He scanned the contacts sheets they had filled out again. Montoya's was only a few lines long. She had filled in her contacts for Wednesday morning, but none for Monday and Tuesday, and she hadn't listed any information on Badri. He wondered why, and then remembered she had come in after Mary gave the instructions for filling up the forms.

Perhaps Montoya had seen Badri before Wednesday morning, or knew where he'd spent the gap between noon and half-past two on Monday.

"When Ms. Montoya phoned, did she tell you her telephone number?" he asked Colin. There was no answer. He looked up. "Colin?"

He wasn't in the room, nor in the sitting room, though his duffel was, its contents spread all over the carpet.

Dunworthy looked up Montoya's number at Brasenose and rang it up, not expecting any answer. If she was still looking for Basingame, that meant she hadn't gotten permission to go out to the dig and was doubtless at the NHS or the National Trust, badgering them to have it declared "of irreplaceable value."

He dressed and went across to the hall, looking for Colin. It was still raining, the sky the same sodden gray as the paving stones and the bark on the beech trees. He hoped that the bellringers and detainees had breakfasted early and gone back to their assigned rooms, but it was a fond hope. He could hear the high hubbub of female voices before he was halfway across the quad.

"Thank goodness you're up, sir," Finch said, meeting him at the door. "The NHS just phoned. They want us to take twenty more detainees."

"Tell them we can't," Dunworthy said, looking through the crowd. "We're under orders to avoid contact with infected persons. Have you seen Dr. Ahrens' nephew?"

"He was just here," Finch said, peering over the heads of the women, but Dunworthy had already spotted him. He was standing at the end of the table where the bellringers were sitting, buttering several pieces of toast.

Dunworthy made his way to him. "When Ms. Montoya telephoned, did she tell you where she might be reached?"

"The one with the bicycle?" Colin said, smearing marmalade on the buttered toast.

"Yes."

"No, she didn't."

"Will you have breakfast, sir?" Finch said. "I'm afraid there aren't any bacon and eggs, and we're getting very low on marmalade," he glared at Colin, "but there's oatmeal and — "

"Just tea," Dunworthy said. "She didn't mention where she was phoning from?"

"Do sit down," Ms. Taylor said. "I've been wanting to speak to you about our Chicago Surprise."

"What exactly did Ms. Montoya say?" Dunworthy said to Colin.

"That nobody cared that her dig was being ruined and an invaluable link with the past was being lost, and what sort of person went fishing in the middle of winter anyway," Colin said, scraping marmalade off the sides of the bowl.

"We're nearly out of tea," Finch said, pouring Dunworthy a very pale cup.

Dunworthy sat down. "Would you like some cocoa, Colin? Or a glass of milk?" Dunworthy asked.

"We're nearly out of milk," Finch said.

"I don't need anything, thanks," Colin said, slapping the slices of toast jam sides together, "I'm just going to take these with me out to the gate so I can wait for the post."

"The vicar telephoned," Finch said. "He said to tell you you needn't be there to go over the order of worship until half- past six."

"Are they still holding the Christmas Eve service?" Dunworthy said. "I shouldn't think anyone would come under the circumstances."

"He said the Ecumenical Committee had voted to hold it regardless," Finch said, pouring a quarter-teaspoon of milk in the pallid tea and handing it to him. "He said they felt carrying on as usual will help keep up morale."

"We're going to perform several pieces on the handbells," Ms. Taylor said. "It's hardly a substitute for a peal, of course, but it's something. The priest from Holy Re-Formed is going to read from the Mass in Time of Pestilence."

"Ah," Dunworthy said. "That should help in keeping up morale."

"Do I have to go?" Colin said.

"He has no business going out in this weather," Mrs. Gaddson said, appearing like a harpy with a large bowl of gray oatmeal. She set it in front of Colin. "And no business being exposed to germs in a drafty church. He can stay here with me during the church service." She pushed a chair up behind him. "Sit down and eat your oatmeal."

Colin looked beseechingly at Dunworthy.

"Colin, I left Ms. Montoya's telephone number in my rooms," Dunworthy said. "Would you fetch it for me?"

"Yes!" Colin said, and was out of his chair like a shot.

"When that child comes down with the Indian flu," Mrs. Gaddson said, "I hope you will remember that you were the one who encouraged him in his poor eating habits. It is clear to me what led to this epidemic. Poor nutrition and a complete lack of discipline. It's disgraceful, the way this college is run. I asked to be put in with my son William, but instead I've been assigned a room in another building altogether, and — "

"I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with Finch," Dunworthy said. He stood up, wrapped Colin's marmaladed toast in a napkin, and put it in his pocket. "I'm needed at the infirmary," he said and escaped before Mrs. Gaddson could start off again.

He went back to his rooms and rang up Andrews. The line was engaged. He rang up the dig, on the off-chance that Montoya had obtained her quarantine waiver, but there was no answer. He rang up Andrews again. Amazingly enough, the line was free. It rang three times and then switched to a message service.

"This is Mr. Dunworthy," he said. He hesitated and then gave the number of his rooms. "I need to speak with you immediately. It's important."

He rang off, pocketed the disk, picked up his umbrella and Colin's toast, and walked out through the quad.

Colin was huddling under the shelter of the gate, looking anxiously down the street toward Carfax.

"I'm going to the infirmary to see my tech and your great- aunt," Dunworthy said, handing him the napkin-wrapped toast. "Would you like to go with me?"

"No, thanks," Colin said. "I don't want to miss the post."

"Well, for goodness' sake, go and fetch your jacket so Mrs. Gaddson doesn't come out and begin haranguing you."

"The Gallstone's already been," Colin said. "She tried to make me put on a muffler. A muffler!" He gave another anxious look down the street. "I ignored her."

"I hadn't thought of that," Dunworthy said. "I should be home in time for lunch. If you need anything, ask Finch."

"Umm," Colin said, obviously not listening. Dunworthy wondered what his mother was sending that merited such devotion. Obviously not a muffler.

He pulled his own muffler up round his neck and set off for Infirmary through the rain. There were only a few people in the streets, and they kept out of each others' way, one woman stepping off the pavement altogether to avoid meeting Dunworthy.

Without the carillon banging away at "It Came Upon The Midnight Clear," one would have had no idea at all that it was Christmas Eve. No one carried gifts or holly, no one carried parcels at all. It was as if the quarantine had knocked the memory of Christmas out of their heads completely.

Well, and hadn't it? He hadn't given a thought to shopping for gifts or a tree. He thought of Colin huddled at Balliol's gate and hoped his mother at least hadn't forgotten to send his gifts. On the way home he'd stop and get Colin a small present, a toy or a vid or something, something besides a muffler.

At the infirmary, he was hustled immediately into Isolation and taken off to question the new cases. "It's essential we establish an American connection," Mary said. "There's been a snag at the WIC. There's no one on duty who can run a sequencing because of the holidays. They're supposed to be at full readiness at all times, of course, but apparently it's after Christmas that they usually get problems — food poisonings and over-indulgence masquerading as viruses — so they give time off before. At any rate, the CDC in Atlanta agreed to send the vaccine prototype to the WIC without a positive S-ident, but they can't begin manufacturing without a definite connection."