Free To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis Page B

explained. “I’ve tried four times today, and the closest I can get is the eighth of December. Ned’s got the closest of anyone so far, which is why I need him to go back and finish searching the rubble for the bishop’s bird stump.”
    Mr. Dunworthy looked puzzled. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to look for the bishop’s bird stump before the raid, on the fourteenth?”
    “That’s what we’ve been trying to do for the past two weeks,” Carruthers said. “Lady Schrapnell wanted to know if it was in the cathedral at the time of the raid, so we arranged a jump to the cathedral at a quarter till eight, just before the start of the raid. But we can’t get near the place. Either the date’s off, or if we do come through at the target time, we’re sixty miles away in the middle of a marrows field.” He indicated his muddy uniform.
    “We?” Mr. Dunworthy said, frowning. “How many historians have tried?”
    “Six. No, seven,” Carruthers said. “Everyone who wasn’t off doing something else.”
    “Carruthers said they’d tried everybody,” I put in, “and that was why they’d pulled me off jumble sales.”
    “What about the jumble sales?”
    “They’re a sale where they sell things they want to get rid of, things they bought at the last jumble sale, most of it, and things they’ve made to sell. Tea caddies and embroidered needle cases and penwipers and—”
    “I know what a jumble sale is,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “Was there any slippage on those jumps?”
    I shook my head. “Just the usual. Mostly spatial, so no one would see me come through. Behind the rectory or back of the tea tent.”
    He turned abruptly to Carruthers. “How much were the Coventry drops off by, the ones in which you came through in Coventry?”
    “It varies,” he said. “Paulson came through on the twenty-eighth of November.” He stopped and calculated. “The average is about twenty-four hours, I’d say. The closest we’ve been able to get to the target is the afternoon of the fifteenth, and now I can’t even get there. Which is why Ned needs to go. The new recruit’s still there, and I doubt if he even knows how to get back on his own. And who knows what trouble he’s likely to get into.”
    “Trouble,” Mr. Dunworthy murmured. He turned to the tech. “Has there been increased slippage on all the drops, or just the ones to Coventry?”
    “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m a wardrobe tech. I’m only filling in for Badri. He’s the net tech.”
    “Badri, yes,” he said, brightening. “Good. Badri. Where is he?”
    “With Lady Schrapnell, sir,” Finch said. “And I’m afraid they may be on their way back by now,” but Mr. Dunworthy didn’t seem to hear him.
    “While you’ve been filling in,” he said to Warder, “have you run any jumps that weren’t to the cathedral on November 14th, 1940?”
    “One,” she said. “To London.”
    “How much slippage was there?” he persisted.
    She looked like she was going to say, “I don’t have time for this,” and then apparently thought better of it and began pounding keys. “Locational, no slippage. Temporal, eight minutes.”
    “So it is Coventry,” he said to himself. “Eight minutes which way? Early or late?”
    “Early.”
    He turned back to Carruthers. “Did you try sending someone to Coventry earlier and having them stay till the raid?”
    “Yes, sir,” Carruthers said. “They still ended up after the target time.”
    Mr. Dunworthy took off his spectacles, examined them, and put them back on. “Does the amount of slippage seem to be random or is it getting progressively worse?”
    “Worse,” he said.
    “Finch, go ask Kindle if she noticed any coincidences or discrepancies while she was at Muchings End. Ned, you stay here. I’ve got to talk to Lewis.” Mr. Dunworthy went out.
    “What was that all about?” Carruthers said, looking after him.
    “Lady Windermere’s fan,” I said, and sat down.
    “Stand up,” the seraphim said.