Dunworthy thought of Badri collapsing against the console and wondered how it were possible to ignore one’s symptoms.
“And if,” Mary went on, “this person was in South Carolina four days ago—”
“You’ll have your link with the American virus.”
“And you can stop worrying over Kivrin. She wasn’t at the dance in Headington,” she said. “Of course, the connection is more likely to be several links away.”
She frowned, and Dunworthy thought, several links that haven’t checked in to hospital or even rung up a doctor. Several links who have all ignored their symptoms.
Apparently Mary was thinking the same thing. “These bellringers of yours, when did they arrive in England?”
“I don’t know. But they only arrived in Oxford this afternoon, after Badri was at the net.”
“Well, ask them anyway. When they landed, where they’ve been, whether any of them have been ill. One of them might have relations in Oxford and have come up early. You’ve no American undergraduates in college?”
“No. Montoya’s an American.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Mary said. “How long has she been here?”
“All term. But she might have been in contact with someone visiting from America.”
“I’ll ask her when she comes in for her bloodwork,” she said. “I’d like you to question Badri about any Americans he knows, or students who’ve been to the States on exchange.”
“He’s asleep.”
“And so should you be,” she said. “I didn’t mean now.” She patted his arm. “There’s no necessity of waiting till seven. I’ll send someone in to take blood and BP so you can go home to bed.” She took Dunworthy’s wrist and looked at the temp monitor. “Any chills?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because you’re exhausted.” She dropped his wrist. “I’ll send someone straightaway.”
She looked at Colin, stretched out on the floor. “Colin will have to be tested as well, at least till we’re certain it’s droplet.”
Colin’s mouth had fallen open, but the gobstopper was still firmly in place in his cheek. Dunworthy wondered if he were likely to choke. “What about your nephew?” he said. “Would you like me to take him back to Balliol with me?”
She looked immediately grateful. “Would you? I hate to burden you with him, but I doubt I’ll be home till we get this under control.” She sighed. “Poor boy. I hope his Christmas won’t be too spoilt.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Dunworthy said.
“Well, I’m very grateful,” Mary said. “And I’ll see to the tests immediately.”
She left. Colin sat up immediately.
“What sort of tests?” he asked. “Does this mean I might get the virus?”
“I sincerely hope not,” Dunworthy said, thinking of Badri’s flushed face, his labored breathing.
“But I might,” Colin said.
“The chances are very slim,” Dunworthy said. “I shouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried.” He held out his arm. “I think I’m getting a rash,” he said eagerly, pointing to a freckle.
“That isn’t a symptom of the virus,” Dunworthy said. “Collect your things. I’m taking you home with me after the tests.” He gathered up his muffler and overcoat from the chairs he’d draped them over.
“What are the symptoms, then?”
“Fever and difficulty breathing,” Dunworthy said. Mary’s shopping bag was on the floor by Latimer’s chair. He decided they’d best take it with them.
The nurse came in, carrying her bloodwork tray.
“I feel hot,” Colin said. He clutched his throat dramatically. “I can’t breathe.”
The nurse took a startled step backward, clinking her tray.
Dunworthy grabbed Colin’s arm. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said to the nurse. “It’s only a case of gobstopper poisoning.”
Colin grinned and bared his arm fearlessly for the blood test, then stuffed the jumper into the duffel and pulled on his still-damp jacket while Dunworthy had his blood drawn.
The nurse said, “Dr. Ahrens said you needn’t wait for the results,” and left.
Dunworthy put on his overcoat, picked up Mary’s shopping bag, and led Colin down the corridor and out through the casualties ward. He couldn’t see Mary anywhere, but she had said they needn’t wait, and he was suddenly so tired he couldn’t stand.
They went outside. It was just beginning to get light out and still raining. Dunworthy hesitated under the hospital porch, wondering if he should ring for a taxi, but he had no desire to have Gilchrist show up for his tests while they were waiting and have to hear his plans for sending Kivrin to the Black Death and the battle of Agincourt. He fished Mary’s collapsible umbrella out of her bag and put it up.
“Thank goodness you’re still here,” Montoya said, skidding up on a bicycle, spraying water. “I need to find Basingame.”
So do we all, Dunworthy thought, wondering where she had been during all those telephone conversations.
She got off the bike, pushed it up the rack, and keyed the lock. “His secretary said no one knows where he is. Can you believe that?”
“Yes,” Dunworthy said. “I’ve been trying most of today… yesterday to reach him. He’s on holiday somewhere in Scotland, no one knows exactly where. Fishing, according to his wife.”
