd better go now?" Colin said. "It's getting dark."

"Yes," Dunworthy said. "I think we'd best — " The dizziness caught him completely unaware, and he staggered and nearly fell into Roche's body.

Kivrin put out her hand, and Colin dived for him, the torch flashing erratically across the ceiling as he grabbed Dunworthy's arm. He caught himself on one knee and the flat of his hand and reached out with the other for Kivrin, but she was on her feet and backing away.

"You're ill!" It was an accusation, an indictment. "You've caught the plague, haven't you?" she said, her voice showing emotion for the first time. "Haven't you?"

"No," Dunworthy said, "it's — "

"He's having a relapse," Colin said, sticking the torch in the crook of the statue's arm so he could help Dunworthy to a sitting position. "He didn't pay any attention to my placards."

"It's a virus," Dunworthy said, sitting down with his back to the statue. "It's not the plague. Both of us have had streptomycin and gamma globulin. We can't get the plague."

He leaned his head back against the statue. "It's a virus. I'll be all right. I only need to rest a moment."

"I told him he shouldn't have rung the bell," Colin said, emptying the burlap sack onto the stone floor. He wrapped the empty sack around Dunworthy's shoulders.

"Are there any aspirin left?" Dunworthy asked.

"You're only supposed to take them every three hours," Colin said, "and you're not supposed to take them without water."

"Then fetch me some water," he snapped.

Colin looked to Kivrin for support, but she was still standing on the other side of Roche's body, watching Dunworthy warily.

"Now," Dunworthy said, and Colin ran out, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Dunworthy looked across at Kivrin, and she took a step back.

"It isn't the plague," he said. "It's a virus. We were afraid you had been exposed to it before you came through and had come down with it. Did you?"

"Yes," she said, and knelt beside Roche. "He saved my life."

She smoothed the purple blanket, and Dunworthy realized it was a velvet cloak. It had a large silk cross sewn in the center of it.

"He told me not to be afraid," she said. She pulled the cloak up over his chest, under his crossed hands, but the action left his feet, in thick, incongruous sandals, uncovered. Dunworthy took the burlap bag from around his shoulders and spread it gently over the feet, and then stood up, carefully, holding onto the statue so he wouldn't fall again.

Kivrin patted Roche's hands under the cloak. "He didn't mean to hurt me," she said.

Colin came back in with a bucket half-full of water he must have found in a puddle. He was breathing hard. "The cow attacked me!" he said, scooping a filthy dipper out of the bucket. He emptied the aspirin into Dunworthy's hand. There were five tablets.

Dunworthy took two of them, swallowing as little of the water as he could, and handed the others to Kivrin. She took them from him solemnly, still kneeling on the floor.

"I couldn't find any horses," Colin said, handing Kivrin the dipper. "Just a mule."

"Donkey," Kivrin said. "Maisry stole Agnes's pony." She gave Dolin the dipper and took hold of Roche's hand again. "He rang the bell for everyone, so their souls could go safely to heaven."

"Don't you think we'd better be going?" Colin whispered. "It's almost dark out."

"Even Rosemund," Kivrin said as if she hadn't heard. "He was already ill. I told him there wasn't time, that we had to leave for Scotland."

"We must go now," Dunworthy said, "before the light fails."

She didn't move or let go of Roche's hand. "He held my hand when I was dying."

"Kivrin," he said.

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.