Connie Willis
Blackout
To Courtney and Cordelia,
who always do far more
than their bit.
History is now and England.
I want to say thank you to all the people who helped me and stood by me with Blackout as it morphed from one book into two and I went slowly mad under the strain: my incredibly patient editor, Anne Groell, and my long- suffering agent, Ralph Vicinanza; my even longer-suffering secretary, Laura Lewis; my daughter and chief confidante Cordelia; my family and friends; every librarian within a hundred-mile radius; and the baristas at Margie’s, Starbucks, and the UNC student union who gave me tea-well, chai-and sympathy on a daily basis. Thank you all for putting up with me, standing by me, and not giving up on me or the book. But most especially, I want to thank the marvelous group of ladies at the Imperial War Museum the day I was there doing research-women who, it turned out, had all been rescue workers and ambulance drivers and air-raid wardens during the Blitz, and who told me story after story that proved invaluable to the book and to my understanding of the bravery, determination, and humor of the British people as they faced down Hitler. And I want to thank my wonderful husband, who found them, sat them down, bought them tea and cakes, and then came to find me so I could interview them. Best husband ever!
Come then: Let us to the task, to the battle, to the toil-each to our part, each to our station, there is not a week, nor a day, nor an hour to lose.
Oxford-April 2060
COLIN TRIED THE DOOR, BUT IT WAS LOCKED. THE PORTER, Mr. Purdy, obviously hadn’t known what he was talking about when he’d said Mr. Dunworthy had gone to Research. Blast it. I should have known he wasn’t here, Colin thought. Only historians prepping for assignments came to Research. Perhaps Mr. Dunworthy’d told Mr. Purdy he was going to do research, in which case he’d be in the Bodleian Library.
Colin went over to the Bodleian, but Mr. Dunworthy wasn’t there either. I’ll have to go ask his secretary, Colin thought, loping back to Balliol. He wished Finch was still Mr. Dunworthy’s secretary instead of this new person Eddritch, who would probably ask a lot of questions. Finch wouldn’t have asked any, and he’d have not only told him where Mr. Dunworthy was, but what sort of mood he was in.
Colin ran up to Mr. Dunworthy’s rooms first, on the off chance Mr. Purdy hadn’t seen Mr. Dunworthy come back in, but he wasn’t there either. Then he ran across to Beard, up the stairs, and into the outer office. “I need to see Mr. Dunworthy,” he said. “It’s important. Can you tell me where-?”
Eddritch looked at him coldly. “Did you have an appointment, Mr.-?”
“Templer,” Colin said. “No, I-”
“Are you an undergraduate here at Balliol?”
Colin debated saying yes, but Eddritch was the sort who would check to see if he was. “No, I will be next year.”
“If you’re applying to be a student at Oxford, you need the Provost’s Office in Longwall Street.”
“I’m not applying to be a student. I’m a friend of Mr. Dunworthy’s-”
“Oh, Mr. Dunworthy has told me about you.” He frowned. “I thought you were at Eton.”
“We’re on holiday,” Colin lied. “It’s vital that I see Mr. Dunworthy. If you could tell me where he-”
“What did you wish to see him about?”
My future, Colin thought. And it’s none of your business, but that obviously wouldn’t get him anywhere. “It’s in regard to an historical assignment. It’s urgent. If you could just tell me where he is, I-” he began, but Eddritch had already opened the appointment book. “Mr. Dunworthy can’t see you until the end of next week.”
Which will be too late. Blast, I need to see him now, before Polly comes back.
“I can give you an appointment at one o’clock on the nineteenth,” Eddritch was saying. “Or at half past nine on the twenty-eighth.”
What part of the word “urgent” do you not understand? Colin thought. “Never mind,” he said and went back downstairs and out to the gate to see if he could get any more information out of Mr. Purdy. “Are you certain Research was where he said he was going?” he asked the porter, and when he said yes, “Did he say where he was going after that?”
“No. You might try the lab. He’s been spending a good deal of time there these past few days. Or if he’s not there, Mr. Chaudhuri may know where he is.”
And if he’s not there I can ask Badri when Polly’s scheduled to come back. “I’ll try the lab,” Colin said, debating whether to ask him to tell Mr. Dunworthy he was looking for him if he returned. No, better not. Forewarned was forearmed. He’d have a better chance if he sprang it on him suddenly. “Thanks,” he said and ran down to the High and over to the lab.
Mr. Dunworthy wasn’t there. The only two people who were were Badri and a pretty tech who didn’t look any older than the girls at school. They were both bent over the console. “I need the coordinates for October fourth, 1950,” Badri said. “And-what are you doing here, Colin? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”
Why was everyone acting like a truant officer?
“You haven’t been sent down, have you?”
“No.” Not if they don’t catch me. “School holiday.”
“If you’re here to talk me into letting you go to the Crusades, the answer is no.”
“The Crusades?” Colin said. “That was years ago-”
“Does Mr. Dunworthy know you’re here?” Badri asked.
“Actually, I’m looking for him. The porter at Balliol told me he might be here.”
“He was,” the tech said. “You only just missed him.”
“Do you know where he was going?”
“No. You might try Wardrobe.”
“Wardrobe?” First Research and now Wardrobe. Mr. Dunworthy was obviously going somewhere. “Where is he going? St. Paul’s?”
“Yes,” the tech said. “He’s researching-”
“Linna, I need those coordinates,” Badri said, glaring at her. The tech nodded and went over to the other side of the lab.
“He’s going to St. Paul’s to rescue the treasures, isn’t he?” Colin asked Badri.
“Mr. Dunworthy’s secretary should know where he is,” Badri said and walked back to the console. “Why don’t you go over to Balliol and ask him?”
