"'The Lord shall smite thee with a consumption,'" she intoned, her voice resounding through the corridor as he fled, "'and with a fever, and with an inflammation.'"

And He shall smite thee with Mrs. Gaddson, he thought, and she shall read you Scriptures to keep your morale up.

He went up the stairs to Isolation, which had now apparently taken over most of the first floor.

"Here you are," the nurse said. It was the pretty blonde student nurse again. He wondered if he should warn her about Mrs. Gaddson.

"I'd nearly given you up," she said. "He's been calling for you all morning." She handed him a set of SPG's, and he put them on and followed her in.

"He was frantic for you half an hour ago," she whispered, "kept insisting he had something to tell you. He's a bit better now."

He looked, in fact, considerably better. He had lost the dark, frightening flush, and though he was still a bit pale under his brown skin, he looked almost like his old self. He was half- sitting against several pillows, his knees up, and his hands lying lightly on them, the fingers curved. His eyes were closed.

"Badri," the nurse said, putting her imperm-gloved hand on his chest and bending close to him. "Mr. Dunworthy's here."

He opened his eyes. "Mr. Dunworthy?"

"Yes." She nodded across the bed, indicating him. "I told you he'd come."

Badri sat up straighter against the pillows, but he didn't look at Dunworthy. He looked intently ahead.

"I'm here, Badri," he said, moving forward so he was in his line of vision. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

Badri continued to look straight ahead and his hands began moving restlessly on his knees. Dunworthy glanced at the nurse.

"He's been doing that," she said. "I think he's typing." She looked at the screens and went out.

He was typing. His wrists rested on his knees, and his fingers tapped the blanket in a complex sequence. His eyes stared at something in front of him — a screen?-and after a moment he frowned. "That can't be right," he said and began typing rapidly.

"What is it, Badri?" Dunworthy said. "What's wrong?"

"There must be an error," Badri said. He leaned slightly sideways and said, "Give me a line-by-line on the TAA."

He was peaking into the console's ear, Dunworthy realized. He's reading the fix, he thought. "What can't be right, Badri?"

"The slippage," Badri said, his eyes fixed on the imaginary screen. "Readout check," he said into the ear. "That can't be right."

"What's wrong with the slippage?" Dunworthy asked. "Was there more slippage than you expected?"

Badri didn't answer. He typed for a moment, paused, watching the screen, and began typing frantically.

"How much slippage was there? Badri?" Dunworthy said.

He typed for a full minute and then stopped and looked up at Dunworthy. "So worried," he said thoughtfully.

"Worried over what, Badri?" Dunworthy said.

Badri suddenly flung the blanket back and grabbed for the bed rails. "I have to find Mr. Dunworthy," he said. He yanked at his shunt, pulling at the tape.

The screens behind him went wild, spiking crazily and beeping. Somewhere outside an alarm went off.

"You mustn't do that," Dunworthy said, reaching across the bed to stop him.

"He's at the pub," Badri said, ripping at the tape.

The screens went abruptly flatline. "Disconnect," a computer voice said. "Disconnect."

The nurse banged in. "Oh, dear, that's twice he's done that," she said. "Mr. Chaudhuri, you mustn't do that. You'll pull your shunt out."

"Go and get Mr. Dunworthy. Now," he said. "There's something wrong," but he lay back and let her cover him up. "Why doesn't he come?"

Dunworthy waited while the nurse retaped the shunt and reset the screens, watching Badri. He looked worn out and apathetic, almost bored. A new bruise was already forming above the shunt.

The nurse left with, "I think I'd best call down for a sedative."

As soon as she was gone, Dunworthy said, "Badri, it's Mr. Dunworthy. You wanted to tell me something. Look at me, Badri. What is it? What's wrong?"

Badri looked at him, but without interest.

"Was there too much slippage, Badri? Is Kivrin in the plague?"

"I don't have time," Badri said. "I was out there Saturday and Sunday." He began typing again, his fingers moving ceaselessly on the blanket. "That can't be right."

The nurse came back with a drip bottle. "Oh, good," he said, and his expression relaxed and softened, as if a great weight had been lifted. "I don't know what happened. I had such a terrific headache."

He closed his eyes before she had even hooked the drip to the shunt and began to snore softly.

The nurse led him out. "If he wakes and calls for you again, where can you be reached?" she asked.

He gave her the number. "What exactly did he say?" he asked, stripping off his gown. "Before I arrived?"

"He kept calling your name and saying he had to find you, that he had to tell you something important."

"Did he say anything about a rats?" he said.

"No. Once he said he had to find Karen — or Katherine-"

"Kivrin."

She nodded. "Yes. He said, 'I must find Kivrin. Is the laboratory open?' And then he said something about a lamb, but nothing about rats, I don't think. A good deal of the time I can't make it out."

He threw the imperm gloves into the bag. "I want you to write down everything he says. Not the unintelligible parts," he added before she could object. "But everything else. I'll be back this afternoon."

"I'll try," she said. "It's mostly nonsense."

He went downstairs. It was mostly nonsense, feverish ramblings that meant nothing, but he went outside to get a taxi. He wanted to get back to Balliol quickly, to speak to Andrews, to get him up here to read the fix.

"That can't be right," Badri had said, and it had to be the slippage. Could he have somehow misread the figure, thought it was only four hours and then discovered, what? That it was four years? Or twenty-eight?

"You'll get there faster walking," someone said. It was the boy with the black face plasters. "If you're waiting for a taxi, you'll stand there forever. They've all been commandeered by the bloody government."

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.