Oh, God, he thought, I’m in France. The Lady Jane left me behind on the beach at Dunkirk, and the Germans are coming. But that couldn’t be right. He remembered coming back across the Channel, remembered sitting there at the dock, looking down at his shredded— “My foot,” he said, even though the nun wouldn’t be able to understand English. He tried to raise his head to see it. “It’s bleeding.” “There, there, you mustn’t think about that now,” the nun said, and she had a British accent, so he must be in England. But I didn’t think the English had nuns. Hadn’t Henry VIII burned down all the convents? He must not have, because the nun was bending over him, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. “You must rest,” she said. “You’ve just come out of surgery—” “Surgery?” he said in alarm. He tried to sit up, but the moment he raised his head off the pillow, a wave of dizzying nausea washed over him, and he fell back, swallowing hard.
