He gestured toward one just pulling up to the door of Casualties. It had an NHS placard in the side window.
Dunworthy thanked the boy and started back to Balliol. It was raining again, and he walked rapidly, hoping that Andrews had already telephoned, that he was already on his way. “Go and get Mr. Dunworthy immediately,” Badri had said. “Now. There’s something wrong,” and he was obviously reliving his actions after he had gotten the fix, when he had run through the rain to the Lamb and Cross to fetch him. “That can’t be right,” he had said.
He half-ran across the quad and up to his rooms. He was worried Ms. Taylor wouldn’t have been able to hear the telephone’s bell over her bell ringers’ clanging, but when he opened the door, he found them standing in a circle in the middle of his sitting room in their face masks, their arms raised and hands folded as if in supplication, bringing their hands down in front of them and bending their knees one after the other in solemn silence.
“Mr. Basingame’s scout called,” Ms. Taylor said, rising and stooping. “He said he thought Mr. Basingame was somewhere in the Highlands. And Mr. Andrews said you were to ring him back. He just called.”
Dunworthy put the trunk call through, feeling immensely relieved. While he waited for Andrews to answer, he watched the curious dance and trying to determine the pattern. Ms. Taylor seemed to bob on a semi-regular basis, but the others did their odd curtseys in no order he could detect. The largest one, Ms. Piantini, he thought, was counting to herself, frowning in concentration.
“I’ve gotten clearance for you to enter the quarantine area. When are you coming up?” he said as soon as the tech answered.
“That’s the thing, sir,” Andrews said. There was a visual, but it was too fuzzy to read his expression. “I don’t think I’d better. I’ve been watching all about the quarantine on the vids, sir. They say this Indian flu is extremely dangerous.”
“You needn’t come in contact with any of the cases,” Dunworthy said. “I can arrange for you to go straight to Brasenose’s laboratory. You’ll be perfectly safe. This is extremely important.”
“Yes, sir, but the vidders say it might have been caused by the university’s heating system.”
“The heating system?” Dunworthy said. “The university has no heating system, and the individual ones of the colleges are over a hundred years old and incapable of heating, let alone infecting.” The bellringers turned as one to look at him, but they did not break rhythm. “It has absolutely nothing to do with the heating system. Or India, or the wrath of God. It began in South Carolina. The vaccine is already on the way. It’s perfectly safe.”
Andrews looked stubborn. “Nevertheless, sir, I don’t think it would be wise for me to come.”
The bellringers abruptly stopped. “Sorry,” Ms. Piantini said, and they started again.
“This fix must be read. We have an historian in 1320, and we don’t know how much slippage there has been. I’ll see to it that you’re paid for hazardous duty,” Dunworthy said, and then realized that was exactly the wrong approach. “I can arrange for you to be isolated or wear SPG’s or—”
“I could read the fix from here,” Andrews said. “I’ve a friend who’ll set up the access connections. She’s a student at Shrewsbury.” He paused. “It’s the best I can do. Sorry.”
“Sorry,” Ms. Piantini said again.
“No, no, you ring in second’s place,” Ms. Taylor said. “You dodge two-three up and down and three-four down and then lead a whole pull. And keep your eyes on the other ringers, not on the floor. One-two-and-off!” They started their minuet again.
“I simply can’t take the risk,” Andrews said.
It was clear he couldn’t be persuaded. “What is the name of your friend at Shrewsbury?” Dunworthy asked.
“Polly Wilson,” he said, sounding relieved. He gave Dunworthy her number. “Tell her you need a remote read, an inquiry and bridge transmit. I’ll stay by this number.” He moved to ring off.
“Wait!” Dunworthy said. The bellringers glanced disapprovingly at him. “What would the maximal slippage be on a drop to 1320?”
“I’ve no idea,” Andrews said promptly. “Slippage is difficult to predict. There are so many factors.”
“An estimate,” Dunworthy said. “Could it be twenty-eight years?”
“Twenty-eight
“Mediaeval didn’t do any.”
“They sent an historian back without parameter checks?” Andrews sounded shocked.
“Without parameter checks, without unmanneds, without recon tests,” Dunworthy said. “Which is why it’s essential I get this fix read. I want you to do something for me.”
Andrews stiffened.
“You don’t have to come here to do it,” he said rapidly. “Jesus has an on-site set up in London. I want you to go over there and run parameter checks on a drop to noon, 12 December, 1320.”
