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《THE SUBTLE KNIFE》
CHAPTER ONE: THE CAT AND THE HORNBEAM TREES-1
Will tugged at his mothers hand and said, "e on, e on..."
But his mother hung back. She was still afraid. Will looked up and down the narrow street in the evening light, along the little terrace of houses, each behind its tiny garden and its box hedge, with the sun glaring off the windows of one side and leaving the other in shadow. There wasnt much time. People would be having their meal about now, and soon there would be other children around, to stare and ent and notice. It was dangerous to wait, but all he could do ersuade her, as usual.
"Mum, lets go in and see Mrs. Cooper," he said. "Look, were nearly there."
"Mrs. Cooper?" she said doubtfully.
But he was already ringing the bell. He had to put down the bag to do it, because his other hand九九藏书 still held his mothers. It might have bothered him at twelve years of age to be seen holding his mothers hand, but he knew what would happen to her if he didnt.
The door opened, and there was the stooped elderly figure of the piano teacher, with the st of lavender water about her as he remembered.
"Whos that? Is that William?" the old lady said. "I havent seen you for over a year. What do you want, dear?"
"I want to e in, please, and bring my mother," he said firmly.
Mrs. Cooper looked at the woman with the untidy hair and the distracted half-smile, and at the boy with the fierce, unhappy glare in his eyes, the tight-set lips, the jutting jaw. And then she saw that Mrs. Parry, Wills mother, had put makeup on one eye but not oher. And she hadnt noticed. Aher had Will. Something was wrong.
"Well..." she said, and stepped aside to make room in the narrow hall.
Will looked up and down the road before closing the door, and Mrs. Cooper saw how tightly Mrs.
Parry was ging to her sons hand, and how tenderly he guided her into the sitting room where the piano was (of course, that was the only room he knew); and she noticed that Mrs. Parrys clothes smelled slightly musty, as if theyd been too long in the washing mae before drying; and how similar the two of them looked as they sat on the sofa with the evening sun full on their faces, their broad cheekboheir wide eyes, their straight black brows.
"What is it, William?" the old lady said. "Whats the matter?"
"My mother needs somewhere to stay for a few days," he said. "Its too difficult to look after her at home just now. I dont mean shes ill. Shes just kind of fused and muddled, and she gets a bit worried. She wont be hard to look after. She just needs someoo be kind to her, and I think you could do that quite easily, probably."
The woman was looking at her son without seeming to uand, and Mrs. Cooper saw a bruise on her cheek. Will hadnt taken his eyes off Mrs. Cooper, and his expression was desperate.
"She wont be expensive," he went on. "Ive brought some packets of food, enough to last, I should think. You could have some of it too. She wont mind sharing."
"But ... I dont know if I should ... Doesnt she need a doctor?"
"No! Shes not ill."
"But there must be someone who ... I mean, isnt there a neighbor or someone in the family—"
"We havent got any family. Only us. And the neighbors are too busy."
"What about the social services? I doo put you off, dear, but—"
"No! No. She just needs a bit of help. I t do it myself for a little while, but I wont be long. Im going to ... Ive got things to do. But Ill be back soon, and Ill take her home again, I promise. You wont have to do it for long."
The mother was looking at her son with such trust, aurned and smiled at her with such love and reassurahat Mrs. Cooper couldnt say no.
"Well," she said, turning to Mrs. Parry, "Im sure it wont matter for a day or so. You have my daughters room, dear. Shes in Australia. She wont be needing it again."
"Thank you," said Will, and stood up as if he were in a hurry to leave.
"But where are you going to be?" said Mrs. Cooper.
"Im going to be staying with a friend," he said. "Ill phone up as often as I . Ive got your number. Itll be all right"
His mother was looking at him, bewildered. He bent over and kissed her clumsily.
"Dont worry," he said. "Mrs. Cooper will look after you better than me, ho. And Ill phone up and talk to you tomorrow."
They hugged tightly, and then Will kissed her again aly unfastened her arms from his neck befoing to the front door. Mrs. Cooper could see he set, because his eyes were glistening, but he turned, remembering his manners, and held out his hand.
"Good-bye," he said, "and thank you very much."
"William," she said, "I wish youd tell me what the matter is—"
"Its a bit plicated," he said, "but she wont be any trouble, holy."
That wasnt what she meant, and both of them k; but somehow Will was in charge of this business, whatever it was. The old lady thought shed never seen a child so implacable.
He turned away, already thinking about the empty house.
The close where Will and his mother lived was a loop of road in a modere with a dozeical houses, of which theirs was by far the shabbiest. The front garden was just a patch of weedy grass; his mother had planted some shrubs earlier in the year, but theyd shriveled and died for lack of watering. As Will came around the er, his cat, Moxie, rose up from her favorite spot uhe still-living hydrangea and stretched befreeting him with a soft meow and butting her head against his leg.
He picked her up and whispered, "Have they e back, Moxie? Have you seen them?"
The house was silent. In the last of the evening light the man across the road was washing his car, but he took no notice of Will, and Will didnt look at him. The less notice people took, th九九藏书e better.
Holding Moxie against his chest, he unlocked the door a in quickly. Then he listened very carefully before putting her down. There was nothing to hear; the house was empty.
He opened a tin for Moxie a her to eat i. How long before the men came back?
There was no way of telling, so hed better move quickly. He went upstairs and began to search.
He was looking for a battered greeher writing case. There are a surprising number of places to hide something that size even in any ordinary modern house; you dont need secret panels aensive cellars in order to make something hard to find. Will searched his mothers bedroom first, ashamed to be looking through the drawers where she kept her underclothes, and then he worked systematically through the rest of the rooms upstairs, even his own. Moxie came to see what he was doing and sat and ed herself nearby, for pany.
But he didnt find it.
By that time it was dark, and he was hungry. He made himself baked beans on toast and sat at the kit table w about the best order to look through the downstairs rooms.
As he was finishing his meal, the ph.
He sat absolutely still, his heart thumping. He ted: twenty-six rings, and then it stopped. He put his plate in the suik and started to search again.
Four hours later he still hadnt found the greeher case. It was half past one, and he was exhausted. He lay on his bed fully clothed and fell asleep at once, his dreams tense and crowded, his mothers unhappy, frightened face always there just out of reach.
And almost at o seemed (though hed been asleep for nearly three hours), he woke up knowing two things simultaneously.
First, he knew where the case was. And sed, he khat the men were downstairs, opening the kit door.
He lifted Moxie out of the way and softly hushed her sleepy protest. Then he swung his legs over the side of the bed and put on his shoes, straining every o hear the sounds from downstairs.
They were very quiet sounds: a chair being lifted and replaced, a short whisper, the creak of a floorboard.
Moving more silently than the men were, he left his bedroom and tiptoed to the spare room at the top of the stairs. It wasnt quite pitch-dark, and in the ghostly gray predawn light he could see the old treadle sewing mae. Hed been through the room thhly only hours before, but hed fotten the partment at the side of the sewing mae, where all the patterns and bobbins were kept.
He felt for it delicately, listening all the while. The men were moving about downstairs, and Will could see a dim flicker of light that might have been a flashlight at the edge of the door.
Then he found the catch of the partment and clicked it open, and there, just as hed known it would be, was the leather writing case.
And now what could he do? He crouched in the dimness, heart pounding, listening hard.
The two men were in the hall downstairs. He heard one of them say quietly, "e on. I hear the milkman down the road."
"Its not here, though," said the other voice. "Well have to look upstairs.99lib.."
"Go on, then. Dont hang about."
Will braced himself as he heard the quiet creak of the top step. The man was making no all, but he couldhe creak if he wasnt expeg it. Then there ause. A very thin beam of flashlight swept along the floor outside. Will saw it through the crack.
Then the dan to move. Will waited till the man was framed in the open doorway, and then exploded up out of the dark and crashed into the intruders belly.
But her of them saw the cat.
As the man had reached the top step, Moxie had e silently out of the bedroom and stood with raised tail just behind the mans legs, ready to rub herself against them. The man, who was trained and fit and hard, could have dealt with Will, but the cat was in the way, and as the man tried to move back, he tripped over her. With a sharp gasp he fell backward dowairs and crashed his head brutally against the hall table.
Will heard a hideous crack, and didnt stop to wonder about it. Clutg the writing case, he swung himself down the banister, leaping over the mans body that lay twitg and crumpled at the foot of the flight, seized.99lib. the tattered tote bag from the table, and was out of the front door and away before the other man could do more than e out of the living room and stare.
Even in his fear and haste Will wondered why the other man didnt shout after him, or chase him.
Theyd be after him soon, though, with their cars and their cell phohe only thing to do was run.
He saw the milkman turning into the close, the lights of his electric cart pallid in the dawn glimmer that was already filling the sky. Will jumped over the feo the -darden, down the passage beside the house, over the garden wall, across a dew-wet lawn, through the hedge, and into the tangle of shrubs and trees between the housie and the main road.
There he crawled under a bush and lay panting and trembling. It was too early to be out on the road: wait till later, when the rush hour started.
He could out of his mind the crack as the mans head struck the table, and the way his neck was bent so far and in such a wrong way, and the dreadful twitg of his limbs. The man was dead. Hed killed him.
He could out of his mind, but he had to. There was quite enough to think about. His mother: would she really be safe where she was? Mrs. Cooper wouldnt tell, would she? Even if Will didnt turn up as hed said he would? Because he couldnt, now that hed killed someone.
And Moxie. Whod feed Moxie? Would Moxie worry about where they were? Would she try to follow them?
It was getting lighter by the mi was light enough already to check through the things ie bag: his mothers purse, the latest letter from the lawyer, the road map of southern England, chocolate bars, toothpaste, spare socks and pants. And the greeher writing case.
Everything was there. Everything was going acc to plan, really.
Except that hed killed someone.
Will had first realized his mother was different from other people, and that he had to look after her, when he was seven. They were in a supermarket, and they were playing a game: they were allowed to put an item in the cart only when no one was looking. It was Wills job to look all around and whisper "Now," and she would snatch a tin or a packet from the shelf and put it silently into the cart. When things were ihey were safe, because they became invisible.
It was a good game, and it went on for a long time, because this was a Saturday m and the shop was full, but they were good at it and worked well together. They trusted each other. Will loved his mother very mud often told her so, and she told him the same.
So when they reached the checkout Will was excited and happy because theyd nearly won. And when his mother couldnt find her purse, that art of the game too, even when she said the enemies must have stolen it; but Will was getting tired by this time, and hungry too, and Mummy wasnt so happy anymore. She was really frightened, and they went around and around putting things ba the shelves, but this time they had to be extra careful because the enemies were trag them down by means of her credit card numbers, which they knew because they had her purse....
And Will got more and more frightened himself. He realized how clever his mother had been to make this real danger into a game so that he wouldnt be alarmed, and how, now that he khe truth, he had to pretend not to be frightened, so as to reassure her.
So the little boy prete was a game still, so she didnt have to worry that he was frightened, and they went home without any shopping, but safe from the enemies; and then Will found the purse on the hall table anyway. On Monday they went to the bank and closed her at, and opened another somewhere else, just to be sure. Thus the danger passed But sometime during the few months, Will realized slowly and unwillingly that those enemies of his mothers were not in the world out there, but in her mind. That made them no less real, no less frightening and dangerous; it just meant he had to protect her even more carefully. And from the moment in the supermarket when he had realized he must pretend in order not to worry his mother, part of Wills mind was always alert to her aies. He loved her so much he would have died to protect her.
As for Wills father, he had vanished long before Will was able to remember him. Will assionately curious about his father, and he used to plague his mother with questions, most of which she couldnt answer.
"Was he a rich man?"
"Where did he go?"
"Why did he go?"
"Is he dead?"
"Will he e back?
"What was he like?"
The last question was the only one she could help him with. John Parry had been a handsome man, a brave and clever officer in the Royal Marines, who had left the army to bee an explorer and lead expeditions to remote parts of the world. Will thrilled to hear about this. No father could be more exg than an explorer. From then on, in all his games he had an invisible panion: he and his father were together hag through the jungle, shading their eyes to gaze out across stormy seas from the deck of their ser, holding up a torch to decipher mysterious inscriptions in a bat-ied cave. ... They were the best of friends, they saved each others life tless times, they laughed and talked together over camp-fires long into the night.
But the older he got, the more Will began to wonder. Why were there no pictures of his father in this part of the world or that, riding with frost-bearded men on Arctic sledges or examining creeper-covered ruins in the jungle? Had nothing survived of the trophies and curiosities he must have brought home? Was nothing written about him in a book?
His mother didnt know. But ohing she had said stu his mind.
She said, "One day, youll follow in your fathers footsteps. Yoing to be a great man too.
Youll take up his mantle."
And though Will didnt know what that meant, he uood the sense of it, a uplifted with pride and purpose. All his games were going to e true. His father was alive, lost somewhere hi the wild, and he was going to rescue him and take up his mantle.... It was worth living a difficult life, if you had a great aim like that.
So he kept his mothers trouble secret. There were times when she was calmer and clearer than others, aook care to learn from her then how to shop and cook ahe house , so that he could do it when she was fused and frightened. And he learned how to ceal himself, too, how to remain unnoticed at school, how not to attract attention from the neighbors, even when his mother was hi such a state of fear and madhat she could barely speak. What Will himself feared more than anything was that the authorities would find out about her, and take her away, and put him in a home among strangers. Any difficulty was better than that.
Because there came times when the darkness cleared from her mind, and she was happy again, and she laughed at her fears and blessed him for looking after her so well; and she was so full of love and sweethen that he could think of er panion, and wanted nothing more than to live with her alone forever.
But then the men came.
They werent police, and they werent social services, and they werent criminals—at least as far as Will could judge. They wouldnt tell him what they wanted, in spite of his efforts to keep them away; theyd speak only to his mother. Aate was fragile just then.
But he listened outside the door, and heard them ask about his father, a his breath ore quickly.
The men wao know where John Parry had gone, and whether hed sent anything back to her, and when shed last heard from him, and whether hed had tact with any fn embassies.
Will heard his metting more and more distressed, and finally he ran into the room and told them to go.
He looked so fierce that her of the men laughed, though he was so young. They could easily have knocked him down, or held him off the floor with one hand, but he was fearless, and his anger was hot and deadly.
So they left. Naturally, this episode strengthened Wills vi: his father was in trouble somewhere, and only he could help. His games werent childish anymore, and he didnt play so openly. It was ing true, and he had to be worthy of it.
And not long afterward the men came back, insisting that Wills mother had something to tell them. They came when Will was at school, and one of them kept her talking downstairs while the other searched the bedrooms. She didnt realize what they were doing. But Will came home early and found them, and once again he blazed at them, and once again they left.
They seemed to know that he wouldnt go to the police, for fear of losing his mother to the authorities, and they got more and more persistent. Finally they broke into the house when Will had goo fetch his mother home from the park. It was getting worse for her now, and she believed that she had to touch every separate slat in every separate bench beside the pond. Will would help her, to get it done quicker. When they got home that day they saw the back of the mens car disappearing out of the close, a io find that theyd been through the house and searched most of the drawers and cupboards.
He knew what they were after. The greeher case was his mothers most precious possession; he would never dream of looking through it, and he didnt even know where she kept it. But he k tained letters, and he knew she read them sometimes, and cried, and it was then that she talked about his father. So Will supposed that this was what the men were after, and knew he had to do something about it.
He decided first to find somewhere safe for his mother to stay. He thought and thought, but he had no friends to ask, and the neighbors were already suspicious, and the only persohought he could trust was Mrs. Cooper. Once his mother was safely there, he was going to find the greeher case and look at what was in it, and then he was going to go to Oxford, where hed find the ao some of his questions. But the men came too soon.
And now hed killed one of them.
So the police would be after him too.
Well, he was good at not being noticed. Hed have to not be noticed harder than hed ever done in his life before, and keep it up as long as he could, till either he found his father or they found him. And if they found him first, he didnt care how many more of them he killed.
Later that day, toward midnight in fact, Will was walking out of the city of Oxford, forty miles away. He was tired to his very bones. He had hitchhiked, and ridden on two buses, and walked, and reached Oxford at six in the evening, too late to do what he o do. Hed eaten at a Burger King and goo a ema to hide (though what the film was, he fot even as he was watg it), and now he was walking along an endless road through the suburbs, heading north.
No one had notiun so far. But he was aware that hed better find somewhere to sleep before long, because the later it got, the more noticeable hed be. The trouble was that there was o hide in the gardens of the fortable houses along this road, and there was still no sign of open try.
He came to a large traffic circle where the road going north crossed the Oxf road goi a. At this time of night there was very little traffid the road where he stood was quiet, with fortable houses set back behind a wide expanse of grass oher side. Planted along the grass at the roads edge were two lines of horrees, odd-looking things with perfectly symmetrical close-leafed s, more like childrens drawings than like real trees. The streetlights made the se look artificial, like a stage set. Will was stupefied with exhaustion, and he might have gone on to the north, or he might have laid his head on the grass under one of those trees and slept; but as he sto to clear his head, he saw a cat.
She was a tabby, like Moxie. She padded out of a garden on the Oxford side of the road, where Will was standing. Will put down his tote bag and held out his hand, and the cat came up to rub her head against his knuckles, just as Moxie did. Of course, every cat behaved like that, but all the same Will felt such a longing for home that tears scalded his eyes.
Eventually the cat turned away. This was night, and there was a territory to patrol, there were mice to hunt. She padded across the road and toward the bushes just beyond the horrees, and there she stopped.
Will, still watg, saw the cat behave curiously.
She reached out a paw to pat something in the air in front of her, som.99lib.ething quite invisible to Will. Then she leaped backward, back arched and fur on end, tail held out stiffly. Will knew cat behavior. He watched more alertly as the cat approached the spot again, just ay patch of grass between the hornbeams and the bushes of a garden hedge, and patted the air once more.
Again she leaped back, but less far and with less alarm this time. After another few seds of sniffing, toug, and whisker twitg, curiosity overcame wariness.
The cat stepped forward—and vanished.
Will bliheood still, close to the trunk of the ree, as a truck came around the circle and swept its lights over him. When it had gone past, he crossed the road, keeping his eyes on the spot where the cat had been iigating. It wasnt easy, because there was nothing to fix on, but when he came to the plad cast about to look closely, he saw it.
At least, he saw it from some angles. It looked as if someone had cut a patch out of the air, about two yards from the edge of the road, a patch roughly square in shape ahan a yard across.
If you were level with the patch so that it was edge-on, it was nearly invisible, and it was pletely invisible from behind. You could see it only from the side he road, and you could easily even from there, because all you could see through it was exactly the same kind of thing that lay in front of it on this side: a patch of grass lit by a streetlight.
But Will knew without the slightest doubt that that patch of grass oher side was in a different world.
He couldnt possibly have said why. He k at once, as strongly as he khat fire burned and kindness was good. He was looking at something profoundly alien.
And for that reason alo enticed him to stoop and look further. What he saw made his head swim and his heart thump harder, but he didate: he pushed his tote bag through, and then scrambled through himself, through the hole in the fabric of this world and into another.
He found himself standing under a row of trees. But not horrees: these were tall palms, and they were growing, like the trees in Oxford, in a row along the grass. But this was the ter of a broad boulevard, and at the side of the boulevard was a line of cafes and small shops, all brightly bt, all open, and all utterly silent ay beh a sky thick with stars. The hot night was laden with the st of flowers and with the salt smell of the sea.
CHAPTER ONE: THE CAT AND THE HORNBEAM TREES-2
Will looked around carefully. Behind him the full moon shone down over a distant prospect of great green hills, and on the slopes at the foot of the hills there were houses with rich gardens, and an open parkland with groves of trees and the white gleam of a classical temple.
Just beside him was that bare pat the air, as hard to see from this side as from the other, but defihere. He bent to look through and saw the road in Oxford, his own world. He turned away with a shudder: whatever this new world was, it had to be better than what hed just left.
With a dawning light-headedness, the feeling that he was dreaming but awake at the same time, he stood up and looked around for the cat, his guide.
She was nowhere in sight. No doubt she was already expl those narrow streets and gardens beyond the cafes whose lights were so inviting. Will lifted up his tattered tote bag and walked slowly across the road toward them, moving very carefully in case it all disappeared.
The air of the place had somethierranean or maybe Caribbean about it. Will had never been out of England, so he couldnt pare it with anywhere he knew, but it was the kind of place where people came out late at night to eat and drink, to dand enjoy music. Except that there was no one here, and the silence was immense.
On the first er he reached there stood a cafe, with little green tables on the pavement and a zinc-topped bar and an espresso mae. On some of the tables glasses stood half-empty; in one ashtray a cigarette had burned down to the butt; a plate of risotto stood o a basket of stale rolls as hard as cardboard.
He took a bottle of lemonade from the cooler behind the bar and then thought for a moment before dropping a pound iill. As soon as hed shut the till, he ope again, realizing that the money in there might say what this place was called. The currency was called the a, but he couldnt tell any more than that.
He put the money bad opehe bottle on the opener fixed to the ter before leaving the cafe and wandering dowreet going away from the boulevard. Little grocery shops and bakeries stood between jewelers and florists and bead-curtained doors opening into private houses, where wrought-iron balies thick with flowers the narrow pavement, and where the silence, being enclosed, was even more profound.
The streets were leading downward, and before very long they opened out onto a broad avenue where more palm trees reached high into the air, the underside of their leaves glowing ireetlights.
Oher side of the avenue was the sea.
Will found himself fag a harbor enclosed from the left by a stone breakwater and from the right by a headland on which a large building with stone ns and wide steps and ornate balies stood floodlit among fl trees and bushes. In the harbor one or two rowboats lay still at anchor, and beyond the breakwater the starlight glittered on a calm sea.
By now Wills exhaustion had been wiped out. He was wide awake and possessed by wonder. From time to time, on his way through the narrow streets, hed put out a hand to touch a wall or a doorway or the flowers in a window box, and found them solid and ving. Now he wao touch the whole landscape in front of him, because it was too wide to take in through his eyes alone. He stood still, breathing deeply, almost afraid.
He discovered that he was still holding the bottle hed taken from the cafe. He drank from it, and it tasted like what it was, ice-cold lemonade; and wele, too, because the night air was hot.
He wandered along to the right, past hotels with awnings over brightly lit entrances and bougainvillea fl beside them, until he came to the gardens otle headland. The building irees with its ornate facade lit by floodlights might have been an opera house.
There were paths leading here and there among the lamp-hung olearees, but not a sound of life could be heard: no night birds singing, no is, nothing but Wills own footsteps.
The only sound he could hear came from the regular, quiet breaking of delicate waves from the beach beyond the palm trees at the edge of the garden. Will made his way there. The tide was halfway in, or halfway out, and a row of pedal boats was drawn up on the soft white sand above the high-water line. Every few seds a tiny wave folded itself over at the seas edge before sliding baeatly uhe . Fifty yards or so out on the calm water was a diving platform.
Will sat on the side of one of the pedal boats and kicked off his shoes, his cheap shat were ing apart and cramping his hot feet. He dropped his socks beside them and pushed his toes deep into the sand. A few seds later he had thrown off the rest of his clothes and was walking into the sea.
The water was deliciously.99lｉb? between cool and warm. He splashed out to the diving platform and pulled himself up to sit on its weather-softened planking and look back at the city.
To his right the harbor lay enclosed by its breakwater. Beyond it a mile or so away stood a red-andwhite- striped lighthouse. And beyond the lighthouse, distant cuffs rose dimly, and beyond them, those great wide rolling hills hed seen from the place hed first e through.
Closer at hahe light-bearing trees of the o gardens, and the streets of the city, and the waterfront with its hotels and cafes and warm-lit shops, all silent, all empty.
And all safe. No one could follow him here; the men whod searched the house would never know; the police would never find him. He had a whole world to hide in.
For the first time since hed run out of his front door that m, Will began to feel secure.
He was thirsty again, and hungry too, because hed last eaten in another world, after all. He slipped into the water and swam back more slowly to the beach, where he put on his underpants and carried the rest of his clothes and the tote bag. He dropped the empty bottle into the first rubbish bin he found and walked barefoot along the pavement toward the harbor.
When his skin had dried a little, he pulled on his jeans and looked for somewhere hed be likely to find food. The hotels were too grand. He looked ihe first hotel, but it was se that he felt unfortable, and he kept moving dowerfront until he found a little caf6 that looked like the right place. He couldnt have said why; it was very similar to a dozen others, with its first-floor baly laden with flowerpots and its tables and chairs on the pavement outside, but it weled him.
There was a bar with photographs of boxers on the wall, and a signed poster of a broadly smiling accordion player. There was a kit, and a door beside it that opened on to a narrow flight of stairs, carpeted in a bright floral pattern.
He climbed quietly up to the narrow landing and opehe first door he came to. It was the room at the front. The air was hot and stuffy, and Will opehe glass door onto the baly to let in the night air. The room itself was small and furnished with things that were too big for it, and shabby, but it was and fortable. Hospitable people lived here. There was a little shelf of books, a magazine oable, a couple of photographs in frames.
Will left and looked iher rooms: a little bathroom, a bedroom with a double bed.
Something made his skin prickle before he opehe last door. His heart raced. He wasnt sure if hed heard a sound from inside, but something told him that the room wasy. He thought how odd it was that this day had begun with s藏书网omeoside a darkened room, and himself waiting inside; and now the positions were reversed— And as he stood w, the door burst open and something came hurtling at him like a wild beast.
But his memory had warned him, and he wasnt standing quite close enough to be knocked over.
He fought hard: knee, head, fist, and the strength of his arms against it, him, her— A girl about his own age, ferocious, snarling, with ragged dirty clothes and thin bare limbs.
She realized what he was at the same moment, and snatched herself away from his bare chest to crou the er of the dark landing like a cat at bay. And there was a cat beside her, to his astonishment: a large wildcat, as tall as his knee, fur on end, teeth bared, tail erect.
She put her hand os bad licked her dry lips, watg his every movement.
Will stood up slowly.
"Who are you?"
"Lyra Silvertongue," she said.
"Do you live here?"
"No," she said vehemently.
"Then what is this place? This city?"
"I dont know."
"Where do you e from?"
"From my world. Its joined on. Wheres your daemon?"
His eyes widehen he saw somethiraordinary happen to the cat: it leaped into her arms, and when it got there, it ged shape. Now it was a red-brown stoat with a cream throat and belly, and it glared at him as ferociously as the girl herself. But then another shift in things took place, because he realized that they, both girl and stoat, were profoundly afraid of him, as much as if hed been a ghost.
"I havent got a demon," he said. "I dont know what you mean." Then, "Oh! Is that your demon?"
She stood up slowly. The stoat curled himself around her neck, and his dark eyes never left Wills face.
"But youre alive," she said, half-disbelievingly. "You ent... You ent been .. ."
"My names Will Parry," he said. "I dont know what you mean about demons. In my world demon means ... it means devil, something evil."
"In your world? You mean this ent your world?"
"No. I just found... a way in. Like your world, I suppose. It must be joined on."
She relaxed a little, but she still watched him ily, aayed calm and quiet as if she were a stra he was making friends with.
"Have you seen anyone else in this city?" he went on.
"No."
"How long have you been here?"
"Dunno. A few days. I t remember."
"So why did you e here?"
"Im looking for Dust," she said.
"Looking for dust? What, gold dust? What sort of dust?"
She narrowed her eyes and said nothing. He turned away to go downstairs.
"Im hungry," he said. "Is there any food i?"
"I dunno," she said, and followed, keeping her distance from him.
I Will found the ingredients for a casserole of chi and onions and peppers, but they hadnt been cooked, and in the heat they were smelling bad. He swept them all into the dustbin.
"Havent you eaten anything?" he said, and opehe fridge.
Lyra came to look.
"I didnt know this was here," she said. "Oh! Its cold."
Her daemon had ged again, and bee a huge, brightly colored butterfly, which fluttered into the fridge briefly and out again at oo settle on her shoulder. The butterfly raised and lowered his wings slowly. Will felt he shouldnt stare, though his head was ringing with the strangeness of it.
"Havent you seen a fridge before?" he said.
He found a of cola and ha to her before taking out a tray of eggs. She pressed the between her palms with pleasure.
"Drink it, then," he said.
She looked at it, frowning. She didnt know how to open it. He she lid for her, and the drink frothed out. She licked it suspiciously, and then her eyes opened wide.
"This is good?" she said, her voice half hoping and half fearful.
"Yeah. They have Coke in this world, obviously. Look, Ill drink some to prove it isnt poison."
He opened another . Once she saw him drink, she followed his example. She was obviously thirsty. She drank so quickly that the bubbles got up her nose, and she snorted and belched loudly, and scowled when he looked at her.
"Im going to make ae," he said. "Dyou want some?"
"I dont know what omelette is."
"Well, watd youll see. Or theres a of baked beans, if youd like."
"I dont know baked beans."
He showed her the . She looked for the snap-open top like the one on the cola .
"No, you have to use a opener," he said. "Dont they have openers in your world?"
"In my world servants do the cooking," she said sfully.
"Look in the drawer over there."
She rummaged through the kit cutlery while he broke six eggs into a bowl and whisked them藏书网 with a fork.
"Thats it," he said, watg. "With the red handle. Bring it here."
He pierced the lid and showed her how to open the .
"Now get that little sau off the hook and tip them in," he told her.
She she beans, and again an expression of pleasure and suspi entered her eyes. She tipped the into the sau and licked a finger, watg as Will shook salt and pepper into the eggs and cut a knob of butter from a package in the fridge into a cast-iron pan. He went into the bar to find some matches, and when he came back she was dipping her dirty finger in the bowl of beaten eggs and lig it greedily. Her daemon, a cat again, was dipping his paw in it, too, but he backed away when Will came near.
"Its not cooked yet," Will said, taking it away. "When did you last have a meal?"
"At my fathers house on Svalbard," she said. "Days and days ago. I dont know. I found bread and stuff here and ate that."
He lit the gas, melted the butter, poured in the eggs, ahem run all over the base of it. Her eyes followed everything greedily, watg him pull the eggs up into ses in the ter as they cooked and tilt the pan to let raw egg flow into the space. She watched him, too, looking at his fad his w hands and his bare shoulders and his feet.
When the omelette was cooked he folded it over and cut it in half with the spatula.
"Find a couple of plates," he said, and Lyra obediently did so.
She seemed quite willing to take orders if she saw the sense of them, so he told her to go and clear a table in front of the cafe. He brought out the food and some knives and forks from a drawer, and they sat down together, a little awkwardly.
She ate hers ihan a minute, and then fidgeted, swinging bad forth on her chair and plug at the plastic strips of the wove while he finished his. Her daemon ged yet again, and became a goldfinch, peg at invisible crumbs oabletop.
Will ate slowly. Hed given her most of the beans, but even so he took much lohan she did.
The harbor in front of them, the ligr *s along the empty boulevard, the stars in the dark sky above, all hung in the huge silence as if nothing else existed at all.
And all the time he was intensely aware of the girl. She was small and slight, but wiry, and shed fought like a tiger; his fist had raised a bruise on her cheek, and she was ign it. Her expression was a mixture of the very young—when she first tasted the cola—and a kind of deep, sad wariness. Her eyes were pale blue, and her hair would be a darkish blond o was washed; because she was filthy, and she smelled as if she hadnt bathed for days.
"Laura? Lara?" Will said.
"Lyra."
"Lyra... Silvertongue?"
"Yes."
"Where is your world? How did you get here?"
She shrugged. "I walked," she said. "It was all foggy. I didnt know where I was going. At least, I knew I was going out of my world. But I couldhis oill the fog cleared. Then I found myself here."
"What did you say about dust?"
"Dust, yeah. Im going to find out about it. But this world seems to be empty. Theres no oo ask. Ive been here for ... I dunno, three days, maybe four. And theres no one here."
"But why do you want to find out about dust?"
"Special Dust," she said shortly. "Not ordinary dust, obviously."
The daemon ged again. He did so in the flick of an eye, and from a goldfinch he became a rat, a powerful pitch-black rat with red eyes. Will looked at him with wide wary eyes, and the girl saw his glance.
"You have got a daemon," she said decisively. "Inside you."
He didnt know what to say.
"You have," she went on. "You wouldnt be human else. Youd be ... half dead. We seen a kid with his daemon cut away. You ent like that. Even if you dont know youve got a daemon, you have.
We was scared at first when we saw you. Like you was a night-ghast or something. But then we saw you werent like that at all."
"We?"
"Me and Pantalaimon. Us. But you, your daemo separate from you. Its you. Apart of you.
Youre part of each other. Ent there anyone in your world like us? Are they all like you, with their daemons all hidden away?"
Will looked at the two of them, the skinny pale-eyed girl with her black rat daemon now sitting in her arms, a profoundly alone.
"Im tired. Im going to bed," he said. "Are you going to stay in this city?"
"Dunno. Ive got to find out more about what Im looking for. There must be some Scholars in this world. There must be someone who knows about it."
"Maybe not in this world. But I came here out of a place called Oxford. Theres plenty of scholars there, if thats what you want."
"Oxford? she cried. "Thats where I e from!"
"Is there an Oxford in your world, then? You never came from my world."
"No," she said decisively. "Different worlds. But in my world theres an Oxford too. Were both speaking English, eands to reason theres other things the same. How did you get through? Is there a bridge, or what?"
"Just a kind of window in the air."
"Show me," she said.
It was a and, not a request. He shook his head.
"Not now," he said. "I want to sleep. Anyway, its the middle of the night."
"Then show me in the m!"
"All right, Ill show you. But Ive got my own things to do. Youll have to find your scholars by yourself."
"Easy," she said. "I know all about Scholars."
He put the plates together and stood up.
"I cooked," he said, "so you wash the dishes."
She looked incredulous. "Wash the dishes?" she scoffed. "Theres millions of ones lying about!
Anyway, Im not a servant. Im not going to wash them."
"So I wont show you the way through."
"Ill find it by myself."
"You wont; its hidden. Youd never find it. Listen, I dont know how long we stay in this place.
Weve got to eat, so well eat whats here, but well tidy up afterward ahe place , because we ought to. You wash these dishes. Weve got to treat this place right. Now Im going to bed. Ill have the other room. Ill see you in the m."
He went inside, ed his teeth with a finger and some toothpaste from his tattered bag, fell on the double bed, and was asleep in a moment.
* * * Lyra waited till she was sure he was asleep, and then took the dishes into the kit and ran them uhe tap, rubbing hard with a cloth until they looked . She did the same with the knives and forks, but the procedure didnt work with the omelette pan, so she tried a bar of yello on it, and picked at it stubbornly until it looked as as she thought it was going to. Then she dried everything on another cloth and stacked it ly on the drainboard.
Because she was still thirsty and because she wao try opening a , she snapped open another cola and took it upstairs. She listened outside Wills door and, hearing nothing, tiptoed into the other room and took out the alethiometer from under her pillow.
She dido be close to Will to ask about him, but she wao look anyway, and she turned his door handle as quietly as she could befoing in.
There was a light on the sea front outside shining straight up into the room, and in the glow reflected from the ceiling she looked down at the sleeping boy. He was frowning, and his face glistened with sweat. He was strong and stocky, not as formed as a grown man, of course, because he wasnt much older than she was, but hed be powerful one day. How much easier if his daemon had been visible! She wondered what its form might be, and whether it was fixed yet. Whatever its form was, it would express a nature that was savage, and courteous, and unhappy.
She tiptoed to the window. In the glow from the streetlight she carefully set the hands of the alethiometer, and relaxed her mind into the shape of a question. The needle began to sweep around the dial in a series of pauses and swings almost too fast to watch.
She had asked: What is he? A friend or an enemy?
The alethiometer answered: He is a murderer.
When she saw the answer, she relaxed at once. He could find food, and show her how to reach Oxford, and those were powers that were useful, but he might still have been untrustworthy or cowardly. A murderer was a worthy panion. She felt as safe with him as shed felt with lorek Byrnison, the armored bear.
She swung the shutter across the open window so the m sunlight wouldnt strike in on his face, and tiptoed out.
CHAPTER TWO: AMONG THE WITCHES-1
The witch Serafina Pekkala, who had rescued Lyra and the other children from the experimental station at Bolvangar and flown with her to the island of Svalbard, was deeply troubled.
Imospheric disturbahat followed Lord AsrieFs escape from his exile on Svalbard, she and her panions were blown far from the island and many miles out over the frozen sea. Some of them mao stay with the damaged balloon of Lee Scoresby, the Texan aeronaut, but Serafina herself was tossed high into the banks of fog that soon came rolling in from the gap that Lord AsriePs experiment had torn in the sky.
When she found herself able to trol her flight once more, her first thought was of Lyra; for she knew nothing of the fight between the false bear-king and the true one, lorek Byrnison, nor of what had happeo Lyra after that.
So she began to search for her, flying through the cloudy gold-tinged air on her branch of cloudpine, apanied by her daemon, Kaisa the snow goose. They moved back toward Svalbard and south a little, s for several hours under a sky turbulent with strange lights and shadows.
Serafina Pekkala knew from the uling tingle of the light on her skin that it came from another world.
After some time had passed, Kaisa said, "Look! A witchs daemon, lost..."
Serafina Pekkala looked through the fog banks and saw a tern, cirg and g in the chasms of misty light. They wheeled and flew toward him. Seeing them e near, the tern darted up in alarm, but Serafina Pekkala signaled friendship, and he dropped down beside them.
Serafina Pekkala said, "What are you from?"
"Taymyr," he told her. "My witch is captured. Our ..panions have been driven away! am lost!"
"Who has captured your witch?"
"The woman with the monkey daemon, from Bolvangar.... Help me! Help us! I am so afraid!"
"Was your allied with the child cutters?"
"Yes, until we found out what they were doing. After the fight at Bolvangar they drove us off, but my witch was taken prisohey have her on a ship. ... What I do? She is calling to me and I t find her! Oh, help, help me!"
"Quiet," said Kaisa, the goose daemon. "Listen down below."
They glided lower, listening with keen ears, and Serafina Pekkala soon made out the beat of a gas engine, muffled by the fog.
"They t navigate a ship in fog like this," Kaisa said. "What are they doing?"
"Its a smaller ehan that," said Serafina Pekkala, and as she spoke there came a new sound from a different dire: a low, brutal, shuddering blast, like some immense sea creature calling from the depths. It roared for several seds and then stopped abruptly.
"The ships foghorn," said Serafina Pekkala.
They wheeled low over the water and cast about again for the sound of the engine. Suddenly they found it, for the fog seemed to have patches of differey, and the witch darted up out of sight just in time as a launch came chugging slowly through the swathes of damp air. The swell was slow and oily, as if the water was relut to rise.
They swung around and above, the tern daemon keeping close like a child to its mother, and watched the steersman adjust the course slightly as the foghorn boomed again. There was a light mounted on the bow, but all it lit up was the fog a few yards in front.
Serafina Pekkala said to the lost daemon: "Did you say there are still some witches helping these people?"
"I think so—a few renegade witches from Volgorsk, uheyve fled too," he told her. "What are you going to do? Will you look for my witch?"
"Yes. But stay with Kaisa for now."
Serafina Pekkala flew down toward the launch, leaving the daemons out of sight above, and alighted on the ter just behind the steersman. His seagull daemon squawked, and the man turo look.
"You taken your time, ent you?" he said. "Get up ahead and guide us in on the port side."
She took off again at o had worked: they still had some witches helping them, ahought she was one. Port was left, she remembered, and the port light was red. She cast about in the fog until she caught its hazy glow no more than a hundred yards away. She darted bad hovered above the launch calling dires to the steersman, who slowed the craft down to a crawling pad brought it in to the ships gangway ladder that hung just above the water line.
The steersman called, and a sailor threw a line from above, and another hurried down the ladder to make it fast to the launch.
Serafina Pekkala flew up to the ships rail, areated to the shadows by the lifeboats. She could see no other witches, but they were probably patrolling the skies; Kaisa would know what to do.
Beloassenger was leaving the laund climbing the ladder. The figure was fur-swathed, hooded, anonymous; but as it reached the deck, a golden monkey daemon swung himself lightly up on the rail and glared around, his black eyes radiating malevolence. Serafina caught her breath: the figure was Mrs. Coulter.
A dark-clothed man hurried out oo greet her, and looked around as if he were expeg someone else as well.
"Lord Boreal—" he began.
But Mrs. Coulter interrupted: "He has gone on elsewhere. Have they started the torture?"
"Yes, Mrs. Coulter," was the reply, "but—"
"I ordered them to wait," she snapped. "Have they taken to disobeying me? Perhaps there should be more discipline on this ship."
She pushed her hood back. Serafina Pekkala saw her face clearly in the yellow light: proud, passionate, and, to the witch, so young.
"Where are the other witches?" she demanded.
The man from the ship said, "All gone, maam. Red to their homeland."
"But a witch guided the laun," said Mrs. Coulter. "Where has she gone?"
Serafina shrank back; obviously the sailor in the launch hadnt heard the latest state of things. The cleric looked around, bewildered, but Mrs. Coulter was too impatient, and after a curslance above and along the deck, she shook her head and hurried in with her daemon through the open door that cast a yellow nimbus on the air. The man followed.
Serafina Pekkala looked around to check her position. She was cealed behind a ventilator on the narrow area of deg between the rail and the tral superstructure of the ship; and on this level, fag forward below the bridge and the funnel, was a saloon from which windows, not portholes, looked out on three sides. That was where the people had gone in. Light spilled thickly from the windows onto the fog-pearled railing, and dimly showed up the foremast and the vascovered hatch. Everything was wringi and beginning to freeze into stiffness. No one could see Serafina where she was; but if she wao see any more, she would have to leave her hiding place.
That was too bad. With her pine branch she could escape, and with her knife and her bow she could fight. She hid the branch behind the ventilator and slipped along the detil she reached the first window. It was fogged with densation and impossible to see through, and Serafina could hear no voices, either. She withdrew to the shadows again.
There was ohing she could do; she was relut, because it was desperately risky, and it would leave her exhausted; but it seemed there was no choice. It was a kind of magic she could work to make herself urue invisibility was impossible, of course: this was mental magic, a kind of fiercely held modesty that could make the spell worker not invisible but simply unnoticed.
Holding it with the right degree of iy, she could pass through a crowded room, or walk f beside a solitary traveler, without being seen.
So now she posed her mind and brought all her tration to bear oter of altering the way she held herself so as to deflect attention pletely. It took some minutes before she was fident. She tested it by stepping out of her hiding plad into the path of a sailor ing along the deck with a bag of tools. He stepped aside to avoid her without looking at her once.
She was ready. She went to the door of the brightly lit saloon and ope, finding the room empty. She left the outer door ajar so that she could flee through it if she o, and saw a door at the far end of the room that opened on to a flight of stairs leading down into the bowels of the ship. She desded, and found herself in a narrow corridor hung with white-painted pipework and illuminated with anbaric bulkhead lights, which led straight along the length of the hull, with doors opening off it on both sides.
She walked quietly along, listening, until she heard voices. It sounded as if some kind of cil was in session.
She opehe door and walked in.
A dozen or so people were seated around a large table. One or two of them looked up for a moment, gazed at her absently, and fot her at once. She stood quietly he door and watched. The meeting was being chaired by an elderly man in the robes of a Cardinal, and the rest of them seemed to be clerics of one sort or another, apart from Mrs. Coulter, who was the only resent. Mrs. Coulter had thrown her furs over the back of the chair, and her cheeks were flushed in the heat of the ships interior.
Serafina Pekkala looked around carefully and saw someone else in the room as well: a thin-faced man with a frog daemoed to one side at a table laden with leather-bound books and loose piles of yellowed paper. She thought at first that he was a clerk or a secretary, until she saw what he was doing: he was ily gazing at a golden instrument like a large watch or a pass, stopping every minute or so to note what he found. Then he would open one of the books, search laboriously through the index, and look up a reference before writing that down too and turning back to the instrument.
Serafina looked back to the discussion at the table, because she heard the word witch.
"She knows something about the child," said one of the clerics. "She fessed that she knows something. All the witches know something about her."
"I am w what Mrs. Coulter knows," said the Cardinal. "Is there something she should have told us before, I wonder?"
"You will have to speak more plainly than that," said Mrs. Coulter icily. "You fet I am a woman, Your Eminence, and thus not so subtle as a prince of the Church. What is this truth that I should have known about the child?"
The Cardinals expression was full of meaning, but he said nothing. There ause, and then another cleric said almost apologetically:
"It seems that there is a prophecy. It s the child, you see, Mrs. Coulter. All the signs have been fulfilled. The circumstances of her birth, to begin with. The gyptians know something about her too—they speak of her in terms of witch oil and marsh fire, uny, you see—hence her success in leading the gyptiao Bolvangar. And then theres her astonishi of deposing the bear-king lofur Raknison—this is no ordinary child. Fra Pavel tell us more, perhaps...."
He gla the thin-faced man reading the alethiometer, who blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked at Mrs. Coulter.
"You may be aware that this is the only alethiometer left, apart from the one in the childs possession," he said. "All the others have been acquired aroyed, by order of the Magisterium. I learn from this instrument that the child was given hers by the Master of Jordan College, and that she learo read it by herself, and that she use it without the books of readings. If it were possible to disbelieve the alethiometer, I would do so, because to use the instrument without the books is simply inceivable to me. It takes decades of diligent study to reay sort of uanding. She began to read it within a few weeks of acquiring it, and now she has an almost plete mastery. She is like no human Scholar I imagine."
"Where is she now, Fra Pavel?" said the Cardinal.
"Iher world," said Fra Pavel. "It is already late."
"The witows!" said another man, whose muskrat dasmon gnawed unceasingly at a pencil. "Its all in place but for the witchs testimony! I say we should torture her again!"
"What is this prophecy?" demanded Mrs. Coulter, who had beeing increasingly angry. "How dare you keep it from me?"
Her power over them was visible. The golden monkey glared around the table, and none of them could look him in the face.
Only the Cardinal did not flinch. His daemon, a macaw, lifted a foot and scratched her head.
"The witch has hi somethiraordinary," the Cardinal said. "I dare not believe what I think it means. If its true, it places on us the most terrible responsibility men and women have ever faced. But I ask you again, Mrs. Coulter—what do you know of the child and her father?"
Mrs. Coulter had lost her flush. Her face was chalk-white with fury.
"How dare you interrogate me?" she spat. "And how dare you keep from me what youve learned from the witch? And, finally, how dare you assume that I am keeping something from you? Dyou think Im on her side? Or perhaps you think Im on her fathers side? Perhaps you think I should be tortured like the witch. Well, we are all under your and, Your Eminence. You have only to snap your fingers and you could have me torn apart. But if you searched every scrap of flesh for an answer, you wouldnt find one, because I know nothing of this propheothing whatever. And I demand that you tell me what you know. My child, my own child, ceived in sin and born in shame, but my child heless, and you keep from me what I have every right to know!"
"Please," said another of the cleriervously. "Please, Mrs. Coulter, the witch hasnt spoke; we shall learn more from her. Cardinal Sturrock himself says that shes only hi it."
"And suppose the witch doesnt reveal it?" Mrs. Coulter said. "What then? We guess, do we? We shiver and quail and guess?"
Fra Pavel said, "No, because that is the question I am now preparing to put to the alethiometer.
We shall find the answer, whether from the witch or from the books of readings."
"And how long will that take?"
He raised his eyebrows wearily and said, "A siderable time. It is an immensely plex question."
"But the witch would tell us at once," said Mrs. Coulter.
And she rose to her feet. As if in awe of her, most of the men did too. Only the Cardinal and Fra Pavel remained seated. Serafina Pekkala stood back, fiercely holding herself uhe golden monkey was gnashing his teeth, and all his shimmering fur was standing on end.
Mrs. Coulter swung him up to her shoulder.
"So let us go and ask her," she said.
She turned and swept out into the corridor. The men hasteo follow her, jostling and shoving past Serafina Pekkala, who had only time to stand quickly aside, her mind in a turmoil. The last to go was the Cardinal.
Serafina took a few seds to pose herself, because her agitation was beginning to make her visible. Then she followed the clerics down the corridor and into a smaller room, bare and white and hot, where they were all clustered around the dreadful figure in the ter: a witch bound tightly to a steel chair, with agony on her gray fad her legs twisted and broken.
Mrs. Coulter stood over her. Serafina took up a position by the door, knowing that she could not stay unseen for long; this was too hard.
"Tell us about the child, witch," said Mrs. Coulter.
"No!"
"You will suffer."
"I have suffered enough."
"Oh, there is more suffering to e. We have a thousand years of experien this Church of ours. We draw out your suffering endlessly. Tell us about the child," Mrs. Coulter said, and reached down to break one of the witchs fingers. It snapped easily.
The witch cried out, and for a clear sed Serafina Pekkala became visible to everyone, and one or two of the clerics looked at her, puzzled and fearful; but then she trolled herself again, and they turned back to the torture.
Mrs. Coulter was saying, "If you dont answer Ill break another finger, and then another. What do you know about the child? Tell me."
"All right! Please, please, no more!"
"Ahen."
There came another siing crack, and this time a flood of sobbing broke from the witch.
Serafina Pekkala could hardly hold herself back. Then came these words, in a shriek:
"No, no! Ill tell you! I beg you, no more! The child who was to e ... The witches knew who she was before you did.... We found out her name...."
"We know her name. What name do you mean?"
"Her true he name of her destiny!"
"What is this ell me!" said Mrs. Coulter.
"No... no..."
"And how? Found out how?"
"There was a test.... If she was able to pick out one spray of cloud-pine from many others, she would be the child who would e, and it happe our suls house at Trollesund, when the child came with the gyptian men.... The child with the bear..."
Her voice gave out.
Mrs. Coulter gave a little exclamation of impatience, and there came a loud slap, and a groan.
"But what was your prophecy about this child?" Mrs. Coulter went on, and her voice was all bronze now, and ringing with passion. "And what is this hat will make her destiny clear?"
Serafina Pekkala moved closer, even among the tight throng of men around the witch, and none of them felt her prese their very elbows. She must end this witchs suffering, and soon, but the strain of holding herself unseen was enormous. She trembled as she took the knife from her waist.
The witch was sobbing. "She is the one who came before, and you have hated and feared her ever since! Well, now she has e again, and you failed to find her.... She was there on Svalbard—she was with Lord Asriel, and you lost her. She escaped, and she will be—"
But before she could finish, there came an interruption.
Through the open doorway there flew a tern, mad with terror, and it beat its wings brokenly as it crashed to the floor and struggled up and darted to the breast of the tortured witch, pressing itself against her, nuzzling, chirruping, g, and the witch called in anguish, "Yambe-Akka!
e to me, e to me!"
No o Serafina Pekkala uood. Yambe-Akka was the goddess who came to a witch when she was about to die.
And Serafina was ready. She became visible at ond stepped forward smiling happily, because Yambe-Akka was merry and lighthearted and her visits were gifts of joy. The witch saw her and turned up her tear-stained face, and Serafio kiss it and slid her knife gently into the witchs heart. The tern daemon looked up with dim eyes and vanished.
And now Serafina Pekkala would have to fight her wa９９ｌiｂ.y out.
The men were still shocked, disbelieving, but Mrs. Coulter recovered her wits almost at once.
"Seize her! Do her go!" she cried, but Serafina was already at the door, with an arrow nocked in her b. She swung up the bow and loosed the arrow ihan a sed, and the Cardinal fell choking and ki藏书网g to the floor.
Out, along the corridor to the stairs, turn, nock, loose, and another man fell; and already a loud jarring bell was filling the ship with its gor.
Up the stairs and out onto the deck. Two sailors barred her way, and she said, "Down there! The prisoner has got loose! Get help!"
That was enough to puzzle them, and they stood undecided, which gave her tuo dodge past and seize her cloud-pine from where she had hidden it behind the ventilator.
"Shoot her!" came a cry in Mrs. Coulters voice from behind, and at ohree rifles fired, and the bullets struck metal and whined off into the fog as Serafina leaped on the brand urged it up like one of her own arrows. A few seds later she was in the air, ihick of the fog, safe, and then a great goose shape glided out of the wraiths of gray to her side.
"Where to?" he said.
"Away, Kaisa, away," she said. "I want to get the stench of these people out of my nose."
In truth, she didnt know where to go or what to do . But there was ohing she knew for certain: there was an arrow in her quiver that would find its mark in Mrs. Coulters throat.
They turned south, away from that troubling other-wleam in the fog, and as they flew a question began to form more clearly in Serafinas mind. What was Lord Asriel doing? Because all the events that had overturhe world had their in in his mysterious activities.
The problem was that the usual sources of her knowledge were natural ones. She could tray animal, caty fish, find the rarest berries; and she could read the signs in the pine marterails, or decipher the wisdom in the scales of a perch, or interpret the warnings in the crocus pollen; but these were children of nature, and they told her natural truths.
For knowledge about Lord Asriel, she had to go elsewhere. In the port of Trollesund, their sul Dr. Lanselius maintained his tact with the world of men and women, and Serafina Pekkala sped there through the fog to see what he could tell her. Before she went to his house she circled over the harbor, where wisps and tendrils of mist drifted ghostlike on the icy water, and watched as the pilot guided in a large vessel with an Afri registration. There were several other ships riding at anchor outside the harbor. She had never seen so many.
As the short day faded, she flew down and landed in the back garden of the suls house. She tapped on the window, and Dr. Lanselius himself opehe door, a fio his lips.
"Serafina Pekkala, greetings," he said. "e in quickly, and wele. But you had better not stay long." He offered her a chair at the fireside, having glahrough the curtains out of a window that frohe street. "Youll have some wine?
She sipped the golden Tokay and told him of what she had seen and heard aboard the ship.
"Do you think they uood what she said about the child?" he asked.
"Not fully, I think. But they know she is important. As for that woman, Im afraid of her, Dr.
Lanselius. I shall kill her, I think, but still Im afraid of her."
"Yes," he said. "So am I."
And Serafina listened as he told her of the rumors that had swept the town. Amid the fog of rumor, a few facts had begun to emerge clearly.
CHAPTER TWO: AMONG THE WITCHES-2
They say that the Magisterium is assembling the greatest army ever known, and this is an advance party. And there are unpleasant rumors about some of the soldiers, Serafina Pekkala. Ive heard about Bolvangar, and what they were doing there—cutting childrens daemons away, the most evil work Ive ever heard of. Well, it seems there is a regiment of warriors who have beeed in the same way. Do you know the word zombi? They fear nothing, because theyre mindless. There are some in this town now. The authorities keep them hidden, but wets out, and the townspeople are terrified of them."
"What of the other witch s?" said Serafina Pekkala. "What news do you have of them?"
"Most have gone back to their homelands. All the witches are waiting, Serafina Pekkala, with fear in their hearts, for what will happe."
"And what do you hear of the Church?"
"Theyre in plete fusion. You see, they dont know what Lord Asriel intends to do."
"Nor do I," she said, "and I t imagine what it might be. What do you think hes intending, Dr.
Lanselius?"
He gently rubbed the head of his serpent daemon with his thumb.
"He is a scholar," he said after a moment, "but scholarship is not his ruling passion. Nor is statesmanship. I met him once, and I thought he had an ardent and powerful nature, but not a despotie. I dont think he wants to rule.... I dont know, Serafina Pekkala. I suppose his servant might be able to tell you. He is a man called Thorold, and he was imprisoned with Lord Asriel in the house on Svalbard. It might be worth a visit there to see if he tell you anything; but, of course, he might have goo the other world with his master."
"Thank you. Thats a good idea.... Ill do it. And Ill go at once."
She said farewell to the sul and flew up through the gathering dark to join Kaisa in the clouds.
Serafinas jouro the north was made harder by the fusion in the world around her. All the Arctic peoples had been thrown into panid so had the animals, not only by the fog and the magic variations but by unseasonal crags of id stirrings in the soil. It was as if the earth itself, the permafrost, were slowly awakening from a long dream of being frozen.
In all this turmoil, where sudden shafts of uny brilliance lanced down through rents in towers of fog and then vanished as quickly, where herds of muskox were seized by the urge to gallop south and then wheeled immediately to the west or the north again, where tight-knit skeins of geese disied into a honking chaos as the magic fields they flew by wavered and shis way and that, Serafina Pekkala sat on her cloud-pine and flew north, to the house on the headland in the wastes of Svalbard.
There she found Lord Asriels servant, Thorold, fighting off a group of cliff-ghasts.
She saw the movement before she came close enough to see what was happening. There was a swirl of lungihery wings, and a malevolent yowk-yowk-yowk resounding in the snowy courtyard. A single figure swathed in furs fired a rifle into the midst of them with a gaunt dog daemon snarling and snapping beside him whenever one of the filthy things flew low enough.
She didnt know the man, but a cliff-ghast was an enemy always. She swung around above and loosed a dozen arrows into the melee. With shrieks and gibberings, the gang—too loosely ao be called a troop—circled, saw their new oppo, and fled in fusion. A mier the skies were bare again, and their dismayed yowk-yowk-yowk echoed distantly off the mountains before dwindling into silence.
Serafina flew down to the courtyard and alighted otｐ://.９９lｉｂ.rampled, blood-sprinkled snow. The man pushed back his hood, still holding his rifle warily, because a witch was an enemy sometimes, and she saw an elderly man, long-jawed and grizzled and steady-eyed.
"I am a friend of Lyras," she said. "I hope we talk. Look: I lay my bow down."
"Where is the child?" he said.
"In another world. Im ed for her safety. And I o know what Lord Asriel is doing."
He lowered the rifle and said, "Step ihen. Look: I lay my rifle down."
The formalities exged, they went indoors. Kaisa glided through the skies above, keeping watch, while Thorold brewed some coffee and Serafina told him of her involvement with Lyra.
"She was always a willful child," he said when they were seated at the oaken table in the glow of a naphtha lamp. "Id see her every year or so when his lordship visited his college. I was fond of her, mind—you couldnt help it. But what her place was in the wider scheme of things, I dont know."
"What was Lord Asriel planning to do?"
"You dont thiold me, do you, Serafina Pekkala? Im his manservant, thats all. I his clothes and cook his meals and keep his house tidy. I may have learned a thing or two in the years I been with his lordship, but only by pig em up actal. He wouldnt fide in me any more than in his shaving mug."
"Then tell me the thing or two youve learned by act," she insisted.
Thorold was an elderly man, but he was healthy and vigorous, and he felt flattered by the attention of this young witd her beauty, as any man would. He was shrewd, though, too, and he khe attention was not really on him but on what he knew; and he was ho, so he did not draw out his telling for much lohan he needed.
"I t tell you precisely what hes doing," he said, "because all the philosophical details are beyond my grasp. But I tell you what drives his lordship, though he doesnt know I know. Ive seen this in a hundred little signs. Correct me if Im wrong, but the witch people have different gods from ours, ent that right?"
"Yes, thats true."
"But you know about od? The God of the Church, the ohey call the Authority?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, Lord Asriel has never found hisself at ease with the does of the Church, so to speak.
Ive seen a spasm of disgust cross his face whealk of the sacraments, and ato, and redemption, and suchlike. Its death among our people, Serafina Pekkala, to challehe Church, but Lord Asriels been nursing a rebellion in his heart for as long as Ive served him, thats ohing I do know."
"A rebellion against the Church?"
"Partly, aye. There was a time whehought of making it an issue of force, but he turned away from that."
"Why? Was the Church to?"
"No," said the old servant, "that wouldnt stop my master. Now this might sound strao you, Serafina Pekkala, but I know the maer than any wife could know him, better than a mother.
Hes been my master and my study fh on forty years. I t follow him to the height of his thought any more than I fly, but I see where hes a-heading even if I t go after him.
No, its my belief he turned away from a rebellion against the Churot because the Church was to, but because it was too weak to be worth the fighting."
"So... what is he doing?"
"I think hes a-waging a higher war than that. I think hes aiming a rebellion against the highest power of all. Hes gone a-searg for the dwelling place of the Authority Himself, and hes agoing to destroy Him. Thats what I think. It shakes my heart to voice it, maam. I hardly dare think of it. But I t put together any other story that makes sense of what hes doing."
Serafina sat quiet for a few moments, abs what Thorold had said.
Before she could speak, he went on:
"Course, ating out to do a grand thing like that would be the target of the Churchs anger. Goes without saying. Itd be the most gigantic blasphemy, thats what theyd say. Theyd have him before the sistorial Court aeo death before you could blink. Ive never spoke of it before and I shant again; Id be afraid to speak it aloud to you if you werent a witd beyond the power of the Church; but that makes sense, and nothing else does. Hes a-going to find the Authority and kill Him."
"Is that possible?" said Serafina.
"Lord Asriels life has been filled with things that were impossible. I wouldnt like to say there was anything he couldnt do. But on the face of it, Serafina Pekkala, yes, hes stark mad. If angels couldnt do it, how a man dare to think about it?"
"Angels? What are angels?"
"Beings of pure spirit, the Church says. The Church teaches that some of the angels rebelled before the world was created, and got flung out of heaven and into hell. They failed, you see, thats the point. They couldnt do it. And they had the power of angels. Lord Asriel is just a man, with human power, no more than that. But his ambition is limitless. He dares to do what men and women dont even dare to think. And look what hes done already: hes torhe sky, hes opehe way to another world. Who else has ever dohat? Who else could think of it? So with one part of me, Serafina Pekkala, I say hes mad, wicked, deranged. Yet with another part I think, hes Lord Asriel, hes not like other men. Maybe ... if it was ever going to be possible, itd be done by him and by no one else."
"And what will you do, Thorold?"
"Ill stay here and wait. Ill guard this house till he es bad tells me different, or till I die.
And now I might ask you the same question, maam."
"Im going to make sure the child is safe," she said. "It might be that I have to pass this way again, Thorold. Im glad to know that you will still be here."
"I wont budge," he told her.
She refused Thorolds offer of food, and said good-bye.
A minute or so later she joined her goose daemon again, and the daemo sileh her as they soared and wheeled above the foggy mountains. She was deeply troubled, and there was o explain: every strand of moss, every icy puddle, every midge in her homeland thrilled against her nerves and called her back. She felt fear for them, but fear of herself, too, for she was having to ge. These were human affairs she was inquiring into, this was a human matter; Lord Asriels god was not hers. Was she being human? Was she losing her witchhood?
If she were, she could not do it alone.
"Home now," she said. "We must talk to our sisters, Kaisa. These events are too big for us alone."
And they sped through the roiling banks of fog toward Lake Enara and home.
* * * In the forested caves beside the lake they found the others of their , and Lee Scoresby, too.
The aeronaut had struggled to keep his balloon aloft after the crash at Svalbard, and the witches had guided him to their homeland, where he had begun to repair the damage to his basket and the gasbag.
"Maam, Im very glad to see you," he said. "Any news of the little girl?"
"None, Mr. Scoresby. Will you join our cil tonight and help us discuss what to do?"
The Texan blinked with surprise, for no man had ever been known to join a witch cil.
"Id be greatly honored," he said. "I may have a suggestion or two of my own."
All through that day the witches came, like flakes of blaow on the wings of a storm, filling the skies with the darting flutter of their silk and the swish of air through the needles of their cloud-pine branches. Men who hunted in the dripping forests or fished amoing ice floes heard the skywide whisper through the fog, and if the sky was clear, they would look up to see the witches flying, like scraps of darkness drifting on a secret tide.
By evening the pines around the lake were lit from below by a hundred fires, and the greatest fire of all was built in front of the gathering cave. There, ohey had eaten, the witches assembled. Serafina Pekkala sat in the ter, the of little scarlet flowers ling among her fair hair. On her left sat Lee Scoresby, and on her right, a visitor: the queen of the Latvian witches, whose name was Ruta Skadi.
She had arrived only an hour before, to Serafinas surprise. Serafina had thought Mrs. Coulter beautiful, for a short-life; but Ruta Skadi was as lovely as Mrs. Coulter, with ara dimension of the mysterious, the uny. She had trafficked with spirits, and it snowed. She was vivid and passionate, with large black eyes; it was said that Lord Asriel himself had been her lover. She wore heavy gold earrings and a on her black curly hair ringed with the fangs of snow tigers.
Serafinas daemon, Kaisa, had learned from Ruta Skadis daemon that she had killed the tigers herself in order to punish the Tartar tribe who worshiped them, because the tribesmen had failed to do her honor when she had visited their territory. Without their tiger gods, the tribe deed into fear and melancholy and begged her to allow them to worship her instead, only to be rejected with pt; for what good would their worship do her? she asked. It had dohing for the tigers. Such was Ruta Skadi: beautiful, proud, and pitiless.
Serafina was not sure why she had e, but made the queen wele, aiquette demahat Ruta Skadi should sit on Serafinas right. When they were all assembled, Serafina began to speak.
"Sisters! You knoe have e together: we must decide what to do about these s. The universe is broken wide, and Lord Asriel has opehe way from this world to another. Should we ourselves with it, or live our lives as we have doil now, looking after our own affairs? Then there is the matter of the child Lyra Belacqua, now called Lyra Silvertongue by King lorek Byrnison. She chose the right cloud-pine spray at the house of Dr.
Lanselius: she is the child we have always expected, and now she has vanished.
"We have two guests, who will tell us their thoughts. First we shall hear Queen Ruta Skadi."
Ruta Skadi stood. Her white arms gleamed in the firelight; her eyes glittered shtly that even the farthest witch could see the play of expression on her vivid face.
"Sisters," she began, "let me tell you what is happening, and who it is that we must fight. For there is a war ing. I dont knoill join with us, but I know whom we must fight. It is the Magisterium, the Church. For all its history— and thats not long by our lives, but its many, many of theirs—its tried to suppress and trol every natural impulse. And when it t trol them, it cuts them out. Some of you have seen what they did at Bolvangar. And that was horrible, but it is not the only such plaot the only such practice. Sisters, you know only the north; I have traveled in the south lands. There are churches there, believe me, that cut their children too, as the people of Bolvangar did—not in the same way, but just as horribly. They cut their sexual ans, yes, both boys and girls; they cut them with knives so that they shant feel. That is what the Church does, and every church is the same: trol, destroy, obliterate every good feeling. So if a war es, and the Church is on one side of it, we must be oher, no matter what strange allies we find ourselves bound to.
"What I propose is that our s join together and go north to explore this new world, and see what we discover there. If the child is not to be found in our world, its because she will have goer Lord Asriel already. And Lord Asriel is the key to this, believe me. He was my lover once, and I would willingly join forces with him, because he hates the Churd all it does.
"That is what I have to say."
Ruta Skadi spoke passionately, and Serafina admired her power and her beauty. Whevian queen sat down, Serafina turo Lee Scoresby.
"Mr. Scoresby is a friend of the childs, and thus a friend of ours," she said. "Would you tell us your thoughts, sir?"
The Texan got to his feet, whiplash-lean and courteous. He looked as if he were not scious of the strangeness of the occasion, but he was. His hare daemoer, crouched beside him, her ears flat along her back, her golden eyes half closed.
"Maam," he said, "I have to thank you all first for the kindness youve shown to me, and the help you exteo an aeronaut battered by winds that came from another world. I wont trespass long on your patience.
"When I was traveling north to Bolvangar with the gyptians, the child Lyra told me about something that happened in the college she used to live in, ba Oxford. Lord Asriel had showher scholars the severed head of a man called Stanislaus Grumman, and that kinda persuaded them to give him some moo e north and find out what had happened.
"Now, the child was so sure of what shed seen that I didnt like to questiooo much. But what she９９lｉｂ?t> said made a kind of memory e to my mind, except that I couldnt reach it clearly. I knew something about this Dr. Grumman. And it was only on the flight here from Svalbard that I remembered what it was. It was an old hunter from Tungusk who told me. It seems that Grummahe whereabouts of some kind of object that gives prote to whoever holds it. I dont want to belittle the magic that you witches and, but this thing, whatever it is, has a kind of power that outclasses anything Ive ever heard of.
"And I thought I might postpone my retirement to Texas because of my for that child, and search frumman. You see, I dont think hes dead. I think Lord Asriel was fooling those scholars.
"So Im going to Nova Zembla, where I last heard of him alive, and Im going to search for him. I t see the future, but I see the present clear enough. And Im with you in this war, for what my bullets are worth. But thats the task Im going to take on, maam," he cluded, turning back to Serafina Pekkala. "Im going to seek out Stanislaus Grumman and find out what he knows, and if I find that object he knows of, Ill take it to Lyra."
Serafina said, "Have you been married, Mr. Scoresby? Have you any children?"
"No, maam, I have no child, though I would have liked to be a father. But I uand your question, and youre right: that little girl has had bad luck with her true parents, and maybe I f make it up to her. Someone has to do it, and Im willing."
"Thank you, Mr. Scoresby," she said.
And she took off her , and plucked from it one of the little scarlet flowers that, while she wore them, remained as fresh as if they had just been picked.
Take this with you," she said, "and whenever you need my help, hold it in your hand and call to me. I shall hear you, wherever you are."
"Why, thank you, maam," he said, surprised. He took the little flower and tucked it carefully into his breast pocket.
"And we shall call up a wind to help you to Nova Zembla," Serafina Pekkala told him. "Now, sisters, who would like to speak?"
The cil pran. The witches were democratic, up to a point; every witch, even the you, had the right to speak, but only their queen had the power to decide. The talk lasted all night, with many passionate voices for open war at once, and some others urging caution, and a few, though those were the wisest, suggesting a mission to all the other witch s te them to join together for the first time.
Ruta Skadi agreed with that, and Serafi out messengers at once. As for what they should do immediately, Serafina picked out twenty of her fi fighters and ordered them to prepare to fly north with her, into the new world that Lord Asriel had opened, and search for Lyra.
"What of you, Queen Ruta Skadi?" Serafina said finally. "What are your plans?"
"I shall search for Lord Asriel, and learn what hes doing from his own lips. And it seems that the way hes gone is northward too. May I e the first part of the journey with you, sister?"
"You may, and wele," said Serafina, who was glad to have her pany. So they agreed.
But soon after the cil had broken up, an elderly witch came to Serafina Pekkala and said, "You had better listen to what Juta Kamainen has to say, Queen. Shes headstrong, but it might be important."
The young witch Juta Kamainen—young by witch standards, that is; she was only just over a hundred years old—was stubborn and embarrassed, and her robin daemon was agitated, flying from her shoulder to her hand and cirg high above her before settling again briefly on her shoulder. The witchs cheeks were plump and red; she had a vivid and passioure. Serafina didnt know her well.
"Queen," said the young witch, uo stay silent under Serafinas gaze, "I know the man Stanislaus Grumman. I used to love him. But I hate him now with such a fervor that if I see him, I shall kill him. I would have said nothing, but my sister made me tell you."
She glanced with hatred at the elder witch, who returned her look with passion: she knew about love.
"Well," said Serafina, "if he is still alive, hell have to stay alive until Mr. Scoresby finds him. You had better e with us into the new world, and then therell be no danger of your killing him first. Fet him, Juta Kamainen. Love makes us suffer. But this task of ours is greater than revenge. Remember that."
"Yes, Queen," said the young witch humbly.
And Serafina Pekkala awenty-one panions and Queen Ruta Skadi of Latvia prepared to fly into the new world, where no witch had ever flown before.
CHAPTER THREE: A CHILDRENS WORLD-1
Lyra was awake early.
Shed had a horrible dream: she had been given the vacuum flask shed seen her father, Lord Asriel, show to the Master and Scholars of Jordan College. When that had really happened, Lyra had been hiding in the wardrobe, and shed watched as Lord Asriel opehe flask to show the Scholars the severed head of Stanislaus Grumman,藏书网 the lost explorer; but in her dream, Lyra had to open the flask herself, and she didnt want to. In fact, she was terrified. But she had to do it, whether she wao or not, and she felt her hands weakening with dread as she undipped the lid and heard the air rash into the frozen chamber. Then she lifted the lid away, nearly choking with fear but knowing she had to—she had to do it. And there was nothing ihe head had gohere was nothing to be afraid of.
But she awoke all the same, g and sweating, i little bedroom fag the harbor, with the moonlight streaming through the window, and lay in someone elses bed clutg someone elses pillow, with the ermine Pantalaimon nuzzling her and making soothing noises. Oh, she was shtened! And how odd it was, that in real life she had been eager to see the hea藏书网d of Stanislaus Grumman, and had begged Lord Asriel to open the flask again a her look, a in her dream she was so terrified.
When m came, she asked the alethiometer what the dream meant, but all it said was, It was a dream about a head.
She thought of waking the strange boy, but he was so deeply asleep that she decided not to.
Instead, she went down to the kit and tried to make ae, and twenty minutes later she sat down at a table on the pavement and ate the blaed, gritty thing with great pride while the sparrow Pantalaimon pecked at the bits of shell.
She heard a sound behind her, and there was Will, heavy-eyed with sleep.
"I make omelette," she said. "Ill make you some if you like."
He looked at her plate and said, "No, Ill have some cereal. Theres still some milk in the fridge thats all right. They t have been gone very long, the people who lived here."
She watched him shake flakes into a boour milk on them—something else shed never seen before.
He carried the bowl outside and said, "If you dont e from this world, wheres your world? How did you get here?"
"Over a bridge. My father made this bridge, and ... I followed him across. But hes gone somewhere else, I dont know where. I dont care. But while I was walking across there was so much fog, and I got lost, I think. I walked around in the fog for days just eating berries and stuff I found. Then one day the fog cleared, and on that cliff back there—"
She gestured behind her. Will looked along the shore, past the lighthouse, and saw the coast rising in a great series of cliffs that disappeared into the haze of the distance.
"And we saw the town here, and came down, but there was no one here. At least there were things to eat ao sleep in. We didnt know what to do ."
"You sure this isnt another part of your world?"
"Course. This ent my world, I know that for certain."
Will remembered his own absolute certainty, on seeing the patch of grass through the window in the air, that it wasnt in his world, and he nodded.
"So theres three worlds at least that are joined on," he said.
"Theres millions and millions," Lyra said. "This other daemon told me. He was a witchs daemon.
No one t how many worlds there are, all in the same space, but no one could get from oo another before my father made this bridge."
"What about the window I found?"
"I dunno about that. Maybe all the worlds are starting to move into one another."
"And why are you looking for dust?"
She looked at him coldly. "I might tell you sometime," she said.
"All right. But how are you going to look for it?"
"Im going to find a Scholar who knows about it."
"What, any scholar?"
"No. An experimental theologian," she said. "In my Oxford, they were the ones who knew about it.
Stands to reason itll be the same in your Oxford. Ill go to Jordan College first, because Jordan had the best ones."
"I never heard of experimental theology," he said.
"They know all about elementary particles and fual forces," she explained. "And anbaromagism, stuff like that. Atomcraft."
"What-magism?"
"Anbaromagism. Like anbaric. Those lights," she said, pointing up at the oral streetlight. "Theyre anbaric."
"We call them electric."
"Electric ... thats like electrum. Thats a kind of stone, a jewel, made out of gum from bees.
Theres bisects in it, sometimes."
"You mean amber," he said, and they both said, "Anbar..."
And each of them saw their own expression ohers face. Will remembered that moment for a long time afterward.
"Well, eleagism," he went on, looking away. "Sounds like what hysics, your experimental theology. You want stists, not theologians."
"Ah," she said warily. "Ill find "em."
They sat hi the wide clear m, with the sun glittering placidly on the harbor, and each of them might have spoken n?ext, because both of them were burning with questions; but then they heard a voice from farther along the harbor front, toward the o gardens.
Both of them looked there, startled. It was a childs voice, but there was no one in sight.
Will said to Lyra quietly, "How long did you say youd been herer "Three days, four—I lost t. I never seen aheres no one here. I looked almost everywhere."
But there was. Two children, one a girl of Lyras age and the other a younger boy, came out of one of the streets leading down to the harbor. They were carrying baskets, and both had red hair.
They were about a hundred yards away when they saw Will and Lyra at the cafe table.
Pantalaimon ged from a goldfinouse and ran up Lyras arm to the pocket of her shirt.
Hed seen that these new children were like Will: her of them had a dsmon visible.
The two children wandered up and sat at a table nearby.
"You from Cigazze?" the girl said.
Will shook his head.
"From SantElia?"
"No," said Lyra. "Were from somewhere else."
The girl his was a reasonable reply.
"Whats happening?" said Will. "Where are the grownups?"
The girls eyes narrowed. "Didnt the Specters e to your city?" she said.
"No," Will said. "We just got here. We dont know about Specters. What is this city called?"
"Cigazze," the girl said suspiciously. "Cittagazze, all right."
"Cittagazze," Lyra repeated. "Cigazze. Why do the grown-ups have to leave?"
"Because of the Specters," the girl said with weary s. "Whats your name?"
"Lyra. And hes Will. Whats yours?"
"Angelica. My brother is Paolo."
"Whereve you e from?"
"Up the hills. There was a big fog and storm and everyone was frightened, so we all run up in the hills. Thehe fog cleared, the grownups could see with telescopes that the city was full of Specters, so they couldnt e back. But the kids, we ain afraid of Specters, all right. Theres more kids ing down. They be here later, but were first."
"Us and Tullio," said little Paolo proudly.
"Whos Tullio?"
Angelica was cross: Paolo shouldnt have mentioned him, but the secret was out now.
" brother," she said. "He ain with us. Hes hiding till he ... Hes just hiding."
"Hes gon—" Paolo began, but Angelica smacked him hard, and he shut his mouth at once, pressing his quivering lips together.
"What did you say about the city?" said Will. "Its full of Specters?"
"Yeah, Cigazze, SantElia, all cities. The Specters go where the people are. Where you from?"
"Wier," said Will.
"I never heard of it. They ain got Specters there?"
"No. I t see any here, either."
"Course not!" she crowed. "You ain grown up! When we grow up, we see Specters."
"I ain afraid of Specters, all right," the little boy said, thrusting forward his grubby . "Kill the buggers."
"Ent the grownups going to e back at all?" said Lyra.
"Yeah, in a few days," said Angelica. "When the Specters go somewhere else. We like it when the Specters e, cause we run about iy, do what we like, all right."
"But what do the grownups think the Specters will do to them?" Will said.
"Well, when a Specter catch a grownup, thats bad to see. They eat the life out of them there and then, all right. I dont want to be grown up, for sure. At first they know its happening, and theyre afraid; they cry and cry. They try and look aretend it ain happening, but it is. Its too late. And no one ain gonna go hem, they on they own. Then they get pale and they stop moving. They still alive, but its like they beeen from inside. You look in they eyes, you see the back of they heads. Ain nothing there."
The girl turo her brother and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt.
"Me and Paolos going to look for ice creams," she said. "You want to e and find some?"
"No," said Will, "we got something else to do." "Good-bye, then," she said?, and Paolo said, "Kill the Specters!"
"Good-bye," said Lyra.
As soon as Angelid the little boy had vanished, Panta-laimon appeared from Lyras pocket, his mouse head ruffled and bright-eyed.
He said to Will, "They dont know about this window you found."
It was the first time Will had heard him speak, and he was almost more startled by that than by anything else hed seen so far. Lyra laughed at his astonishment.
"He—but he spoke! Do all daemons talk?" Will said. "Course they do!" said Lyra. "Did you think he was just a pet?”
Will rubbed his hair and blihen he shook his head. "No," he said, addressing Pantalaimon.
"Youre right, I think. They dont know about it."
"So we better be careful how we gh," Pantalaimon said.
It was strange for only a moment, talking to a mouse. Then it was no more strahan talking into a telephone, because he was really talking to Lyra. But the mouse was separate; there was something of Lyra in his expression, but something else too. It was too hard to work out, when there were so many strahings happening at once. Will tried t his thoughts together.
"You got to find some other clothes first," he said to Lyra, "before you go into my Oxford."
"Why?" she said stubbornly.
"Because you t go and talk to people in my world looking like that; they would you hem. You got to look as if you fit in. You got to go about camouflaged. I know, see. Ive been doing it for years. You better listen to me or youll get caught, and if they find out where you e from, and the window, and everything ... Well, this is a good hiding place, this world. See, Im ... I got to hide from some men. This is the best hiding place I could dream of, and I dont want it found out. So I dont want you giving it away by looking out of place or as if you dont belong. 1 got my own things to do in Oxford, and if you give me away, Ill kill you."
She swallowed. The alethiometer never lied: this boy was a murderer, and if hed killed before, he could kill her, too. She nodded seriously, and she meant it.
"All right," she said.
Pantalaimon had bee a lemur, and was gazing at him with discerting wide eyes. Will stared back, and the daemon became a mouse once more and crept into Lyras pocket.
"Good," he said. "Now, while were here, well pretend to these other kids that we just e from somewhere in their world. Its good there arent any grownups about. We just e and go and no one11 notice. But in my world, you got to do as I say. And the first thing is you better wash yourself. You o look , or youll stand out. We got to be camouflaged everywhere we go.
We got to look as if we belong there so naturally that people dont even notice us. So go and wash your hair for a start. Theres some shampoo ihroom. Then well go and find some different clothes."
"I dunno how," she said. "I never washed my hair. The housekeeper do at Jordan, and then I never o after that."
"Well, youll just have to work it out," he said. "Wash yourself all over. In my world people are ."
"Hmm," said Lyra, a upstairs. A ferocious rat face glared at him over her shoulder, but he looked back coldly.
Part of him wao wander about this sunny silent m expl the city, and another part trembled with ay for his mother, and another part was still numb with shock at the death hed caused. And ing them all was the task he had to do. But it was good to keep busy, so while he waited for Lyra, he ed the w surfaces i, and washed the floor, aied the rubbish into the bin he found in the alley outside.
Theook the greeher writing case from his tote bag and looked at it longingly. As soon as hed shown Lyra how to get through the window into his Oxford, hed e bad look at what was inside; but in the meanwhile, he tucked it uhe mattress of the bed hed slept in. In this world, it was safe.
CHAPTER THREE: A CHILDRENS WORLD-2
When Lyra came down, ahey left to look for some clothes for her. They found a department store, shabby like everywhere else, with clothes in styles that looked a little oldfashioo Wills eye, but they found Lyra a tartan skirt and a green sleeveless blouse with a pocket for Pantalaimon. She refused to wear jeans, refused even to believe Will wheold her that most girls did.
"Theyre trousers," she said. "Im a girl. Doupid."
He shrugged; the tartan skirt looked unremarkable, which was the main thing. Before they left, Will dropped some s iill behind the ter.
"What you doing?" she said.
"Paying. You have to pay for things. Dont they pay for things in your world?"
"They dont in this one! I bet those other kids ent paying for a thing."
"They might not, but I do."
"If you start behaving like a grownup, the Specters11 get you," she said, but she didnt know whether she could tease him yet or whether she should be afraid of him.
In the daylight, Will could see how ahe buildings in the heart of the city were, and how o ruin some of them had e. Holes in the road had not been repaired; windows were broken; plaster eeling. Ahere had once been a beauty and grandeur about this place.
Through carved archways they could see spacious courtyards filled with greenery, and there were great buildings that looked like palaces, for all that the steps were cracked and the doorframes loose from the walls. It looked as if rather than knock a building down and build a new ohe citizens of Cigazze preferred to patch it up indefinitely.
At one point they came to a tower standing on its own in a little square. It was the oldest building theyd seen: a simple battlemeower four stories high. Something about its stillness in the bright sun was intriguing, and both Will and Lyra felt drawn to the half-open door at the top of the broad steps; but they didnt speak of it, and they went on, a bit relutly.
When they reached the broad boulevard with the palm trees, he told her to look for a little cafe on a er, with green-painted metal tables on the pavement outside. They found it within a mi looked smaller and shabbier by daylight, but it was the same place, with the zinctopped bar, the espresso mae, and the half-finished plate of risotto, now beginning to smell bad in the warm air.
"Is it in here?" she said.
"No. Its in the middle of the road. Make sure theres no other kids around."
But they were alone. Will took her to the grassy median uhe palm trees, and looked around to get his bearings.
"I think it was about here," he said. "When I came through, I could just about see that big hill behind the white house up there, and looking this way there was the cafe there, and ..."
"Whats it look like? I t see an.?hing."
"You wont mistake it. It doesnt look like anything youve ever seen."
He cast up and down. Had it vanished? Had it closed? He could anywhere.
And then suddenly he had it. He moved bad forth, watg the edge. Just as hed found the night before, on the Oxford side of it, you could only see it at all from one side: when you moved behind it, it was invisible. And the sun on the grass beyond it was just like the sun on the grass on this side, except unatably different.
"Here it is," he said when he was sure.
"Ah! I see it!"
She was agog, she looked as astounded as hed looked himself to hear Pantalaimon talk. Her d, uo remain inside her pocket, had e out to be a , and he buzzed up to the hole and back several times, while she rubbed her still slightly wet hair into spikes.
"Keep to one side," he told her. "If you stand in front of it peopled just see a pair of legs, and that would make em curious. I dont want aig."
"Whats that noise?"
"Traffic. Its a part of the Oxf road. Its bound to be busy. Get down and look at it from the side. Its the wrong time of day to gh, really; theres far too many people about. But itd be hard to find somewhere to go if we went in the middle of the night. At least once were through we blend in easy. You go first. Just duck through quickly and move out of the way."
She had a little blue rucksack that shed been carrying sihey left the cafe, and she unslung it and held it in her arms before croug to look through.
"Ah!" She gasped. "And thats your world? That dont look like any part of Oxford. You sure you was in Oxford?"
"Course Im sure. When you gh, youll see a rht in front of you. Go to the left, and then a little farther along you take the road that goes down to the right. That leads to the city ter. Make sure you see where this window is, and remember, all right? Its the only way back."
&quht," she said. "I wont fet."
Taking her rucksa her arms, she ducked through the window in the air and vanished. Will crouched down to see where she went.
And there she was, standing on the grass in his Oxford with Pan still as a on her shoulder, and no one, as far as he could tell, had seen her appear. Cars and trucks raced past a few feet beyond, and no driver, at this busy jun, would have time to gaze sideways at an odd-looking bit of air, even if they could see it, and the traffic sed the window from anyone looking across from the far side.
There was a squeal of brakes, a shout, a bang. He flung himself down to look.
Lyra was lying on the grass. A car had braked so hard that a van had struck it from behind, and khe car forward anyway, and there was Lyra, lying still— Will darted through after her. No one saw him e; all eyes were on the car, the crumpled bumper, the van driver getting out, and otle girl.
"I couldnt help it! She ran out in front," said the car driver, a middle-aged woman. "You were too close," she said, turning toward the van driver.
"Never mind that," he said. "Hows the kid?"
The van driver was addressing Will, who was on his knees beside Lyra. Will looked up and around, but there was nothing for it; he was responsible. On the grass o him, Lyra was moving her head about, blinking hard. Will saw the an-talaimon crawling dazedly up a grass stem beside her.
"You all right?" Will said. "Move ys and arms."
"Stupid!" said the woman from the car. "Just ran out in front. Didnt look once. What am I supposed to do?"
"You still there, love?" said the van driver.
"Yeah," muttered Lyra.
"Everything w?"
"Move your feet and hands," Will insisted.
She did. There was nothing broken.
"Shes all right," said Will. "Ill look after her. Shes fine."
"Dyou know her?" said the truck driver.
"Shes my sister," said Will. "Its all right. We just live around the er. Ill take her home."
Lyra was sitting up now, and as she was obviously not badly hurt, the woman turned her attention back to the car. The rest of the traffic was moving around the two stationary vehicles, and as they went past, the drivers looked curiously at the little se, as people always do. Will helped Lyra up; the soohey moved away, the better. The woman and the van driver had realized that their argument ought to be handled by then-insuranpanies and were exging addresses when the woman saw Will helping Lyra to limp away.
"Wait!" she called. "Youll be witnesses. I need your name and address."
"Im Mark Ransom," said Will, turning back, "and my sisters Lisa. We live at twenty-six Bourne Close."
"Postcode?"
"I ever remember," he said. "Look, I want to get her home."
"Hop in the cab," said the van driver, ";and Ill take you round."
"No, its no trouble. Itd be quicker to walk, ho."
Lyra wasnt limping badly. She walked away with Will, back along the grass uhe horrees, and tur the first er they came to.
They sat on a low garden wall.
"You hurt?" Will said.
"Banged me leg. And when I fell down, it shook me head," she said.
But she was more ed about what was in the rucksack. She felt i, brought out a heavy little bundle ed in black velvet, and unfolded it. Wills eyes wideo see the alethiometer; the tiny symbols painted around the face, the golden hands, the questing needle, the heavy riess of the case took his breath away.
"Whats that?" he said.
"Its my alethiometer. Its a truth teller. A symbol reader. I hope it ent broken...."
But it was unharmed. Even irembling hands the long needle swung steadily. She put it away and said, "I never seen so many carts and things. I never guessed they was going so fast."
"They dont have cars and vans in your Oxford?"
"Not so many. Not like these ones. I wasnt used to it. But Im all right now."
"Well, be careful from now on. If you go and walk under a bus et lost or something, theyll realize youre not from this world and start looking for the way through...."
He was far more angry than he o be. Finally he said, "All right, look. If you pretend youre my sister, thatll be a disguise for me, because the person theyre looking for hasnt got a sister.
And if Im with you, I show you how to cross roads without getting killed."
"All right," she said humbly.
"And money. I bet you havent—-well, how could you have any money? How are you going to get around a and so on?"
"I have got money," she said, and shook some gold s out of her purse.
Will looked at them incredulously.
"Is that gold? It is, isnt it? Well, that would get people asking questions, and no mistake. Youre just not safe. Ill give you some money. Put those s away ahem out of sight. And remember—youre my sister, and your names Lisa Ransom."
"Lizzie. I preteo call myself Lizzie before. I remember that."
"A..ll right, Lizzie then. And Im Mark. Dont fet."
"All right," she said peaceably.
Her leg was going to be painful; already it was red and swollehe car had struck it, and a dark, massive bruise was f. What with the bruise on her cheek where hed struck her the night before, she looked as if shed been badly treated, and that worried him too—suppose some police officer should bee curious?
He tried to put it out of his mind, and they set off together, crossing at the traffic lights and casting just one glance back at the window uhe horrees. They could at all.
It was quite invisible, and the traffic was flowing again.
In Summertown, ten minutes walk down the Banbury Road, Will stopped in front of a bank.
"What are you doing?" said Lyra.
"Im going to get some money. I probably better not do it too often, but they wister it till the end of the w day, I shouldnt think."
He put his mothers bank card into the automatic teller and tapped out her PIN number. Nothing seemed to be going wrong, so he withdrew a hundred pounds, and the mae gave it up without a hitch. Lyra watched open-mouthed. He gave her a twenty-pound note.
"Use that later," he said. "Buy something a some ge. Lets find a bus into town."
Lyra let him deal with the bus. She sat very quietly, watg the houses and gardens of the city that was hers and not hers. It was like being in someone elses dream. They got off iy ter o an old stone church, which she did know, opposite a big department store, which she didnt.
"Its all ged," she said. "Like ... That ent the arket? And this is the Broad. Theres Balliol. And Bodleys Library, down there. But wheres Jordan?"
Now she was trembling badly. It might have been delayed rea from the act, or present shock from finding airely different building in place of the Jordan College she knew as home.
"That ent right," she said. She spoke quietly, because Will had told her to stop pointing out so loudly the things that were wrong. "This is a different Oxford."
"Well, we khat," he said.
He wasnt prepared for Lyras wide-eyed helplessness. He couldnt know how much of her childhood had bee running about streets almost identical with these, and how proud shed been of belonging to Jordan College, whose Scholars were the cleverest, whose coffers the richest, whose beauty the most splendid of all. And now it simply wasnt there, and she wasnt Lyra of Jordan anymore; she was a lost little girl in a strange world, belonging nowhere.
"Well," she said shakily. "If it ent here ..."
It was going to take lohahought, that was all.
CHAPTER FOUR: TREPANNING-1
As soon as Lyra had gone her way, Will found a pay phone and dialed the number of the lawyers offi the letter he held.
"Hello? I want to speak to Mr. Perkins."
"Whos calling, please?"
"Its in e with Mr. John Parry. Im his son."
"Just a moment, please..."
A minute went by, and then a mans voice said, "Hello. This is Alan Perkins. Who am I speaking to?"
"William Parry. Excuse me for calling. Its about my father, Mr. John Parry. You send money every three months from my father to my mothers bank at."
"Yes..."
"Well, I want to know where my father is, please. Is he alive or dead?"
"How old are you, William?"
"Twelve. I want to know about him."
"Yes ... Has your mother ... is she ... does she know youre phoning me?"
Will thought carefully.
"No," he said. "But shes not in very good health. She t tell me very much, and I want to know."
"Yes, I see. Where are you now? Are you at home?"
"No, Im ... Im in Oxford."
"On your own?"
"Yes."
"And your mothers not well, you say?"
"No."
"Is she in hospital or something?"
"Something like that. Look, you tell me or not?"
"Well, I tell you something, but not mud nht now, and Id rather not do it over the phone. Im seeing a t in five minutes. you find your way to my office at about half past two?"
"No," Will said. It would be too risky; the lawyer might have heard by then that he was wanted by the police. He thought quickly a on. "Ive got to catch a bus to Nottingham, and I dont want to miss it. But what I want to know, you tell me over the phone, t you? All I want to know is, is my father alive, and if he is, where I find him. You tell me that, t you?"
"Its not quite as simple as that. I t really give out private information about a t unless Im sure the t would wao. And Id need some proof of who you were, anyway."
"Yes, I uand, but you just tell me whether hes alive or dead?"
"Well ... that wouldnt be fidential. Unfortunately, I t tell you anyway, because I dont know."
"What?"
"The money es from a family trust. He left instrus to pay it until he told me to stop. 1 havent heard from him from that day to this. What it boils down to is that hes... well, I suppose hes vahats why I t answer your question."
"Vanished? Just... lost?"
"Its a matter of public record, actually. Look, why dont you e into the offid—"
"I t. Im going to Nottingham."
"Well, write to me, et your mother to write, and Ill let you know what I . But you must uand, I t do very much over the phone."
"Yes, I suppose so. All right. But you tell me where he disappeared?"
"As I say, its a matter of public record. There were several neer stories at the time. You know he was an explorer?"
"My mothers told me some things, yes."
"Well, he was leading an expedition, and it just disappeared. About ten years ago. Maybe more."
"Where?"
"The far north. Alaska, I think. You look it up in the public library. Why dont you—"
But at that point Wills money ran out, and he didnt have any more ge. The dial tone purred in his ear. He put the phone down and looked around.
What he wanted above all was to speak to his mother. He had to stop himself from dialing Mrs.
Coopers number, because if he heard his mothers voice, it would be very hard not to go back to her, and that would put both of them in danger. But he could send her a postcard.
He chose a view of the city, and wrote: "DEAR MUM, I AM SAFE AND WELL, AND I WILL SEE YOU AGAIN SOON. I HOPE EVERYTHING IS ALL RIGHT. I LOVE YOU. WlLL." Then he addressed it and bought a stamp ahe card close to him for a minute before dropping it in the mailbox.
It was midm, and he was in the main shopping street, where buses shouldered their way through crowds of pedestrians. He began to realize how exposed he was; for it was a weekday, when a child of his age should have been in school. Where could he go?
It didnt take him long to hide. Will could vanish easily enough, because he was good at it; he was even proud of his skill. Like Serafina Pekkala on the ship, he simply made himself part of the background.
So now, knowing the sort of world he lived in, he went into a stationery shop and bought a ballpoint, a pad of paper, and a clipboard. Schools ofte groups of pupils off to do a shopping survey, or something of the sort, and if he seemed to be on a project like that he wouldnt look as if he was at a loose end.
Then he wandered along, pretending to be making notes, a his eyes open for the public library.
* * * Meanwhile, Lyra was looking for somewhere quiet to sult the alethiometer. In her own Oxford there would have been a dozen places within five minutes walk, but this Oxford was so discertingly different, with patches of poignant familiarity right o the dht outlandish: why had they paihose yellow lines on the road? What were those little white patches dotting every sidewalk? (In her own world, they had never heard of chewing gum.) What could those red and green lights mean at the er of the road? It was all much harder to read than the alethiometer.
But here were St. Johns College gates, which she and Roger had once climbed after dark to plant fireworks in the flower beds; and that particular worn sto the er of Catte Street—there were the initials SP that Simon Parslow had scratched, the very same ones! Shed seen him do it!
Someone in this world with the same initials must have ９９lib?ood here idly and doly the same.
There might be a Simon Parslow in this world.
Perhaps there was a Lyra.
A chill ran down her back, and mouse-shaped Pantalaimon shivered in her pocket. She shook herself; there were mysteries enough without imagining more.
The other way in which this Oxford differed from hers was in the vast numbers of people swarming on every sidewalk, in and out of every building; people of every sort, women dressed like men, Afris, even a group of Tartars meekly following their leader, all ly dressed and hung about with little black cases. She glared at them fearfully at first, because they had no daemons, and in her world they would have been regarded as ghasts, or worse.
But (this was the strahing) they all looked fully alive. These creatures moved about cheerfully enough, for all the world as though they were human, and Lyra had to cede that human was what they probably were, and that their daemons were ihem as Wills was.
After wandering about for an hour, taking the measure of this mock-Oxford, she felt hungry and bought a bar of chocolate with her twenty-pound he shopkeeper looked at her oddly, but he was from the Indies and didnt uand her at, perhaps, although she asked very clearly. With the ge she bought an apple from the Covered Market, which was much more like the proper Oxford, and walked up toward the park. There she found herself outside a grand building, a real Oxford-looking building that did in her world at all, though it wouldnt have looked out of place. She sat on the grass outside to eat, and regarded the building approvingly.
She discovered that it was a museum. The doors were open, and inside she found stuffed animals and fossil skeletons and cases of minerals, just like the Royal Geological Museum shed visited with Mrs. Coulter in her London. At the back of the great iron-and-glass hall was the entrao another part of the museum, and because it was nearly deserted, she went through and looked around. The alethiometer was still the most urgent thing on her mind, but in this sed chamber she found herself surrounded by things she knew well: there were showcases filled with Arctic clothing, just like her own furs; with sledges and walrus-ivory carvings and seal-hunting harpoons; with a thousand and one jumbled trophies and relid objeagid tools and ons, and not only from the Arctic, as she saw, but from every part of this world Well, how strahose caribou-skin furs were exactly the same as hers, but theyd tied the traces on that sledge pletely wrong. But here hotogram showing some Samoyed hunters, the very doubles of the ones whod caught Lyra and sold her to Bolvangar. Look! They were the same men! And even that rope had frayed and beeted in precisely the same spot, and she k intimately, haviied up in that very sledge for several agonizing hours.... What were these mysteries? Was there only one world after all, which spent its time dreaming of others?
And then she came across something that made her think of the alethiometer again. In an old glass case with a black-painted wooden frame there were a number of human skulls, and some of them had holes in them: some at the front, some on the side, some oop. The one in the ter had two.
This process, it said in spidery writing on a card, was called trepanning. The card also said that all the holes had been made during the owners lifetimes, because the bone had healed and grown smooth around the edge. One, however, hadnt: the hole had been made by a bronze arrowhead which was still in it, and its edges were sharp and broken, so you could tell it was different.
This was just what the northern Tartars did. And what Stanislaus Grumman had had doo himself, acc to the Jordan Scholars whod known him. Lyra looked around quickly, saw no one nearby, and took out the alethiometer.
She focused her mind on the tral skull and asked: What sort of person did this skull belong to, and why did they have those holes made in it?
As she stood trating in the dusty light that filtered through the glass roof and slanted down past the upper galleries, she didnt notice that she was being watched.
A powerful-looking man in his sixties, wearing a beautifully tailored linen suit and holding a Panama hat, stood on the gallery above and looked dowhe iron railing.
His gray hair was brushed ly back from his smooth, tanned, barely wrinkled forehead. His eyes were large, dark and long-lashed and intense, and every minute or so his sharp, dark-poiongue peeped out at the er of his lips and flicked across them moistly. The snowy handkerchief in his breast pocket was sted with some heavy cologne like those hothouse plants so rich you smell the decay at their roots.
He had been watg Lyra for some minutes. He had moved along the gallery above as she moved about below, and wheood still by the case of skulls, he watched her closely, taking in all of her: her rough, untidy hair, the bruise on her cheek, the new clothes, her bare neck arched over the alethiometer, her bare legs.
He shook out the breast-pocket handkerchief and mopped his forehead, and then made for the stairs.
Lyra, absorbed, was learning strahings. These skulls were unimaginably old; the cards in the case said simply BRONZE AGE, but the alethiometer, whiever lied, said that the man whose skull it was had lived 33,254 years before the present day, and that he had been a sorcerer, and that the hole had been made to let the gods into his head. And then the alethiometer, in the casual way it sometimes had of answering a question Lyra hadnt asked, added that there was a good deal more Dust around the trepanned skulls than around the oh the arrowhead.
What in the world could that mean? Lyra came out of the focused calm she shared with the alethiometer and drifted back to the present moment to find herself no longer alone. Gazing into the case was an elderly man in a pale suit, who smelled sweet. He reminded her of someone, but she couldnt think who.
He became aware of her staring at him, and looked up with a smi.９9ｌｉb?le.
"Youre looking at the trepanned skulls?" he said. "What strahings people do to themselves."
"Mm," she said expressionlessly. "Dyou know, people still do that?" "Yeah," she said.
"Hippies, you know, people like that. Actually, youre far too young to remember hippies. They say its more effective than taking drugs."
Lyra had put the alethiometer in her rucksad was w how she could get away. She still hadnt asked it the maiion, and now this old man was having a versation with her.
He seemed niough, and he certainly smelled nice. He was closer now. His hand brushed hers as he leaned across the case.
"Makes you wonder, doesnt it? No ahetio disiant, probably doh stoools.
They must have been tough, mustnt they? I dont think Ive seen you here before. I e here quite a lot. Whats your name?" "Lizzie," she said fortably.
"Lizzie. Hello, Lizzie. Im Charles. Do you go to school in Oxford?"
She wasnt sure how to answer. "No," she said.
"Just visiting? Well, youve chosen a wonderful place to look at. What are you specially ied in?"
She was more puzzled by this man than by anyone shed met for a long time. On the one hand he was kind and friendly and very and smartly dressed, but oher hand Pantalaimon, inside her pocket, lug at her attention and beggio be careful, because he was half-remembering something too; and from somewhere she sensed, not a smell, but the idea of a smell, and it was the smell of dung, of putrefa. She was reminded of lofur Raknisons palace, where the air erfumed but the floor was thick with filth.
"What am I ied in?" she said. "Oh, all sorts of things, really. Those skulls I got ied in just now, when I saw them there. I shouldnt think anyone would want that dos horrible."
"No, I wouldnt enjoy it myself, but I promise you it does happen. I could take you to meet someone whos do," he said, looking so friendly and helpful that she was very nearly tempted.
But then out came that little dark tongue point, as quick as a snakes, flick-moisten, and she shook her head.
"I got to go," she said. "Thank you for , but I better not. Anyway, I got to go now because Im meeting someone. My friend," she added. "Who Im staying with."
"Yes, of course," he said kindly. "Well, it was alking to you. Bye-bye, Lizzie."
"Bye," she said.
"Oh, just in case, heres my name and address," he said, handing her a card. "Just in case you want to know more about things like this."
"Thank you," she said blandly, and put it itle pocket on the back of her rucksack before leaving. She felt he was watg her all the way out.
Once she was outside the museum, she turned in to the park, which she knew as a field for cricket and other sports, and found a quiet spot under some trees and tried the alethiometer again.
This time she asked where she could find a Scholar who knew >about Dust. The answer she got was simple: it directed her to a certain room iall square building behind her. In fact, the answer was shtforward, and came so abruptly, that Lyra was sure the alethiometer had more to say: she was beginning to sense now that it had moods, like a person, and to know when it wao tell her more.
And it did now. What it said was: You must yourself with the boy. Your task is to help him find his father. Put your mind to that.
She blinked. She was genuinely startled. Will had appeared out of nowhere in order to help her; surely that was obvious. The idea that she had e all this way in order to help him took her breath away.
But the alethiometer still hadnt fihe needle twitched again, and she read: Do not lie to the Scholar.
She folded the velvet around the alethiometer and thrust it into the rucksack out of sight. Theood and looked around for the building where her Scholar would be found, a off toward it, feeling awkward and defiant.
Will found the library easily enough, where the reference librarian erfectly prepared to believe that he was doing some research for a school geography projed helped him find the bound copies of The Times index for the year of his birth, which was when his father had disappeared. Will sat down to look through them. Sure enough, there were several refereo John Parry, in e with an archaeological expedition.
Each month, he found, was on a separate roll of mi. He threaded ea turn into the projector, scrolled through to find the stories, ahem with fierce attention. The first story told of the departure of an expedition to the north of Alaska. The expedition onsored by the Institute of Archaeology at Oxford Uy, and it was going to survey an area in which they hoped to find evidence of early humalements. It was apanied by John Parry, late of the Royal Marines, a professional explorer.
The sed story was dated six weeks later. It said briefly that the expedition had reached the North Ameri Arctic Survey Station at Noatak in Alaska.
The third was dated two months after that. It said that there had been no reply to signals from the Survey Station, and that John Parry and his panions were presumed missing.
There was a brief series of articles following that one, describing the parties that had set out fruitlessly to look for them, the search flights over the Berihe rea of the Institute of Archaeology, interviews with relatives....
His heart thudded, because there icture of his own mother. Holding a baby. Him.
The reporter had written a standard tearful-wife-waiting-in-anguish-for-news story, which Will found disappointingly short of actual facts. There was a brief paragraph saying that John Parry had had a successful career in the Royal Marines and had left to specialize in anizing geographical and stific expeditions, and that was all.
There was no other mention in the index, and Will got up from the mi reader baffled.
There must be some more information somewhere else; but where could he go ? And if he took too long searg for it, hed be traced....
He handed back the rolls of mi and asked the librarian, "Do you know the address of the Institute of Archaeology, please?"
"I could find out.... What school are you from?"
"St. Peters," said Will.
"Thats not in Oxford, is it?"
"No, its in Hampshire. My class is doing a sort of residential field trip. Kind of enviroal study research skills."
"Oh, I see. What was it you wanted? ... Archaeology? ... Here we are."
Will copied down the address and phone number, and si was safe to admit he didnt know Oxford, asked where to find it. It wasnt far away. He thahe librarian a off.
Ihe building Lyra found a wide desk at the foot of the stairs, with a porter behind it.
"Where are you going?" he said.
This was like home again. She felt Pan, in her pocket, enjoying it.
"I got a message for someone on the sed floor," she said.
"Who?"
"Dr. Lister," she said.
"Dr. Listers ohird floor. If youve got something for him, you leave it here and Ill let him know."
"Yeah, but this is something he needs right now. He just sent for it. Its not a thing actually, its something I o tell him."
He looked at her carefully, but he was no match for the bland and vacuous docility Lyra could and when she wao; and finally he nodded a back to his neer.
The alethiometer didnt tell Lyra peoples names, of course. She had read the name Dr. Lister off a pigeonhole on the wall behind him, because if you pretend you know someoheyre more likely to let you in. In some ways Lyra knew Wills world better than he did.
On the sed floor she found a long corridor, where one door en to ay lecture hall and ao a smaller room where two Scholars stood discussing something at a blackboard.
These rooms, the walls of this corridor, were all flat and bare and plain in a way Lyra thought beloo poverty, not to the scholarship and splendor of Oxford; ahe brick walls were smoothly painted, and the doors were of heavy wood and the banisters were of polished steel, so they were costly. It was just another way in which this world was strange.
She soon found the door the alethiometer had told her about. The sign on it said DARK MATTER RESEARIT, and u someone had scribbled R.I.P. Another hand had added in pencil DIRECTOR: LAZARUS.
Lyra made nothing of that. She knocked, and a womans voice said, "e in."
It was a small room, crowded with t piles of papers and books, and the whiteboards on the walls were covered in figures aions. Tacked to the back of the door was a design that looked ese. Through an open doorway Lyra could see another room, where some kind of plicated anbaric maery stood in silence.
For her part, Lyra was a little surprised to find that the Scholar she sought was female, but the alethiometer hadnt said a man, and this was a strange world, after all. The woman was sitting at an ehat displayed figures and shapes on a small glass s, in front of which all the letters of the alphabet had been laid out on grimy little blocks in an ivory tray. The Scholar tapped one, and the s became blank.
"Who are you?" she said.
Lyra shut the door behind her. Mindful of what the alethiometer had told her, she tried hard not to do what she normally would have done, and she told the truth.
"Lyra Silvertongue," she answered. "Whats your name?"
The woman blinked. She was in her late thirties, Lyra supposed, perhaps a little older than Mrs.
Coulter, with short black hair and red cheeks. She wore a white coat open reen shirt and those blue vas trousers so many people wore in this world.
At Lyras question the woman ran a hand through her hair and said, "Well, youre the sed ued thing thats happeoday. Im Dr. Mary Malone. What do you want?"
"I want you to tell me about Dust," said Lyra, having looked around to make sure they were alone.
"I know you know about it. I prove it. You got to tell me."
"Dust? What are you talking about?"
"You might not call it that. Its elementary particles. In my world the Scholars call it Rusakov Particles, but normally they call it Dust. They dont show up easily, but they e out of spad fix on people. Not children so much, though. Mostly on grownups. And something I only found out today—I was in that museum down the road and there was some old skulls with holes in their heads, like the Tartars make, and there was a lot more Dust around them than around this other ohat hadnt got that sort of hole in it. Whens the Bronze Age?"
The woman was looking at her wide-eyed.
"The Bronze Age? Goodness, I dont know; about five thousand years ago," she said.
"Ah, well, they got it wrong then, when they wrote that label. That skull with the two holes in it is thirty-three thousand years old."
She stopped then, because Dr. Malone looked as if she was about to faint. The high color left her cheeks pletely; she put one hand to her breast while the other clutched the arm of her chair, and her jaw dropped.
Lyra stood, stubborn and puzzled, waiting for her to recover.
"Who are you?" the woman said at last.
"Lyra Silver—"
"No, where dyou e from? What are you? How do you know things like this?"
Wearily Lyra sighed; she had fotten how roundabout Scholars could be. It was difficult to tell them the truth when a lie would have been so much easier for them to uand.
"I e from another world," she began. "And in that world theres an Oxford like this, only different, and thats where I e from. And—"
"Wait, wait, wait. You e from where?"
"From somewhere else," said Lyra, more carefully. "Not here."
"Oh, somewhere else," the woman said. "I see. Well, I think I see."
"And I got to find out about Dust," Lyra explained. "Because the Church people in my world, right, theyre frightened of Dust because they think its inal sin. So its very important. And my father... No," she said passionately, and stamped her foot. "Thats not what I bbr>藏书网meant to say. Im doing it all wrong."
Dr. Malone looked at Lyras desperate frown and ched fists, at the bruises on her cheek and her leg, and said, "Dear me, child, calm down."
She broke off and rubbed her eyes, which were red with tiredness.
"Why am I listening to you?" she went on. "I must be crazy. The fact is, this is the only pla the world where youd get the answer you want, and theyre about to close us down. What youre talking about, your Dust, sounds like something weve been iigating for a while now, and what you say about the skulls in the museum gave me a turn, because... oh, no, this is just too much. Im too tired. I want to listen to you, believe me, but not now, please. Did I say they were going to close us down? Ive got a week to put together a proposal to the funding ittee, but we havent got a hope in hell..."
She yawned widely.
"What was the first ued thing that happeoday?" Lyra said.
"Oh. Yes. Someone Id been relying on to back our funding application withdrew his support. I dont suppose it was that ued, anyway."
She yawned again.
"Im going to make some coffee," she said/"If I dont, Ill fall asleep. Youll have some too?"
She filled aric kettle, and while she spooned instant coffee into two mugs Lyra stared at the ese pattern on the back of the door.
"Whats that?" she said.
"Its ese. The symbols of the I g. Dyou know what that is? Do they have that in your world?"
Lyra looked at her narrow-eyed, in case she was being sarcastic. She said: "There are some things the same and some that are different, thats all. I dont know everything about my world. Maybe they got this g thing there too."
CHAPTER FOUR: TREPANNING-2
"Im sorry," said Dr. Malone. "Yes, maybe they have."
"Whats dark matter?" said Lyra. "Thats what it says on the sign, isnt it?"
Dr. Malo down again, and hooked another chair out with her ankle for Lyra.
She said, "Dark matter is what my research team is looking for. No one knows what it is. Theres more stuff out there in the universe than we see, thats the point. We see the stars and the galaxies and the things that shine, but for it all to hang together and not fly apart, there o be a lot more of it—to make gravity work, you see. But no one detect it. So there are lots of different research projects trying to find out what it is, and this is one of them."
Lyra was all focused attention. At last the woman was talking seriously.
"And what do you think it is?" she asked.
"Well, what we think it is—" As she began, the kettle boiled, so she got up and made the coffee as she tinued. "We think its some kind of elementary particle. Something quite different from anything discovered so far. But the particles are very hard to detect. ... Where do you go to school? Do you study physics?"
Lyra felt Pantalaimon nip her hand, warning her not to get cross. It was all very well, the alethiometer tellio be truthful, but she knew what would happen if she told the whole truth. She had to tread carefully and just avoid direct lies.
"Yes," she said, "I know a little bit. But not about dark matter."
"Well, were trying to detect this almost-uable thing among the noise of all the other particles crashing about. Normally they put detectors very deep underground, but what weve done instead is to set up aromagic field around the detector that shuts out the things we dont want ahrough the ones we do. Then lify the signal and put it through a puter."
She handed across a mug of coffee. There was no milk and no sugar, but she did find a couple of ginger biscuits in a drawer, and Lyra took one hungrily.
"And we found a particle that fits," Dr. Malo on. "We think it fits. But its se ...
Why am I telling you this? I shouldnt. Its not published, its not refereed, its not even written down. Im a little crazy this afternoon.
"Well ..." she went on, and she yawned for so long that Lyra thought shed op, "our particles are stratle devils, make no mistake. We call them shadow particles, Shadows. You know what nearly knocked me off my chair just now? When you mentiohe skulls in the museum. Because one of our team, you see, is a bit of an amateur archaeologist. And he discovered something one day that we couldnt believe. But we couldnt ig, because it fitted in with the craziest thing of all about these Shadows. You know what? Theyre scious. Thats right. Shadoarticles of sciousness. You ever heard anything so stupid? No wonder we t get rant renewed."
She sipped her coffee. Lyra was drinking in every word like a thirsty flower.
"Yes," Dr. Malo on, "they know were here. They answer back. And here goes the crazy part: you t see them unless you expect to. Unless you put your mind in a certain state. You have to be fident and relaxed at the same time. You have to be capable— Wheres that quotation ..."
She reached into the muddle of papers on her desk and found a scrap on whieone had written with a green pen. She read:
" ... Capable of being in uainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reag after fad reason. You have to get into that state of mind. Thats from the poet Keats, by the way. I found it the other day. So you get yourself in the right state of mind, and then you look at the Cave—"
"The cave?" said Lyra.
"Oh, sorry. The puter. We call it the Cave. Shadows on the walls of the Cave, you see, from Plato. Thats our archaeologist again. Hes an all-around intellectual. But hes gone off to Geneva for a job interview, and I dont suppose for a moment hell be back.... Where was I? Oh, the Cave, thats right. Once youre linked up to it, if you think, the Shadows respond. Theres no doubt about it. The Shadows flock to your thinking like birds...."
"What about the skulls?"
"I was ing to that. Oliver Payne—him, my colleague— was fooling about one day testing things with the Cave. And it was so odd. It didnt make any sense in the hysicist would expect. He got a piece of ivory, just a lump, and there were no Shadows with that. It did. But a carved ivory chess piece did. A big splinter of wood off a plank didnt, but a wooden ruler did. And a carved wooden statuette had more.... Im talking about elementary panicles here, foodness
sake. Little minute lumps of scarcely anything. They knew what these objects were. Anything that was associated with human workmanship and human thought was surrounded by Shadows....
"And then Oliver—Dr. Pay some fossil skulls from a friend at the museum aed them to see how far ba time the effect went. There was a cutoff point about thirty, forty thousand years ago. Before that, no Shadows. After that, plenty. And thats about the time, apparently, that modern human beings first appeared. I mean, you know, our remote aors, but people no different from us, really...."
"Its Dust," said Lyra authoritatively. "Thats what it is."
"But, you see, you t say this sort of thing in a funding application if you want to be taken seriously. It does not make se ot exist. Its impossible, and if it isnt impossible, its irrelevant, and if it isher of those things, its embarrassing."
"I want to see the Cave," said Lyra.
She stood up.
Dr. Malone was running her hands through her hair and blinking hard to keep her tired eyes clear.
"Well, I t see why not," she said. "We might not have a Cave tomorrow. e along through."
She led Lyra into the other room. It was larger, and crowded with anbaric equipment.
"This is it. Over there," she said, pointing to a s that was glowing ay gray. "Thats where the detector is, behind all that wiring. To see the Shadows, you have to be linked up to some electrodes. Like for measuring brain waves."
"I want to try it," said Lyra.
"You wont see anything. Anyway, Im tired. Its too plicated."
"Please! I know what Im doing!"
"Do you, now? I wish I did. No, for heavens sake. This is an expensive, difficult stific experiment. You t e charging in here and expect to have a go as if it were a pinball mae.... Where do you e from, anyway? Shouldnt you be at school? How did you find your way in here?"
And she rubbed her eyes again, as if she was only just waking up.
Lyra was trembling. Tell the truth, she thought. "I found my way in with this," she said, and took out the alethiometer.
"What in the world is that? A pass?"
Lyra let her take it. Dr. Malones eyes widened as she felt the weight "Dear Lord, its made of gold. Where oh—"
"I think it does what your Cave does. Thats what I want to find out. If I answer a question truly," said Lyra desperately, "something you know the ao and I dont, I try your Cave then?"
"What, are we into fortuelling now? What is this thing?"
"Please! Just ask me a question!"
Dr. Malone shrugged. "Oh, all right," she said. Tell me ... tell me what I was doing before I took up this business."
Eagerly Lyra took the alethiometer from her and turhe winding wheels. She could feel her mind reag for the right pictures even before the hands were pointing at them, and she sehe longer needle twitg to respond. As it began to swing around the dial, her eyes followed it, watg, calculating, seeing down the long s of meaning to the level where the truth lay.
Then she blinked and sighed and came out of her temporary trance.
"You used to be a nun," she said. "I wouldnt have guessed that. Nuns are supposed to stay in their vents forever. But you stopped believing in church things and they let you leave. This ent like my world at all, not a bit."
Dr. Malo down in a chair by the puter, staring.
Lyra said, "Thats true, ent it?"
"Yes. And you found out from that..."
"From my alethiometer. It works by Dust, I think. I came all this way to find out more about Dust, and it told me to e to you. So I re your dark matter must be the same thing. Now I try your Cave?"
Dr. Malone shook her head, but not to say no, just out of helplessness. She spread her hands. "Very well," she said. "I think Im dreaming. I might as well carry on."
She swung around in her chair and pressed several switches, bringing arical hum and the sound of a puters cooling fan into the air; and at the sound of them, Lyra gave a little muffled gasp. It was because the sound in that room was the same sound shed heard in that dreadful glittering chamber at Bolvangar, where the silver guillotine had nearly parted her and Pantalaimon. She felt him quiver in her pocket, aly squeezed him for reassurance.
But Dr. Malone hadnt noticed; she was too busy adjusting switches and tapping the letters in another of those ivory trays. As she did, the s ged color, and some small letters and figures appeared on it.
"Now you sit down," she said, and pulled out a chair for Lyra. Then she opened ajar and said, "I o put some gel on your skin to help the electrical tact. It washes off easily. Hold still, now."
Dr. Maloook six wires, eading in a flat pad, and attached them to various places on Lyras head. Lyra sat determinedly still, but she was breathing quickly, and her heart was beating hard.
"All right, youre all hooked up," said Dr. Malone. "The rooms full of Shadows. The universe is full of Shadows, e to that. But this is the only way we see them, when you make yourbbr>９９lｉｂ? miy and look at the s. Off you go."
Lyra looked. The glass was dark and blank. She saw her own refle dimly, but that was all. As an experiment she pretehat she was reading the alethiometer, and imagined herself asking:
What does this woman know about Dust? What questions is she asking?
She mentally moved the alethiometers hands around the dial, and as she did, the s began to flicker. Astonished, she came out of her tration, and the flicker died. She didnt notice the ripple of excitement that made Dr. Malo up: she frowned and sat forward and began to trate again.
This time the response came instantaneously. A stream of dang lights, for all the world like the shimmering curtains of the aurora, blazed across the s. They took up patterns that were held for a moment only to break apart and fain, in different shapes, or different colors; they looped and swayed, they sprayed apart, they burst into showers of radiahat suddenly swerved this way or that like a flock of birds ging dire in the sky. And as Lyra watched, she felt the same sense, as of trembling on the brink of uanding, that she remembered from the time when she was beginning to read the alethiometer.
She asked another question: Is this Dust? Is it the same thing making these patterns and moving the needle of the alethiometer?
The answer came in more loops and swirls of light. She guessed it meahen ahought occurred to her, and she turo speak to Dr. Malone, and saw her open-mouthed, hand to her head.
"What?" she said.
The s faded. Dr. Malone blinked.
"What is it?" Lyra said again.
"Oh—youve just put on the best display Ive ever seen, thats all," said Dr. Malone. "What were you doing? What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking you could get it clearer than this," Lyra said.
"Clearer? Thats the clearest its ever been!"
"But what does it mean? you read it?"
"Well," said Dr. Malone, "you dont read it in the sense of reading a message; it doesnt work like that. Whats happening is that the Shadows are responding to the attention that you pay them.
Thats revolutionary enough; its our scioushat they respond to, you see."
"No," Lyra explained, "what I mean is, those colors and shapes up there. They could do other things, those Shadows. They could make any shapes you wahey could make pictures if you wahem to. Look."
And she turned bad focused her mind again, but this time she preteo herself that the s was the alethiometer, with all thirty-six symbols laid out around the edge. She khem so well now that her fingers automatically twisted in her lap as she moved the imaginary hands to point at the dle (for uanding), the alpha and omega (for language), and the ant (for diligence), and framed the question:
What would these people have to do in order to uand the language of the Shadows?
The s respo>?9９lib.nded as quickly as thought itself, and out of the welter of lines and flashes a series of pictures formed with perfect clarity: passes, alpha and omega again, lightning, angel. Each picture flashed up a different number of times, and then came a different three:
camel, garden, moon.
Lyra saw their meanings clearly, and unfocused her mind to explain. This time, wheurned around, she saw that Dr. Malone was sitting ba her chair, white-faced, clutg the edge of the table.
"What it says," Lyra told her, "its saying in my language, right—the language of pictures. Like the alethiometer. But what it says is that it could use ordinary language too, words, if you fixed it up like that. You could fix this so it put words on the s. But youd need a lot of careful figuring with hat was die passes, see. And the lightni anbaric—I mearic power, more of that. And the ahats all about messages. Theres things it wants to say. But when it went on to that sed bit... it meant Asia, almost the farthest east but not quite. I dunno what try that would be—a, maybe. And theres a way they have in that try of talking to Dust, I mean Shadows, same as you got here and I got with the—I got with pictures, only their way uses sticks. I think it meant that picture on the door, but I didnt uand it, really. I thought when I first saw it there was something important about it, only I didnt know what. So there must be lots of ways of talking to Shadows."
Dr. Malone was breathless.
"The I g," she said. "Yes, its ese. A form of divination—fortuelling, really.... And, yes, they use sticks. Its only up there for decoration," she said, as if to reassure Lyra that she didnt really believe in it. "Youre tellihat when people sult the I g, theyre getting in touch with Shadow particles? With dark matter?"
"Yeah," said Lyra. Theres lots of ways, like I said. I hadnt realized before. I thought there was only one."
"Those pictures on the s ..." Dr. Malone began.
Lyra felt a flicker of a thought at the edge of her mind, and turo the s. She had hardly begun to formulate a question when more pictures flashed up, succeeding each other so quickly that Dr. Malone could hardly follow them; but Lyra knew what they were saying, and turned back to her.
"It says that youre important, too," she told the stist. "It says you got something important to do. I dunno what, but it wouldnt say that unless it was true. So you probably ought to get it using words, so you uand what it says."
Dr. Malone was silent. Then she said, "All right, where do you e from?"
Lyra twisted her mouth. She realized that Dr. Malone, who until now had acted out of exhaustion and despair, would never normally have shown her work to a strange child who turned up from nowhere, and that she was beginning tret it. But Lyra had to tell the truth.
"I e from another world," she said. "Its true. I came through to this one. I was... I had to run away, because people in my world were chasio kill me. And the alethiometer es from ... from the same place. The Master of Jordan College gave it me. In my Oxford theres a Jordan College, but there ent one here. I looked. And I found out how to read the alethiometer by myself. I got a way of making my mind go blank, and I just see what the pictures mean straightaway. Just like you said about... doubts and mysteries and that. So when I looked at the Cave, I dohe same thing, and it works just the same way, so my Dust and your Shadows are the same, too. So..."
Dr. Malone was fully awake now. Lyra picked up the alethiometer and folded its velvet cloth over it, like a mother proteg her child, before putting it ba her rucksack.
"So anyway," she said, "you could make this s so it could talk to you in words, if you wanted.
Then you could talk to the Shadows like I talk to the alethiometer. But what I want to know is, why do the people in my world hate it? Dust, I mean, Shadows. Dark matter. They want to destroy it. They think its evil. But I think what they do is evil. I seen them do it. So what is it, Shadows? Is it good or evil, or what?"
Dr. Malone rubbed her fad turned her cheeks red again.
"Everything about this is embarrassing" she said. "Dyou know how embarrassing it is to mention good and evil in a stific laboratory? Have you any idea? One of the reasons I became a stist was not to have to think about that kind of thing."
"You got to think about it," said Lyra severely. "You t iigate Shadows, Dust, whatever it is, without thinking about that kind of thing, good and evil and such. And it said you got to, remember. You t refuse. Whehey going to close this place down?"
"The funding ittee decides at the end of the week.... Why?"
"Cause you got tonight, then," said Lyra. "You could fix this ehing to put words on the s instead of pictures like I made. You could do that easy. Then you could show em, and theyd have to give you the moo carry on. And you could find out all about Dust, or Shadows, and tell me. You see," she went on a little haughtily, like a duchess describing an unsatisfactory housemaid, "the alethiometer woly tell me what I o know. But you could find out for me. Else I could probably do that g thing, with the sticks. But pictures are easier to work.
I think so, anyway. Im going to take this off now," she added, and pulled at the electrodes on her head.
Dr. Malone gave her a tissue to wipe off the gel, and folded up the wires.
"So yoing?" she said. "Well, youve given me a strange hour, thats no mistake."
"Are you going to make it do words?" Lyra said, gathering up her rucksack.
"Its about as much use as pleting the funding application, I daresay," said Dr. Malone. "No, listen. I want you to e baorrow. you do that? About the same time? I want you to show someone else."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. Was this a trap?
"Well, all right," she said. "But remember, theres things I o know."
"Yes. Of course. You will e?"
"Yes," said Lyra. "If I say I will, I will. I could help you, I expect."
And she left. The porter at the desk looked up briefly and the back to his paper.
"The Nuniatak dig," said the archaeologist, swinging his chair around. "Youre the sed person in a month to ask me about that."
"Who was the other one?" said Will, on his guard at once.
"I think he was a journalist. Im not sure."
"Why did he want to know about it?" he said.
"In e with one of the men who disappeared on that trip. It was the height of the cold war when the expedition vanished. Star Wars. Youre probably too young to remember that. The Ameris and the Russians were building enormous radar installations all across the Arctic....
Anyway, what I do for you?"
"Well," said Will, trying to keep calm, "I was just trying to find out about that expedition, really.
For a school project about prehistoric people. And I read about this expedition that disappeared, and I got curious."
"Well, youre not the only one, as you see. There was a big to-do about it at the time. I looked it all up for the journalist. It reliminary survey, not a pr. You t do a dig till you know whether its worth spending time on it, so this group went out to look at a number of sites and make a report. Half a dozen blokes altogether. Sometimes on an expedition like this you bine forces with people from another discipline—you know, geologists or whatever—to split the cost. They look at their stuff and we look at ours. In this case there hysicist oeam. I think he was looking at high-level atmospheric particles. The aurora, you know, the northern lights. He had balloons with radio transmitters, apparently.
"And there was another man with them. An ex-Marine, a sort of professional explorer. They were going up into some fairly wild territory, and polar bears are always a danger in the Arctic.
Archaeologists deal with some things, but were not traio shoot, and someone who do that and navigate and make camp and do all the sort of survival stuff is very useful.
"But then they all vahey kept in radio tact with a local survey station, but one day the signal didnt e, and nothing more was heard. Thered been a buzzard, but that was nothing unusual. The search expedition found their last camp more or less intact, though the bears had eaten their stores. But there was no sign of the people whatsoever.
"And thats all I tell you, Im afraid."
"Yes," said Will. "Thank you. Umm ... that journalist," he went on, stopping at the door. "You said he was ied in one of the men. Whie was it?"
"The explorer type. A man called Parry."
"What did he look like? The journalist, I mean?"
"What dyou want to know that for?"
"Because ..." Will couldnt think of a plausible reason. He shouldnt have asked. "No reason. I just wondered."
"As far as I remember, he was a big blond man. Very pale hair."
&quht, thanks," Will said, and turo go.
The man watched him leave the room, saying nothing, frowning a little. Will saw him reach for the phone, ahe building quickly.
He found he was shaking. The journalist, so called, was one of the men whod e to his house: a tall man with such fair hair that he seemed to have no eyebrows or eyelashes. He wasnt the one Will had knocked dowairs: he was the one whod appeared at the door of the living room as Will ran down and jumped over the body.
But he wasnt a journalist.
There was a large museum nearby. Will went in, holding his clipboard as if he were w, and sat down in a gallery hung with paintings. He was trembling hard and feeling sick, because pressing at him was the knowledge that hed killed someohat he was a murderer. Hed kept it at bay till now, but it was closing iaken away the mans life.
He sat still for half an hour, and it was one of the worst half-hours hed ever spent. People came a, looking at the paintings, talking in quiet voices, ign him; a gallery attendant stood in the doorway for a few minutes, hands behind his back, and then slowly moved away; and Will wrestled with the horror of what hed done, and didnt move a muscle.
Gradually he grew calmer. Hed been defending his mother. They were frightening her; giveate she was in, they were perseg her. He had a right to defend his home. His father would have wanted him to do that. He did it because it was the good thing to do. He did it to stop them from stealing the greeher case. He did it so he could find his father; and didnt he have a right to do that? All his childish games came ba, with himself and his father resg each other from avalanches hting pirates. Well, now it was real. Ill find you, he said in his mind. Just help me and Ill find you, and well look after Mum, and everythingll be all right....
And after all, he had somewhere to hide now, somewhere so safe no one would ever find him. And the papers from the case (which he still hadnt had time to read) were safe too, uhe mattress in Cittagazze.
Finally he noticed people moving more purposefully, and all in the same dire. They were leaving, because the attendant was telling them that the museum would close in ten minutes. Will gathered himself a. He found his way to the High Street, where the lawyers office was, and wondered about going to see him, despite what hed said earlier. The man had sounded friendly enough....
But as he made up his mind to cross the street and go iopped suddenly.
The tall man with the pale eyebrows was getting out of a car.
Will turned aside at once, casually, and looked in the window of the jewelers shop beside him. He saw the mans refle look around, settle the knot of his tie, and go into the lawyers office. As soon as hed gone in, Will moved away, his heart thudding again. There wasnt anywhere safe. He drifted toward the uy library and waited for Lyra.
CHAPTER FIVE: AIRMAIL PAPER-1
"Will," said Lyra.
She spoke quietly, but he was startled all the same. She was sitting on the bench beside him and he hadnt even noticed.
"Where did you e from?"
"I found my Scholar! Shes called Dr. Malone. And shes got an ehat see Dust, and shes going to make it talk—"
"I didnt see you ing."
"You werent looking," she said. "You mustve been thinking about something else. Its a good thing I found you. Look, its easy to fool people. Watch."
Two police officers were strolling toward them, a man and a woman on the beat, in their white summer shirtsleeves, with their radios and their batons and their suspicious eyes. Before they reached the bench, Lyra was on her feet and speaking to them.
"Please, could you tell me where the museum is?" she said. "Me and my brother was supposed to meet our parents there a lost."
The poli looked at Will, and Will, taining his anger, shrugged as if to say, "Shes right, were lost, isnt it silly." The man smiled. The woman said: "Which museum? The Ashmolean?"
"Yeah, that one," said Lyra, and preteo listen carefully as the woman gave her instrus.
Will got up and said, "Thanks," and he and Lyra moved away together. They didnt look back, but the police had already lost i.
"See?" she said. "If they were looking for you, I put em off. Cause they wont be looking for someoh a sister. I better stay with you from now on," she went on scoldingly oheyd gone around the er. "You ent safe on your own."
He said nothing. His heart was thumping with rage. They walked along toward a round building with a great leaden dome, set in a square bounded by honey-colored stone college buildings and a churd wide-ed trees above high garden walls. The afternoon suhe warmest tones out of it all, and the air felt rich with it, almost the color itself of heavy golden wine. All the leaves were still, and in this little square everaffioise was hushed.
She finally became aware of Wills feelings and said, "Whats the matter?"
"If you speak to people, you just attract their attention," he said, with a shaking voice. "You should just keep quiet and still and they overlook you. Ive been doing it all my life. I know how to do it. Your way, you just—you make yourself visible. You shouldnt do that. You shouldnt play at it. Youre not being serious."
"You think so?" she said, and her anger flashed. "You think I dont know about lying and that? Im the best liar there ever was. But I ent lying to you, and I never will, I swear it. Youre in danger, and if I hadnt dohat just then, youdve been caught. Didnt you see em looking at you? Cause they were. You ent careful enough. If you want my opinion, its you that ent serious."
"If Im not serious, what am I doing hanging about waiting for you when I could be miles away? Or hiding out of sight, safe in that other city? Ive got my own things to do, but Im hanging about here so I help you. Dont tell me Im not serious."
"You had to e through," she said, furious. No one should speak to her like this. She was an aristocrat. She was Lyra. "You had to, else youd never find out anything about your father. You do for yourself, not for me."
They were quarreling passionately, but in subdued voices, because of the quiet in the square and the people who were wandering past nearby. When she said this, though, Will stopped altogether.
He had to lean against the college wall beside him. The color had left his face.
"What do you know about my father?" he said very quietly.
She replied in the same tone. "I dont know anything. All I know is youre looking for him. Thats all I asked about."
"Asked who?"
"The alethiometer, of course."
It took a moment for him to remember what she meant. And then he looked so angry and suspicious that she took it out of her rucksad said, "All right, Ill show you."
And she sat down oone curb around the grass in the middle of the square a her head over the golden instrument and began to turn the hands, her fingers moving almost too quickly to see, and then pausing for several seds while the slender needle whipped around the dial, flig to a stop here and there, and then turning the hands to new positions just as quickly.
Will looked around carefully, but there was no oo see; a group of tourists looked up at
the domed building, an ice cream vendor wheeled his cart along the pavement, but their attention was elsewhere.
Lyra blinked and sighed, as if she were waking after a sleep.
"Your mothers ill," she said quietly. "But shes safe. Theres this lady looking after her. And you took some letters and ran away. And there was a man, I think he was a thief, and you killed him.
And youre looking for your father, and—"
"All right, shut up," said Will. "Thats enough. Youve got nht to look into my life like that.
Dont ever do that again. Thats just spying."
"I know when to stop asking," she said. "See, the alethio-meters like a person, almost. I sort of know when its going to be cross or when theres things it doesnt wao know. I kind of feel it. But when you e out of nowhere yesterday, I had to ask it who you were, or I might not have been safe. I had to. And it said ..." She lowered her voice even more. "It said you was a murderer, and I thought, Good, thats all right, hes someone I trust. But I didnt ask more than that till just now, and if you dont wao ask any more, I promise I wont. This ent like a private peep 藏书网show. If I dohing but spy on people, itd stop w. I know that as well as I know my own Oxford."
"You could have asked me instead of that thing. Did it say whether my father was alive or dead?"
"No, because I didnt ask."
They were both sitting by this time. Will put his head in his hands with weariness.
"Well," he said finally, "I suppose well have to trust each other."
"Thats all right. I trust you."
Will nodded grimly. He was so tired, and there was not the slightest possibility of sleep in this world. Lyra wasnt usually so perceptive, but something in his manner made her think: Hes afraid, but hes mastering his fear, like lorek Byrnison said we had to do; like I did by the fish house at the frozen lake.
"And, Will," she added, "I wont give you away, not to anyone. I promise."
"Good."
"I dohat before. I betrayed someone. And it was the worst thing I ever did. I thought I was saving his life actually, only I was taking him right to the most dangerous place there could be. I hated myself for that, for being so stupid. So Ill try very hard not to be careless or fet aray you."
He said nothing. He rubbed his eyes and blinked hard to try and wake himself up.
"W??e t go back through the window till much later," he said. "We shouldnt have e through in daylight anyway. We t risk anyone seeing. And now weve got to hang around for hours...."
"Im hungry," Lyra said.
Then he said, "I know! We go to the ema!"
"The what?”
"Ill show you. We get some food there too."
There was a ema he city ter, ten minutes walk away. Will paid for both of them to get in, and bought hot dogs and pop and Coke, and they carried the food inside and sat down just as the film was beginning.
Lyra was entranced. She had seen projected photograms, but nothing in her world had prepared her for the ema. She wolfed dow dog and the pulped the Coca-Cola, and gasped and laughed with delight at the characters on the s. Luckily it was a noisy audience, full of children, and her excitement wasnt spicuous. Will closed his eyes at ond went to sleep.
He woke whee> heard the clatter of seats as people moved out, and blinked in the light. His watch showed a quarter past eight. Lyra came away relutly.
"Thats the best thing I ever saw in my whole life," she said. "I dunno why they never ied this in my world. We got some things better than you, but this was better than anythi."
Will couldnt even remember what the film had been. It was still light outside, and the streets were busy.
"Dyou want to see another one?"
"Yeah!"
So they went to the ema, a few hundred yards away around the er, and did it again.
Lyra settled down with her feet on the seat, hugging her knees, and Will let his mind go blank.
When they came out this time, it was nearly eleven ouch better.
Lyra was hungry again, so they bought hamburgers from a cart and ate them as they walked along, something else o her.
"We always sit down to eat. I never seen people just walking aloing before," she told him.
"Theres so many ways this place is different. The traffic, for one. I dont like it. I like the ema, though, and hamburgers. I like them a lot. And that Scholar, Dr. Malone, shes going to make that engine use words. I just know she is. Ill go back there tomorrow and see how shes getting on. I bet I could help her. I could probably get the Scholars to give her the money she wants, too. You know how my father did it? Lord Asriel? He played a tri them...."
As they walked up the Banbury Road, she told him about the night she hid in the wardrobe and watched Lord Asriel show the Jordan Scholars the severed head of Stanislaus Grumman in the vacuum flask. And since Will was such a good audience, she went on and told him the rest of her story, from the time she escaped from Mrs. Coulters flat to the horrible moment when she realized shed led Roger to his death on the icy cliffs of Svalbard. Will listened without ent, but attentively, with sympathy. Her at of a voyage in a balloon, of armored bears and witches, of a vengeful arm of the Church, seemed all of a piece with his own fantastic dream of a beautiful city on the sea, empty and silent and safe: it couldrue, it was as simple as that.
But eventually they reached the ring road, and the horrees. There was very little traffiow: a car every minute or so, no more than that. And there was the window. Will felt himself smiling. It was going to be all right.
"Wait till theres no cars ing," he said. "Im going through now."
And a moment later he was on the grass uhe palm trees, and a sed or two afterward Lyra followed.
They felt as if they were home again. The wide warm night, and the st of flowers and the sea, and the silence, bathed them like soothing water.
Lyra stretched and yawned, and Will felt a great weight lift off his shoulders. He had been carrying it all day, and he hadnt noticed how it had nearly pressed him into the ground; but now he felt light and free and at peace.
And then Lyra gripped his arm. In the same sed he heard what had made her do it.
Somewhere itle streets beyond the cafe, something was screaming.
CHAPTER FIVE: AIRMAIL PAPER-2
Will set off at ooward the sound, and Lyra followed behind as he plunged down a narrow alley shadowed from the moonlight. After several twists and turns they came out into the square in front of the 藏书网stoower theyd seen that m.
Twenty or so children were fag inward in a semicircle at the base of the tower, and some of them had sticks in their hands, and some were throwing sto whatever they had trapped against the wall. At first Lyra thought it was another child, but ing from ihe semicircle
was a horrible high wailing that wasnt human at all. And the children were screaming too, in fear as well as hatred.
Will ran up to the children and pulled the first one back. It was a boy of about his own age, a boy in a striped T-shirt. As he turned Lyra saw the wild white rims around his pupils, and theher children realized what was happening and stopped to look. Angelid her little brother were there too, stones in hand, and all the childrens eyes glittered fiercely in the moonlight.
They fell silent. Only the high wailing tinued, and then both Will and Lyra saw what it was: a tabby cat, c against the wall of the tower, its ear torn and its tail bent. It was the cat Will had seen in Sunderland Avehe one like Moxie, the ohat had led him to the window.
As soon as he saw her, he flung aside the boy he was holding. The boy fell to the ground and in a moment, furious, but the others held him back. Will was already kneeling by the cat.
And then she was in his arms. She fled to his breast and he cradled her close and stood to face the children, and Lyra thought for a crazy sed that his daemon had appeared at last.
"What are you hurting this cat for?" he demanded, and they couldnt ahey stood trembling at Wills anger, breathing heavily, clutg their sticks and their stones, and they couldnt speak.
But then Angelicas voice came clearly: "You ain from here! You ain from Cigazze! You didn know about Specters, you don know about cats either. You ain like us!"
The boy iriped T-shirt whom Will had thrown down was trembling to fight, and if it hadnt been for the cat in Wills arms, he would have flown at Will with fists ah a, and Will would have gladly joined battle. There was a current of electric hatred betweewo of them that only violence could ground. But the boy was afraid of the cat.
"Where you e from?" he said ptuously.
"Doesnt matter where we e from. If youre scared of this cat, Ill take her away from you. If shes bad luck to you, shell be good luck for us. Now get out of the way."
For a moment Will thought their hatred would overe their fear, and he reparing to put the cat down and fight, but then came a low thunderous growl from behind the children, and they turo see Lyra standing with her hand on the shoulders of a great spotted leopard whose teeth shone white as he snarled. Even Will, whnized Pantalaimon, was frightened for a sed.
Its effe the children was dramatic: they turned and fled at once. A few seds later the square was empty.
But before they left, Lyra looked up at the tower. A growl from Pantalaimon prompted her, and just briefly she saw someohere on the very top, looking dowhe battle-mented rim, and not a child either, but a young man, with curly hair.
Half an hour later they were in the flat above the cafe. Will had found a tin of densed milk, and the cat had lapped it hungrily and then begun to lick her wounds. Pantalaimon had bee cat-formed out of curiosity, and at first the tabby cat had bristled with suspi, but she soon realized that whatever Pantalaimon was, he was her a true or a threat, and proceeded to ignore him.
Lyra watched Will tending this oh fasation. The only animals she had been close to in her world (apart from the armored bears) were w animals of one sort or another. Cats were for keeping Jordan College clear of miot for makis of.
"I thiails broken," Will said. "I dont know what to do about that. Maybe itll heal by itself.
Ill put some honey on her ear. I read about that somewhere; its aic...."
It was messy, but at least it kept her occupied lig it off, and the wound was getting er all the time.
"You sure this is the one you saw?" she said.
"Oh, yes. And if theyre all shtened of cats, there wouldnt be many in this world anyway. She probably couldnt find her way back."
"They were just crazy," Lyra said. "They would have killed her. I never seen kids being like that."
"I have," said Will.
But his face had closed; he didnt want to talk about it, and she knew better than to ask. She knew she wouldnt even ask the alethiometer.
She was very tired, so presently she went to bed and slept at once.
A little later, whe had curled up to sleep, Will took a cup of coffee and the greeher writing case, and sat on the baly. There was enough light ing through the window for him to read by, and he wao look at the papers.
There werent many. As hed thought, they were letters, written on airmail paper in blak.
These very marks were made by the hand of the man he wanted so much to find; he moved his fingers over and over them, and pressed them to his face, trying to get closer to the essence of his father. Thearted to read.
Fairbanks, Alaska Wednesday, 19 June 1985 My darling—the usual mixture of effid chaos— all the stores are here but the physicist, a genial dimwit called Nelson, hasn t made any arras for carrying his damn balloons up into the mountains—having to twiddle our thumbs while he scrabbles around for transport. But it means I had a ce to talk to an old boy I met last time, a gold miner called Jake Petersen.
Tracked him down to a dingy bar and uhe sound of the baseball game oV I asked him about the anomaly. He wouldn t talk there—took me back to his apartment. With the help of a bottle of Jack Daniels he talked for a long time—hadn t seen it himself, but he d met an Eskimo who had, and this chap said it was a doorway into the spirit world. They d known about it for turies; pan of the initiation of a medie man involved going through and bringing back a trophy of some kind—though some never came back. However, old Jake did have a map of the area, and he d marked on it where his pal had told him the thing was. (Just in case: its at 69°0211" N, 157°1219" ur of Looke a mile or two north of the Colville River.) We then got on to other Arctic legends—the Nian ship thats been drifting unmanned for sixty years, stuff like that. The archaeologists are a det crew, keen to get to work, taining their impatieh Nelson and his balloons. None of them has ever heard of the anomaly, and believe me Im going to keep it like that. My fo love to you both. Johnny.
Umiat, Alaska Saturday, 22 June 1985 My darling—-so much for what did? I call him, a genial dimwit—the physicist Nelson is nothing of the sort, and if Im not mistaken hes actually looking for the anomaly himself. The holdup in Fairbanks was orchestrated by him, would you believe? Knowing that the rest of the team wouldnt want to wait for anythihan an unarguable reason like no transport, he personally sent ahead and celed the vehicles that had been ordered. I found this out by act, and I was going to ask him what the hell he laying at when I overheard him
talking on the radio to someone—describing the anomaly, no less, except he didn t know the location. Later on I bought him a drink, played the bluff soldier, old Arctid, "more things in heaven ah " line. Preteo tease him with the limitations of sce—bet you t explain Bigfoot, etc.—wat藏书网g him closely. Then sprung the anomaly on him—Eskimo legend of a doorway into spirit world—invisible—somewhere near Looke, would you believe, where were heading for, fancy that. And you know he was jolted rigid. He kly what I meant. I pretended not to notid went on to witchcraft, told him the Zaire leopard story.
So I hope hes got me down as a superstitious military blockhead. But Im right, Elaine— hes looking for it too. The question is, do I tell him or not? Got to work out what his game is.
Fo love to both— Johnny.
Colville Bar, Alaska Monday, 24 June 1985 Darling—I wo a ce to post another letter for a while—this is the last town before we take to the hills, the Broe. The archaeologists are fizzing to get 99ｌｉb?up there. One chap is vinced hell find evidenuch earlier habitation than anyone suspected. I said how much earlier, and why was he vinced. He told me of some narwhal-ivory carvings hed found on a previous dig—carbon 14-dated to some incredible age, way outside the range of what reviously assumed; anomalous, in fact. Wouldnt it be strange if they d e through my anomaly, from some other world? Talking of which, the physicist Nelson is my closest buddy now— kids me along, drops hints to imply that he knows that I know that he knows, etd I pretend to be bluff Major Parry, stout fellow in a crisis but not too much between the ears, what. But I know hes after it. For ohing, although hes a bona fide academic his funding actually es from the Ministry of Defense—I know the financial codes they use. And for another his so-called weather balloons are nothing of the sort. I looked in the crate—a radiation suit if ever Ive seen one. A rum do, my darling. I shall stiy plan: take the archaeologists to their spot and go off by my self for a few days to look for the anomaly. If I bump into Nelson wandering about on Looke, Ill play it by ear.
Later. A real bit of luck. I met Jake Petersen s pal the Eskimo, Matt Kigalik. Jake had told me where to find him, but I hadn t dared to hope he d be there. He told me the Soviets had been looking for the anomaly too; hed e across a man earlier this year high up in the range and watched him for a couple of days without being seen, because he guessed what he was doing, and he was right, and the man turned out to be Russian, a spy. He didn t tell me more than that; I got the impression he bumped him off. But he described the thing to me. Its like a gap in the air, a sort of window. You look through it and you see another world. But its not easy to find because that part of the other world looks just like this—rocks and moss and so forth. Its on the north side of a small creek fifty paces or so to the west of a tall rock shaped like a standing bear, and the position Jake gave me is not quite right—its nearer 12" N than 11.
Wish me luck, my darling. Ill bring you back a trophy from the spirit world. I love you forever— kiss the boy for me—Johnny.
Will found his head ringing.
His father was describily what he himself had found uhe horrees. He, too, had found a window—he evehe same word for it! So Will must be on the right track. And this knowledge was what the men had been searg for... So it was dangerous, too.
Will had been just a baby when that letter was written. Seven years after that had e the m in the supermarket when he realized his mother was in terrible danger, and he had to protect her; and then slowly in the months that followed came his growing realization that the danger was in her mind, and he had to protect her all the more.
And then, brutally, the revelation that not all the danger had been in her mind after all. There really was someoer her—after these letters, this information.
He had no idea what it meant. But he felt deeply happy that he had something so important to share with his father; that John Parry and his son Will had each, separately, discovered this extraordinary thing. When they met, they could talk about it, and his father would be proud that Will had followed in his footsteps.
The night was quiet and the sea was still. He folded the letters away and fell asleep.
CHAPTER SIX: LIGHTED FLIERS-1
"Grumman?" said the black-bearded fur trader. "From the Berlin Academy? Reckless. I met him five years back over at the northern end of the Urals. I thought he was dead."
Sam sino, an old acquaintand a Texan like Lee Scoresby, sat in the naphtha-laden, smoky bar of the Samirsky Hotel and tossed back a shot glass of bitingly cold vodka. He he plate of pickled fish and black bread toward Lee, who took a mouthful and nodded for Sam to tell him more.
"Hed walked into a trap that fool Yakovlev laid," the fur trader went on, "and cut his leg open to the bone. Instead of using regular medies, he insisted on using the stuff the bears use— bloodmoss—some kind of li, it aint a true moss. Anyway, he was lying on a sledge alternately r with pain and calling out instrus to his men—they were taking star sights, and they had to get the measurements right or hed lash them with his tongue, and boy, he had a tongue like barbed wire. A lean man, tough, powerful, curious about everything. You know he was a Tartar, by initiation?"
"You dont say," said Lee Scoresby, tipping more vodka into Sams glass. His daemoer, crouched at his elbow on the bar, eyes half-closed as usual, ears flat along her back.
Lee had arrived that afternoon, boro Nova Zembla by the wind the witches had called up, and once hed stowed his equipment hed made straight for the Samirsky Hotel, he fish-pag station. This lace where many Arctic drifters stopped to exge news or look for employment or leave messages for one another, and Lee Scoresby had spent several days there in the past, waiting for a tract or a passenger or a fair wind, so there was nothing unusual in his duow.
And with the vast ges they sensed in the world around them, it was natural for people to gather and talk. With every day that passed came more news: the river Yenisei was free of ice, and at this time of year, too; part of the o had drained away, exposing strange regular formations of stone on the seabed; a squid a hundred feet long had snatched three fishermen out of their boat and torn them apart....
And the fog tio roll in from the north, dense and cold and occasionally drenched with the stra imaginable light, in which great forms could be vaguely seen, and mysterious voices heard.
Altogether it was a bad time to work, which was why the bar of the Samirsky Hotel was full.
"Did you say Grumman?" said the man sitting just along the bar, an elderly man in seal hunters rig, whose lemming daemon looked out solemnly from his pocket. "He was a Tartar all right. I was there when he joihat tribe. I saw him having his skull drilled. He had another oo—a Tartar name; Ill think of it in a minute."
"Well, how about that," said Lee Scoresby. "Let me buy you a drink, my friend. Im looking for news of this man. What tribe was it he joined?"
"The Yenisei Pakhtars. At the foot of the Semyone. Near a fork of the Yenisei and the—I fet what its called— a river that es down from the hills. Theres a rock the size of a house at the landing stage."
"Ah, sure," said Lee. "I remember it now. Ive flow. And Grumman had his skull drilled, you say? Why was that?"
"He was a shaman," said the old seal hunter. "I think the tribe reized him as a shaman before they adopted him. Some business, that drilling. It goes on for two nights and a day. They use a bow drill, like fhting a fire."
"Ah, that ats for the way his team was obeying him," said Sam sino. "They were the roughest bunch of sdrels I ever saw, but they ran around doing his bidding like nervous children. I thought it was his cursing that did it. If they thought he was a shaman, itd make even more sense. But you know, that mans curiosity owerful as a wolfs jaws; he would not let go. He made me tell him every scrap I knew about the land thereabouts, and the habits of wolverines and foxes. And he was in some pain from that damn trap of Yakovlevs; leg laid open, and he was writing the results of that bloodmoss, taking his temperature, watg the scar form, making notes on every damn thing.... A strange man. There was a witch who wanted him for a lover, but he turned her down."
"Is that so?" said Lee, thinking of the beauty of Serafina Pekkala.
"He shouldnt have dohat," said the seal hunter. "A witch offers you her love, you should take it. If you dont, its your own fault if bad things happen to you. Its like having to make a choice: a blessing or a curse. The ohing you t do is choose her."
"He might have had a reason," said Lee. "If he had any se will have been a good one." "He was headstrong," said Sam sino. "Maybe faithful to another woman," Lee guessed. "I heard something else about him; I heard he khe whereabouts of some magic object, I dont know what it might be, that could proteyone who held it. Did you ever hear that story?"
"Yes, I heard that," said the seal hunter. "He didnt have it himself, but he knew where it was.
There was a man who tried to make him tell, but Grumman killed him."
"His daemon, now," said Sam sino, "that was curious. She was an eagle, a black eagle with a white head and breast, of a kind Id never set eyes on, and I didnt know how she might be called."
"She was an osprey," said the barman, listening in. "Youre talking about Stan Grumman? His daemon was an osprey. A fish eagle."
"What happeo him?" said Lee Scoresby.
"Oh, he got mixed up in the Skraeling wars over t-land. Last I heard hed been shot," said the seal hunter. "Killed ht."
"I heard they beheaded him," said Lee Scoresby.
"No, youre both wrong," said the barman, "and I know, because I heard it from an limit who was
with him. Seems that they were camped out on Sakhalin somewhere and there was an avalanche.
Grumman was buried under a huons of rock. This Inuit saw it happen."
"What I t uand," said Lee Scoresby, the bottle around, "is what the man was doing. Was he prospeg for rock oil, maybe? Or was he a military man? Or was it something philosophical? You said something about measurements, Sam. What would that be?"
"They were measuring the starlight. And the aurora. He had a passion for the aurora. I think his main i was in ruins, though. Ahings."
"I know who could tell you more," said the seal hunter. "Up the mountain they have an observatory belonging to the Imperial Muscovite Academy. Theyd be able to tell you. I know he went up there more than once."
"What dyou want to know for, anyway, Lee?" said Sam sino.
"He owes me some money," said Lee Scoresby.
This explanation was so satisfying that it stopped their curiosity at ohe versation turo the topi everyones lips: the catastrophic ges taking place around them, whio one could see.
"The fishermen," said the seal hunter, "they say you sail right up into that new world."
"Theres a new world?" said Lee.
"As soon as this damn fog clears well see right into it," the seal huold them fidently.
"When it first happened, I was out in my kayak and looking north, just by ce. Ill never fet what I saw. Instead of the earth curving dowhe horizon, it went straight on. I could see forever, and as far as I could see, there was land and shoreline, mountains, harbreen trees, and fields of , forever into the sky. I tell you, friends, that was something worth toiling fifty years to see, a sight like that. I would have paddled up the sky into that calm sea without a backward glance; but then came the fog...."
"Aint never seen a fog like this," grumbled Sam sino. "Re its set in for a month, maybe more. But youre out of luck if you want money from Stanislaus Grummahe mans dead."
"Ah! I got his Tartar name!" said the seal hunter. "I just remembered what they called him during the drilling. It sounded like Jopari."
"Jopari? Thats no kind of name Ive ever heard of," said Lee. "Might be Nipponese, I suppose. Well, if I want my money, maybe I chase up his heirs and assigns. Or maybe the Berlin Academy square the debt. Ill go ask at the observatory, see if they have an address I apply to."
The observatory was some distao the north, and Lee Scoresby hired a dog sledge and driver.
It wasnt easy to find someone willing to risk the journey in the fog, but Lee ersuasive, or his money was; aually an old Tartar from the ion agreed to take him there, after a lengthy bout of haggling.
The driver didnt rely on a pass, or he would have found it impossible. He navigated by ns—his Arctic fox daemon for one, who sat at the front of the sledge keenly sting the way.
Lee, who carried his pass everywhere, had realized already that the earths magic field was as disturbed as everything else.
The old driver said, as they stopped to brew coffee, "This happen before, this thing."
"What, the sky opening? That happened before?"
"Many thousand geion. My people remember. All long time ago, many thousand geion."
"What do they say about it?"
"Sky fall open, and spirits move between this world and that world. All the lands move. The ice melt, then freeze again. The spirits close up the hole after a while. Seal it up. But witches say the
sky is thin there, behind the northern lights."
"Whats going to happen, Umaq?"
"Same thing as before. Make all same again. But only after big trouble, big war. Spirit war."
The driver wouldnt tell him any more, and soon they moved on, trag slowly over undulations and holloast outcrops of dim rock, dark through the pallid fog, until the old man said:
"Observatory up there. You walk now. Path too crooked for sledge. You want go back, I wait here."
"Yeah, I want to go back when Ive finished, Umaq. You make yourself a fire, my friend, and sit a a spell. Ill be three, four hours maybe."
Lee Scoresby set off, with Hester tucked into the breast of his coat, and after half an hours stiff climb found a clump of buildings suddenly above him as if theyd just been placed there by a giant hand. But the effect was only due to a momentary lifting of the fog, and after a mi closed in again. He saw the great dome of the main observatory, a smaller one a little way off, aween them a group of administration buildings and domestic quarters. No lights showed, because the windows were blacked out permaly so as not to spoil the darkness for their telescopes.
A few minutes after he arrived, Lee was talking to a group of astronomers eager to learn what news he could bring them, for there are few natural philosophers as frustrated as astronomers in a fog. He told them about everything hed seen, and ohat topic had been thhly dealt with, he asked about Stanislaus Grummaronomers hadnt had a visitor in weeks, and they were keen to talk.
"Grumman? Yes, Ill tell you something about him," said the Director. "He was an Englishman, in spite of his name. I remember—"
"Surely not," said his deputy. "He was a member of the Imperial German Academy. I met him in Berlin. I was sure he was German."
"No, I think youll find he was English. His and of that language was immaculate, anyway,"
said the Director.
"But I agree, he was certainly a member of the Berlin Academy. He was a geologist—"
"No, no, youre wrong," said someone else. "He did look at the earth, but not as a geologist. I had a long talk with him once. I suppose youd call him a paleo-archaeologist."
They were sitting, five of them, around a table in the room that served as their on room, living and dining room, bar, recreation room, and more or less everything else. Two of them were Muscovites, one ole, one a Yoruba, and one a Skraeling. Lee Scoresby sehat the little unity was glad to have a visitor, if only because he introduced a ge of versation. The Pole had been the last to speak, and then the Yoruba interrupted:
"What do you mean, a paleo-archaeologist? Archaeologists already study whats old; why do you o put another word meaning old in front of it?"
"His field of study went back much further than youd expect, thats all. He was looking for remains of civilizations from twenty, thirty thousand years ago," the Pole replied.
"Nonsense!" said the Director. "Utter nonsehe man ulling y. Civilizations thirty thousand years old? Ha! Where is the evidence?"
"Uhe ice," said the Pole. "Thats the point. Acc to Grumman, the earths magic field ged dramatically at various times in the past, and the earths axis actually moved, too, so that temperate areas became ice-bound."
"How?" said one of the Muscovites.
"Oh, he had some plex theory. The point was, any evidehere might have been for very early civilizations was long since buried uhe ice. He claimed to have some pho-tograms of
unusual roations."
"Ha! Is that all?" said the Director.
"Im only rep, Im not defending him," said the Pole.
"How long had you known Grummalemen?" Lee Scoresby asked.
"Well, let me see," said the Director. "It was seven years ago I met him for the first time."
"He made a name for himself a year or two before that, with his paper on the variations in the magic pole," said the Yoruba. "But he came out of nowhere. I mean, no one had known him as a student or seen any of his previous work...." They talked on for a while, tributing reminisces and suggestions as to what might have bee of Grumman, though most of them thought he robably dead. While the Pole went to brew some more coffee, Lees hare daemoer, said to him quietly: "Check out the Skraeling, Lee."
The Skraeling had spoken very little. Lee had thought he was naturally taciturn, but prompted by Hester, he casually glanced across during the break in the versation to see the mans daemon, a snowy owl, glaring at him with bright e eyes. Well, that was what owls looked like, and they did stare; but Hester was right, and there was a hostility and suspi in the daemon that the mans face showed nothing of.
And then Lee saw something else: the Skraeling was wearing a ring with the Churchs symbol engraved on it. Suddenly he realized the reason for the mans silence. Every philosophical research establishment, so hed heard, had to include on its staff a representative of the Magisterium, to act as a sor and suppress the news of aical discoveries.
So, realizing this, and remembering something hed heard Lyra say, Lee asked: Tell me, gentlemen —do you happen to know if Grumman ever looked into the question of Dust?"
And instantly a silence fell iuffy little room, and everyotention focused on the Skraeling, though no one looked at him directly. Lee khat Hester would remain inscrutable, with her eyes half-closed and her ears flat along her back, a on a cheerful innoce as he looked from face to face.
Finally he settled on the Skraeling, and said, "I beg your pardon. Have I asked about something its forbidden to know?"
The Skraeling said, "Where did you hear mention of this subject, Mr. Scoresby?"
"From a passenger I flew across the sea a while back," Lee said easily. "They never said what it was, but from the way it was mentio seemed like the kind of thing Dr. Grumman might have inquired into. I took it to be some kind of celestial thing, like the aurora. But it puzzled me, because as an aeronaut I know the skies pretty well, and Id never e across this stuff. What is it, anyhow?"
"As you say, a celestial phenomenon," said the Skraeling. "It has no practical significe."
Presently Lee decided it was time to leave; he had learned no more, and he didnt want to keep Umaq waiting. He left the astroo their fogbound observatory a off dowrack, feeling his way along by following his daemon, whose eyes were closer to the ground.
And when they were only ten minutes dowh, something swept past his head in the fog and dived at Hester. It was the Skraelings owl daemon.
But Hester sensed her ing and flattened herself in time, and the owls claws just missed.
Hester could fight; her claws were sharp, too, and she was tough and brave. Lee khat the Skraeling himself must be clo>se by, and reached for the revolver at his belt.
"Behind you, Lee," Hester said, and he whipped around, diving, as an arrow hissed over his shoulder.
He fired at ohe Skraeling fell, grunting, as the bullet thudded into his leg. A moment later the owl daemon swooped with a clumsy fainting movement to his side, and half lay on the snow, struggling to fold her wings.
Lee Scoresby cocked his pistol and held it to the mans head.
&quht, you damn fool," he said. "What did you try that for? t you see were all in the same trouble now this things happeo the sky?"
"Its too late," said the Skraeling.
"Too late for what?"
Too late to stop. I have already sent a messenger bird. The Magisterium will know of your inquiries, and they will be glad to know about Grumman—"
"What about him?"
"The fact that others are looking for him. It firms what we thought. And that others know of Dust. You are an enemy of the Church, Lee Scoresby. By their fruits shall ye know them. By their questions shall ye see the serpent gnawing at their heart...."
The owl was making soft hooting sounds and raising and dropping her wings fitfully. Her bright e eyes were filming over with pain. There was a gatheriain in the snow around the Skraeling; even in the fog-thick dimness, Lee could see that the man was going to die.
"Rey bullet must have hit an artery," he said. "Let go my sleeve and Ill make a tour."
"No!" said the Skraeling harshly. "I am glad to die! I shall have the martyrs palm! You will not deprive me of that!"
"Then die if you want to. Just tell me this—"
But he never had the plete his question, because with a bleak little shiver the owl daemon disappeared. The Skraelings soul was gone. Lee had once seen a painting in which a saint of the Church was shown being attacked by assassins. While they bludgeoned his dying body, the saints daemon was borne upward by cherubs and offered a spray of palm, the badge of a martyr.
The Skraelings faow bore the same expression as the saints in the picture: aatic straining toward oblivion.?9９ｌiｂ.t> Lee dropped him in distaste.
Hester clicked her tongue.
"Shoulda reed hed send a message," she said. Take his ring."
"What the hell for? We aint thieves, are we?"
"No, were renegades," she said. "Not by our choice, but by his malice. Ohe Church learns about this, were done for anyway. Take every advantage we in the meantime. Go on, take the ring and stow it away, and mebbe we use it."
Lee saw the sense, and took the ring off the dead mans finger. Peering into the gloom, he saw that the path was edged by a steep drop into rocky darkness, and he rolled the Skraelings body over. It fell for a long time before he heard any impact. Lee had never enjoyed violence, aed killing, although hed had to do it three times before.
"No sense in thinking that," said Hester. "He didnt give us a choice, and we didnt shoot to kill.
Damn it, Lee, he wao die. These people are insane."
"I guess youre right," he said, and put the pistol away.
At the foot of the path they found the driver, with the dogs harnessed and ready to move.
"Tell me, Umaq," Lee said as they set off back to the fish-pag station, "you ever hear of a man called Grumman?"
"Oh, sure," said the driver. "Everybody knrumman."
"Did you know he had a Tartar name?"
"Not Tartar. You mean Jopari? Not Tartar."
"What happeo him? Is he dead?"
"You ask me that, I have to say I dont know. So you never know the truth from me."
"I see. So who I ask?"
"You better ask his tribe. Better go to Yenisei, ask them."
"His tribe ... you mean the people who initiated him? Who drilled his skull?"
"Yes. You better ask them. Maybe he not dead, maybe he is. Maybe her dead nor alive."
"How he be her dead nor alive?"
"In spirit world. Maybe he in spirit world. Already I say too much. Say no more now."
And he did not.
But when they returo the station, Lee went at oo the docks and looked for a ship that could give him passage to the mouth of the Yenisei.
Meanwhile, the witches were searg too. The Latvian queen, Ruta Skadi, flew with Serafina Pekkalas pany for many days and nights, through fog and whirlwind, ioated by flood or landslide. It was certain that they were in a world none of them had known before, with strange winds, strange sts in the air, great unknown birds that attacked them on sight and had to be driven off with volleys of arrows; and when they found land to rest on, the very plants were strange.
Still, some of those plants were edible, and they found rabbits that made a tasty meal, and there was no she of water. It might have been a good land to live in, but for the spectral forms that drifted like mist over the grasslands and gregated near streams and low-lying water. In some lights they were hardly there at all, just visible as a drifting quality in the light, a rhythmic evanesce, like veils of transparency turning before a mirror. The witches had never seen anything like them before, and mistrusted them at once.
"Are they alive, do you think, Serafina Pekkala?" said Ruta Skadi as the witches circled high above a group of the things that stood motionless at the edge of a tract of forest.
"Alive or dead, theyre full of malice," Serafina replied. "I feel that from here. And unless I knew what on could harm them, I wouldnt want to go closer than this."
The Specters seemed to be earthbound, without the power of flight, luckily for the witches. Later that day, they saw what the Specters could do.
It happe a river crossing, where a dusty road went over a low stone bridge beside a stand of trees. The late afternoon sun slanted across the grassland, drawin.９9lｉb?g an intense green out of the ground and a dusty gold out of the air, and in that rich oblique light the witches saw a band of travelers making for the bridge, some on foot, some in horse-drawn carts, two of them riding horses. Serafina caught her breath: these people had no daemons, ahey seemed alive. She was about to fly down and look more closely when she heard a cry of alarm.
It came from the rider on the leading horse. He ointing at the trees, and as the witches looked down, they saw a stream of those spectral forms p across the grass, seeming to flow with no effort toward the people, their prey.
The people scattered. Serafina was shocked to see the leading rider turn tail at ond gallop away, without staying to help his rades, and the sed rider did the same, esg as fast as he could in another dire.
"Fly lower and watch, sisters," Serafina told her panions. "But dont interfere till I and."
They saw that the little band tained children as well, some riding in the carts, some walking beside them. And it was clear that the children couldhe Specters, and the Specters werent ied ihey made instead for the adults. One old womaed on a cart
held two little children on her lap, and Ruta Skadi was angered by her cowardice: because she tried to hide behind them, and thrust them out toward the Specter that approached her, as if them up to save her own life.
The children pulled free of the old woman and jumped down from the cart, and now, like the other children around them, ran to and fro in fright, or stood and g together weeping as the Specters attacked the adults. The old woman in the cart was soon enveloped in a transparent shimmer that moved busily, w and feeding in some invisible way that made Ruta Skadi sick to watch. The same fate befell every adult in the party apart from the two who had fled on their horses.
Fasated and stunned, Serafina Pekkala flew down even closer. There was a father with his child who had tried to ford the river to get away, but a Specter had caught up with them, and as the child g to the fathers back, g, the man slowed down and stood waist-deep ier, arrested and helpless.
CHAPTER SIX: LIGHTED FLIERS-2
What was happening to him? Serafina hovered above the water a few feet away, gazing horrified.
She had heard from travelers in her own world of the legend of the vampire, and she thought of that as she watched the Specter busy g on—something, some quality the man had, his soul, his daemon, perhaps; for in this world, evidently, daemons were inside, not outside. His arms slaed uhe childs thighs, and the child fell into the water behind him and grabbed vainly at his hand, gasping, g, but the man only turned his head slowly and looked down with perfediffere his little son drowning beside him.
That was too much for Serafina. She swooped lolucked the child from the water, and as she did so, Ruta Skadi cried out: "Be careful, sister! Behind you—"
And Serafi just for a moment a hideous dullness at the edge of her heart, and reached out and up for Ruta Skadis hand, which pulled her away from the dahey flew higher, the child screaming and ging to her waist with sharp fingers, and Serafina saw the Specter behind her, a drift of mist swirling oer, casting about for its lost prey. Ruta Skadi shot an arrow into the heart of it, with no effect at all.
Serafina put the child down on the riverbank, seeing that it was in no danger from the Specters, and they retreated to the air again. The little band of travelers had halted food now; the horses cropped the grass or shook their heads at flies, the children were howling or clutg one another and watg from a distance, and every adult had fallen still. Their eyes were open; some were standing, though most had sat down; and a terrible stillness hung over them. As the last of the Specters drifted away, sated, Serafina flew down and alighted in front of a woman sitting on the grass, a strong, healthy-looking woman whose cheeks were red and whose fair hair was glossy.
"Woman?" said Serafina. There was no response. " you hear me? you see me?"
She shook her shoulder. With an immense effort the woman looked up. She scarcely seemed to notice. Her eyes were vat, and when Serafina pihe skin of her forearm, she merely looked down slowly and then away again.
The other witches were moving through the scattered wagons, looking at the victims in dismay.
The children, meanwhile, were gathering on a little knoll some way off, staring at the witches and whispering together fearfully.
"The horsemans watg," said a witch.
She pointed up to where the road led through a gap in the hills. The rider whod fled had reined in his horse and turned around to look back, shading his eyes to see what was going on.
"Well speak to him," said Serafina, and sprang into the air.
However the man had behaved when faced with the Specters, he was no coward. As he saw the witches approach, he unslung the rifle from his bad kicked the horse forward onto the grass, where he could wheel and fire and face them in the open; but Serafina Pekkala alighted slowly and held her bow out before laying it on the ground in front of her.
Whether or not they had that gesture here, its meaning was unmistakable. The man lowered the rifle from his shoulder and waited, looking from Serafina to the other witches, and up to their daemons too, who circled in the skies above. Women, young and ferocious, dressed in scraps of black silk and riding pine brahrough the sky—there was nothing like that in his world, but he faced them with calm wariness. Serafina, ing closer, saw sorrow in his face as well, and strength. It was hard to recile with the memory of his turning tail and running while his panions perished.
"Who are you?" he said.
"My name is Serafina Pekkala. I am the queen of the witches of Lake Enara, which is in another world. What is your name?"
"Joachim Lorenz. Witches, you say? Do you treat with the devil, then?"
"If we did, would that make us your enemy?"
He thought for a few moments, aled his rifle across his thighs. "It might have done, once,"
he said, "but times have ged. Why have you e to this world?"
"Because the times have ged. What are those creatures who attacked your party?"
"Well, the Specters..." he said, shrugging, half-astonished. "Dont you know the Specters?"
"Weve never seen them in our world. We saw you making your escape, and we didnt know what to think. Now I uand."
"Theres no defense against them," said Joachim Lorenz. "Only the childreouched. Every party of travelers has to include a man and a woman on horseback, by law, and they have to do what we did, or else the children will have no oo look after them. But times are bad now; the cities are thronged with Specters, and there used to be no more than a dozen or so in each place."
Ruta Skadi was looking around. She noticed the other rider moving back toward the wagons, and saw that it was, indeed, a woman. The children were running to meet her.
"But tell me what youre looking for," Joachim Lore on. "You didnt answer me before. You wouldnt have e here for nothing. Answer me now."
"Were looking for a child," said Serafina, "a young girl from our world. Her name is Lyra Belacqua, called Lyra Silver-tongue. But where she might be, in a whole world, we t guess. You havent seen a strange child, on her own?"
"No. But we saw ahe ht, making for the Pole."
"Angels?"
"Troops of them in the air, armed and shining. They havent been so on in the last years, though in my grandfathers time they passed through this world often, or so he used to say."
He shaded his eyes and gazed down toward the scattered wagons, the halted travelers. The other rider had dismounted now and was f some of the children.
Serafina followed his gaze and said, "If with you tonight and keep guard against the Specters, will you tell us more about this world, and these angels you saw?"
"Certainly I will. e with me."
The witches helped to move the wagons farther along the road, over the bridge and away from the trees where the Specters had e from. The stri adults had t藏书网o stay where they were, though it ainful to see the little children ging to a mother who no longer respoo
them, ging the sleeve of a father who said nothing and gazed into nothing and had nothing in his eyes. The younger children couldnt uand why they had to leave their parents. The older ones, some of whom had already lost parents of their own and who had seen it before, simply looked bleak and stayed dumb. Serafina picked up the little boy whod fallen in the river, and who was g out for his daddy, reag back over Serafinas shoulder to the silent figure still standing ier, indifferent. Serafi his tears on her bare skin.
The horsewoman, who wh vas breeches and rode like a man, said nothing to the witches. Her face was grim. She moved the children on, speaking sternly, ign their tears. The evening sun suffused the air with a golden light in which every detail was clear and nothing was dazzling, and the faces of the children and the man and woman too seemed immortal and strong aiful.
Later, as the embers of a fire glowed in a circle of ashy rocks and the great hills lay calm uhe moon, Joachim Lorenz told Serafina and Ruta Skadi about the history of his world.
It had once been a happy one, he explaihe cities were spacious and elegant, the fields well tilled aile. Mert ships plied to and fro on the blue os, and fishermen hauled in brimmis of cod and tunny, bass and mullet; the forests ran with game, and no childre hungry. In the courts and squares of the great cities ambassadors from Brasil and Benin, from Eireland and Corea mingled with tabaco sellers, with edia players from Bergamo, with dealers in fortune bonds. At night masked lovers met uhe rose-hung nades or in the lamplit gardens, and the air stirred with the st of jasmine and throbbed to the music of the wire-strung mandarone.
The witches listened wide-eyed to this tale of a world so like theirs a so different.
"But it went wrong," he said. "Three hundred years ago, it all went wrong. Some people re the philosuild of the Torre degli Angeli, the Tower of the Angels, iy we have just left, theyre the oo blame. Others say it was a judgment on us for some great sin, though I never heard any agreement about what that sin was. But suddenly out of here came the Specters, and weve been haunted ever since. Youve seen what they do. Now imagine what it is to live in a world with Specters in it. How we prosper, when we t rely on anything tinuing as it is? At any moment a father might be taken, or a mother, and the family fall apart; a mert might be taken, and his enterprise fail, and all his clerks and factors lose their employment; and how lovers trust their vows? All the trust and all the virtue fell out of our world when the Specters came."
"Who are these philosophers?" said Serafina. "And where is this tower you speak of?"
"Iy we left—Cittagazze. The city of magpies. You know why its called that? Because magpies steal, and thats all we do now. We create nothing, we have built nothing for hundreds of years, all we do is steal from other worlds. Oh, yes, we know about other worlds.
Those philosophers iorre degli Angeli discovered all we o know about that subject.
They have a spell which, if you say it, lets you walk through a door that isnt there, and find yourself in another world. Some say its not a spell but a key that open evehere isnt a lock. Who knows? Whatever it is, it let the Specters in. And the philosophers use it still, I uand. They pass into other worlds and steal from them and bring back what they find. Gold and jewels, of course, but other things too, like ideas, or sacks of , or pencils. They are the source of all our wealth," he said bitterly, "that Guild of thieves."
"Why dont the Specters harm children?" asked Ruta Skadi.
"That is the greatest mystery of all. In the innoce of children theres some power that repels the Specters of Indifference. But its more than that. Children simply dohem, though we
t uand why. We never have. But Specter-orphans are on, as you imagine— children whose parents have been taken; they gather in bands and roam the try, and sometimes they hire themselves out to adults to look for food and supplies in a Specter-ridden area, and sometimes they simply drift about and sge.
"So that is our world. Oh, we mao live with this curse. Theyre true parasites: they wont kill their host, though they drain most of the life out of him. But there was a rough balance ... till retly, till the great storm. Such a storm it was! It sounded as if the whole world was breaking and crag apart; there hadnt been a storm like that in memory.
"And then there came a fog that lasted for days and covered every part of the world that I know of, and no one could travel. And when the fog cleared, the cities were full of the Specters, hundreds and thousands of them. So we fled to the hills and out to sea, but theres no esg them this time wherever we go. As you saw for yourselves.
"Now its your turn. You tell me about your world, and why youve left it to e to this one."
Serafinabbr> told him truthfully as much as she knew. He was an ho man, and there was nothing that needed cealing from him. He listened closely, shaking his head with wonder, and when she had finished, he said: "I told you about the power they say our philosophers have, of opening the way to other worlds. Well, some think that occasionally they leave a dooren, out of fetfulness; 1 wouldnt be surprised if travelers from other worlds found their way here from time to time. We know that angels pass through, after all."
"Angels?" said Serafina. "You mentiohem before. They are o us. you explain them?"
"You want to know about angels?" said Joachim Lorenz. "Very well. Their name for themselves is bene elim, Im told. Some call them Watchers, too. Theyre not beings of flesh like us; theyre beings of spirit. Or maybe their flesh is more finely drawn than ours, lighter and clearer, I wouldnt know; but theyre not like us. They carry messages from heaven, thats their calling. We see them sometimes in the sky, passing through this world on the way to another, shining like fireflies way, high. On a still night you eveheir wis. They have s different from ours, though in the a days they came down and had dealings with men and women, and they bred with us, too, some say.
"And when the fog came, after the great storm, I was beset by Specters in the hills behind the city of SantElia, on my way homeward. I te in a shepherds hut by a sprio a birch wood, and all night long I heard voices above me in the fog, cries of alarm and anger, and wis too, closer than Id ever heard them before; and toward dawn there was the sound of a skirmish of arms, the whoosh of arrows, and the g of swords. I darednt go out ahough I owerfully curious, for I was afraid. I was stark terrified, if you want to know. When the sky was as light as it ever got during that fog, I veo look out, and I saw a great figure lying wounded by the spring. I felt as if I was seeing things I had nht to see—sacred things. I had to look away, and when I looked again, the figure was gone.
"Thats the closest I ever came to an angel. But as I told you, we saw them the ht, way high aloft among the stars, making for the Pole, like a fleet of mighty ships under sail....
Something is happening, and we dont know down here what it may be. There could be a war breaking out. There was a war in heaven once, oh, thousands of years ago, immense ages back, but I dont know what the oute was. It wouldnt be impossible if there was another. But the devastation would be enormous, and the sequences for us ... I t imagi.
"Though," he went on, sitting up to stir the fire, "the end of it might be better than I fear. It might be that a war in heaven would sweep the Specters from this world altogether, and bato the pit they e from. What a blessing that would be, eh! How fresh and happy we could live, free
of that fearful blight!"
Though Joachim Lorenz looked anything but hopeful as he stared into the flames. The flickering light played over his face, but there was no play of expression in his stroures; he looked grim and sad.
Ruta Skadi said, "The Pole, sir. You said these angels were making for the Pole. Why would they do that, do you know? Is that where heaven lies?"
"I couldnt say. Im not a learned man, you see that plain enough. But the north of our world, well, thats the abode of spirits, they say. If angels were mustering, thats where theyd go, and if they were going to make an assault on heaven, I daresay thats where theyd build their fortress and sally out from."
He looked up, and the witches followed his eyes. The stars in this world were the same as theirs:
the Milky Way blazed bright across the dome of the sky, and innumerable points of starlight dusted the dark, almost matg the moon fhtness....
"Sir," said Serafina, "did you ever hear of Dust?"
"Dust? I guess you mean it in some other sehan the dust on the roads. No, I never did. But look! Theres a troop of angels now...."
He poio the stellation of Ophiuchus. And sure enough, something was moving through it, a tiny cluster of lighted beings. And they didnt drift; they moved with the purposeful flight of geese or swans.
Ruta Skadi stood up.
"Sister, its time I parted from you," she said to Serafina. "Im going up to speak to these angels, whatever they may be. If theyre going to Lord Asriel, Ill go with them. If not, Ill sear by myself. Thank you for your pany, and go well."
They kissed, and Ruta Skadi took her cloud-pine brand sprang into the air. Her daemon, Sergi, a bluethroat, sped out of the dark alongside her.
"Were going high?" he said.
"As high as those lighted fliers in Ophiuchus. Theyre going swiftly, Sergi. Lets catch them!"
And she and her dsmon raced upward, flying quicker than sparks from a fire, the air rushing through the twigs on her brand making her black hair stream out behind. She didnt look back at the little fire in the wide darkness, at the sleeping children and her witpanions. That part of her journey was over, and, besides, those glowing creatures ahead of her were ner yet, and unless she kept her eye ohey were easily lost against the great expanse of starlight.
So she flew on, never losing sight of the angels, and gradually as she came closer they took on a clearer shape.
They sho as if they were burning but as if, wherever they were and however dark the night, sunlight was shining ohey were like humans, but winged, and much taller; and, as they were he witch could see that three of them were male, two female. Their wings sprang from their shoulder blades, and their backs and chests were deeply muscled. Ruta Skadi stayed behind them for some way, watg, measuring their strength in case she should o fight them. They werent armed, but oher hand they were flying easily within their power, and might even outstrip her if it came to a chase.
Making her bow ready, just in case, she sped forward and flew alongside them, calling: "Angels!
Halt and listen to me! I am the witch Ruta Skadi, and I want to talk to you!"
They turheir great wings beat inward, slowing them, and their bodies swung downward till they were standing upright in the air, holding their position by the beating of their wings. They
surrounded her, five huge flowing in the dark air, lit by an invisible sun.
She looked around, sitting on her pine branch proud and unafraid, though her heart was beating with the strangeness of it, and her daemon fluttered to sit close to the warmth of her body.
Eagel-being was distinctly an individual, ahey had more in on with one ahan with any human she had seen. What they shared was a shimmering, darting play of intelligend feeling that seemed to sweep over them all simultaneously. They were naked, but she felt naked in front of their gla was so pierg a so deep.
Still, she was unashamed of what she was, and she returheir gaze with head held high.
"So you are angels," she said, "or Watchers, or bene elim. Where are you going?"
"We are following a call," said one.
She was not sure whie had spoken. It might have been any or all of them at once.
"Whose call?" she said.
"A mans."
"Lord Asriels?"
"It may be."
"Why are you following his call?"
"Because we are willing to," came the reply.
"Then wherever he is, you guide me to him as well," she ordered them.
Ruta Skadi was four hundred and sixteen years old, with all the pride and knowledge of an adult witch queen. She was wiser by far than any short-lived human, but she had not the slightest idea of how like a child she seemed beside these a beings. Nor did she know how far their awareness spread out beyond her like filamentary tentacles to the remotest ers of universes she had never dreamed of; nor that she saw them as human-formed only because her eyes expected to. If she were to perceive their true form, they would seem more like architecture than anism, like huge structures posed of intelligend feeling.
But they expected nothing else: she was very young.
At ohey beat their wings and surged forward, and she darted with them, surfing ourbuleheir pinions caused in the air and relishing the speed and power it added to her flight.
They flew throughout the night. The stars wheeled around them, and faded and vanished as the dawn seeped up from the east. The world burst into brilliance as the suns rim appeared, and then they were flying through blue sky and clear air, fresh and sweet and moist.
In the daylight the angels were less visible, though to aheir strangeness was clear. The light Ruta Skadi saw them by was still not that of the sun now climbing the sky, but some ht from somewhere else.
Tirelessly they flew on and on, and tirelessly she kept pace. She felt a fierce joy possessihat she could and these immortal presences. And she rejoiced in her blood and flesh, in the rough pine bark she felt o her skin, in the beat of her heart and the life of all her senses, and in the hunger she was feeling now, and in the presence of her sweet-voiced bluethroat daemon, and in the earth below her and the lives of every creature, plant and animal both; and she delighted in being of the same substance as them, and in knowing that when she died her flesh would nourish other lives as they had nourished her. And she rejoiced, too, that she was going to see Lord Asriel again.
Anht came, and still the angels flew on. And at some point the quality of the air ged, not for the worse or the better, but ged heless, and Ruta Skadi khat theyd passed out of that world and into another. How it had happened she couldnt guess.
"Angels!" she called as she sehe ge. "How have we left the world I found you in? Where
was the boundary?"
"There are invisible places in the air," came the answer. "Gateways into other worlds. We see them, but you ot."
Ruta Skadi couldhe invisible gateway, but she dido: witches could navigate better than birds. As soon as the angel spoke, she fixed her attention on three jagged peaks below her and memorized their figuratioly. Now she could find it again, if she o, despite what the angels might think.
They flew on farther, and presently she heard an angel voice: "Lord Asriel is in this world, and there is the fortress hes building...."
They had slowed, and were cirg like eagles in the middle airs. Ruta Skadi looked where one angel ointing. The first faint glimmer of light was tinting the east, though all the stars above shone as brilliantly as ever against the profou black of the high heavens. And on the very rim of the world, where the light was increasing moment by moment, a great mountain range reared its peaks—jagged spears of black rock, mighty broken slabs, and sawtoes piled in fusion like the wreckage of a universal catastrophe. But on the highest point, which as she looked was touched by the first rays of the m sun and outlined in brilliaood a regular structure: a huge fortress whose battlements were formed of single slabs of basalt half a hill i, and whose extent was to be measured in flying time.
Beh this colossal fortress, fires glared and furnaces smoked in the darkness of early dawn, and from many miles away Ruta Skadi heard the g of hammers and the pounding of great mills.
And from every dire, she could see more flights of angels winging toward it, and not only angels, but maes too: steel-winged craft gliding like albatrosses, glass s under flickering dragonfly wings, droning zeppelins like huge bumblebees—all making for the fortress mat Lord Asriel was building on the mountains at the edge of the world.
"And is Lord Asriel there?" she said.
"Yes, he is there," the angels replied.
"Thes fly there to meet him. And you must be my guard of honor."
Obediently they spread their wings aheir course toward the gold-rimmed fortress, with the eager witch flying before them.
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE ROLLS-ROYCE-1
Lyra woke early to find the m quiet and warm, as if the city never had any other weather than this calm summer. She slipped out of bed and downstairs, and hearing some childrens voices out oer, wen?t to see what they were doing.
Three boys and a girl were splashing across the sunlit harbor in a couple of pedal boats, rag toward the steps. As they saw Lyra, they slowed for a moment, but then the race took hold of them again. The winners crashed into the steps so hard that one of them fell into the water, and theried to climb into the other craft and tipped that over, too, and then they all splashed about together as if the fear of the night before had never happehey were youhan
most of the children by the tower, Lyra thought, and she joihem ier, with Pantalaimon as a little silver fish glittering beside her. She never found it hard to talk to other children, and soon they were gathered around her, sitting in pools of water on the warm stoheir shirts drying quickly in the sun. Poor Pantalaimon had to creep into her pocket again, fr藏书网ogshaped in the cool damp cotton.
"What you going to do with that cat?"
" you really take the bad luck away?"
"Where you e from?"
"Your friend, he ain afraid of Specters?"
"Will ent afraid of anything," Lyra said. "Norm I. What you scared of cats for?"
"You dont know about cats?" the oldest boy said incredulously. "Cats, they got the devil in them, all right. You got to kill every cat you see. They bite you and put the devil in you too. And what was you doing with that big pard?"
She realized he meant Pantalaimon in his leopard shape, and shook her head ily.
"You must have been dreaming," she said. "Theres all kinds of things look different in the moonlight. But me and Will, we dont have Specters where we e from, so we dont know much about em."
"If you t see em, youre safe," said a boy. "You see em, you know they get you. Thats what my pa said, then they got him."
"And theyre here, all around us now?"
"Yeah," said the girl. She reached out a hand and grabbed a fistful of air, crowing, "I got one now!"
"They t hurt you," one of the boys said. "So we t hurt them, all right."
"And theres always beeers in this world?" said Lyra.
"Yeah," said one boy, but another said, "No, they came a long time ago. Hundreds of years."
"They came because of the Guild," said the third.
"The what?" said Lyra.
"They never!" said the girl. "My granny said they came because people were bad, and God sent them to punish us."
"Yranny don know nothing," said a boy. "She got a beard, yranny. Shes a goat, all right."
"Whats the Guild?" Lyra persisted.
"You know the Torre degU Angeli," said a boy. "The stoower, right. Well it belongs to the Guild, and theres a secret pla there. The Guild, theyre men who know all kind of things.
Philosophy, alchemy, all kind of things they know. And they were the ones who let the Specters in."
"That ain true," said another boy. They came from the stars."
"It is! This is what happened, all right: this Guild man hundreds of years ago was taking some metal apart. Lead. He was going to make it into gold. A it and cut it smaller and smaller till he came to the smallest piece he could get There ain nothing smaller than that. So small you could, even. But he cut that, too, and ihe smallest little bit there was all the Specters packed in, twisted over and folded up so tight they took up no space at all. But once he cut it, bam! They whooshed out, and they been here ever sihats what my papa said."
"Is there any Guild men iower now?" said Lyra.
"No! They run away like everyone else," said the girl.
"There ain no one iower. Thats hauhat place," said a boy. "Thats why the cat came from there. We ain gonna go in there, all right. Ain no kids gonna go in there. Thats scary."
"The Guild men ain afraid to go in there," said another.
"They got special magic, or something. Theyre greedy, they live off the poor people," said the girl. "The poor people do all the work, and the Guild men just live there for nothing."
"But there ent anyone iower now?" Lyra said. "No grownups?"
"No grownups iy at all!"
"They wouldn dare, all right."
But she had seen a young man up there. She was vinced of it. And there was something in the way these children spoke; as a practiced liar, she knew liars whe them, and they were lying about something.
And suddenly she remembered: little Paolo had mentiohat he and Angelica had an elder brother, Tullio, who was iy too, and Angelica had hushed him.... Could the young man shed seen have been their brother?
She left them to rescue their boats and pedal back to the beach, a io make some coffee and see if Will was awake. But he was still asleep, with the cat curled up at his feet, and Lyra was impatient to see her Schain. So she wrote a note a it on the floor by his bedside, and took her rucksad went off to look for the window.
The way she took led her through the little square theyd e to the night before. But it was empty now, and the sunlight dusted the front of the aower and showed up the blurred carvings beside the doorway: humanlike figures with folded wings, their features eroded by turies of weather, but somehow in their stillness expressing power and passion and intellectual force.
"Angels," said Pantalaimon, now a cricket on Lyras shoulder.
"Maybe Specters," Lyra said.
"No! They said this was something angeli" he insisted. "Bet thats angels."
"Shall we go in?"
They looked up at the great oak door on its ornate black hihe half-dozen steps up to it were deeply worn, and the door itself stood slightly open. There was nothing to stop Lyra from going in except her own fear.
She tiptoed to the top of the steps and looked through the opening. A dark stone-flagged hall was all she could see, and not much of that; but Pantalaimon was fluttering anxiously on her shoulder, just as he had when theyd played the tri the skulls in the crypt at Jordan College, and she was a little wiser now. This was a bad place. She ran doweps and out of the square, making for the bright sunlight of the palm tree boulevard. And as soon as she was sure there was no one looking, she went straight across to the window and through into Wills Oxford.
Forty minutes later she was ihe physics building once more, arguing with the porter; but this time she had a trump card "You just ask Dr. Malone," she said sweetly. "Thats all you got to do, ask her. Shell tell you."
The porter turo his telephone, and Lyra watched pityingly as he pressed the buttons and spok.e into it. They didnt even give him a proper lodge to sit in, like a real Oxford college, just a big wooden ter, as if it was a shop.
"All right," said the porter, turning back. "She says go on up. Mind you dont go anywhere else."
"No, I wont," she said demurely, a good little girl doing what she was told.
At the top of the stairs, though, she had a surprise, because just as she passed a door with a symbol indig woman on it, it opened and there was Dr. Malone silently being her in.
She entered, puzzled. This wasnt the laboratory, it was a washroom, and Dr. Malone was agitated.
She said, "Lyra, theres someone else in the lab—police officers or something. They know you came
to see me yesterday—I dont know what theyre after, but I dont like it Whats going on?"
"How do they know I came to see you?"
"I dont know! They didnt know your name, but I knew who they meant—"
"Oh. Well, I lie to them. Thats easy."
"But what is going on?”
A womans voice spoke from the corridor outside: "Dr. Malone? Have you seen the child?"
"Yes," Dr. Malone called. "I was just showing her where the washroom is..."
There was no need for her to be so anxious, thought Lyra, but perhaps she wasnt used to danger.
The woman in the corridor was young and dressed very smartly, and she tried to smile when Lyra came out, but her eyes remained hard and suspicious.
"Hello," she said. "Youre Lyra, are you?"
"Yeah. Whats your name?"
"Im Sergeant Clifford. e along in."
Lyra thought this young woman had a nerve, ag as if it were her own laboratory, but she nodded meekly. That was the moment when she first felt a twinge ret. She knew she shouldnt be here; she knew what the alethiometer wanted her to do, and it was not this. She stood doubtfully in the doorway.
In the room already there was a tall powerful man with white eyebrows. Lyra knew what Scholars looked like, aher of these two was a Scholar.
"e in, Lyra," said Sergeant Cliffain. "Its all right. This is Ior Walters."
"Hello, Lyra," said the man. "Ive been hearing all about you from Dr. Malone here. Id like to ask you a few questions, if thats all right."
"What sort of questions?" she said.
"Nothing difficult," he said, smiling. "e and sit down, Lyra."
He pushed a chair toward her. Lyra sat down carefully, and heard the door close itself. Dr. Malone was standing nearby. Pantalaimon, cricket-formed in Lyras breast pocket, was agitated; she could feel him against her breast, and hoped the tremor didnt show. She thought to him to keep still.
"Where dyou e from, Lyra?" said Ior Walters.
If she said Oxford, theyd easily be able to check. But she couldnt say another world, either.
These people were dangerous; theyd want to know more at once. She thought of the only other name she knew of in this world: the place Will had e from.
"Wier," she said.
"Youve been in the wars, havent you, Lyra?" said the ior. "How did you get those bruises?
Theres a bruise on your cheek, and another on y—has someone been knog you about?"
"No," said Lyra.
"Do you go to school, Lyra?"
"Yeah. Sometimes," she added.
"Shouldnt you be at school today?"
She said nothing. She was feeling more and more uneasy. She looked at Dr. Malone, whose face was tight and unhappy.
"I just came here to see Dr. Malone," Lyra said.
"Are you staying in Oxford, Lyra? Where are you staying?"
"With some people,"; she said. "Just friends."
"Whats their address?"
"I dont kly what its called. I find it easy, but I t remember the name of the street."
"Who are these people?"
"Just friends of my father," she said.
"Oh, I see. How did you find Dr. Malone?"
"Cause my fathers a physicist, and he knows her."
It was going more easily now, she thought. She began to relax into it and lie more fluently.
"And she showed you what she was w on, did she?"
"Yeah. The eh the s ... Yes, all that."
"Youre ied in that sort of thing, are you? Sce, and so on?"
"Yeah. Physics, especially."
"You going to be a stist when you grow up?"
That sort of question deserved a blank stare, which it got. He wasnt discerted. His pale eyes looked briefly at the young woman, and then back to Lyra.
"And were you surprised at what Dr. Malone showed you?"
"Well, sort of, but I knew what to expect"
"Because of your father?"
"Yeah. Cause hes doing the same kind of work."
"Yes, quite. Do you uand it?"
"Some of it"
"Your fathers looking into dark matter, then?"
"Yes."
"Has he got as far as Dr. Malone?"
"Not in the same way. He do some things better, but that eh the words on the s —he hasnt got one of those."
"Is Will staying with your friends as well?"
"Yes, he—"
And she stopped. She k once shed made a horrible mistake.
So did they, and they were on their feet in a moment to stop her from running out but somehow Dr. Malone was in the way, and the sergeant tripped and fell, blog the way of the ior. It gave Lyra time to dart out, slam the door shut behind her, and run full tilt for the stairs.
Two men in white coats came out of a door, and she bumped into them. Suddenly Pantalaimon was a crow, shrieking and flapping, aartled them so much they fell bad she pulled free of their hands and raced down the last flight of stairs into the lobby just as the porter put the phone down and lumbered along behind his ter calling out "Oy! Stop there! You!"
But the flap he had to lift was at the other end, and she got to the revolving door before he could e out and catch her.
And behihe lift doors were opening, and the pale-haired man was running out so fast, s— And the door wouldnt turn! Pantalaimon shrieked at her: they were pushing the wrong side!
She cried out in fear and turned herself around, hurling her little weight against the heavy glass, willing it to turn, and got it to move just in time to avoid the grasp of the porter, who then got in the way of the pale-haired man, so Lyra could dash out and away before they got through.
Across the road, ign the cars, the brakes, the squeal of tires; into this gap between tall buildings, and then another road, with cars from both dires. But she was quick, dodging bicycles, always with the pale-haired man just behind her—oh, he was frightening!
Into a garden, over a fehrough some bushes— Pantalaimon skimming overhead, a swift, calling to her which way to go; croug down behind a coal bunker as the pale mans footsteps came rag past, and she couldnt hear him panting, he was so fast, and so fit; and Pantalaimon said, "Baow! Go back to the road—"
So she crept out of her hiding plad ran back across the grass, out through the garden gate, into the open spaces of the Banbury Road again; and once again she dodged across, and once again tires squealed on the road; and then she was running up Norham Gardens, a quiet tree-lined road of tall Victorian houses he park.
She stopped to gain her breath. There was a tall hedge in front of one of the gardens, with a low wall at its foot, and she sat there tucked closely in uhe privet.
"She helped us!" Pantalaimon said. "Dr. Malo in their way. Shes on our side, not theirs."
"Oh, Pan," she said, "I shouldnt have said that about Will. I shouldve been more careful—"
"Shouldnt have e," he said severely.
"I know. That too ..."
But she hadnt got time to berate herself, because Pantalaimon fluttered to her shoulder, and then said, "Look out—behind—" and immediately ged to a cricket again and dived into her pocket.
She stood, ready to run, and saw a large, dark blue car gliding silently to the pavement beside her. She was braced to dart iher dire, but the cars rear window rolled down, and there looking out was a face she reized.
"Lizzie," said the old man from the museum. "How o see you again. I give you a lift anywhere?"
And he opehe door and moved up to make room beside him. Pantalaimon nipped her breast through the thin cotton, but she got in at once, clutg the rucksack, and the man leaned across her and pulled the door shut.
"You look as if youre in a hurry," he said. "Where dyou want to go?"
"Up Summertown," she said, "please."
The driver was wearing a peaked cap. Everything about the car was smooth and soft and powerful, and the smell of the old mans cologne was strong in the enclosed space. The car pulled out from the pavement and moved away with no all.
"So what have you been up to, Lizzie?" the old man said. "Did you find out more about those skulls?"
"Yeah," she said, twisting to see out of the rear window. There was no sign of the pale-haired man. Shed gotten away! And hed never find her now that she was safe in a powerful car with a rich man like this. She felt a little hiccup of triumph.
"I made some inquiries too," he said. "An anthropologist friend of miells me that theyve got several others in the colle, as well as the ones on display. Some of them are very old indeed.
Neahal, you know."
"Yeah, thats what I heard too," Lyra said, with no idea what he was talking about.
"And hows your friend?"
"What friend?" said Lyra, alarmed. Had she told him about Will too?
"The friend youre staying with."
"Oh. Yes. Shes very well, thank you."
"What does she do? Is she an archaeologist?"
"Oh ... shes a physicist. She studies dark matter," said Lyra, still not quite in trol. In this world it was harder to tell lies thahought. And something else was nagging at her. this old man was familiar in some long-lost way, and she just couldnt place it.
"Dark matter?" he was saying. "How fasating! I saw something about that iimes this m. The universe is full of this mysterious stuff, and nobody knows what it is! And your friend
is orack of it, is she?"
"Yes. She knows a lot about it."
"And what are you going to do later on, Lizzie? Are you going in for physics too?" , "I might," said Lyra. "It depends."
The chauffeur coughed gently and slowed the car down.
"Well, here we are in Summertown," said the old man. "Where would you like to be dropped?"
"Oh, just up past these shops. I walk from there," said Lyra. "Thank you."
Tur into South Parade, and pull up on the right, could you, Allan," said the old man.
"Very good, sir," said the chauffeur.
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE ROLLS-ROYCE-2
A mier the car came to a silent halt outside a public library. The old man held open the door on his side, so that Lyra had to climb past his ko get out. There was a lot of space, but somehow it was awkward, and she didnt want to touch him, nice as he was.
"Dont fet your rucksack," he said, handing it to her.
"Thank you," she said.
"Ill see you again, I hope, Lizzie," he said. "Give my regards to your friend."
"Good-bye," she said, and lingered on the pavement till the car had turhe er and go of sight before she set off toward the horrees. She had a feeling about that palehaired man, and she wao ask the alethiometer.
Will was reading his fathers letters agai oerrace hearing the distant shouts of children diving off the harbor mouth, ahe clear handwriting on the flimsy airmail sheets, trying to picture the man whod pe, and looking again and again at the refereo the baby, to himself.
He heard Lyras running footsteps from some way off. He put the letters in his pocket and stood up, and almost at once Lyra was there, wild-eyed, with Pantalaimon a snarling savage wildcat, too distraught to hide. She who seldom cried was sobbing with rage; her chest was heaving, her teeth were grinding, and she flung herself at him, clutg his arms, and cried, "Kill him! Kill him! I want him dead! I wish lorek was here! Oh, Will, I done wrong, Im so sorry—"
"What? Whats the matter?"
"That old ma nothing but a low thief. He stole it, Will! He stole my alethiometer! That stinky old man with his rich clothes and his servant driving the car. Oh, I done such wrong things this m—oh, I—"
And she sobbed so passionately he thought that hearts really did break, and hers was breaking now, for she fell to the ground wailing and shuddering, and Pantalaimon beside her became a wolf and howled with bitter grief.
Far off across the water, children stopped what they were doing and shaded their eyes to see. Will sat down beside Lyra and shook her shoulder.
"Stop! St!" he said. "Tell me from the beginning. What old man? What happened?"
"Yoing to be so angry. I promised I wouldnt give you away, I promised it, and then ..." she sobbed, and Pantalaimon became a young clumsy dog with lowered ears and wagging tail, squirming with self-abasement; and Will uood that Lyra had done something that she was too ashamed to tell him about, and he spoke to the daemon.
"What happened? Just tell me," he said.
Pantalaimon said, "We went to the Scholar, and there was someone else there—a man and a woman—and they tricked us. They asked a lot of questions and then they asked about you, and before we could stop we gave it away that we knew you, and then we ran away—"
Lyra was hiding her fa her hands, pressing her head down against the pavement. Pantalaimon was flickering from shape to shape in his agitation: dog, bird, cat, snow-white ermine.
"What did the man look like?" said Will.
"Big," said Lyras muffled voice, "and ever s, and pale eyes ..."
"Did he see you e back through the window?"
"No, but..."
"Well, he wont know where we are, then."
"But the alethiometer!" she cried, and she sat up fiercely, her face rigid with emotion, like a Greek mask.
"Yeah," said Will. Tell me about that"
Between sobs ah grindings she told him what had happened: how the old man had seen her using the alethiometer in the museum the day before, and how hed stopped the car today and shed gotten in to escape from the pale man, and how the car had pulled up on that side of the road so shed had to climb past him to get out, and how he must have swiftly taken the alethiometer as hed passed her the rucksack....
He could see how devastated she was, but not why she should feel guilty. And then she said: "And, Will, please, I done something very bad. Because the alethiometer told me I had to stop looking for Dust—at least I thought thats what it said— and I had to help you. I had to help you fin藏书网d your father. And I could, I could take you to wherever he is, if I had it. But I wouldnt listen. I just done what / wao do, and I shouldnt...."
Hed seen her use it, and he k could tell her the truth. He turned away. She seized his wrist, but he broke away from her and walked to the edge of the water. The children were playing again across the harbor. Lyra ran up to him and said, "W藏书网ill, Im so sorry—"
"Whats the use of that? I dont care if youre sorry or not You did it."
"But, Will, we got to help each other, you and me, because there ent anyone else!"
"I t see how."
"Nor I, but..."
She stopped in midsentence, and a light came into her eyes.
She turned and raced back to her rucksack, abandoned on the pavement, and rummaged through it feverishly.
"I know who he is! And where he lives! Look!" she said, and held up a little white card. "He gave this to me in the museum! We go ahe alethiometer back!"
Will took the card and read:
SIR CHARLES LATROM, CBE LlMEFIELD HOUSE OLD HEADINGTON OXFORD "Hes a sir," he said. "A knight. That means people will automatically believe him and not us. What did you wao do, anyway? Go to the police? The police are after me! Or if they wereerday, they will be by now. And if you go, they know who you are now, and they know you know me, so that wouldnt work either."
"We could steal it. We could go to his house and steal it. I know where Headington is, theres a Headington in my Oxford too. It ent far. We could walk there in an hour, easy."
"Youre stupid."
"lorek Byrnison would go there straightaway and rip his head off. I wish he was here. Hed—"
But she fell silent. Will was just looking at her, and she quailed. She would have quailed in the same way if the armored bear had looked at her like that, because there was something not unlike lorek in Wills eyes, young as they were.
"I never heard anything so stupid in my life," he said. "You think we just go to his house and creep in and steal it? You o think. You o use your bloody brain. Hes going to have all kinds of burglar alarms and stuff, if hes a rich man. Therell be bells that go off and special locks and lights with infrared switches that e on automatically—"
"I never heard of those things," Lyra said. "We ent got em in my world. I couldnt know that, Will."
"All right, then think of this: Hes got a whole house to hide it in, and how long would any burglar have to look through every cupboard and drawer and hiding pla a whole house? Those men who came to my house had hours to look around, and they never found what they were looking for, and I bet hes got a whole lot bigger house than we have. And probably a safe, too. So even if we did get into his house, wed never find it in time before the police came."
She hung her head. It was all true.
"What we going to do then?" she said.
He didnt answer. But it was we, for certain. He was bound to her now, whether he liked it or not.
He walked to the waters edge, and back to the terrace, and back to the water again. He beat his hands together, looking for an answer, but no answer came, and he shook his head angrily.
"Just... go there," he said. "Just go there and see him. Its no good asking your scholar to help us, either, not if the police have been to her. Shes bound to believe them rather than us. At least if we get into his house, well see where the main rooms are. Thatll be a start."
Without another word he went inside and put the letters uhe pillow in the room hed slept in. Then, if he were caught, theyd never have them.
Lyra was waiting oerrace, with Pantalaimon perched on her shoulder as a sparrow. She was looking more cheerful.
"Were going to get it back all right," she said "I feel it."
He said nothing. They set off for the window.
It took an hour and a half to walk to Headington. Lyra led the way, avoiding the city ter, and Will kept watch all around, saying nothing. It was much harder for Lyra now than it had been even in the Arcti the way to Bolvangar, for then shed had the gyptians and lorek Byrnison with her, and even if the tundra was full of danger, you khe danger when you saw it. Here, iy that was both hers and not hers, danger could look friendly, and treachery smiled and smelled sweet; and even if they werent going to kill her or part her from Pantalaimon, they had robbed her of her only guide. Without the alethiometer, she was .. .just a little girl, lost Limefield House was the color of warm honey, and half of its front was covered in Virginia creeper. It stood in a large, well-tended garden, with shrubbery at one side and a gravel drive sweeping up to the front door. The Rolls-Royce arked in front of a double garage to the left.
Everything Will could see spoke of wealth and power, the sort of informal settled superiority that some upper-class English people still took frahere was something about it that made him grit his teeth, and he didnt know why, until suddenly he remembered an occasion when he was very young. His mother had taken him to a house not uhis; theyd dressed in their best clothes and hed had to be on his best behavior, and an old man and woman had made his mother cry, and theyd left the house and she was still g....
Lyra saw him breathing fast and g his fists, and was sensible enough not to ask why; it was
something to do with him, not with her. Presently he took a deep breath.
"Well," he said, "might as well try."
He walked up the drive, and Lyra followed close behind. They felt very exposed.
The door had an old-fashioned bell pull, like those in Lyras world, and Will didnt know where to find it till Lyra showed him. When they pulled it, the bell jangled a long way off ihe house.
The man who opehe door was the servant whod been driving the car, only now he didnt have his cap on. He looked at Will first, and then at Lyra, and his expression ged a little.
"We want to see Sir Charles Latrom," Will said.
His jaw was jutting as it had done last night fag the stohrowing children by the tower. The servant nodded.
"Wait here," he said. "Ill tell Sir Charles."
He closed the door. It was solid oak, with two heavy locks, and bolts top and bottom, though Will thought that no sensible burglar would try the front door anyway. And there was a burglar alarm promily fixed to the front of the house, and a large spotlight at each er; theyd never be able to get near it, let alone break in.
Steady footsteps came to the door, and then it opened again.
Will looked up at the face of this man who had so much that he wanted even more, and found him discertingly smooth and calm and powerful, not in the least guilty or ashamed.
Sensing Lyra beside him impatient and angry, Will said quickly, "Excuse me, but Lyra thinks that when she had a lift in your car earlier on, she left something in it by mistake."
"Lyra? I dont know a Lyra. What an unusual name. I know a child called Lizzie. And who are you?"
Cursing himself for fetting, Will said, "Im her brother. Mark."
"I see. Hello, Lizzie, or Lyra. Youd better e in."
He stood aside. her Will nor Lyra was quite expeg this, and they stepped inside uainly. The hall was dim and smelled of beeswax and flowers. Every surface olished and , and a mahogany et against the wall tained dainty porcelain figures. Will saw the servant standing in the background, as if he were waiting to be called.
"e into my study," said Sir Charles, and held open another door off the hall.
He was being courteous, even weling, but there was an edge to his mahat put Will on guard. The study was large and fortable in a cigar-smoke-aher-armchair sort of way, and seemed to be full of bookshelves, pictures, hunting trophies. There were three or flassfronted ets taining antique stifistruments—brass microscopes, telescopes covered in greeher, sextants, passes; it was clear why he wahe alethiometer.
"Sit down," said Sir Charles, and indicated a leather sofa. He sat at the chair behind his desk, a on. "Well? What have you got to say?"
"You stole—" began Lyra hotly, but Will looked at her, and she stopped.
"Lyra thinks she left something in your car," he said again. "Weve e to get it back."
"Is this the objeean?" he sa..id, and took a velvet cloth from a drawer in the desk. Lyra stood up. He ignored her and unfolded the cloth, disclosing the golden splendor of the alethiometer resting in his palm.
"Yes!" Lyra burst out, and reached for it But he closed his hand. The desk was wide, and she couldnt reach; and before she could do anything else, he swung around and placed the alethiometer in a glass-fronted et before log it and dropping the key in his waistcoat pocket.
"But it isnt yours, Lizzie," he said. "Or Lyra, if thats your name."
"It is mis my alethiometer!"
He shook his head, sadly and heavily, as if he were reproag her and it was a sorrow to him, but he was doing it for her own good. "I think at the very least theres siderable doubt about the matter," he said.
"But it is hers!" said Will. "Honesdy! Shes shown it to me! I know its hers!"
"You see, I think youd have to prove that," he said. "I dont have to prove anything, because its in my possession. Its assumed to be mine. Like all the other items in my colle. I must say, Lyra, Im surprised to find you so disho—"
"I ent disho!" Lyra cried.
"Oh, but you are. You told me your name was Lizzie. Now I learn its something else. Frankly, you havent got a hope of ving ahat a precious piece like this belongs to you. I tell you what. Lets call the police."
He turned his head to call for the servant.
"No, wait—" said Will, before Sir Charles could speak, but Lyra ran around the desk, and from nowhere Pantalaimon was in her arms, a snarling wildcat baring his teeth and hissing at the old man. Sir Charles bli the sudden appearance of the daemon, but hardly flinched.
"You dont even know what it is you stole," Lyra stormed. "You seen me using it and you thought youd steal it, and you did. But you—you—youre worse than my mother. At least she knows its important! Youre just going to put it in a case and do nothing with it! You ought to die If I , Ill make someone kill you. Youre not worth leaving alive. Youre—"
She couldnt speak. All she could do it full in his face, so she did, with all her might.
Will sat still, watg, looking around, memorizing where everything was.
Sir Charles calmly shook out a silk handkerchief and mopped himself.
"Have you any trol over yourself?" he said. "Go and sit down, you filthy brat."
Lyra felt tears shaken out of her eyes by the trembling of her body, and threw herself onto die sofa. Pantalaimon, his thick cats tail erect, stood on her lap with his blazing eyes fixed on the old man.
Will sat silent and puzzled. Sir Charles could have thrown them out long before this. What was he playing at?
And then he saw something so bizarre he thought he had imagi Out of the sleeve of Sir Charless linen jacket, past the snowy white shirt cuff, came the emerald head of a ss black tongue flicked this way, that way, and its mailed head with its gold-rimmed black eyes moved from Lyra to Will and back again. She was too angry to see it at all, and Will saw it only for a moment before it retreated again up the old mans sleeve, but it made his eyes widen with shock.
Sir Charles moved to the window seat and calmly sat down, arranging the crease in his trousers.
"I think youd better listen to me instead of behaving in this untrolled way," he said. "You really havent any choice. The instrument is in my possession and will stay there. I want it. Im a collector. You spit and stamp and scream all you like, but by the time youve persuaded anyone else to listen to you, I shall have plenty of dots to prove that I bought it. I do that very easily. And then youll never get it back."
They were both silent now. He hadnt finished. A great puzzlement was slowing Lyras heartbeat and making the room very still.
"However," he went on, "theres something I want even more. And I t get it myself, so Im prepared to make a deal with you. You fetch the object I want, and Ill give you back the—what did you call it?"
"Alethiometer," said Lyra hoarsely.
"Alethiometer. How iing. Alethia, truth—those emblems—yes, I see."
"Whats this thing you want?" said Will. "And where is it?"
"Its somewhere I t go, but you . Im perfectly well aware that youve found a doorway somewhere. I guess its not too far from Summertown, where I dropped Lizzie, or Lyra, this m. And that through the doorway is another world, oh no grownups in it. Right so far?
Well, you see, the man who made that doorway has got a knife. Hes hiding in that other world right now, and hes extremely afraid. He has reason to be. If hes where I think he is, hes in an old stoower with angels carved around the doorway. The Torre degli Angeli.
"So thats where you have to go, and I dont care how you do it, but I want that knife. Bring it to me, and you have the alethiometer. I shall be sorry to lose it, but Im a man of my word.
Thats what you have to d me the knife."
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE TOWER OF THE ANGELS-1
Will said, "Who is this man whos got the knife?"
They were in the Rolls-Royce, driving up through Oxford. Sir Charles sat in the front, half-turned around, and Will and Lyra sat in the back, with Pantalaimon a mouse now, soothed in Lyras hands.
"Someone who has no mht to the khan I have to the alethiometer," said Sir Charles.
"Unfortunately for all of us, the alethiometer is in my possession, and the knife is in his."
"How do you know about that other world anyway?"
"I know many things that you dont. What else would you expect? I am a good deal older and siderably better informed. There are a number of doorways between this world and that; those who know where they are easily pass bad forth. In Cittagazze theres a Guild of learned men, so called, who used to do so all the time."
"You ent from this world at all!" said Lyra suddenly. "Youre from there, ent you?"
And again came that strange her memory. She was almost certain shed seen him before.
"No, Im not," he said.
Will said, "If weve got to get the knife from that man, we o know more about him. Hes not going to just give it to us, is he?"
"Certainly not. Its the ohing keeping the Specters away. Its not going to be easy by any means."
"The Specters are afraid of the knife?"
"Very much so."
"Why do they attaly grownups?"
"You doo know that now. It doesnt matter. Lyra," Sir Charles said, turning to her, "tell me about your remarkable friend."
He meant Pantalaimon. And as soon as he said it, Will realized that the snake hed seen cealed in the mans sleeve was a daemon too, and that Sir Charles must e from Lyras world. He was asking about Pantalaimon to put them off the track: so he didnt realize that Will had seen his own daemon.
Lyra lifted Pantalaimon close to her breast, and he became a black rat, whipping his tail around and around her wrist and glaring at Sir Charles with red eyes.
"You werent supposed to see him," she said. "Hes my daemon. You think you ent got daemons in this world, but you have. Yoursd be a dule."
"If the Pharaohs of Egypt were tent to be represented by a scarab, so am I," he said. "Well, youre from yet another world. How iing. Is that where the alethiometer es from, or did you steal it on your travels?"
"I was given it," said Lyra furiously. "The Master of Jordan College in my ave it to me. Its mine by right. And you wouldnt know what to do with it, you stupid, stinky old man; youd never read it in a hundred years. Its just a toy to you. But I , and so does Will. Well get it back, dont worry."
"Well see," said Sir Charles. "This is where I dropped you before. Shall we let you out here?"
"No," said Will, because he could see a police car farther down the road. "You t e into Cigazze because of the Specters, so it doesnt matter if you know where the window is. Take us farther up toward the ring road."
"As yo?9９ｌiｂ?u wish," said Sir Charles, and the car moved on. "When, or if, you get the knife, call my number and Allan will e to pick you up."
They said no more till the chauffeur drew the car to a halt.
As they got out, Sir Charles lowered his window and said to Will, "By the way, if you t get the knife, dont bother to return. e to my house without it and Ill call the police. I imagiheyll be there at once when I tell them your real is William Parry, isnt it? Yes, I thought so.
Theres a very good photo of you in todays paper."
And the car pulled away. Will eechless.
Lyra was shaking his arm. "Its all right," she said, "he wont tell anyone else. He would have do already if he was going to. e on."
Ten minutes later they stood itle square at the foot of the Tower of the Angels. Will had told her about the snake daemon, and she had stopped still ireet, tormented again by that half-memory. Who was the old man? Where had she seen him? It was no good; the memory wouldnt e clear.
"I didnt want to tell him" Lyra said quietly, "but I saw a man up there last night. He looked dowhe kids were making all that noise...."
"What did he look like?"
"Young, with curly hair. Not old at all. But I saw him for only a moment, at the very top, over those battlements. I thought he might be... You remember Angelid Paolo, and Paolo said they had an older brother, and hed e into the city as well, and she made Paolo stop telling us, as if it was a secret? Well, I thought it might be him. He might be after this knife as well. And I re all the kids know about it. I think thats the real reason why they e藏书网 ba the first place."
"Mmm," he said, looking up. "Maybe."
She remembered the children talking earlier that m. No children would go iower, theyd said; there were scary things in there. And she remembered her own feeling of unease as she and Pantalaimon had looked through the open door before leaving the city. Maybe that was why they needed a grown man to go in there. Her daemon was fluttering around her head now, moth-formed in the bright sunlight, whispering anxiously.
"Hush," she whispered back, "there ent any choice, Pan. Its our fault. We got to make it right, and
this is the only way." Will walked off to the right, following the wall of the tower. At the er a narrow cobbled alley led between it and the building, and Will went dowoo, looking up, getting the measure of the place. Lyra followed. Will stopped under a window at the sedstory level and said to Panta-laimon, " you fly up there? you look in?"
He became a sparrow at ond set off. He could only just reach it. Lyra gasped and gave a little cry when he was at the windowsill, and he perched there for a sed or two before diving down again. She sighed and took deep breaths like someone rescued from drowning. Will frowned, puzzled.
"Its hard," she explained, "when your daemon goes away from you. It hurts."
"Sorry. Did you see anything?" he said. "Stairs," said Pantalaimon. "Stairs and dark rooms. There were swords hung on the wall, and spears and shields, like a museum. And I saw the young man.
He was ... dang."
"Dang?"
"Moving to and fro, waving his hand about. Or as if he was fighting something invisible... I just saw him through an open door. Not clearly."
"Fighting a Specter?" Lyra guessed. But they couldnt guess aer, so they moved on. Behind the tower a high stone wall, topped with broken glass, enclosed a small garden with formal beds of herbs around a fountain (once again Pantalaimon flew up to look); and then there was an alley oher side, bringing them back to the square. The windows around the tower were small and deeply set, like frowning eyes.
"Well have to go in the front, then," said Will. He climbed the steps and pushed the door wide.
Sunlight stru, and the heavy hinges creaked. He took a step or two inside, and seeing no one, went in farther. Lyra followed close behind. The floor was made of flagstones worn smooth over turies, and the air inside was cool. Will looked at a flight of steps going downward, a far enough down to see that it opened into a wide, low-ceilinged room with an immense coal fur one end, where the plaster walls were black with soot; but there was no ohere, and he went up to the entrance hall again, where he found Lyra with her fio her lips, looking up.
"I hear him," she whispered. "Hes talking to himself, I re."
Will listened hard, and heard it too: a low ing murmur interrupted occasionally by a harsh laugh or a short cry of anger. It sounded like the voice of a madman.
Will blew out his cheeks a off to climb the staircase. It was made of blaed oak, immense and broad, with steps as worn as the flagstones: far too solid to creak underfoot. The light diminished as they climbed, because the only illumination was the small deep-set window on each landing. They climbed up one floor, stopped and listened, climbed the , and the sound of the mans voice was now mixed with that of halting, rhythmic footsteps. It came from a room across the landing, whose door stood ajar.
Will tiptoed to it and pushed it open another few inches so he could see.
It was a large room with cobwebs thickly clustered on the ceiling. The walls were lined with bookshelves taining badly preserved volumes with the bindings crumbling and flaking, or distorted with damp. Several of them lay thrown off the shelves, open on the floor or the wide dusty tables, and others had been thrust back higgledy-piggledy.
In the ter of the room, a young man was—dang. Pantalaimon was right: it looked exactly like that. He had his back to the door, and hed shuffle to one side, then to the other, and all the time his right hand moved in front of him as if he were clearing a way through some invisible obstacles. In that hand was a knife, not a special-looking knife, just a dull blade about eight inches long, ahrust it forward, slice it sideways, feel forward with it, jab up and down, all
in the empty air.
He moved as if to turn, and Will withdrew. He put a fio his lips and beed to Lyra, and led her to the stairs and up to the floor.
"Whats he doing?" she whispered.
He described it as well as he could.
"He sounds mad," said Lyra. "Is he thin, with curly hair?"
"Yes. Red hair, like Angelicas. He certainly looks mad. I dont know—I think this is odder than Sir Charles said. Lets look farther up before we speak to him."
She didnt question, but let him lead them up aaircase to the top story. It was much lighter up there, because a white-painted flight of steps led up to the roof—or, rather, to a woodand- glass structure like a little greenhouse. Even at the foot of the steps they could feel the heat it was abs.
And as they stood there they heard a groan from above.
They jumped. Theyd been sure there was only one man iower. Pantalaimon was so startled that he ged at once from a cat to a bird and flew to Lyras breast. Will and Lyra realized as he did so that theyd seized each others hand, a go slowly.
"Better go and see," Will whispered. "Ill go first."
"I ought to go first," she whispered back, "seeing its my fault."
"Seeing its your fault, you got to do as I say."
She twisted her lip but fell in behind him.
He climbed up into the sun. The light in the glass structure was blinding. It was as hot as a greenhouse, too, and Will could her see nor breathe easily. He found a door handle and tur and stepped out quickly, holding his hand up to keep the sun out of his eyes.
He found himself on a roof of lead, enclosed by the battle-mented parapet. The glass structure was set in the ter, and the lead sloped slightly downward all around toward a gutter ihe parapet, with square drainage holes ione for rainwater.
Lying on the lead, in the full sun, was an old man with white hair. His face was bruised and battered, and one eye was closed, and as they saw when they got closer, his hands were tied behind him.
He heard them ing and groaned again, and tried to turo shield himself.
"Its all right," said Will quietly. "We arent going to hurt you. Did the man with the knife do this?"
"Mmm," the old man grunted. "Lets undo the rope. He hasnt tied it very well...." It was clumsily and hastily knotted, and it fell away quickly once Will had seen how to work it. They helped the old man to get up and took him over to the shade of the parapet "Who are you?" Will said. "We didnt think there were two people here. We thought there was only one."
"Giao Paradisi," the old man muttered through brokeh. "I am the bearer. No one else.
That young man stole it from me. There are always fools who take risks like that for the sake of the knife. But this one is desperate. He is going to kill me."
"No, he ent," Lyra said. "Whats the bearer? Whats that mean?"
"I hold the subtle knife on behalf of the Guild. Where has he gone?"
"Hes downstairs," said Will. "We came up past him. He didnt see us. He was waving it about in the air."
Trying to cut through. He wont succeed. When he—" "Watch out," Lyra said.
Will turhe young man was climbing up into the little woodeer. He hadhem yet, but there was o hide, and as they stood up he saw the movement and whipped
around to face them.
Immediately Pantalaimon became a bear and reared up on his hind legs. Only Lyra khat he wouldnt be able to touch the other man, aainly the other blinked and stared for a sed, but Will saw that he hadnt really registered it. The man was crazy. His curly red hair was matted, his was flecked with spit, and the whites of his eyes showed all around the pupils.
And he had the knife, and they had no ons at all. Will stepped up the lead, away from the old man, croug, ready to jump ht or leap out of the way.
The young man sprang forward and slashed at him with the knife—left, right, left, ing closer and closer, making Will back away till he was trapped in the angle where two sides of the tower met.
Lyra was scrambling toward the man from behind, with the loose rope in her hand. Will darted forward suddenly, just as hed doo the man in his house, and with the same effect: his antagonist tumbled backward uedly, falling over Lyra to crash onto the lead. It was all happening too quickly for Will to be frightened. But he did have time to see the knife fly from the mans hand and sink at oo the lead some feet aoint first, with no more resistahan if it had fallen into butter. It plunged as far as the hilt and stopped suddenly.
And the young man twisted over and reached for it at once, but Will flung himself on his bad seized his hair. He had learo fight at school; there had beey of occasion for it, ohe other children had sehat there was something the matter with his mother. And hed learhat the object of a school fight was not to gain points for style but to force your eo give in, which meant hurting him more than he was hurting you. He khat you had to be willing to hurt someone else, too, and hed found out that not many people were, when it came to it; but he khat he was.
So this wasnt unfamiliar to him, but he hadnt fought against a nearly grown man armed with a knife before, and at all costs he must keep the man from pig it up now that hed dropped it.
Will twisted his fingers into the young mans thick, damp hair and wrenched back as hard as he could. The man grunted and flung himself sideways, but Will hung oighter, and his oppo roared with pain and anger. He pushed up and then threw himself backward, crushing Will between himself and the parapet, and that was too much; all the breath left Wills body, and in the shock his hands loosehe man pulled free.
Will dropped to his knees iter, winded badly, but he couldnt stay there. He tried to stand —and in doing so, he thrust his foot through one of the drainage holes. His fingers scraped desperately on the warm lead, and for a horrible sed he thought he would slide off the roof to the ground. But nothing happened. His left leg was thrust out iy space; the rest of him was safe.
He pulled his leg baside the parapet and scrambled to his feet. The man had reached his knife again, but he didnt have time to pull it out of the lead before Lyra leaped onto his back, scratg, kig, biting like a wildcat. But she missed the hold on his hair that she was trying for, ahrew her off. And whe up, he had the knife in his hand.
Lyra had fallen to one side, with Pantalaimon a wildow, fur raised, teeth bared, beside her.
Will faced the man directly and saw him clearly for the first time. There was no doubt: he was Angelicas brother, all right, and he was vicious. All his mind was focused on Will, and the knife was in his hand.
But Will wasnt harmless either.
Hed seized the rope when Lyra dropped it, and now he ed it around his left hand for prote against the knife. He moved sideways between the young man and the sun, so that his
antagonist had to squint and blink. Eveer, the glass structure threw brilliant refles into his eyes, and Will could see that for a moment he was almost blinded.
He leaped to the ma, away from the knife, holding his left hand high, and kicked hard at the mans knee. Hed taken care to aim, and his foot ected well. The ma down with a loud grunt and twisted away awkwardly.
Will leaped after him, kig again and again, kig whatever parts he could reach, driving the man bad back toward the glass house. If he could get him to the top of the stairs...
This time the man fell more heavily, and his right hand with the knife in it came down on the lead at Wills feet. Will stamped on it at once, hard, crushing the mans fingers between the hilt and the lead, and then ed the rope more tightly around his hand and stamped a sed time.
The man yelled a go of the k once Will kicked it away, his shoe eg with the hilt, luckily for him, and it spun across the lead and came to rest iter just beside a drainage hole. The rope had e loose around his hand once more, and there seemed to be a surprising amount of blood from somewhere sprinkled on the lead and on his own shoes. The man ulling himself up— "Look out!" shouted Lyra, but Will was ready.
At the moment when the man was off balance, he threw himself at him, crashing as hard as he could into the mans midriff. The man fell backward into the glass, which shattered at once, and the flimsy wooden frame went too. He sprawled among the wreckage half over the stairwell, and grabbed the doorframe, but it had nothing to support it anymore, and it gave way. He fell downward, and mlass fell all around him.
And Will darted back to the gutter, and picked up the knife, and the fight was over. The young man, cut and battered, clambered up the step, and saw Will standing above him holding the knife; he stared with a sickly anger and then turned and fled.
"Ah," said Will, sitting down. ";Ah."
Something was badly wrong, and he hadnt noticed it. He dropped the knife and hugged his left hand to himself. The tangle of rope was sodden with blood, and when he pulled it away— "Your fingers!" Lyra breathed. "Oh, Will—"
His little finger and the finger o it fell away with the rope.
His head swam. Blood ulsing strongly from the stumps where his fingers had been, and his jeans and shoes were sodden already. He had to lie bad close his eyes for a moment. The pain wasnt that great, and a part of his miered that with a dull surprise. It was like a persistent, deep hammer thud more than the bright, sharp clarity when you cut yourself superficially.
Hed never felt so weak. He supposed he had goo sleep for a moment. Lyra was doing something to his arm. He sat up to look at the damage, a sick. The old man was somewhere close by, but Will couldnt see what he was doing, and meanwhile Lyra was talking to him.
"If only we had some bloodmoss," she was saying, "what the bears use, I could make it better, Will, I could. Look, Im going to tie this bit of rope around your arm, to stop the bleeding, cause I t tie it around where your fingers were, theres nothing to tie it to. Hold still."
He let her do it, then looked around for his fingers. There they were, curled like a bloody quotation mark on the lead. He laughed.
"Hey," she said, "stop that. Get up now. Mr. Paradisis got some medie, some salve, I dunno what it is. You got to e downstairs. That other mans gone—we seen him run out the door. Hes gone now. You beat him. e on, Will— e on—"
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE TOWER OF THE ANGELS-2
Nagging and cajoling, she urged him doweps, and they picked their way through the shattered glass and splintered wood and into a small, cool room off the landing. The walls were lined with shelves of bottles, jars, pots, pestles and mortars, and chemists balances. Uhe dirty window was a stone sink, where the old man something with a shaky hand from a large bottle into a smaller one.
"Sit down and drink this," he said, and filled a small glass with a dark golden liquid.
Will sat down and took the glass. The first mouthful hit the back of his throat like fire. Lyra took the glass to stop it from falling as Will gasped.
"Drink it all," the old man anded.
"What is it?"
"Plum brandy. Drink."
Will sipped it more cautiously. Now his hand was really beginning to hurt.
" you heal him?" said Lyra, her voice desperate.
"Oh, yes, we have medies for everything. You, girl, open that drawer iable and bring out a bandage."
Will saw the knife lying oable in the ter of the room, but before he could pick it up the old man was limping toward him with a bowl of water.
"Drink again," the old man said.
Will held the glass tightly and closed his eyes while the old man did something to his hand It stung horribly, but then he felt the rough fri of a towel on his wrist, and something mopping the wound mently. Then there was a ess for a moment, and it hurt again.
"This is precious oi," the old man said. "Very difficult to obtain. Very good for wounds."
It was a dusty, battered tube of ordinary aic cream, such as Will could have bought in any pharma his world. The old man was handling it as if it were made of myrrh. Will looked away.
And while the man was dressing the wound, Lyra felt Pan-talaimon calling to her silently to e and look out the window. He was a kestrel perg on the open window frame, and his eyes had caught a movement below. She joined him, and saw a familiar figure: the girl Angelica was running toward her elder brother, Tullio, who stood with his back against the wall oher side of the narrow street waving his arms in the air as if trying to keep a flock of bats from his face. Theurned away and began to run his hands along the stones in the wall, looking closely at eae, ting them, feeling the edges, hung up his shoulders as if to ward off something behind him, shaking his head.
Angelica was desperate, and so was little Paolo behind her, and they reached their brother and seized his arms and tried to pull him away from whatever was troubling him.
And Lyra realized with a jolt of siess what was happening: the man was being attacked by Specters. Angeliew it, though she couldhem, of course, and little Paolo was g and striking at the empty air to try and drive them off; but it didnt help, and Tullio was lost. His movements became more and more lethargid >presently they stopped altogether. Angelica g to him, shaking and shaking his arm, but nothing woke him; and Paolo was g his brothers name over and over as if that would bring him back.
Then Angelica seemed to feel Lyra watg her, and she looked up. For a moment their eyes met.
Lyra felt a jolt as if the girl had struck her a physical blow, because the hatred in her eyes was so intense, and then Paolo saw her looking and looked up too, and his little boys voice cried, "Well kill you! You dohis to Tullio! We gonna kill you, all right!"
The two children turned and ran, leaving their stri brother; and Lyra, frightened and guilty, withdrew ihe room again and shut the window. The others hadnt heard. Gia-o Paradisi
was dabbing more oi on the wounds, and Lyra tried to put what shed seen out of her mind, and focused on Will.
"You got to tie something around his arm," Lyra said, "to stop the bleeding. It wont stop otherwise."
"Yes, yes, I know," said the old man, but sadly.
Will kept his eyes averted while they did up a bandage, and drank the plum brandy sip by sip.
Presently he felt soothed and distant, though his hand was hurting abominably.
"Now," said Giao Paradisi, "here you are, take the k is yours."
"I dont want it," said Will. "I dont want anything to do with it."
"You havent got the choice," said the old man. "You are the bearer now."
"I thought you said you was," said Lyra.
"My time is over," he said. "The knife knows when to leave one hand ale in another, and I know how to tell. You dont believe me? Look!"
He held up his ow hand. The little finger and the finger o it were missing, just like Wills.
"Yes," he said, "me too. I fought and lost the same fingers, the badge of the bearer. And I did not kher, in advance."
Lyra sat down, wide-eyed. Will held on to the dusty table with his good hand. He struggled to find words.
"But I—we only came here because—there was a man who stole something of Lyras, and he wahe knife, and he said if we brought him that, then hed—"
"I know that man. He is a liar, a cheat. He wont give you anything, make no mistake. He wants the knife, and once he has it, he will betray you. He will never be the bearer. The knife is yours by right."
With a heavy reluce, Will turo the kself. He pulled it toward him. It was an ordinary-looking dagger, with a double-sided blade of dull metal about eight inches long, a short crosspiece of the same metal, and a handle of rosewood. As he looked at it more closely, he saw that the rosewood was inlaid with golden wires, f a design he didnt reize till he turhe knife around and saw an angel, with wings folded. Oher side was a different angel, with wings upraised. The wires stood out a little from the surface, giving a firm grip, and as he picked it up he felt that it was light in his hand and strong aifully balanced, and that the blade was not dull after all. In fact, a swirl of cloudy colors seemed to live just uhe surface of the metal: bruise purples, sea blues, earth browns, cloud grays, the deep green under heavyfoliaged trees, the clustering shades at the mouth of a tomb as evening falls over a deserted graveyard.... If there was such a thing as shadow-colored, it was the blade of the subtle knife.
But the edges were different. In fact, the two edges differed from each other. One was clear bright steel, merging a little way bato those subtle shadow-colors, but steel of an inparable sharpness. Wills eye shrank back from looking at it, so sharp did it seem. The e was just as keen, but silvery in color, and Lyra, who was looking at it over Wills shoulder, said: "I seen that color before! Thats the same as the blade they was going to cut me and Pan apart with—thats just the same!"
"This edge," said Giao Paradisi, toug the steel with the handle of a spoon, "will cut through any material in the world. Look."
And he pressed the silver spoon against the blade. Will, holding the knife, felt only the slightest resistance as the tip of the spoons handle fell to the table, cut off.
"The e," the old ma on, "is more subtle still. With it you cut an opening out of
this world altogether. Try it now. Do as I say—you are the bearer. You have to know. No one teach you but me, and I have not much time left. Stand up and listen."
Will pushed his chair bad stood, holding the knife loosely. He felt dizzy, sick, rebellious.
"I dont want—" he began, but Giao Paradisi shook his head.
"Be silent! You dont want—you dont want... you have no choice! Listen to me, because time is short. Now hold the k ahead of you—like that. Its not only the khat has to cut, its your own mind. You have to think it So do this: Put your mind out at the very tip of the knife.
trate, boy. Focus your mind. Dont think about your wound. It will heal. Think about the kip. That is where you are. Now feel with it, very gently. Youre looking fap so small you could never see it with your eyes, but the kip will find it, if you put your mind there.
Feel along the air till you sehe smallest little gap in the world...."
Will tried to do it. But his head was buzzing, and his left hand throbbed horribly, and he saw his two fingers again, lying on the roof, and thehought of his mother, his poor mother.... What would she say? How would she fort him? How could he ever fort her? A the knife down oable and crouched low, hugging his wounded hand, and cried. It was all too much to bear. The sobs racked his throat and his chest and the tears dazzled him, and he should be g for her, the pohtened unhappy dear beloved—hed left her, hed left her....
He was desolate. But then he felt the strahing, and brushed the back of his right wrist across his eyes to find Pan-talaimons head on his khe daemon, in the form of a wolfhound, was gazing up at him with melting, sorrowing eyes, and then he gently licked Wills wounded hand again and again, and laid his head on Wills knee once more.
Will had no idea of the taboo in Lyras world preventing one person from toug anothers daemon, and if he hadnt touched Pantalaimon before, it olitehat had held him bad not knowledge. Lyra, in fact, was breathtaken. Her daemon had do on his own initiative, and now he withdrew and fluttered to her shoulder as the smallest of moths. The old man was watg with i but not incredulity. Hed seen dasmons before, somehow; hed traveled to other worlds too.
Pantalaimoure had worked. Will swallowed hard and stood up again, wiping the tears out of his eyes.
"All right," he said, "Ill try again. Tell me what to do."
This time he forced his mind to do what Giao Paradisi said, gritting his teeth, trembling with exertion, sweating. Lyra was bursting to interrupt, because she khis process. So did Dr.
Malone, and so did the poet Keats, whoever he was, and all of them knew you could by straining toward it But she held her tongue and clasped her hands.
"Stop," said the old maly. "Relax. Dont push. This is a subtle knife, not a heavy sword.
Yripping it too tight. Loosen your fingers. Let your mind wander down your arm to your wrist a99lｉb.nd then into the handle, and out along the blade. No hurry, go gently, dont force it. Just wahen along to the very tip, where the edge is sharpest of all. You bee the tip of the knife. Just do that now. Go there ahat, and then e back."
Will tried again. Lyra could see the iy in his body, saw his jaw w, and then saw an authority desd over it, calming and relaxing and clarifying. The authority was Wills own—or his daemons, perhaps. How he must miss having a daemon! The loneliness of it... No wonder hed cried; and it was right of Pantalaimon to do what hed dohough it had felt se to her.
She reached up to her beloved daemon, and, ermine-shaped, he flowed onto her lap.
They watched together as Wills body stopped trembling. No less intense, he was focused differently now, and the knife looked different too. Perbbr>haps it was those cloudy colors along the
blade, or perhaps it was the way it sat so naturally in Wills hand, but the little movements he was making with the tip now looked purposeful instead of random. He felt this way, then turhe knife over ahe other, always feeling with the silvery edge; and then he seemed to find some little snag in the empty air.
"Whats this? Is this it?" he said hoarsely.
"Yes. Dont force it. e baow, e back to yourself."
Lyra imagined she could see Wills soul flowing back along the blade to his hand, and up his arm to his heart. He stood back, dropped his hand, blinked.
"I felt something there," he said to Giao Paradisi. "The knife was just slipping through the air at first, and then I felt it..."
"Good. Now do it again. This time, when you feel it, slide me knife in and along. Make a cut. Doate. Dont be surprised. Dont drop the knife."
Will had to croud take two or three deep breaths and put his left hand under his other arm before he could go on. But he was i on it; he stood up again after a couple of seds, the knife held forward already.
This time it was easier. Havi it once, he knew what to search fain, and he felt the curious little snag after less than a mi was like delicately searg out the gap betweeitd the with the point of a scalpel. He touched, withdrew, touched again to make sure, and then did as the old man had said, and cut sideways with the silver edge.
It was a good thing that Giao Paradisi had reminded him not to be surprised. He kept careful hold of the knife and put it down oable befiving in to his astonishment. Lyra was on her feet already, speechless, because there in the middle of the dusty little room was a window just like the one uhe horrees: a gap in midair through which they could see another world.
And because they were high iower, they were high above north Oxford. Over a cemetery, in fact, looking back toward the city. There were the horrees a little way ahead of them; there were houses, trees, roads, and in the distahe towers and spires of the city.
If they hadnt already seen the first window, they would have thought this was some kind of optical trick. Except that it wasnt only optical; air was ing through it, and they could smell the traffic fumes, which did in the world of Cit-tagazze. Pantalaimon ged into a swallow and flew through, delighting hi the open air, and then snapped up an i before darting back through to Lyras shoulder again.
Giao Paradisi was watg with a curious, sad smile. Then he said, "So much for opening. Now you must learn to close."
Lyra stood back to give Will room, and the old man came to stand beside him.
"For this you need your fingers," he said. "One hand will do. Feel for the edge as you felt with the ko begin with. You wont find it unless you put your soul into your fiips. Touch very delicately; feel again and again till you find the edge. Then you pinch it together. Thats all. Try."
But Will was trembling. He could his mind back to the delicate balance he k needed, a more and more frustrated. Lyra could see what was happening.
She stood up and took his right arm and said, "Listen, Will, sit down, Ill tell you how to do it. Just sit down for a minute, cause your hand hurts and its taking your mind off it. Its bound to. Itll ease off in a little while."
The old man raised both his hands and then ged his mind, shrugged, and sat down again.
Will sat down and looked at Lyra. "What am I doing wrong?" he said.
He was bloodstairembling, wild-eyed. He was living on the edge of his nerves: g his
jaing his foot, breathing fast.
"Its your wound," she said. "You ent wrong at all. Youre doing it right, but your hand wo you trate on it. I dont know an easy way of getting around that, except maybe if you didnt try to shut it out."
"What dyou mean?"
"Well, youre trying to do two things with your mind, both at once. Youre trying to ighe pain and close that window. I remember when I was reading the alethiometer once when I was frightened, and maybe I was used to it by that time, I dont know, but I was still frightened all the time I was reading it. Just sort of relax your mind and say yes, it does hurt, I know. Dont try and shut it out."
His eyes closed briefly. His breathing slowed a little.
"All right," he said. "Ill try that."
And this time it was much easier. He felt for the edge, found it within a minute, and did as Giao Paradisi had told him: pihe edges together. It was the easiest thing in the world.
He felt a brief, calm exhilaration, and then the window was gohe other world was shut.
The old man handed him a leather sheath, backed with stiff horn, with buckles to hold the knife hi place, because the slightest sideways movement of the blade would have cut through the thickest leather. Will slid the ko it and buckled it as tight as he could with his clumsy hand.
"This should be a solemn occasion," Giao Paradisi said. "If we had days and weeks I could begin to tell you the story of the subtle knife, and the Guild of the Torre degli Angeli, and the whole sorry history of this corrupt and careless world. The Specters are our fault, our fault alohey came because my predecessors, alchemists, philosophers, men of learning, were making an inquiry into die deepest nature of things. They became curious about the bonds that held the smallest particles of matter together. You know what I mean by a bond? Something that binds?
"Well, this was a mertile city. A city of traders and bankers. We thought we knew about bonds.
We thought a bond was somethiiable, something that could be bought and sold and exged and verted.... But about these bonds, we were wrong. We undid them, a the Specters in."
Will asked, "Where do the Specters e from? Why was the window left open uhose trees, the one we first came in through? Are there other windows in the world?"
"Where the Specters e from is a mystery—from another world, from the darkness of space...
who knows? What matters is that they are here, and they have destroyed us. Are there other windows into this world? Yes, a few, because sometimes a knife bearer might be careless or fetful, without time to stop and close as he should. And the window you came through, uhe horrees... I left that open myself, in a moment of unfivable foolishness. There is a man I am afraid of, and I thought to tempt him through and into the city, where he would fall victim to the Specters. But I think that he is too clever for a trick like that. He wants the knife.
Please, never let him get it."
Will and Lyra shared a glance.
"Well," the old man finished, spreading his hands, "all I do is hand the knife on to you and show you how to use it, which I have done, and tell you what the rules of the Guild used to be, before it decayed. First, never open without closing. Sed, never let anyone else use the knife.
It is yours alohird, never use it for a base purpose. Fourth, keep it secret. If there are other rules, I have fotten them, and if Ive fotte is because they dont matter. You have the knife. You are the bearer. You should not be a child. But our world is crumbling, and the mark of the bearer is unmistakable. I dont even know your name. Now go. I shall die very soon, because
I know where there are poisonous drugs, and I dont io wait for the Specters to e in, as they will ohe knife has left. Go."
"But, Mr. Paradisi—" Lyra began.
But he shook his head a on: "There is no time. You have e here for a purpose, and maybe you dont know what that purpose is, but the angels do whht you here. Go. You are brave, and your friend is clever. And you have the knife. Go."
"You ent really going to poison yourself?" said Lyra, distressed.
"e on," said Will.
"And what did you mean about angels?" she went on.
Will tugged her arm.
"e on," he said again. "We got to go. Thank you, Mr. Paradisi."
He held out his bloodstained, dusty right hand, and the old man shook it gently. He shook Lyras hand, too, and o Pantalaimon, who lowered his ermine head in aowledgment.
Clutg the knife in its leather sheath, Will led the way down the broad dark stairs and out of the tower. The sunlight was hot itle square, and the silence rofound. Lyra looked all around, with immense caution, but the street was empty. And it would be better not to worry Will about what shed seen; there was quite enough to worry about already. She led him away from the street where shed seen the children, where the stri Tullio was standing, as still as death.
"I wish—" Lyra said when they had nearly left the square, stopping to look back up. "Its horrible, thinking of... and his poor teeth was all broken, and he could hardly see out his eye.... Hes just going to swallow some poison and die now, and I wish—"
She was on the verge of tears.
"Hush," said Will. "It wont hurt him. Hell just go to sleep. Its better than the Specters, he said."
"Oh, what we going to do, Will?" she said. "What we going to do? Youre hurt so bad, and that poor old man.... I hate this place, I really do, Id burn it to the ground. What we going to do now?"
"Well," he said, "thats easy. Weve got to get the alethio-meter back, so well have to steal it.
Thats what were going to do."
CHAPTER NINE: THEFT-1
First they went back to the cafe, to recover a and ge their clothes. It was clear that Will couldnt go everywhere covered in blood, and the time of feeling guilty about taking things from shops was over; so he gathered a plete set of new clothes and shoes, and Lyra, demanding to help, and watg in every dire for the other children, carried them back to the cafe.
Lyra put some water on to boil, and Will took it up to the bathroom and stripped to wash from head to foot. The pain was dull and uing, but at least the cuts were , and having seen what the knife could do, he khat no cuts could be er; but the stumps where his fingers had been were bleeding freely. When he looked at them he felt sick, and his heart beat faster,
and that in turn seemed to make the bleeding even worse. He sat on the edge of the bath and closed his eyes and breathed deeply several times.
Presently he felt calmer a himself to washing. He did the best he could, drying himself on the increasingly bloodied towels, and then dressed in his new clothes, trying not to make them bloody too.
"Yoing to have to tie my bandage again," he said to Lyra. "I dont care how tight you make it as long as it stops the bleeding."
She tore up a sheet and ed it around and around, clamping it dowhe wounds as tight as she could. He gritted his teeth, but he couldhe tears. He brushed them away without a word, and she said nothing.
When shed finished, he said, "Thank you." Then he said, "Listen. I want you to take something in your rucksae, in case we t e back here. Its only letters. You read them if you want."
He went to the bedroom, took out the greeher writing case, and handed her the sheets of airmail paper.
"I wohem unless—"
"I dont mind. Else I wouldnt have said."
She folded up the letters, and he lay on the bed, pushed the cat aside, and fell asleep.
Much later that night, Will and Lyra crouched in the lahat ran along beside the tree-shaded shrubbery in Sir Charless garden. Otagazze side, they were in a grassy park surrounding a classical villa that gleamed white in the moonlight. Theyd taken a long time to get to Sir Charless house, moving mainly in Cittagazze, with frequent stops to cut through and check their position in Wills world, closing the windows as soon as they knew where they were.
Not with them but not far behind came the tabby cat. She had slept siheyd rescued her from the stohrowing children, and now that she was awake again she was relut to leave them, as if she thought that wherever they were, she was safe. Will was far from sure about that, but he had enough on his mind without the cat, and he ignored her. All the time he was growing more familiar with the knife, more certain in his and of it; but his wound was hurting worse than before, with a deep, unceasing throb, and the bandage Lyra had freshly tied after he woke up was already soaked.
He cut a window in the air not far from the white-gleaming villa, and they came through to the quiet lane in Headington to work out exactly how to get to the study where Sir Charles had put the alethiometer. There were two floodlights illuminating his garden, and lights were on in the front windows of the house, though not iudy. Only moonlight lit this side, and the study window was dark.
The lane ran down through trees to another road at the far end, and it wasnt lighted. It would have been easy for an ordinary burglar to get unobserved into the shrubbery and thus to the garden, except that there was a strong iron fewice as high as Will, with spikes oop, running the length of Sir Charless property. However, it was no barrier to the subtle knife.
"Hold this bar while I cut it," Will whispered. "Catch it when it falls."
Lyra did as he said, a through four bars altogether, enough for them to pass through without difficulty. Lyra laid them one by one on the grass, and then they were through, and moving among the bushes.
Ohey had a clear sight of the side of the house, with the creeper-shaded window of the study fag them across the smooth lawn, Will said quietly, "Im going to cut through into Cigazze here,
and leave the window open, and move in Cigazze to where I think the study is, and then cut back through to this world. Then Ill take the alethiometer out of that et thing and Ill close that window and then Ill e back to this one. You stay here in this world and keep watch. As soon as you hear me call you, you e through this window into Cigazze and then Ill close it up again.
All right?"
"Yeah," she whispered. "Both me and Pan11 look out."
Her daemon was a small tawny owl, almost invisible in the dappled shadows uhe trees. His wide pale eyes took in every movement.
Will stood bad held out the knife, searg, toug the air with the most delicate movements, until after a minute or so he found a point at which he could cut. He did it swiftly, opening a window through into the moonlit land of Cigazze, and then stood back, estimating how many steps it would take him in that world to reach the study, and memorizing the dire.
Then without a word he stepped through and vanished.
Lyra crouched down nearby. Pantalaimon erched on a branch above her head, turning this way and that, silent. She could hear traffi Headington behind her, and the quiet footsteps of someone going along the road at the end of the lane, and even the weightless movement of is among the twigs and leaves at her feet.
A minute went by, and another. Where was Will now? She straio look through the window of the study, but it was just a dark mullioned square with creeper. Sir Charles had sat i on the window seat only that m, and crossed his legs, and arrahe creases in his trousers. Where was the et iion to the window? Would Will get ihout disturbing anyone in the house? Lyra could hear her heart beating, too.
Then Pantalaimon made a soft noise, and at the same moment a different sound came from the front of the house, to Lyras left. She couldhe front, but she could see a light sweeping across the trees, and she heard a deep g sound: the sound of tires on gravel, she guessed.
She hadnt heard the cars e all.
She looked for Pantalaimon, and he was already gliding ahead silently, as far as he could go from her. He turned in the darkness and swooped back to settle on her fist.
"Sir Charles is ing back," he whispered. "And theres someoh him."
He took off again, and this time Lyra followed, tiptoeing over the soft earth with the utmost care, croug down behind the bushes, finally going on hands and ko look between the leaves of a laurel.
The Rolls-Royce stood in front of the house, and the chauffeur was moving around to the passenger side to open the door. Sir Charles stood waiting, smiling, his arm to the woman who was getting out, and as she came into view Lyra felt a blow at her heart, the worst blow since shed escaped from Bolvangar, because Sir Charless guest was her mother, Mrs. Coulter.
Will stepped carefully across the grass in Cittagazze, ting his paces, holding in his mind as clearly as he could a memory of where the study was and trying to locate it with refereo the villa, which stood nearby, stucco-white and ned in a formal garden with statues and a fountain. And he was aware of how exposed he was in this moon-drenched parkland.
Whehought he was in the right spot, he stopped and held out the knife again, feeling forward carefully. These little invisible gaps were anywhere, but not everywhere, or any slash of the knife would open a window.
He cut a small opening first, no bigger than his hand, and looked through. Nothing but darkness oher side: he couldnt see where he was. He closed that ourhrough y degrees,
and opened ahis time he found fabri front of him—heavy gree: the curtains of the study. But where were they iion to the et? He had to close that ooo, turher way, try again. Time assing.
The third time, he found he could see the whole of the study in the dim light through the open door to the hall. There was the desk, the sofa, the et! He could see a faint gleam along the side of a brass microscope. And there was no one in the room, and the house was silent. It couldter.
He carefully estimated the distance, closed that window, stepped forward four paces, and held up the knife again. If he was right, hed be ily the right spot to reach through, cut through the glass in the et, take out the alethiometer and close the window behind him.
.. a window at the right height. The glass of the et door was only a handsbreadth in front of it. He put his face close, looking ily at this shelf and that, from top to bottom.
The alethiometer wasnt there.
At first Will thought hed got the wrong et. There were four of them in the room. Hed ted that m, and memorized where they were—tall square cases made of dark wood, with glass sides and fronts a-covered shelves, made for displaying valuable objects of porcelain or ivory old. Could he have simply opened a window in front of the wrong one? But oop shelf was that bulky instrument with the brass rings: hed made a point of notig that.
And on the shelf in the middle, where Sir Charles had placed the alethiometer, there ace.
This was the right et, and the alethiometer wasnt there.
Will stepped back a moment and took a deep breath.
Hed have to gh properly and look around. Opening windows here and there at random would take all night. He closed the window in front of the et, opened ao look at the rest of the room, and wheaken careful stock, he closed that one and opened a larger one behind the sofa through which he could easily get out in a hurry if he o.
His hand was throbbing brutally by this time, and the bandage was trailing loose. He wound it around as best he could and tucked the end in, and thehrough into Sir Charless house pletely and crouched behind the leather sofa, the knife in his right hand, listening carefully.
Hearing nothing, he stood up slowly and looked around the room. The door to the hall was halfopen, and the light that came through was quite enough to see by. The ets, the bookshelves, the pictures were all there, as they had been that m, undisturbed.
He stepped out on the silent carpet and looked into each of the ets in turn. It wasnt there.
Nor was it on the desk among the ly piled books and papers, nor on the mantelpiece among the invitation cards to this opening or that reception, nor on the cushioned window seat, nor o藏书网agonal table behind the door.
He moved back to the desk, intending to try the drawers, but with the heavy expectation of failure; and as he did so, he heard the faint ch of tires on gravel. It was so quiet that he halfthought he was imagining it, but he stood stock-still, straining to listen. It stopped.
Then he heard the front door open.
He went at oo the sofa again, and crouched behind it, o the windoened onto the moon-silvered grass in Cittagazze. And no sooner had he got there than he heard footsteps in that other world, lightly running over the grass, and looked through to see Lyra rag toward him.
He was just in time to wave and put his fio his lips, and she slowed, realizing that he was aware Sir Charles had returned.
"I havent got it," he whispered when she came up. "It wasnt there. Hes probably got it with him.
Im going to listen and see if he puts it back. Stay here."
"No! Its worse!" she said, and she was nearly in a genuine panic. "Shes with him—Mrs. Coulter—my mother! I dunno how she got here, but if she sees me, Im dead, Will, Im lost— and I know who he is now! I remember where I seen him before! Will, hes called Lord Boreal! I seen him at Mrs.
Coulters cocktail party, when I ran away! And he must have known who I was, all the time...."
"Shh. Dont stay here if yoing to make a noise."
She mastered herself, and swallowed hard, and shook her head.
"Sorry. I want to stay with you," she whispered. "I want to hear what they say."
"Hush now ..."
Because he could hear voices in the hall. The two of them were close enough to touch, Will in his world, she in Cit-tagazze, and seeing his trailing bandage, Lyra tapped him on the arm and mimed tying it up again. He held out his hand for her to do it, croug meanwhile with his head cocked sideways, listening hard.
A light came on in the room. He heard Sir Charles speaking to the servant, dismissing him, ing into the study, closing the door.
"May I offer you a glass of Tokay?" he said.
A womans voice, low and sweet, replied, "How kind of you, Carlo. I havent tasted Tokay for many years."
"Have the chair by the fireplace."
There was the faint glug of wine being poured, a tinkle of deter on glass rim, a murmur of thanks, and then Sir Charles seated himself on the sofa, inches away from Will.
"Yood health, Marisa," he said, sipping. "Now, suppose you tell me what you want."
">I want to know where you got the alethiometer."
"Why?"
"Because Lyra had it, and I want to find her."
"I t imagine why you would. She is a repellent brat."
"Ill remind you that shes my daughter."
"Then she is even more repellent, because she must have resisted your charming influen purpose. No one could do it by act."
"Where is she?
"Ill tell you, I promise. But you must tell me something first."
"If I ," she said, in a different tohat Will thought might be a warning. Her voice was intoxig: soothing, sweet, musical, and young, too. He loo know what she looked like, because Lyra had never described her, and the face that went with this voice must be remarkable.
"What do you want to know?"
"What is Asriel up to?"
There was a silehen, as if the woman were calculating what to say. Will looked back through the window at Lyra, and saw her face, moonlit and wide-eyed with fear, biting her lip to keep silent and straining to hear, as he was.
CHAPTER NINE: THEFT-2
Finally Mrs. Coulter said, "Very well, Ill tell you. Lord Asriel is gathering an army, with the purpose of pleting the war that was fought in heaven eons ago."
"How medieval. However, he seems to have some very modern powers. What has he doo the magic pole?"
"He found a way of blasting open the barrier between our world and others. It caused profound disturbao the earths magic field, and that must resonate in this world too.... But how do you know about that? Carlo, I think you should answer some questions of mine. What is this world?
And how did y me here?"
"It is one of millions. There are openings between them, but theyre not easily found. I know a dozen or so, but the places they open into have shifted, and that must be due to what Asriels do seems that we ow pass directly from this world into our orobably into many others too. When I looked through one of the doorways earlier today, you imagine how surprised I was to find it opening into our world, and whats more, to find you nearby. Providence, dear lady!
The ge meant that I could bring you here directly, without the risk of going through Cittagazze."
"Cittagazze? What is that?"
"Previously, all the doorways opened into one world, which was a sort of crossroads. That is the world of Cittagazze. But its too dangerous to go there at the moment."
"Why is it dangerous?"
"Dangerous for adults. Children go there freely."
"What? I must know about this, Carlo," said the woman, and Will could hear her passionate impatience. "This is at the heart of everything, this differeween children and adults! It tains the whole mystery of Dust! This is why I must find the child. And the witches have a name for her—I nearly had it, so nearly, from a wit person, but she died too quickly. I must find the child. She has the answer, somehow, and I must have it."
"And you shall. This instrument will brio me—never fear. And once shes given me what I want, you have her. But tell me about your curious bodyguards, Marisa. Ive never seen soldiers like that. Who are they?"
"Men, thats all. But... theyve undergoercision. They have no daemons, so they have no fear and no imagination and no free will, and theyll fight til] theyre torn apart."
"No daemons... Well, thats very iing. I wonder if I might suggest a little experiment, if you spare one of them? Id like to see whether the Specters are ied in them."
"Specters? What are they?"
"Ill explain later, my dear. They are the reason adults t go into that world. But if theyre no more ied in your bodyguards than they are in children, we might be able to travel in Cittagazze after all. Dust—childreers— daemons—intercision... Yes, it might very well work. Have some more wine."
"I want to know everything," she said, over the sound of wine being poured. "And Ill hold you to that. Now tell me: What are you doing in this world? Is this where you came whehought you were in Brasil or the Indies?"
"I found my way here a long time ago," said Sir Charles. "It was too good a secret to reveal, even to you, Marisa. Ive made myself very fortable, as you see. Being part of the cil of State at home made it easy for me to see where the power lay here.
"As a matter of fact, I became a spy, though I old my masters all I khe security services in this world were preoccupied for years with the Soviet Union—we know it as Muscovy.
And although that threat has receded, there are still listening posts and maes trained in that dire, and Im still in touch with those who run the spies."
Mrs. Coulter sipped her Tokay. Her brilliant eyes were fixed unblinkingly on his.
"And I heard retly aboubbr>?9９ｌｉb.t a profound disturban the earths magic field," Sir Charles tihe security services are alarmed. Every nation that does researto fual physics—what we call experimental theology—is turning to its stists urgently to discover whats going on. Because they know that something is happening. And they suspect it has to do with other worlds.
"They do have a few clues to this, as a matter of fact. There is some research being doo Dust. Oh, yes, they know it here as well. There is a team in this very city w on it. And ahing: There was a man who disappeared ten or twelve years ago, in the north, and the security services think he was in possession of some knowledge they badly need— specifically, the location of a doorway between the worlds, such as the one you came through earlier today. The one he found is the only ohey know about: you imagine I havent told them what I know.
When this new disturbance began, they set out to look for this man.
"And naturally, Marisa, I myself am curious. And I am keen to add to my knowledge."
Will sat frozen, with his heart thudding so hard he was afraid the adults would hear it. Sir Charles was talking about his own father!
But all ?he time, he was scious of something else in the room as well as the voices of Sir Charles and the woman. There was a shadow moving across the floor, or that part of it he could see beyond the end of the sofa and past the legs of the little octagonal table. But her Sir Charles nor the woman was moving. The shadow moved in a quick darting prowl, and it disturbed Will greatly. The only light in the room was a standard lamp beside the fireplace, so the shadow was clear and definite, but it opped long enough for Will to make out what it was.
Then two things happened. First, Sir Charles mentiohe alethiometer.
"For example," he said, tinuing what hed been saying, "Im very curious about this instrument.
Suppose you tell me how it wo?t>rks."
And he placed the alethiometer oagonal table at the end of the sofa. Will could see it clearly; he could almost reach it.
The sed thing that happened was that the shadow fell still. The creature that was the source of it must have been perched on the bars. Coulters chair, because the light streaming over it threw its shadow clearly on the wall. And the moment it stopped, he realized it was the womans daemon: a croug mourning its head this way and that, searg for something.
Will heard an intake of breath from Lyra behind him as she saw it too. He turned silently and whispered, "Go back to the other window, and e through into his garden. Find some stones and throw them at the study so they look away for a moment, and then I get the alethiometer. Then run back to the other window and wait for me."
She hen turned and ran away silently over the grass. Will turned back.
The woman was saying, "... the Master of Jordan College is a foolish old man. Why he gave it to her I t imagine; you need several years of inteudy to make any sense of it at all. And now you owe me some information, Carlo. How did you find it? And where is the child?"
"I saw her using it in a museum iy. I reized her, of course, having see your cocktail party all that time ago, and I realized she must have found a doorway. And then I realized that I could use it for a purpose of my own. So when I came across her a sed time, I stole it."
"Youre very frank."
"o be coy; were both grown-up."
"And where is she now? What did she do when she found it was missing?"
"She came to see me, which must have taken some nerve, I imagine."
"She doesnt laerve. And what are you going to do with it? What is this purpose of yours?"
"I told her that she could have it back, provided she got something for me—something I could myself."
"And what is that?"
"I dont know whether you—"
And that was the moment when the first stone smashed into the study window.
It broke with a satisfying crash of glass, and instantly the monkey shadoed from the chair back as the adults gasped. There came another crash, and another, and Will felt the sofa move as Sir Charles got up.
Will leaned forward and snatched the alethiometer from the little table, thrust it into his pocket, and darted back through the window. As soon as he was on the grass in Cittagazze he felt in the air for those elusive edges, calming his mind, breathing slowly, scious all the time that only feet away there was horrible danger.
Then came a screeot human, not animal, but worse thaher, and he k was that loathsome monkey. By that time hed gotten most of the window closed, but there was still a small gap at the level of his chest. And then he leaped back, because into that gap there came a small furry golden hand with black fingernails, and then a face—a nightmare face. The golden moeeth were bared, his eyes glaring, and such a trated malevolence blazed from him that Will felt it almost like a spear.
Another sed and he would have been through, and that would have been the end. But Will was still holding the knife, and he brought it up at ond slashed left, right, across the monkeys face—or where the face would have been if the monkey hadnt withdrawn just in time. That gave Will the moment he o seize the edges of the windoress them shut.
His own world had vanished, and he was alone in the moonlit parkland in Cittagazze, panting and trembling and horribly frightened.
But now there was Lyra to rescue. He ran back to the first window, the one hed opened into the shrubbery, and looked through. The dark leaves of laurels and holly obscured the view, but he reached through and thrust them aside to see the side of the house clearly, with the broken study windo in the moonlight.
As he watched, he saw the monkey leaping around the er of the house, scampering over the grass with the speed of a cat, and then he saw Sir Charles and the woman following close behind.
Sir Charles was carrying a pistol. The woman herself was beautiful—Will saw that with shock— lovely in the moonlight, her brilliant dark eyes wide with entment, her slender shape light and graceful; but as she snapped her fingers, the moopped at ond leaped up into her arms, and he saw that the sweet-faced woman and the evil monkey were one being.
But where was Lyra?
The adults were looking around, and then the ut the monkey down, and it began to cast this way and that on the grass as if it were sting or looking for footprints. There was silence from all around. If Lyra was in the shrub９9ｌｉb?bery already, she wouldnt be able to move without making a noise, which would give her away at once.
Sir Charles adjusted something on his pistol with a soft click: the safety catch. He peered into the shrubbery, seeming to look directly at Will, and then his eyes traveled on past.
Then both of the adults looked to their left, for the monkey had heard something. And in a flash it leaped forward to where Lyra must be, and a moment later it would have found her— And at that moment the tabby cat sprang out of the shrubbery and onto the grass, and hissed.
The monkey heard and twisted in midair as if with astonishment, though he was hardly as astonished as Will himself. The monkey fell on his paws, fag the cat, and the cat arched her back, tail raised high, and stood sideways on, hissing, challenging, spitting.
And the monkey leaped for her. The cat reared up, slashing with needle-paws left and right too quickly to be seen, and then Lyra was beside Will, tumbling through the window with Pantalaimon beside her. And the cat screamed, and the monkey screamed, too, as the cats claws raked his face; and then the mourned and leaped into Mrs. Coulters arms, and the cat shot
away into the bushes of her own world and vanished.
And Will and Lyra were through the window, and Will felt once again for the almost intangible edges in the air and pressed them swiftly together, closing the window all along its length as through the diminishing gap came the sound of feet among twigs and crag branches— And then there was only a hole the size of Wills hand, and then it was shut, and the whole world was silent. He fell to his knees on the dewy grass and fumbled for the alethiometer.
"Here," he said to Lyra.
She took it. With shaking hands he slid the knife bato its sheath. Then he lay down trembling in all his limbs and closed his eyes, ahe moonlight bathing him with silver, a Lyra undoing his bandage and tying it up again with delicate, gentle movements.
"Oh, Will," he heard her say. "Thank you for what you done, for all of it...."
"I hope the cats all right," he muttered. "Shes like my Moxie. Shes probably gone home now. In her own world again. Shell be all right now."
"You know what I thought? I thought for a sed she was your daemon. She done what a good daemon would have done, anyway. We rescued her and she rescued us. e on, Will, dont lie on the grass, its wet. You got to e and lie down in a proper bed, else youll catch cold. Well go in that big house over there. Theres bound to be beds and food and stuff. e on, Ill make a new bandage, Ill put some coffee on to cook, Ill make some omelette, whatever you want, and well sleep.... Well be safe now weve got the alethiometer back, youll see. Ill do nothing now except help you find your father, I promise...."
She helped him up, and they walked slowly through the garden toward the great white-gleaming house uhe moon.
CHAPTER TEN: THE SHAMANTEN-1
Lee Scoresby disembarked at the port in the mouth of the Yenisei River, and found the pla chaos, with fishermen trying to sell their meager catches of unknown kinds of fish to the ing factories; with shipowners angry about the harbor charges the authorities had raised to cope with the floods; and with hunters and fur trappers drifting into town uo work because of the rapidly thawing forest and the disordered behavior of the animals.
It was going to be hard to make his way into the interior along the road, that was certain; for in normal times the road was simply a cleared track of frozeh, and now that even the permafrost was melting, the surface was a s of ed mud.
So Lee put his balloon and equipment into ste and with his dwindling gold hired a boat with a gas engine. He bought several tanks of fuel and some stores, a off up the swollen river.
He made slress at first. Not only was the current swift, but the waters were laden with all kinds of debris: tree trunks, brushwood, drowned animals, and ohe bloated corpse of a man.
He had to pilot carefully ahe little engiing hard to make any headway.
He was heading for the village of Grummans tribe. Fuidance he had only his memory of having flowhe try some years before, but that memory was good, and he had little difficulty
in finding the right course among the swift-running streams, even though some of the banks had vanished uhe milky-brown floodwaters. The temperature had disturbed the is, and a cloud of midges made every outline hazy. Lee smeared his fad hands with jimsonweed oi and smoked a succession of pu cigars, which kept the worst at bay.
As for Hester, she sat taciturn in the bow, her long ears flat against her skinny bad her eyes narrowed. He was used to her silence, and she to his. They spoke when they o.
On the m of the third day, Lee steered the little craft up a creek that joihe main stream, flowing down from a line of low hills that should have been deep under snow but now were patched and streaked with brown. Sooream was flowiween low pines and spruce, and after a few miles they came to a large round rock, the height of a house, where Lee drew in to the bank and tied up.
"There was a landing stage here," he said to Hester. "Remember the old seal hunter in Nova Zembla who told us about it? It must be six feet under now."
"I hope they had sense enough to build the village high, then," she said, hopping ashore.
No more than half an hour later he laid his pack down beside the wooden house of the village headman and turo salute the little crowd that had gathered. He used the gesture universal in the north to signify friendship, and laid his rifle down at his feet.
An old Siberian Tartar, his eyes almost lost in the wrinkles around them, laid his bow down beside it. His wolverine dasmon twitched her Hester, who flicked an ear in response, and then the headman spoke.
Lee replied, and they moved through half a dozen languages before finding one in which they could talk.
"My respects to you and your tribe," Lee said. "I have some smokeweed, which is not worthy, but I would be hoo present it to you."
The headman nodded in appreciation, and one of his wives received the bundle Lee removed from his pack.
"I am seeking a man called Grumman," Lee said. "I heard tell he was a kinsman of yours by adoption. He may have acquired another name, but the man is European."
"Ah," said the headman, "we have been waiting for you."
The rest of the villagers, gathered ihin steaming sunlight on the muddy ground in the middle of the houses, couldnt uand the words, but they saw the headmans pleasure.
Pleasure, and relief, Lee felt Hester think.
The headman nodded several times.
"We have been expeg you," he said again. "You have e to take Dr. Grumman to the other world."
Lees eyebrows rose, but he merely said, "As you say, sir. Is he here?"
"Follow me," said the headman.
The other villagers fell aside respectfully. Uandiers distaste for the filthy mud she had to lope through, Lee scooped her up in his arms and shouldered his pack, following the headman along a forest path to a hut ten long bowshots from the village, in a clearing in the larches.
The headman stopped outside the wood-framed, skin-covered hut. The place was decorated with boar tusks and the antlers of elk and reindeer, but they werent merely hunting trophies, for they had been hung with dried flowers and carefully plaited sprays of pine, as if for some ritualistic purpose.
"You must speak to him with respect," the headman said quietly. "He is a shaman. And his heart is
sick."
Suddenly Lee felt a shiver go down his back, aer stiffened in his arms, for they saw that they had been watched all the time. From among the dried flowers and the pine sprays a bright yellow eye looked out. It was a daemon, and as Lee watched, she turned her head and delicately took a spray of pine in her powerful beak and drew it across the space like a curtain.
The headman called out in his own tongue, addressing the man by the he old seal hunter had told him: Jopari. A moment later the door opened.
Standing in the doorway, gaunt, blazing-eyed, was a man dressed in skins and furs. His black hair was streaked with gray, his jaw jutted strongly, and his osprey daemon sat glaring on his fist.
The headman bowed three times and withdrew, leaving Lee aloh the shaman-academic hed e to find.
&qurumman," he said. "My names Lee Scoresby. Im from the try of Texas, and Im an aeronaut by profession. If youd let me sit and talk a spell, Ill tell you what brings me here. I am right, aint I? You are Dr. Stanislaus Grumman, of the Berlin Academy?"
"Yes," said the shaman. "And youre from Texas, you say. The winds have blown you a long way from your homeland, Mr. Scoresby."
"Well, there are strange winds blowing through the world now, sir."
"Ihe sun is warm, I think. Youll find a benside my hut. If you help me bring it out, we sit in this agreeable light and talk out here. I have some coffee, if you would care to share it."
"Most kind, sir," said Lee, and carried out the wooden bench himself while Grummao the stove and poured the scalding drink into two tin cups. His at was not German, to Lees ears, but English, of England. The Director of the Observatory had been right.
When they were sea?ted, Hester narrow-eyed and impassive beside Lee and the great osprey daemon glaring into the full sun, Lee begaarted with his meeting at Trollesund with John Faa, lord of the gyptians, and told how they recruited lorek Byrnison the bear and jouro Bolvangar, and rescued Lyra and the other children; and then he spoke of what hed learned both from Lyra and from Serafina Pekkala in the balloon as they flew toward Svalbard.
"You see, Dr. Grumman, it seemed to me, from the way the little girl described it, that Lord Asriel just brandished this severed head packed i the scholars there and frightehem so much with it they didnt look closely.
Thats what made me suspeight still be alive. And clearly, sir, you have a kind of specialist knowledge of this business. Ive been hearing about you all along the Arctic seaboard, about how you had your skull pierced, about how your subject of study seems to vary between digging on the o bed and gazing at the northern lights, about how you suddenly appeared, like as it might be out of nowhere, about ten, twelve years ago, and thats all mighty iing. But somethings drawn me here, Dr. Grumman, beyond simple curiosity. Im ed about the child.
I think shes important, and so do the witches. If theres anything you know about her and about whats going on, Id like you to tell me. As I said, somethings givehe vi that you , which is why Im here.
"But unless Im mistaken, sir, I heard the village headman say that I had e to take you to another world. Did I get it wrong, or is that truly what he said? And one more question for you, sir:
What was that name he called you by? Was that some kind of tribal name, some magis title?"
Grumman smiled briefly, and said, "The name he used is my own true name, John Parry. Yes, you have e to take me to the other world. And as for what brought you here, I think youll find it was this."
And he opened his hand. In the palm lay something that Lee could see but not uand. He saw
a ring of silver and turquoise, a Navajo design; he saw it clearly and he reized it as his own mothers. He knew> its weight and the smoothness of the stone and the way the silversmith had folded the metal over more closely at the er where the stone was chipped, and he knew how the chipped er had worn smooth, because he had run his fingers over it many, many times, years and years ago in his boyhood in the sagelands of his native try.
He found himself standing. Hester was trembling, standing upright, ears pricked. The osprey had moved without Lees notig between him and Grumman, defending her man, but Lee wasnt going to attack. He felt undone; he felt like a child again, and his voice was tight and shaky as he said, "Where did you get that?"
"Take it," said Grumman, or Parry. "Its work is do summoned you. Now I dont ."
"But how—" said Lee, lifting the beloved thing from Grummans palm. "I dont uand how you have—did you—how did you get this? I aihis thing for forty years."
"I am a shaman. I do many things you dont uand. Sit down, Mr. Scoresby. Be calm. Ill tell you what you o know."
Lee sat again, holding the ring, running his fingers over it again and again.
"Well," he said, "Im shaken, sir. I think I o hear what you tell me."
"Very well," said Grumman, "Ill begin. My name, as I told you, is Parry, and I was not born in this world. Lord Asriel is not the first by any means to travel between the worlds, though hes the first to open the way so spectacularly. In my own world I was a soldier and then an explorer. Twelve years ago I was apanying an expedition to a pla my world that corresponds with your Beringland. My panions had other iions, but I was looking for something Id heard about from old legends: a rent in the fabric of the world, a hole that had appeared between our universe and another. Well, some of my panions got lost. In searg for them, I and two others walked through this hole, this doorway, without even seeing it, a our world altogether. At first we didnt realize what had happened. We walked on till we found a town, and then there was no mistaking it: we were in a different world.
"Well, try as we might, we could not find that first doorway again. Wed e through it in a blizzard. You are an old Arctid—you know what that means.
"So we had no choice but to stay in that new world. And we soon discovered what a dangerous place it was. It seemed that there was a strange kind of ghoul or apparition haunting it, something deadly and implacable. My two panions died soon afterward, victims of the Specters, as the things are called.
"The result was that I found their world an abominable place, and I couldnt wait to leave it. The way bay own world was barred forever. But there were other doorways into other worlds, and a little searg found the way into this.
"So here I came. And I discovered a marvel as soon as I did, Mr. Scoresby, for worlds differ greatly, and in this world I saw my daemon for the first tune. Yes, I hadnt known of Sayan Kotor here till I entered yours. People here ot ceive of worlds where daemons are a silent voi the mind and no more. you imagine my astonishment, in turn, at learning that part of my own nature was female, and bird-formed, aiful?
"So with Sayan Kotor beside me, I wahrough the northern lands, and I learned a good deal from the peoples of the Arctic, like my good friends in the village down there. What they told me of this world filled some gaps in the knowledge Id acquired in mine, and I began to see the ao many mysteries.
"I made my way to Berlin uhe name of Grumman. I told no one about my ins; it was my secret. I presented a thesis to the Academy, and defe ie, which is their method. I
was better informed than the Academis, and I had no difficulty in gaining membership.
"So with my new credentials I could begin to work in this world, where I found myself, for the most part, greatly tented. I missed some things about my own world, to be sure. Are you a married man, Mr. Scoresby? No? Well, I was; and I loved my wife dearly, as I loved my son, my only child, a little boy not yet one year old when I wandered out of my world. I missed them terribly.
But I might search for a thousand years and never find the way back. We were sundered forever.
"However, my work absorbed me. I sought other forms of knowledge; I was initiated into the skull cult; I became a shaman. And I have made some useful discoveries. I have found a way of making an oi from bloodmoss, for example, that preserves all the virtues of the fresh plant.
"I know a great deal about this world now, Mr. Scoresby. I know, for example, about Dust. I see from your expression that you have heard the term. It is frightening your theologians to death, but they are the ones whhten me. 1 know what Lord Asriel is doing, and I know why, and thats why I summoned you here. I am going to help him, you see, because the task hes uaken is the greatest in human history. The greatest in thirty-five thousand years of human history, Mr.
Scoresby.
CHAPTER TEN: THE SHAMANTEN-2
"I t do very much myself. My heart is diseased beyond the powers of anyone in this world to cure it. I have one great effort left in me, perhaps. But I know something Lord Asriel doesnt, something he o know if his effort is to succeed.
"You see, I was intrigued by that haunted world where the Specters fed on human sciousness. I wao know what they were, how they had e into being. And as a shaman, I discover things in the spirit where I ot go in the body, and I spent much time in trance, expl that world. I found that the philosophers there, turies ago, had created a tool for their own undoing: an instrument they called the subtle k had ma.9９ｌｉb.ny powers—more than theyd guessed when they made it, far more than they know even now—and somehow, in using it, they had let the Specters into their world.
"Well, I know about the subtle knife and what it do. And I know where it is, and I know how the one who must use it, and I know what he must do in Lord Asriels cause. I hope hes equal to the task. So I have summoned you here, and you are to fly me northward, into the world Asriel has opened, where I expect to find the bearer of the subtle knife.
"That is a dangerous world, mind. Those Specters are worse than anything in your world or mine.
We shall have to be careful and ceous. I shall not return, and if you want to see your try again, youll need all your ce, all your craft, all your luck.
"Thats your task, Mr. Scoresby. That is why you sought me out."
And the shaman fell silent. His face allid, with a faint sheen of sweat.
"This is the craziest damn idea I ever heard in my life," said Lee.
He stood up in his agitation and walked a pace or two this way, a pace or two that, while Hester watched unblinking from the bench. Grummans eyes were half-closed; his daemon sat on his knee, watg Lee warily.
"Do you want money?" Grumman said after a few moments. "I get you some gold. Thats not hard to do."
"Damn, I didnt e here fold," said Lee hotly. "I came here ... I came here to see if you were alive, like I thought you were. Well, my curiositys kinda satisfied on that point."
"Im glad to hear it."
"And theres anle to this thing, too," Lee added, and told Grumman of the witch cil at Lake Enara, and the resolutioches had sworn to. "You see," he finished, "that little girl Lyra ... well, shes the reason I set out to help the witches in the first place. You say yht
me here with that Navaj. Maybe thats so and maybe it aint. What I know is, I came here because I thought Id be helping Lyra. I aint never seen a child like that. If I had a daughter of my own, I hope shed be half as strong and brave and good. Now, Id heard that you knew of some object, I didnt know what it might be, that fers a prote on anyone who holds it. And from what you say, I think it must be this subtle knife.
"So this is my price for taking you into the other world, Dr. Grumman: not gold, but that subtle knife. And I dont want it for myself; I want it for Lyra. You have to swear youll get her uhe prote of that object, and then Ill take you wherever you want to go."
The shaman listened closely, and said, "Very well, Mr. Scoresby; I swear. Do you trust my oath?"
"What will you swear by?"
"Name anything you like."
Lee thought and then said, "Swear by whatever it was made you turn down the love of the witch. I guess thats the most important thing you know."
Grummans eyes widened, and he said, "You guess well, Mr. Scoresby. Ill gladly swear by that. I give you my word that Ill make certain the child Lyra Belacqua is uhe prote of the subtle knife. But I warn you: the bearer of that knife has his own task to do, and it may be that his doing it will put her into eveer danger."
Lee nodded soberly. "Maybe so," he said, "but whatever little ce of safety there is, I wao have it."
"You have my word. And now I must go into the new world, and you must take me."
"And the wind? You aioo sick to observe the weather, I guess?"
"Leave the wind to me."
Lee nodded. He sat on the bench again and ran his fingers over and over the turquoise ring while Grumman gathered the few goods he needed into a deerskin bag, and thewo of them went back down the forest track to the village.
The headman spoke at some length. More and more of the villagers came out to touch Grummans hand, to mutter a few words, and to receive what looked like a blessing iurn. Lee, meanwhile, was looking at the weather. The sky was clear to the south, and a fresh-sted breeze was just lifting the twigs and stirring the piops. To the north the fog still hung over the heavy river, but it was the first time for days that there seemed to be a promise of clearing it.
At the rock where the landing stage had been he lifted Grummans pato the boat, and filled the little engine, which fired at once. He cast off, and with the shaman in the bow, the boat sped down with the current, darting uhe trees and skimming out into the main river so fast that Lee was afraid for Hester, croug just ihe gunwale. But she was a seasoraveler, he should have known that; why was he so damn jumpy?
* * * They reached the port at the rivers mouth to find every hotel, every lodging house, every private room andeered by soldiers. Not just any soldiers, either: these were troops of the Imperial Guard of Muscovy, the most ferociously trained and lavishly equipped army in the world, and one sworn to uphold the power of the Magisterium.
Lee had inteo rest a night before setting off, because Grumman looked in need of it, but there was no ce of finding a room.
"Whats going on?" he said to the boatman wheurhe hired boat.
"We dont know. The regiment arrived yesterday and andeered every billet, every scrap of
food, and every ship iown. Theyd have had this boat, too, if you hadnt taken it."
"Dyou know where theyre going?"
"North," said the boatman. "Theres a war going to be fought, by all ats, the greatest war ever known."
"North, into that new world?"
"Thats right. And theres more troops ing; this is just the advance guard. There wont be a loaf of bread allon of spirit left in a weeks time. You did me a favor taking this boat—the price has already doubled...."
There was no sense iing up now, even if they could find a place. Full of ay about his balloon, Lee went at oo the warehouse where hed left it, with Grumman beside him. The man was keeping pace. He looked sick, but he was tough.
The warehouse keeper, busy ting out some spare engine parts to a requisitioning sergeant of the Guard, looked up briefly from his clipboard.
"Balloon—too bad—requisitioned yesterday," he said. "You see how it is. Ive got no choice."
Hester flicked her ears, and Lee uood what she meant.
"Have you delivered the balloo?" he said.
"Theyre going to collect it this afternoon."
"No, theyre not," said Lee, "because I have an authority that trumps the Guard."
And he showed the warehouseman the riaken from the finger of the dead Skraeling on Nova Zembla. The sergeant, beside him at the ter, stopped what he was doing and saluted at the sight of the Churchs token, but for all his discipline he couldnt prevent a flicker of puzzlement passing over his face.
"So well have the ballht now," said Lee, "and you set some men to fill it. And I mean a. once. And that includes food, and water, and ballast."
The warehouseman looked at the sergeant, whed, and then hurried away to see to the balloon. Lee and Grumman withdrew to the wharf, where the gas tanks were, to supervise the filling and talk quietly.
"Where did you get that ring?" said Grumman.
"Off a dead mans finger. Kinda risky using it, but I couldnt see another way of getting my balloon back. You re that sergeant suspected anything?"
"Of course he did. But hes a disciplined man. He wont question the Church. If he reports it at all, well be away by the time they c藏书网an do anything about it. Well, I promised you a wind, Mr.
Scoresby; I hope you like it."
The sky was blue overhead now, and the sunlight was bright. To the north the fog banks still hung like a mountain range over the sea, but the breeze ushing them bad back, and Lee was impatient for the air again.
As the balloon filled and began to swell up beyond the edge of the warehouse roof, Lee checked the basket and stowed all his equipment with particular care; for iher world, who knew what turbuleheyd meet? His instruments, too, he fixed to the framework with close attention, even the pass, whose needle was swinging around the dial quite uselessly. Finally he lashed a score of sandbags around the basket for ballast.
When the gasbag was full and leaning northward in the buffeting breeze, and the whole apparatus straining against the stout ropes anch it down, Lee paid the warehouseman with the last of his gold and helped Grumman into the basket. Theuro the men at the ropes to give the order to let go.
But before they could do so, there was an interruption. From the alley at the side of the
warehouse came the noise of pounding boots, moving at the double, and a shout of and:
"Halt!"
The men at the ropes paused, some looking that way, some looking to Lee, and he called sharply, "Let go! Cast off!"
Two of the men obeyed, and the balloon lurched up, but the other two had their attention on the soldiers, who were moving quickly around the er of the building. Those two men still held their ropes fast around the bollards, and the balloon lurched siingly sideways. Lee grabbed at the suspensi; Grumman was holding it too, and his daemon had her claws tight around it.
Lee shouted, "Let go, you damn fools! Shes going up!"
The buoyancy of the gasbag was too great, and the men, haul as they might, couldnt hold it back.
O go, and his rope lashed itself loose from the bollard; but the other man, feeling the rope lift, instinctively g on instead of letting go. Lee had seen this happen once before, and dreaded it. The poor mans daemon, a heavyset husky, howled with fear and pain from the ground as the balloon surged up toward the sky, and five endless seds later it was over; the mans strength failed; he fell, half-dead, and crashed into the water.
But the soldiers had their rifles up already. A volley of bullets whistled past the basket, oriking a spark from the suspensi and making Lees hands sting with the impact, but none of them did any damage. By the time they fired their sed shot, the balloon was almost out e, hurtling up into the blue and speeding out over the sea. Lee felt his heart lift with it. Hed said oo Serafina Pekkala that he didnt care for flying, that it was only a job; but he had it. S upward, with a fair wind behind and a new world in front—what could be better in this life?
He let go of the suspensi and saw that Hester was croug in her usual er, eyes halfclosed.
From far below and a long way back came another futile volley of rifle fire. The town was reg fast, and the broad sweep of the rivers mouth was glittering in the sunlight below them.
"Well, Dr. Grumman," he said, "I dont know about you, but I feel better hi the air. I wish that poor man had let go of the rope, though. Its so damned easy to do, and if you do go at oheres no hope for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Scoresby," said the shaman. "You mahat very well. Now we settle down and fly. I would be grateful for those furs; the air is still cold."
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE BELVEDERE-1
In the great white villa in the park Will slept uneasily, plagued with dreams that were filled with ay and with sweetness in equal measure, so that he struggled to wake up a longed for sleep again. When his eyes were fully open, he felt so drowsy that he could scarcely move, and the up to find his bandage loose and his bed crimson.
He struggled out of bed and made his way through the heavy, dust-filled sunlight and silence of the great house down to the kit. He and Lyra had slept in servants rooms uhe attiot feeling weled by the stately four-poster beds in the grand rooms farther down, and it was a
long unsteady walk.
"Will—" she said at once, her voice full of , and she turned from the stove to help him to a chair.
He felt dizzy. He supposed hed lost a lot of blood; well, there was o suppose, with the evidence all over him. And the wounds were still bleeding.
"I was just making some coffee," she said. "Do you want that first, or shall I do another bandage? I do whichever you want. And theres eggs in the cold et, but I t find any baked beans."
"This isnt a baked beans kind of house. Bandage first. Is there any hot water iap? I want to wash. I hate being covered in this..."
She ran some hot water, aripped to his underpants.
He was too faint and dizzy to feel embarrassed, but Lyra became embarrassed for Mm a out. He washed as best he could and then dried himself oea towels that hung on a line by the stove.
When she came back, shed found some clothes for him, just a shirt and vas trousers and a belt. He put them on, and she tore a fresh tea towel into strips and bandaged him tightly again.
She was badly worried about his hand; not only were the wounds bleeding freely still, but the rest of the hand was swollen and red. But he said nothing about it, aher did she.
Then she made the coffee and toasted some stale bread, and they took it into the grand room at the front of the house, overlooking the city. When hed eaten and drunk, he felt a little better.
"You better ask the alethiometer what to do ," he said. "Have you asked it anythi?"
"No," she said. "Im only going to do what you ask, from now on. I thought of doing it last night, but I never did. And I woher, unless you ask me to."
"Well, you better do it now," he said. "Theres as much danger here as there is in my world, now.
Theres Angelicas brother for a start. And if—"
He stopped, because she began to say something, but she stopped as soon as he did. Then she collected herself a on. "Will, there was something that happened yesterday that I didnt tell you. I shouldve, but there was just so many other things going on. Im sorry ..."
And she told him everything shed seen through the window of the tower while Giao Paradisi was dressing Wills wound: Tullio bei by the Specters, Angelica seei the window and her look of hatred, and Paolos threat.
"And dyou remember," she went on, "when she first spoke to us? Her little brother said something about what they were all doing. He said, Hes gon— and she would him finish; she smacked him, remember? I bet he was going to say Tullio was after the knife, and thats why all the kids came here. Cause if they had the khey could do anything, they could even grow up without being afraid of Specters."
"What did it look like, when he was attacked?" Will said. To her surprise he was sitting forward, his eyes demanding and urgent.
"He ..." She tried to remember exactly. "He started ting the stones in the wall. He sort of felt all over them.... But he couldnt keep it up. In the end he sort of lost i and stopped. Then he was just still," she finished, and seeing Wills expression she said, "Why?"
"Because ... I think maybe they e from my world after all, the Specters. If they make people behave like that, I wouldnt be surprised at all if they came from my world. And when the Guild men opeheir first window, if it was into my world, the Specters could have gohrough then."
"But you dont have Specters in your world! You never heard of them, did you?"
"Maybe theyre not called Specters. Maybe we call them something else."
Lyra wasnt sure what he meant, but she didnt want to press him. His cheeks were red and his eyes were hot.
"Anyway," she went on, turning away, "the important thing is that Angelica saw me in the window.
And now that she knows weve got the knife, shell tell all of em. Shell think its our fault that her brother was attacked by Specters. Im sorry, Will. I shouldve told you earlier. But there was just so many other things."
"Well," he said, "I dont suppose it would have made any difference. He was t the old man, and once he knew how to use the knife hed have killed both of us if he could. We had to fight him."
"I just feel bad about it, Will. I mea>９９lｉb?t>was their brother. And I bet if we were them, wed have wahe koo."
"Yes," he said, "but we t go bad ge what happened. We had to get the ko get the alethiometer back, and if we could have got it without fighting, we would."
"Yeah, we would," she said.
Like lorek Byrnison, Will was a fighter truly enough, so she repared to agree with him when he said it would be better not to fight; she k wasnt cowardice that spoke, but strategy. He was calmer now, and his cheeks were pale again. He was looking into the middle distand thinking.
Then he said, "Its probably more important now to think about Sir Charles and what hell do, or Mrs. Coulter. Maybe if shes got this special bodyguard they were talking about, these soldiers whod had their >..daemons cut away, maybe Sir Charles is right and theyll be able to ighe Specters. You know what I think? I think what they eat, the Specters, is peoples daemons."
"But children have daemons too. And they dont attack children. It t be that."
"Then it must be the differeween childrens daemons and grownups," Will said. "There is a difference, isnt there? You told me ohat grownups daemons dont ge shape. It must be something to do with that. And if these soldiers of hers havent got daemons at all, maybe the Specters wont attack them either, like Sir Charles said...."
"Yeah!" she said. "Could be. And she wouldnt be afraid of Specters anyway. She ent afraid of anything. And shes so clever, Will, ho, and shes so ruthless and cruel, she could boss them, I bet she could. She could and them like she does people and theyd have to obey her, I bet.
Lord Boreal is strong and clever, but shell have him doing what she wants in no time. Oh, Will, Im getting scared again, thinking what she might do ... Im going to ask the alethiometer, like you said. Thank goodness we got that back, anyway."
She unfolded the velvet bundle and ran her hands lovingly over the heavy gold.
"Im going to ask about your father," she said, "and how we find him. See, I put the hands to point at—"
"No. Ask about my mother first. I want to know if shes all right."
Lyra nodded, and turhe hands before laying the alethiometer in her lap and tug her hair behind her ears to look down and trate. Will watched the light needle swing purposefully around the dial, darting and stopping and darting on as swiftly as a swallow feeding, ached Lyras eyes, so blue and fierd full of clear uanding.
Then she blinked and looked up.
"Shes safe still," she said. "This friend thats looking after her, shes ever so kind. No one knows where your mother is, and the friend wont give her away."
Will hadnt realized how worried hed been. At this good news he felt himself relax, and as a little tensio his body, he felt the pain of his wound more sharply.
"Thank you," he said. "All right, now ask about my father—"
But before she could even begin, they heard a shout from outside.
They looked out at o the le of the park in front of the first houses of the city there was a belt of trees, and something was stirring there. Pantalaimon became a lynx at ond padded to the open dazing fiercely down.
"Its the children," he said.
Both Will and Lyra stood up. The children were ing out of the trees, one by one, maybe forty or fifty of them. Many of them were carrying sticks. At their head was the boy iriped Tshirt, and it wasnt a stick that he was carrying: it istol.
"Theres Angelica," Lyra whispered, pointing.
Angelica was beside the leading boy, tugging at his arm, urging him on. Just behind them her little brother, Paolo, was shrieking with excitement, and the other children, too, were yelling and waving their fists in the air. Two of them were lugging heavy rifles. Will had seen children in this mood before, but never so many of them, and the ones in his town didnt carry guns.
They were shouting, and Will mao make out Angelicas voice high over them all: "You killed my brother and you stole the knife! You murderers! You made the Specters get him! You killed him, and well kill you! You ain gon away! We gonna kill you same as you killed him!"
"Will, you could cut a window!" Lyra said urgently, clutg his good arm. "We could get away, easy—"
"Yeah, and where would we be? In Oxford, a few yards from Sir Charless house, in broad daylight.
Probably in the main street in front of a bus. I t just cut through anywhere and expect to be safe—Ive got to look first and see where we are, and thatd take too long. Theres a forest or woods or something behind this house. If we get up there irees, we11 be safer."
Lyra looked out the window, furious. "They mustve seen us last night," she said. "I bet they was too cowardly to attack us on their own, so they rounded up all them others.... I should have killed her yesterday! Shes as bad as her brother. Id like to—"
"Stop talking and e on," said Will.
He checked that the knife was strapped to his belt, and Lyra put on her little rucksack with the alethiometer and the letters from Wills father. They ran through the eg hall, along the corridor and into the kit, through the scullery, and into a cobbled court beyond it. A gate in the wall led out into a kit garden, where beds of vegetables and herbs lay baking uhe m sun.
The edge of the woods was a few hundred yards away, up a slope of grass that was horribly exposed. On a knoll to the left, closer tharees, stood a little building, a circular temple-like structure with ns all the way around and an upper story open like a baly from which to view the city.
"Lets run," said Will, though he felt less like running than like lying down and closing his eyes.
With Pantalaimon flying above to keep watch, they set off across the grass. But it was tussocky and ankle-high, and Will couldnt run more than a few steps before he felt too dizzy to carry on.
He slowed to a walk.
Lyra looked back. The children hadhem yet; they were still at the front of the house.
Maybe theyd take a while to look through all the rooms....
But Pantalaimon chirruped in alarm. There was a boy standing at an open window on the sed floor of the villa, pointing at them. They heard a shout.
"e on, Will," Lyra said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE BELVEDERE-2
She tugged at his good arm, helping him, lifting him. He tried to respond, but he didnt have the
strength. He could only walk.
"All right," he said, "we t get to the trees. Too far away. So well go to that temp.99liｂ.le place. If we shut the door, maybe we hold them out for long enough to cut through after all."
Pantalaimon darted ahead, and Lyra gasped and called to him breathlessly, making him pause.
Will could almost see the boweehe daemon tugging and the girl responding. He stumbled through the thick grass with Lyra running ahead to see, and then back to help, and then ahead again, until they reached the stone pavement around the temple.
The door uhe little portico was unlocked, and they ran io find themselves in a bare circular room with several statues of goddesses in niches around the wall. In the very ter a spiral staircase ht iron led up through an opening to the floor above. There was o lock the door, so they clambered up the staircase and onto the floorboards of an upper level that was really a viewing place, where people could e to take the air and look out over the city; for there were no windows or walls, simply a series of open arches all the way around supp the roof. In each archway a windowsill at waist height was broad enough to lean on, and below them the pantiled roof ran down in a gentle slope all around to the gutter.
As they looked out, they could see the forest behind, tanta-lizingly close; and the villa below them, and beyond that the open park, and then the red-brown roofs of the city, with the tower rising to the left. There were carrion crows wheeling in the air above the gray battlements, and Will felt a jolt of siess as he realized what had drawhere.
But the.９９lib?re was no time to take in the view; first they had to deal with the children, who were rag up toward the temple, screaming with rage aement. The leading boy slowed down and held up his pistol and fired two or three wild shots toward the temple. Then they came on again, yelling:
"Thiefs!"
"Murderers!"
"We gonna kill you!"
"You got our knife!"
"You don e from here!"
"You gonna die!"
Will took no notice. He had the k already, and swiftly cut a small window to see where they were—only to recoil at once. Lyra looked too, and fell ba disappoi. They were fifty feet or so in the air, high above a main road busy with traffic.
"Of course," Will said bitterly, "we came up a slope.... Well, were stuck. Well have to hold them off, thats all."
Another few seds and the first children were crowding in through the door. The sound of their yelling echoed iemple and reinforced their wildness; and then came a gunshot, enormously loud, and another, and the screaming took aone, and theairs began to shake as the first ones climbed up.
Lyra was croug paralyzed against the wall, but Will still had the knife in his hand. He scrambled over to the opening in the floor and reached down and sliced through the iron of the top step as if it were paper. With nothing to hold it up, the staircase began to bend uhe weight of the children crowding on it, and then it swung down and fell with a huge crash. More screams, more fusion; and again the gu off, but this time by act, it seemed.
Someone had been hit, and the scream was of pain this time, and Will looked down to see a tangle of writhing bodies covered in plaster and dust and blood.
They werent individual children: they were a single mass, like a tide. They surged below him and
leaped up in fury, snatg, threatening, screaming, spitting, but they couldnt reach.
Then someone called, and they looked to the door, and those who could move surged toward it, leaving several pinned beh the iron stairs or dazed and struggling to get up from the rubblestrewn floor.
Will soon realized why theyd run out. There was a scrabbling sound from the roof outside the arches, and he ran to the windowsill to see the first pair of hands grasping the edge of the pantiles and pulling up. Someone ushing from behind, and then came another head and another pair of hands, as they clambered over the shoulders and backs of those below and swarmed up onto the roof like ants.
But the pantiled ridges were hard to walk on, and the first ones scrambled up on hands and kheir wild eyes never leaving Wills face. Lyra had joined him, and Pantalaimon was snarling as a leopard, paws on the sill, making the first childreate. But still they came on, more and more of them.
Someone was shouting "Kill! Kill! Kill!" and then others joined in, louder and louder, and those on the roof began to stamp and thump the tiles in rhythm, but they didnt quite dare e closer, faced by the snarling daemon. Then a tile broke, and the boy standing on it slipped and fell, but the one beside him picked up the broken pied hurled it at Lyra.
She ducked, and it shattered on the n beside her, sh her with broken pieces. Will had noticed the rail around the edge of the opening in the floor, and cut two sword-length pieces of it, and he handed oo Lyra now; and she swung it around as hard as she could and into the side of the first boys head. He fell at once, but then came another, and it was Angelica, redhaired, white-faced, crazy-eyed. She scrambled up onto the sill, but Lyra jabbed the length of rail at her fiercely, and she fell back again.
Will was doing the same. The knife was in its sheath at his waist, arud swung and jabbed with the iron rail, and while several children fell back, others kept replag them, and more and more were clambering up onto the roof from below.
Then the boy iriped T-shirt appeared, but hed lost the pistol, or perhaps it was empty.
However, his eyes and Wills locked together, and each of them knew what was going to happen:
they were going to fight, and it was going to be brutal and deadly.
"e on," said Will, passionate for the battle. "e on, then..."
Another sed, and they would have fought.
But therahing appeared: a great white snow goose swooping low, his wings spread wide, calling and calling so loudly that even the children on the roof heard through their savagery and turo see.
"Kaisa!" cried Lyra joyfully, for it was Serafina Pekkalas daemon.
The snow goose called again, a pierg whoop that filled the sky, and then wheeled and turned an inch away from the boy iriped T-shirt. The boy fell ba fear and slid down and over the edge, and then others began to cry in alarm too, because there was something else in the sky.
As Lyra saw the little black shapes sweeping out of the blue, she cheered and shouted with glee.
"Serafina Pekkala! Here! Help us! Here we are! Iemple—"
And with a hiss and rush of air, a dozen arrows, and then another dozen swiftly after, and then another dozen—loosed so quickly that they were all in the air at once—shot at the temple roof above the gallery and landed with a thunder of hammer blows. Astonished and bewildered, the children on the roof felt all the aggression leave them in a moment, and horrible fear rushed in to take its place. What were these black-garbed women rushing at them in the air? How could it happehey ghosts? Were they a new kind of Specter?
And whimpering and g, they jumped off the roof, some of them falling clumsily and dragging themselves away limping and others rolling down the slope and dashing for safety, but a mob no longer—just a lot htened, shame-faced children. A mier the snow goose had appeared, the last of the childrehe temple, and the only sound was the rush of air in the branches of the cirg witches above.
Will looked up in wooo amazed to speak, but Lyra was leaping and calling with delight, "Serafina Pekkala! How did you find us? Thank you, thank you! They was going to kill us! e down and land."
But Serafina and the others shook their heads and flew up again, to circle high above. The snow goose daemon wheeled and flew down toward the roof, beating his great wings inward to help him slow down, and landed with a clatter on the pantiles below the sill.
"Greetings, Lyra," he said. "Serafina Pekkala t e to the ground, nor the others. The place is full of Specters—a hundred or more surrounding the building, and more drifting up over the grass. t you see them?"
"No! We t see em at all!"
"Already weve lost och. We t risk any more. you get down from this building?"
"If we jump off the roof like they done. But how did you find us? And where—"
"Enough now. Theres more trouble ing, and bigger. Get down as best you and then make for the trees."
They climbed over the sill and moved sideways down through the broken tiles to the gutter. It wasnt high, and below it was grass, with a gentle slope away from the building. First Lyra jumped and then Will followed, rolling over and trying to protect his hand, which was bleeding freely again and hurting badly. His sling had e loose and trailed behind him, and as he tried to roll it up, the snow goose landed on the grass at his side.
"Lyra, who is this?" Kaisa said.
"Its Will. Hes ing with us—"
"Why are the Specters avoiding you?" The goose daemon eaking directly to Will.
By this time Will was hardly surprised by anything, and he said, "I dont know. We t see them.
No, wait!" Aood up, struck by a thought. "Where are they now?" he said. "Wheres the one?"
Ten paces away, down the slope," said the daemon. "They dont want to e any closer, thats obvious."
Will took out the knife and looked in that dire, and he heard the daemon hiss with surprise.
But Will couldnt do what he intended, because at the same moment a witch landed her bran the grass beside him. He was taken abaot so much by her flying as by her astounding gracefulness, the fierce, cold, lovely clarity of her gaze, and by the pale bare limbs, so youthful, a so far from being young.
"Your name is Will?" she said.
"Yes, but—"
"Why are the Specters afraid of you?"
"Because of the knife. Wheres the oell me! I want to kill it!"
But Lyra came running before the witch could answer.
"Serafina Pekkala!" she cried, and she threw her arms around the witd hugged her so tightly that the witch laughed out loud, and kissed the top of her head. "Oh, Serafina, where did you e from like that? We were—those kids— they were kids, and they were going to kill us—did you see them? We thought we were going to die and—oh, Im so glad you came! I thought Id never see
you again!"
Serafina Pekkala looked over Lyras head to where the Specters were obviously clustering a little way off, and then looked at Will.
"Now listen," she said. "Theres a cave in these woods not far away. Head up the slope and then along the ridge to the left. The Specters wont follow—they dont see us while were in the air, and theyre afraid of you. Well meet you there. Its a half-hours walk."
And she leaped into the air again. Will shaded his eyes to watch her and the ged, elegant figures wheel in the air and dart up over the trees.
"Oh, Will, well be safe now! Itll be all right now that Serafina Pekkalas here!" said Lyra. "I hought Id see her again. She came just at the right time, didnt she? Just like before, at Bolvangar...."
Chattering happily, as if shed already fotten the fight, she led the the slope toward the forest. Will followed in silence. His hand was throbbing badly, and with each throb a little more blood was leaving him. He held it up across his chest and tried not to think about it.
It took not half an hour but an hour and three quarters, because Will had to stop a several times. When they reached the cave, they found a fire, a rabbit roasting, and Serafina Pekkala stirring something in a small iron pot.
"Let me see your wound" was the first thing she said to Will, and he dumbly held out his hand.
Pantalaimon, cat-formed, watched curiously, but Will looked away. He didnt like the sight of his mutilated fingers.
The witches spoke softly to each other, and then Serafina Pekkala said, "What on made this wound?"
Will reached for the knife and ha to her silently. Her panions looked at it with wonder and suspi, for they had never seen such a blade before, with su edge on it.
"This will need more than herbs to heal. It will need a spell," said Serafina Pekkala. "Very well, well prepare o will be ready when the moon rises. In the meantime, you shall sleep."
She gave him a little horn cup taining a hot potion whose bitterness was moderated by honey, and presently he lay bad fell deeply asleep. The witch covered him with leaves a９９ｌiｂ?nd turo Lyra, who was still gnawing the rabbit.
"Now, Lyra," she said. "Tell me who this boy is, and what you know about this world, and about this knife of his."
So Lyra took a deep breath and began.
CHAPTER TWELVE SCREEN LANGUAGE-1
Tell me again," said Dr. Oliver Payne, itle laboratory overlooking the park. "Either I didnt hear you, or youre talking nonsense. A child from another world?"
"Thats what she said. All right, its nonsense, but listen to it, Oliver, will you?" said Dr. Mary Malone. "She knew about Shadows. She calls them—it—she calls it Dust, but its the same thing. Its
our shadow particles. And Im telling you, when she was wearing the electrodes linkio the Cave, there was the most extraordinary display on the s: pictures, symbols .... She had an instrument too, a sort of pass thing made of gold, with different symbols all around the rim.
And she said she could read that in the same way, and she knew about the state of mind, too—she k intimately."
It was midm. Lyras Scholar, Dr. Malone, was red-eyed from lack of sleep, and her colleague, whod just returned from Geneva, was impatient to hear more, and skeptical, and preoccupied.
"And the point was, Oliver, she was unig with them. They are scious. And they respond. And you remember your skulls? Well, she told me about some skulls it-Rivers Museum. Shed found out with her pass thing that they were much older than the museum said, and there were Shadows—"
"Wait a minute. Give me some sort of structure here. What are you saying? You saying shes firmed what we know already, or that shes telling us something new?"
"Both. I dont know. But suppose something happehirty, forty thousand years ago. There were shadow particles around before then, obviously—theyve been around sihe Big Bang—but there was no physical way of amplifying their effects at our level, the anthropic level. The level of human beings. And then something happened, I t imagine what, but it involved evolution.
Hence your skulls—remember? No Shadows before that time, lots afterward? And the skulls the child found in the museum, that she tested with her pass thing. She told me the same thing.
What Im saying is that around that time, the human brain became the ideal vehicle for this amplification process. Suddenly we became scious."
Dr. Payilted his plastic mug and drank the last of his coffee.
"Why should it happen particularly at that time?" he said. "Why suddenly thirty-five thousand years ago?"
"Oh, who say? Were not paleontologists. I dont know, Oliver, Im just speculating. Dont you think its at least possible?"
"And this poli. Tell me about him."
Dr. Malone rubbed her eyes. "His name is Walters," she said. "He said he was from the Special Branch. I thought that olitics or something?"
Terrorism, subversion, intelligence... all that. Go on. What did he want? Why did he e here?"
"Because of the girl. He said he was looking for a boy of about the same age—he didnt tell me why —and this boy had been seen in the pany of the girl who came here. But he had something else in mind as well, Oliver. He knew about the research. He even asked—"
The teleph. She broke off, shrugging, and Dr. Payne answered it. He spoke briefly, put it down, and said, "Weve got a visitor."
"Who?"
"Not a name I know. Sir Somebody Something. Listen, Mary, Im off, you realize that, dont you?"
"They offered you the job."
"Yes. Ive got to take it. You must see that."
"Well, thats the end of this, then."
He spread his hands helplessly, and said, To be frank... I t see any point in the sort of stuff youve just been talking about. Children from another world and fossil Shadows.... Its all too crazy. I just t get involved. Ive got a career, Mary."
"What about the skulls you tested? What about the Shadows around the ivory figurine?"
He shook his head and turned his back. Before he could ahere came a tap at the door, and he ope almost with relief.
Sir Charles said, "Good day to you. Dr. Payne? Dr. Malone? My name is Charles Latrom. Its very good of you to see me without any notice."
"e in," said Dr. Malone, weary but puzzled. "Did Ohver say Sir Charles? What we do for you?"
"It may be what I do for you," he said. "I uand youre waiting for the results of your funding application."
"How do you know that?" said Dr. Payne.
"I used to be a civil servant. As a matter of fact, I was ed with direg stific policy. I still have a number of tacts in the field, and I heard... May I sit down?"
"Oh, please," said Dr. Malone. She pulled out a chair, a down as if he were in charge of a meeting.
"Thank you. I heard through a friend—Id better not mention his he Official Secrets Act covers all sorts of silly ..things—I heard that your application was being sidered, and what I heard about it intrigued me so much that I must fess I asked to see some of your work. I know I had no busio, except that I still act as a sort of unofficial adviser, so I used that as an excuse. And really, what I saw was quite fasating."
"Does that mean you think well be successful?" said Dr. Malone, leaning forward, eager to believe him.
"Unfortunately, no. I must be blunt. Theyre not mio renew yrant."
Dr. Malones shoulders slumped. Dr. Payne was watg the old man with cautious curiosity.
"Why have you e here now, then?" he said.
"Well, you see, they havent officially made the decisio. It doesnt look promising, and Im being frank with you; they see no prospect of funding work of this sort iure. However, it might be that if you had someoue the case for you, they would see it differently."
"An advocate? You mean yourself? I didnt think it worked like that," said Dr. Malone, sitting up. "I thought they went on peer review and so on."
"It does in principle, of course," said Sir Charles. "But it also helps to know how these ittees work in practice. And to know whos on them. Well, here I am. Im intensely ied in your work; I think it might be very valuable, and it certainly ought to tinue. Would you let me make informal representations on your behalf?"
Dr. Malo like a drowning sailor being thrown a life belt. "Why ... well, yes! Good grief, of course! And thank you.... I mean, do you really think itll make a difference? I doo suggest that... I dont know what I mean. Yes, of course!"
"What would we have to do?" said Dr. Payne.
Dr. Malone looked at him in surprise. Hadnt Oliver just said he was going to work in Geneva? But he seemed to be uanding Sir Charles better than she was, for a flicker of plicity assiween them, and Oliver came to sit down, too.
"Im glad you take my point," said the old man. "Youre quite right. There is a dire Id be especially glad to see you taking. And provided we could agree, I might even be able to find you some extra money from another source altogether."
"Wait, wait," said Dr. Malone. "Wait a mihe course of this research is a matter for us. Im perfectly willing to discuss the results, but not the dire. Surely you see—"
Sir Charles spread his hands in a gesture ret and got to his feet. Oliver Payood too, anxious.
"No, please, Sir Charles," he said. "Im sure Dr. Malone will hear you out. Mary, theres no harm in listening, foodness sake. And it might make all the difference."
"I thought you were going to Geneva?" she said.
"Geneva?" said Sir Charles. "Excellent place. Lot of scope there. Lot of mooo. Do me hold you back."
"No, no, its not settled yet," said Dr. Payne hastily. "Theres a lot to discuss—its all still very fluid.
Sir Charles, please sit down. I get you some coffee?"
"That would be very kind," said Sir Charles, and sat again, with the air of a satisfied cat.
Dr. Malone looked at him clearly for the first time. She saw a man in his late sixties, prosperous, fident, beautifully dressed, used to the very best of everything, used to moving among powerful people and whispering in important ears. Oliverbbr> was right: he did want something. And they would his support uhey satisfied him.
She folded her arms.
Dr. Payne handed him a mug, saying, "Sorry its rather primitive...."
"Not at all. Shall I go on with what I was saying?"
"Do, please," said Dr. Payne.
"Well, I uand that youve made some fasating discoveries in the field of sciousness.
Yes, I know, you havent published anythi, and its a long way—seemingly— from the apparent subject of your researevertheless, wets around. And Im especially ied in that. I would be very pleased if, for example, you were to trate your resear the manipulation of sciousness. Sed, the many-worlds hypothesis—Everett, you remember, 1957 or thereabouts—I believe youre orack of something that could take that theory a good deal further. And that line of research might even attract defense funding, which as you may know is still plentiful, even today, aainly isnt subject to these wearisome application processes.
"Dont expect me to reveal my sources," he went on, holding up his hand as Dr. Malo forward and tried to speak. "I mentiohe Official Secrets Act; a tedious piece of legislation, but we mustnt be naughty about it. I fidently expee advances in the many-worlds area. I think you are the people to do it. And third, there is a particular matter ected with an individual. A child."
He paused there, and sipped the coffee. Dr. Malone couldnt speak. Shed gone pale, though she couldnt know that, but she did know that she felt faint.
"For various reasons," Sir Charles went on, "I am in tact with the intelligence services. They are ied in a child, a girl, who has an unusual piece of equipment—an antique stifistrument, certainly stolen, which should be in safer ..hands than hers. There is also a boy hly the same age— twelve or so—who is wanted in e with a murder. Its a moot point whether a child of that age is capable of murder, of course, but he has certainly killed someone.
And he has been seen with the girl.
"Now, Dr. Malo may be that you have e across one or the other of these children. And it may be that you are quite properly ined to tell the police about what you know. But you would be doing a greater service if you were to let me know privately. I make sure the proper authorities deal with it effitly and quickly and with no stupid tabloid publicity. I know that Ior Walters came to see you yesterday, and I know that the girl turned up. You see, I do know what Im talking about. I would know, for instance, if you saw her again, and if you didnt tell me, I would know that too. Youd be very wise to think hard about that, and to clarify your recolles of what she said and did when she was here. This is a matter of national security.
You uand me.
"Well, there Ill stop. Heres my card so you get in touch. I shouldnt leave it too long; the funding ittee meets tomorrow, as you know. But you reach me at this any
time."
He gave a card to Oliver Payne, and seeing Dr. Maloh her arms still folded, laid one on the bench for her. Dr. Payhe door for him. Sir Charles set his Panama hat on his head, patted it gently, beamed at both of them, a.
When hed shut the dain, Dr. Payne said, "Mary, are you mad? Wheres the sense in behaving like that?"
"I beg your pardon? Youre not taken in by that old creep, are you?"
"You t turn down offers like that! Do you want this project to survive or not?"
"It wasnt an offer," she said hotly. "It was an ultimatum. Do as he says, or close down. And, Oliver, fods sake, all those not-so-subtle threats and hints about national security and so on—t you see where that would lead?"
"Well, I think I see it more clearly than you . If you said no, they wouldnt close this place down. Theyd take it over. If theyre as ied as he says, theyll want it to carry on. But only oerms."
"But their terms would be... I mean, defense, fods sake. They want to find new ways of killing people. And you heard what he said about sciousness: he wants to manipulate it. Im not going to get mixed up in that, Oliver, never."
"Theyll do it anyway, and youll be out of a job. If you stay, you might be able to influe in a better dire. And youd still have your hands on the work! Youd still be involved!"
"But what does it matter to you, anyway?" she said. "I thought Geneva was all settled?"
He ran his hands through his hair and said, "Well, not settled. Nothings signed. And it would be a different aogether, and Id be sorry to leave here now that I think were really on to something."
"What are you saying?"
"Im not saying—"
CHAPTER TWELVE SCREEN LANGUAGE-2
"Youre hinting. What are you getting at?"
"Well..." He walked around the laboratory, spreading his hands, shrugging, shaking his head. "Well, if you do in touch with him, I will," he said finally.
She was silent. Then she said, "Oh, I see."
"Mary, Ive got to think of—"
"Of course you have."
"Its not that—"
"No, no."
"You dont uand—"
"Yes, I do. Its very simple. You promise to do as he says, you get the funding, I leave, you take over as Director. Its not hard to uand. Youd have a bigger budget. Lots of niew maes. Half a dozen more Ph.D.s under you. Good idea. You do it, Oliver. You go ahead. But thats it for me. Im off. It stinks."
"You havent..."
But her expression silenced him. She took off her white coat and hung it on the dathered a feers into a bag, a without a word. As soon as shed gone, he took Sir Charless card and picked up the phone.
Several hours later, just before midnight in fact, Dr. Malone parked her car outside the sce building a herself in at the side entrance. But just as she turo climb the stairs, a man came out of another corridor, sta..t>rtling her so much she nearly dropped her briefcase. He was
wearing a uniform.
"Where are you going?" he said.
He stood in the way, bulky, his eyes hardly visible uhe low brim of his cap.
"Im going to my laboratory. I work here. Who are you?" she said, a little angry, a little frightened.
"Security. Have you got some ID?"
"What security? I left this building at three oclock this afternoon and there was only a porter on duty, as usual. I should be asking you for identification. ointed you? And why?"
"Heres my ID," said the man, showing her a card, too quickly for her to read it. "Wheres yours?"
She noticed he had a mobile phone in a holster at his hip. Or was it a gun? No, surely, she was being paranoid. And he hadnt answered her questions. But if she persisted, shed make him suspicious, and the important thing now was to get into the lab. Soothe him like a dog, she thought. She fumbled through her bag and found her wallet.
"Will this do?" she said, showing him the card she used to operate the barrier in the car park.
He looked at it briefly.
"What are you doing here at this time of night?" he said.
"Ive got an experiment running. I have to check the puter periodically."
He seemed to be searg for a reason to forbid her, or perhaps he was just exerg his power.
Finally he nodded and stood aside. She went past, smiling at him, but his face remained blank.
When she reached the laboratory, she was still trembling. There had never been any more "security" in this building than a lo the door and an elderly porter, and she knew why the ge had e about. But it meant that she had very little time; shed have to get it right at once, because ohey realized what she was doing, she wouldnt be able to e back again.
She locked the door behind her and lowered the blinds. She switched oector and then took a floppy disk from her pocket and slipped it into the puter that trolled the Cave.
Within a minute she had begun to manipulate the numbers on the s, going half by logic, half by guesswork, and half by the program shed worked on all evening at home; and the plexity of her task was about as baffling as getting three halves to make one whole.
Finally she brushed the hair out of her eyes and put the electrodes on her head, and then flexed her fingers and began to type. She felt intensely self-scious.
Hello. Im not sure what Im doing. Maybe this is crazy.
The words arrahemselves on the left of the s, which was the first surprise. She wasnt using a word-processing program of any kind—in fact, she was bypassing much of the operating system—and whatever formatting was imposing itself on the words, it wasnt hers. She felt the hairs begin to stir on the back of her neck, and she became aware of the whole building arouhe corridors dark, the maes idling, various experiments running automatically, puters monit tests and rec the results, the air-ditioning sampling and adjusting the humidity and the temperature, all the ducts and pipework and cabling that were the arteries and the nerves of the building awake and alert ... almost scious in fact.
She tried again.
Im trying to do with words what Ive done before with a state of mind, but Before she had even fihe sentehe cursor raced across to the right of the s and printed:
ASK A QUESTION.
It was almost instantaneous.
She felt as if she had stepped on a space that wasnt there. Her whole being lurched with shock. It took several moments for her to calm down enough tain. When she did, the answers lashed themselves across the right of the s almost before she had finished.
Are you Shadows? YES.
Are you the same as Lyras Dust? YES.
And is that dark matter? YES.
Dark matter is scious? EVIDENTLY.
What I said to Oliver this m, my idea about human evolution, is it CORRECT. BUT YOU O ASK MORE QUESTIONS.
She stopped, took a deep breath, pushed her chair back, flexed her fingers. She could feel her heart rag. Every sihing about what was happening was impossible. All her education, all her habits of mind, all her sense of herself as a stist were shrieking at her silently: This is wrong! It isnt happening! Youre dreaming! Ahere they were on the s: her questions, and answers from some other mind.
She gathered herself and typed again, and again the answers zipped into being with no disible pause.
The mind that is answering these questions isnt human, is it?
NO. BUT HUMANS HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN Us? Theres more than one of you?
UNTABLE BILLIONS But, what are you? ANGELS
Mary Malones head rang. Shed been brought up as a Catholic. More than that—as Lyra had discovered, she had once been a nun. None of her faith was left to her now, but she knew about angels. St. Augustine had said, "Angel is the name of their offiot of their nature. If you seek the name of their nature, it is spirit; if you seek the name of their office, it is angel; from what they are, spirit, from what they do, angel."
Dizzy, trembling, she typed again:
And Shadow matter is what we have called spirit?
FROM WHAT WE ARE, SPIRIT; FROM WHAT WE DO, MATTER. MATTER AND SPIRIT ARE ONE.
She shivered. Theyd been listening to her thoughts.
And did you intervene in human evolution?
YES Vengeance for—oh! RebeL angels!
After the war in Heaven— Satan and the Garden of Eden—but it isnt true, is it? Is that what you FIND THE GIRL AND THE BOY. WASTE NO MORE TIME.
But why? YOU MUST PLAY THE SERPENT.
She took her hands from the keyboard and rubbed her eyes. The words were still there when she looked again.
Where GO TO A ROAD CALLED SUNDERLAND AVENUE AND FIND A TENT. DECEIVE THE GUARDIAN AND GH.
TAKE PROVISIONS FOR A LONG JOURNEY. YOU WILL BE PROTECTED. THE SPECTERS WILL NOT TOUCH YOU.
But I BEFORE YOU GO, DESTROY THIS EQUIPMENT.
I dont uand.
Why me? And whats this journey? And YOU HAVE BEEN PREPARING FOR THIS AS LONG AS YOU HAVE LIVED. YOUR WORK HERE IS FIHE LAST THING YOU MUST DO IN THIS WORLD IS PREVENT THE ENEMIES FROM TAKING TROL OF IT. DESTROY THE EQUIPMENT. DO IT NOW AND GO AT ONCE.
Mary Malone pushed back the chair and stood up, trembling. She pressed her fio her temples and discovered the electrodes still attached to 99lｉｂ?her skin. She took them off absently. She might have doubted what she had done, and what she could still see on the s, but she had passed in the last half-hour or so beyond doubt and belief altogether. Something had happened, and she was galvanized.
She switched off the detector and the amplifier. Then she bypassed all the safety codes and formatted the puters hard disk, wiping it ; and then she removed the interface betweeector and the amplifier, which was on a specially adapted card, and put the card on the bend smashed it with the heel of her shoe, there being nothing else heavy at hand. she disected the wiriween the eleagic shield and the detector, and found the wiring plan in a drawer of the filing et a light to it. Was there anything else she could do? She couldnt do much about Oliver Paynes knowledge of the program, but the special hardware was effectively demolished.
She crammed some papers from a drawer into her briefcase, and finally took down the poster with the I g hexagrams and folded it away in her pocket. Then she switched off the light a.
The security guard was standing at the foot of the stairs, speaking into his telephone. He put it away as she came down, and escorted her silently to the side entrance, watg through the glass door as she drove away.
An hour and a half later she parked her car in a road near Sunderland Avenue. She had had to find it on a map of Oxford; she didnt know this part of town. Up till this moment she had been moving o-up excitement, but as she got out of her car in the dark of the small hours and found the night cool and silent and still all around her, she felt a definite lurch of apprehension. Suppose she was dreaming? Suppose it was all some elaborate joke?
Well, it was too late to worry about that. She was itted. She lifted out the rucksack shed often taken on camping journeys in Scotland and the Alps, and reflected that at least she knew how to survive out of doors; if worse came to worst, she could always run away, take to the hills....
Ridiculous.
But she swung the rucksato her back, left the car, turned into the Banbury Road, and walked the two or three hundred yards up to where Sunderland Avenue ra from the rotary. She felt almost more foolish than she had ever felt in her life.
But as she turhe er and saw those strange childlike trees that Will had seen, she khat something at least was true about all this. Uhe trees on the grass at the far side of the road there was a small square tent of red and white nylon, the sort that electris put up to keep the rain off while they work, and parked close by was an unmarked white Transit van with darkened glass in the windows.
Better not hesitate. She walked straight across toward the tent. When she was nearly there, the back door of the van swung open and a poli stepped out. Without his helmet he looked very young, and the streetlight uhe dense green of the leaves above shone full on his face.
"Could I ask where yoing, madam?" he said. "Into that tent."
"Im afraid you t, madam. Ive got orders not to let anyone near it."
"Good," she said. "Im glad theyve got the place protected. But Im from the Department of Physical Sces— Sir Charles Latrom asked us to make a preliminary survey and the back before they look at it properly. Its important that its done now while there arent many people around. Im sure you uand the reasons for that."
"Well, yes," he said. "But have you got anything to show who you are?"
"Oh, sure," she said, and swung the rucksack off her back to get at her purse. Among the items she had taken from the drawer in the laboratory was an expired library card of Oliver Paynes. Fifteen minutes work at her kit table and the photograph from her oort had produced something she hoped would pass fehe poli took the laminated card and looked at it closely.
"Dr. Olive Payne," he read. "Do you happen to know a Dr. Mary Malone?"
"Oh, yes. Shes a colleague." "Do you know where she is now?"
"At home in bed, if shes got any sense. Why?"
"Well, I uand her position in yanizatioerminated, and she wouldnt be allowed through here. In fact, weve got orders to detain her if she tries. And seeing a woman, I naturally thought you might be her, if you see what I mean. Excuse me, Dr. Payne."
"Ah, I see," said Mary Malohe poli looked at the card once more.
"Still, this seems all right," he said, and ha baervous, wanting to talk, he went on. "Do you know whats in there uhat tent?"
"Well, not firsthand," she said. "Thats why Im here now."
"I suppose it is. All right then, Dr. Payne."
He stood bad let her uhe flap of the tent. She hoped he wouldhe shaking of her hands. Clutg the rucksack to her breast, she stepped through. Deceive the guardian—well, shed dohat; but she had no idea what she would find ihe tent. She repared for some sort of archaeological dig; for a dead body; for a meteorite. But nothing in her life or her dreams had prepared her for that square yard or so in midair, or for the silent sleeping city by the sea that she found wheepped through it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: AESAHAETTR-1
As the moon rose, the witches began their spell to heal Wills wound.
They woke him and asked him to lay the knife on the ground where it caught a glitter of starlight.
Lyra sat nearby stirring some herbs in a pot of boiling water over a fire, and while her panions clapped and stamped and cried in rhythm, Serafina crouched over the knife and sang in a high, fierce tone:
"Little khey tore your iron out of Mother Earths entrails, built afire and boiled the ore, made it weep and bleed and flood, hammered it and tempered it, plunging it in icy water, heating it ihe fe till your blade was blood-red, scorg!
Then they made you wound the water once again, a again, till the steam was boiling fog and the water cried for mercy.
And when you sliced a single shade into thirty thousand shadows, then they khat you were ready, then they called you subtle one.
"But little knife, what have you done?
Unlocked blood-gates, left them wide!
Little knife, your mother calls you, from the entrails of the earth, from her deepest mines and caverns, from her secret iron womb.
Listen!"
And Serafina stamped again and clapped her hands with the other witches, and they shook their throats to make a wild ulu-lation that tore at the air like claws. Will, seated in the middle of them, felt a chill at the core of his spine.
Then Serafina Pekkala turo Will himself, and took his wounded hand in both of hers. When she sang this time, he nearly flinched, so fierce was her high, clear voice, so glittering her eyes; but he sat without moving, ahe spell goon.
"Blood! Obey me! Turn around, be a lake and not a river.
When you reach the open air, stop! And build a clotted wall, build it firm to hold the flood back.
Blood, your sky is the skull-dome, your sun is the open eye, your wind the breath ihe lungs, blood, your world is bounded. Stay there!"
Will thought he could feel all the atoms of his body responding to her and, and he joined in, urging his leaking blood to listen and obey.
She put his hand down and turo the little iron pot over the fire. A bitter steam was rising from it, and Will heard the liquid bubbling fiercely.
Serafina sang:
"Oak bark, spider silk, ground moss, saltweed— grip close, bind tight, holdfast, close up, bar the door, lock the gate, stiffen the blood-wall, dry the gore-flood."
Thech took her own knife and split an alder sapling along its whole length. The wounded whiteness gleamed open in the moon. She daubed some of the steaming liquid into the split, then closed up the wood, easing it together from the root to the tip. And the sapling was whole again.
Will heard Lyra gasp, and turo see another witch holding a squirming, struggling hare iough hands. The animal anting, wild-eyed, kig furiously, but the witchs hands were merciless. In one she held its fs and with the other she grasped its hind legs and pulled the frenzied hare out straight, its heaving belly upward.
Serafinas knife swept across it. Will felt himself grow dizzy, and Lyra was restraining Pantalaimon, hare-formed himself in sympathy, who was bug and snapping in her arms. The real hare fell still, eyes bulging, breast heavirails glistening.
But Serafina took some more of the deco and trickled it into the gaping wound, and then closed up the wound with her fingers, smoothing the wet fur over it until there was no wound at all.
The witch holding the animal relaxed her grip a gently to the ground, where it shook itself, turo lick its flank, flicked its ears, and nibbled a blade of grass as if it were pletely alone. Suddenly it seemed to bee aware of the circle of witches around it, and like an arrow it shot away, whole again, bounding swiftly off into the dark.
Lyra, soothing Pantalaimon, gla Will and saw that he knew what it meant: the medie was ready. He held out his hand, and as Serafina daubed the steaming mixture on the bleeding stumps of his fingers he looked away and breathed in sharply several times, but he didnt flinch.
Once his open flesh was thhly soaked, the witch pressed some of the sodden herbs onto the wounds and tied them tight around with a strip of silk. And that was it; the spell was done.
Will slept deeply through the rest of the night. It was cold, but the witches piled leaves over him, and Lyra slept huddled close behind his back. In the m Serafina dressed his wound again, aried to see from her expressioher it was healing, but her face was calm and impassive.
Oheyd eaten, Serafina told the children that the witches had agreed that siheyd e into this world to find Lyra and be her guardians, theyd help Lyra do what she now knew her task to be: namely, to guide Will to his father.
So they all set off; and it was quiet going for the most part. Lyra sulted the alethiometer to begin with, but warily, and learhat they should travel in the dire of the distant mountains they could see across the great bay. Never havihis high above the city, they werent aware of how the coastline curved, and the mountains had been below the horizon; but now wherees thinned, or when a slope fell away below them, they could look out to the empty blue sea and to the high blue mountains beyond, which were their destination. It seemed a long way to go.
They spoke little. Lyra was busy looking at all the life in the forest, from woodpeckers to squirrels to little green moss snakes with diamonds down their backs, and Will needed all his energy simply to keep going. Lyra and Pantalaimon discussed him endlessly.
"We could look at the alethiometer," Pantalaimon said at one point when theyd dawdled oh to see how close they could get to a browsing fawn before it saw them. "We never promised not to. And we could find out all kinds of things for him. Wed be doing it for him, not for us."
"Doupid," Lyra said. "It would be us wed be doing it for, cause hed never ask. Youre just greedy and nosy, Pan."
"That makes a ge. Its normally you whos greedy and nosy, and me who has to warn you not to do things. Like iiring room at Jordan. I never wao go in there."
"If we hadnt, Pan, dyou think all this would have happened?"
"No. Cause the Master would have poisoned Lord Asriel, and that wouldve been the end of it."
"Yeah, I suppose.... Who dyou think Wills father is, though? And whys he important?"
"Thats what I mean! We could find out in a moment!"
And she looked wistful. "I might have done once," she said, "but Im ging, I think, Pan."
"No youre not."
"You might not be.... Hey, Pan, when I ge, youll stop ging. Whatre you going to be?"
"A flea, I hope."
"No, but dont you get any feelings about what you might be?"
"No. I dont want to, either."
"Youre sulking because I wont do what you want."
He ged into a pig and grunted and squealed and sill she laughed at him, and then he ged into a squirrel and darted through the branches beside her.
"Who do you think his father is?" Pantalaimon said. "Dyou think he could be anyo?"
"Could be. But hes bound to be someone important, almost as important as Lord Asriel. Bound to be. We know what we re doing is important, after all."
"We dont know it," Pantalaimon pointed out. "We think it is, but we dont know. We just decided to look for Dust because Roger died."
"We know its important!" Lyra said hotly, and she even stamped her foot. "And so do the witches.
They e all this way to look for us just to be my guardians and help me! A to help Will find his father. Thais important. You know it is, too, else you wouldnt have licked him when he was wounded. Whyd you do that, anyway? You never asked me if you could. I couldnt believe it when you did that."
"I did it because he didnt have a daemon, and he needed one. And if you were half as good at seeing things as you think you are, youdve known that."
"I did know it, really," she said.
They stopped then, because they had caught up with Will, who was sitting on a rock beside the path. Pantalaimon became a flycatcher, and as he flew among the branches, Lyra said, "Will, what dyou think those kidsll do now?"
"They wont be following us. They were thtened of the witches. Maybe theyll just go back to drifting about."
"Yeah, probably. They might want to use the khough. They might e after us for that."
"Let them. Theyre not having it, not now. I didnt want it at first. But if it kill the Specters ..."
"I rusted Angeliot from the beginning," Lyra said virtuously.
"Yes, you did," he said.
"Yeah. I did, really.... I hated it in the end, that city."
"I thought it was heaven when I first found it. I couldnt imagine anythier than that And all the time it was full of Specters, and we never knew...."
"Well, I wont trust kids again," said Lyra. "I thought back at Bolvangar that whatever grownups did, however bad it was, kids were different. They wouldnt do cruel things like that. But I ent sure now. I never seen kids like that before, and thats a fact."
"I have," said Will.
"When? In your world?"
"Yeah," he said, awkwardly. Lyra waited and sat still, and presently he went on. "It was when my mother was having one of her bad times. She and me, we lived on our own, see, because obviously my father wasnt there. And every so ofteart thinking things that werent true. And having to do things that didnt make se to me, anyway. I mean she had to do them or else shed get upset and afraid, and so I used to help her. Like toug all the railings in the park, or ting the leaves on a bush—that kind of thing. She used to get better after a while. But I was afraid of anyone finding out she was like that, because I thought theyd take her away, so I used to look after her and hide it. I old anyone.
"And once she got afraid when I wasnt there to help her. I was at school. And she went out and she wasnt wearing very much, only she didnt know. An..d some boys from my school, they found her, and they started..."
Wills face was hot. Without being able to help it he found himself walking up and down and looking away from Lyra because his voice was unsteady and his eyes were watering. He went on:
"They were tormenting her just like those kids at the tower with the cat.... They thought she was mad and they wao hurt her, maybe kill her, I wouldnt be surprised. She was just different and they hated her. Anyway, I found her and I got her home. And the day in school I fought the boy who was leading them. I fought him and I broke bis arm and I think I broke some of his teeth—I dont know. And I was going to fight the rest of them, too, but I got in trouble and I realized I better stop because theyd find out—I meaeachers and the authorities. Theyd go to my mother and plain about me, and then theyd find out about how she was and take her away. So I just preteo be sorry and told the teachers I wouldnt do it again, and they punished me fhting and I still said nothing. But I kept her safe, see. No one kneart from those boys, and they knew what Id do if they said anything; they knew Id kill them aime.
Not just hurt them. And a bit later she got better again. No one knew, ever.
"But after that I rusted children any more than grownups. Theyre just as keen to do bad things. So I wasnt surprised when those kids in Cigazze did that.
"But I was glad wheches came."
He sat down again with his back to Lyra and, still not looking at her, he wiped his hand across his eyes. She pretended not to see.
"Will," she said, "what you said about your mother... and Tullio, when the Specters got him... and when you said yesterday that you thought the Specters came from your world..."
"Yes. Because it doesnt make sense, what was happening to her. She wasnt mad. Those kids might think she was mad and laugh at her and try to hurt her, but they were wrong; she wasnt mad.
Except that she was afraid of things I couldnt see.
And she had to do things that looked crazy; you couldhe point of them, but obviously she could. Like her ting all die leaves, or Tullio yesterday toug the stones in the wall. Maybe that was a way to put the Specters off. If they turheir ba something frightening behind them and tried to get really ied iones and how they fit together, or the leaves on the bush, like if only they could make themselves find that really important, theyd be safe. I dont know. It looks like that. There were real things for her to be frightened of, like those men who came and robbed us, but there was something else as well as them. So maybe we do have the Specters in my world, only we t see them and we havent got a name for them, but theyre there, and they keep trying to attack my mother. So thats why I was glad yesterday when the alethiometer said she was all right."
He was breathing fast, and his right hand was gripping the handle of the knife in its sheath. Lyra said nothing, and Panta-laimo very still.
"When did you know you had to look for your father?" she said after a while.
"A long time ago," he told her. "I used to pretend he risoner and Id help him escape. I had long games by myself doing that; it used to go on for days. Or else he was on this desert island and Id sail there and bring him home. And hed kly what to do about >everything—about my mother, especially—and shed get better and hed look after her and me and I could just go to school and have friends and Id have a mother and a father, too. So I always said to myself that when I grew up Id go and look for my father.... And my mother used to tell me that I was going to take up my fathers mantle. She used to say that to make me feel good. I didnt know what it meant, but it sounded important."
"Didnt you have friends?"
"How could I have friends?" he said, simply puzzled. "Friends ... They e to your house and they know your parents and... Sometimes a boy might ask me around to his house, and I might go or I might not, but I could never ask him back. So I never had friends, really. I would have liked ... I had my cat," he went on. "I hope shes all right now. I hope someones looking after her."
"What about the man you killed?" Lyra said, her heart beating hard. "Who was he?"
"I dont know. If I killed him, I dont care. He deserved it. There were two of them. They kept ing to the house aering my mother till she was afraid again, and worse thahey wao know all about my father, and they wouldnt leave her alone. Im not sure if they were police or what. I thought at first they were part of a gang or something, and they thought my father had robbed a bank, maybe, and hidden the money. But they didnt want mohey wanted papers. They wanted some letters that my father had sent. They broke into the house one day, and then I saw it would be safer if my mother was somewhere else. See, I couldnt go to the polid ask them for help, because theyd take my mother away. I didnt know what to do.
"So in the end I asked this old lady who used to teach me the piano. She was the only person I could think of. I asked her if my mother could stay with her, and I took her there. I think shell look after her all right. Anyway, I went back to the house to look for these letters, because I knew where she kept them, and I got them, and the men came to look and broke into the house again.
It was nighttime, or early m. And I was hiding at the top of the stairs and Moxie—my cat, Moxie—she came out of the bedroom. And I didnt see her, nor did the man, and when I knocked into him she tripped him up, and he fell right to the bottom of the stairs....
"And I ran away. Thats all that happened. So I dido kill him, but I dont care if I did. I ran away ao Oxford and then I found that window. And that only happened because I saw the other cat and stopped to watch her, and she found the window first. If I hadnt seen her... or if Moxie hadnt e out of the bedroom then..."
"Yeah," said Lyra, "that was lucky. And me and Pahinking just now, what if Id never goo the wardrobe iiring room at Jordan ahe Master put poison in the wine? None of this would have happeher."
Both of them sat silent on the moss-covered ro the slant of sunlight through the old pines and thought how many tiny ces had spired t them to this place. Each of those ces might have gone a different erhaps in another world, another Will had not seen the window in Sunder-land Avenue, and had wandered on tired and lost toward the Midlands until he was caught. And in another world another Pantalaimon had persuaded another Lyra not to stay iiring room, and another Lord Asriel had been poisoned, and aner had survived to play with that Lyra forever on the roofs and in the alleys of another unging Oxford.
Presently Will was strong enough to go on, and they moved together along the path, with the great forest quiet around them.
They traveled on through the day, resting, moving, resting again, as the trees grew thinner and the land more rocky. Lyra checked the alethiometer: Keep going, it said; this is the right dire. At noon they came to a village untroubled by Specters. Goats pastured on the hillside, a grove of lemon trees cast shade oony ground, and children playing iream called out and ran for their mothers at the sight of the girl itered clothing, and the white-faced, fierce-eyed boy in the bloodstained shirt, and the elegant greyhound that walked beside them.
The grownups were wary but willing to sell some bread and cheese and fruit for one of Lyras gold s. The witches kept out of the way, though both childreheyd be there in a sed if any dahreatened. After another round of Lyras bargaining, one old woman sold them two flasks of goatskin and a fine linen shirt, and Will renounced his filthy T-shirt with relief, washing himself in the icy stream and lying to dry i sun afterward.
Refreshed, they moved on. The land was harsher now; for shade they had to rest in the shadow of rocks, not under wide-spreading trees, and the ground underfoot was hot through the soles of their shoes. The sun pou their eyes. They moved more and more slowly as they climbed, and when the sun touched the mountain rims and they saw a little valley open below them, they decided to go no farther.
They scrambled down the slope, nearly losing their footing more man once, and then had to shove their way through thickets of dwarf rhododendrons whose dark glossy leaves and crimson flower clusters were heavy with the hum of bees. They came out in the evening shade on a wild meadow b a stream. The grass was knee-high and thick with flentians, quefoil.
Will drank deeply iream and then lay down. He couldnt stay awake, and he couldnt sleep, either; his head inning, a daze of strangeness hung over everything, and his hand was sore and throbbing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: AESAHAETTR-2
And what was worse, it had begun to bleed again.
When Serafina looked at it, she put more herbs on the wound, and tied the silk tighter than ever, but this time her face was troubled. He didnt want to question her, for what would be the point?
It lain to him that the spell hadnt worked, and he could see she k too.
As darkness fell, he heard Lyra e to lie down close by, and presently he heard a soft purring.
Her daemon, cat-formed, was dozing with folded paws only a foot or two away from him, and Will whispered, "Pantalaimon?"
The daemons eyes opened. Lyra didnt stir. Pantalaimon whispered, "Yes?"
"Pan, am I going to die?"
"The witches wo you die. Nor will Lyra."
"But the spell didnt work. I keep losing blood. I t have much left to lose. And its bleeding again, and it wont stop. Im frightened...."
"Lyra doesnt think you are."
"Doesnt she?"
"She thinks youre the bravest fighter she ever saw, as brave as lorek Byrnison."
"I suppose I better try not to seem frightehen," Will said. He was quiet for a minute or so, and then he said, "I think Lyras braver than me. I think shes the best friend I ever had."
"She thinks that about you as well," whispered the daemon.
Presently Will closed his eyes.
Lyra lay unmoving, but her eyes were wide open in the dark, and her heart was beating hard.
When Will became aware of things, it was pletely dark, and his hand was hurting more than ever. He sat up carefully and saw a fire burning not far away, where Lyra was trying to toast some bread on a forked stick. There were a couple of birds roasting on a spit as well, and as Will came to sit nearby, Serafina Pekkala flew down.
"Will," she said, "eat these leaves before you have any other food."
She gave him a handful of soft bitter-tasting leaves somewhat like sage, and he chewed them silently and forced them down. They were astri, but he felt more awake and less cold, and the better for it.
They ate the roasted birds, seasoning them with lemon juice, and then another witch brought some blueberries shed found below the scree, and theches gathered around the fire.
They talked quietly; some of them had flown high up to spy, and one had seen a balloohe sea. Lyra sat up at once.
"Mr. Scoresbys balloon?" she said.
"There were two men in it, but it was too far away to see who they were. A storm was gathering behind them."
Lyra clapped her hands. "If Mr. Scoresbys ing," she said, "well be able to fly, Will! Oh, I hope its him! I never said good-bye to him, and he was so kind. I wish I could see him again, I really do...."
The witch Juta Kamainen was>藏书网 listening, with her red-breasted robin daemht-eyed on her shoulder, because the mention of Lee Scoresby had reminded her of the quest hed set out on. She was the witch who had loved Stanislaus Grumman and whose love hed turned down, the witch Serafina Pekkala had brought into this world to prevent her from killing him in their own.
Serafina might have noticed, but something else happened: she held up her hand and lifted her head, as did all the other witches. Will and Lyra could hear very faintly to the north the cry of some night bird. But it wasnt a bird; the witches k at once for a daemon. Serafina Pekkala stood up, gazing ily into the sky.
"I think its Ruta Skadi," she said.
They kept still, tilting their heads to the wide sileraining to hear.
And then came another cry, closer already, and then a third; and at that, all the witches seized their branches and leaped into the air. All but two, that is, who stood close by, arrows at their bs, guarding Will and Lyra.
Somewhere in the dark above, a fight was taking place. And only seds later, it seemed, they could hear the rush of flight, the whiz of arrows, and the grunt and scream of voices raised in pain er or and.
And then with a thud so sudden they had no time to jump, a creature fell from the sky at their feet —a beast of leathery skin and matted fur that .Lyra reized as a cliff-ghast, or something similar.
It was broken by the fall, and an arrow protruded from its side, but still it lurched up and lunged with a flopping malice at Lyra. The witches couldnt shoot, because she was in their line of fire, but Will was there first; and with the knife he slashed bad, and the creatures head came off and rolled over once or twice. The air left its lungs with a gurgling sigh, and it fell dead.
They turheir eyes upward again, for the fight was ing lower, and the firelight glaring up showed a swift-rushing swirl of black silk, pale limbs, green pine needles, gray-brown scabby leather. How the witches could keep their balan the sudden turns and halts and forward darts, let alone aim and shoot, was beyond Wills uanding.
Another cliff-ghast and then a third fell iream or on the roearby, stark dead; and then the rest fled, skirling and cluttering into the dark toward the north.
A few moments later Serafina Pekkala landed with her own witches and with another: a beautiful witch, fierce-eyed and black-haired, whose cheeks were flushed with anger aement.
The new witch saw the headless cliff-ghast and spat.
"Not from our world," she said, "nor from this. Filthy abominations. There are thousands of them, breeding like flies.... Who is this? Is this the child Lyra? And who is the boy?"
Lyra returned her gaze stolidly, though she felt a quiing of her heart, for Ruta Skadi lived so brilliantly in her hat she set up a responding thrill in the nerves of ap://..close by.
Thech turo Will, and he felt the same tingle of iy, but like Lyra he trolled his expressioill had the knife in his hand, and she saw what hed doh it and smiled.
He thrust it into the earth to it of the foul things blood and then ri iream.
Ruta Skadi was saying, "Serafina Pekkala, I am learning so much; all the old things are ging, or dying, or empty. Im hungry...."
She ate like an animal, tearing at the remains of the roasted birds and cramming handfuls of bread into her mouth, washing it down with deep gulps from the stream. While she ate, some of the witches carried the dead cliff-ghast away, rebuilt the fire, and the up a watch.
The rest came to sit near Ruta Skadi to hear what she could tell them. She told what had happened when she flew up to meet the angels, and then of her jouro Lord Asriels fortress.
"Sisters, it is the greatest castle you imagine: ramparts of basalt, rearing to the skies, with wide roads ing from every dire, and on them cargoes of gunpowder, of food, of armor plate. How has he dohis? I think he must have been preparing this for a long time, for eons. He reparing this before we were born, sisters, even though he is so much younger.... But how that be? I dont know. I t uand. I think he ands time, he makes it run fast or slow acc to his will.
"And ing to this fortress are warriors of every kind, from every world. Men and women, yes, and fighting spirits, too, and armed creatures such as I had never seen—lizards and apes, great birds with poison spurs, creatures too outlandish to have a name I could guess at. And other worlds have witches, sisters; did you know that? I spoke to witches from a world like ours, but profoundly different, for those witches live no lohan our short-lifes, and there are men among them, too, men-witches who fly as we do...."
Her tale was causing the witches of Serafina Pekkalas to listen with awe and fear and disbelief. But Serafina believed her, and urged her on.
"Did you see Lord Asriel, Ruta Skadi? Did you find your way to him?"
"Yes, I did, and it was not easy, because he lives at the ter of so many circles of activity, and he directs them all. But I made myself invisible and found my way to his inmost chamber, when he reparing to sleep."
Every witch there knew what had happened , aher Will nor Lyra dreamed of it. So Ruta Skadi had o tell, and she went on: "And then I asked him why he was bringing all these forces together, and if it was true what wed heard about his challeo the Authority, and he laughed.
"Do they speak of it in Siberia, then? he said, and I told him yes, and on Svalbard, and in every region of the north— our north; and I told him of our pact, and how Id left our world to seek him and find out.
"And he invited us to join him, sisters. To join his army against the Authority. I wished with all my heart I could pledge us there and then. He showed me that to rebel was right and just, when you sidered what the agents of the Authority did in His name. . . . And I thought of the Bolvangar children, and the other terrible mutilations I have seen in our own southlands; aold me of many more hideous cruelties dealt out ihoritys name—of how they capture witches, in some worlds, and burn them alive, sisters. Yes, witches like ourselves ...
"He opened my eyes. He showed me things I had never seen, cruelties and horrors all itted in the name of the Authority, all desigo destroy the joys and the truthfulness of life.
"Oh, sisters, I loo throw myself and my whole into the cause! But I knew I must sult you first, and then fly back to our world and talk to leva Kasku and Reina Miti and the other witch queens.
"So I left his chamber invisibly and found my cloud-pine and flew away. But before Id flown far, a great wind came up and hurled me high into the mountains, and I had to take refuge on a clifftop.
Knowing the sort of creatures who live on cliffs, I made myself invisible again, and in the darkness I heard voices.
"It seemed that Id stumbled on the ing place of the oldest of all cliff-ghasts. He was blind, and they were bringing him food: some stinking carrion from far below. And they were asking him fuidance.
" Grandfather, they said, how far back does your memo?
" Way, way back. Back long before humans, he said, and his voice was soft and cracked and frail.
" Is it true that the greatest battle ever known is ing soon, Grandfather?
" Yes, children, he said. A greater battle than the last one, even. Fiing for all of us.
These will be days of pleasure and plenty for every ghast in every world.
" And whos going to win, Grandfather? Is Lord Asriel going to defeat the Authority?
" Lord Asriels army numbers millions, the old cliff-ghast told them, assembled from every world.
Its a greater army than the ohat fought the Authority before, and its better led. As for the forces of the Authority, why, they number a huimes as many. But the Authority is age-old, far older even than me, children, and His troops are frightened, and plat where theyre nhtened. It would be a close fight, but Lord Asriel would win, because he is passionate and daring and he believes his cause is just. Except for ohing, children. He hasnt got Aesahaettr.
Without Aesahaettr, he and all his forces will go down to defeat. And then we shall feast for years, my children!
"And he laughed and ghe stinking old boheyd brought to him, and the others all shrieked with glee.
"Now, you imagine how I listened hard to hear more about this Aesahaettr, but all I could hear over the howling of the wind was a young ghast asking, If Lord Asriel needs Aesahasttr, why doesnt he call him?
"And the old ghast said, Lord Asriel knows no more about Aesahaettr than you do, child! That is the joke! Laugh long and loud—
"But as I tried to get closer to the foul things to learn more, my power failed, sisters, I couldnt hold myself invisible any lohe younger ones saw me and shrieked out, and I had to flee, bato this world through the invisible gateway in the air. A flock of them came after me, and those are the last of them, dead over there.
"But its clear that Lord Asriel needs us, sisters. Whoever this yEsahasttr is, Lord Asriel needs us! I wish I could go back to Lord Asriel now and say, Dont be anxious—were ihe witches of the north, and we shall help you win. ... Lets agree now, Serafina Pekkala, and call a great cil of all the witches, every single , and make war!"
Serafina Pekkala looked at Will, and it seemed to him that she was asking his permission for something. But he could give no guidance, and she looked back at Ruta Skadi.
"Not us," she said. "Our task now is to help Lyra, aask is to guide Will to his father. You should fly back, agreed, but we must stay with Lyra."
Ruta Skadi tossed her head impatiently. "Well, if you must," she said.
Will lay down, because his wound was hurting him—much more now tha was fresh. His whole hand was swollen. Lyra too lay down, with Pantalaimon curled at her neck, and watched the fire through half-closed lids, and listened sleepily to the murmur of the witches.
Ruta Skadi walked a little stream, and Serafina Pekkala went with her.
"Ah, Serafina Pekkala, you should see Lord Asriel," said the Latvian queen quietly. "He is the greatest ahere ever was. Every detail of his forces is clear in his mind, imagihe daring of it, to make war on the Creator! But who do you think this Aesahaettr be? How have we not heard of him? And how we urge him to join Lord Asriel?"
"Maybe its not a him, sister. We know as little as the young cliff-ghast. Maybe the old grandfather was laughing at his ignorahe word sounds as if it means god destroyer. Did you know that?"
"Then it might mean us after all, Serafina Pekkala! And if it does, then how much stronger his forces will be when we join them. Ah, I long for my arrows to kill those fiends from Bolvangar, and every Bolvangar in every world! Sister, why do they do it? In every world, the agents of the Authority are sacrifig children to their cruel god! Why? Why?"
"They are afraid of Dust," said Serafina Pekkala, "though what that is, I dont know."
"And this boy youve found. Who is he? What world does he e from?"
Serafina Pekkala told her all she knew about Will. "I dont know why hes important," she finished, "but we serve Lyra. And her instrument tells her that that is her task. And, sister, we tried to heal his wound, but we failed. We tried the holding spell, but it didnt work. Maybe the herbs in this world are less potent than ours. Its too hot here for bloodmoss to grow."
"Hes strange," said Ruta Skadi. "He is the same kind as Lord Asriel. Have you looked into his eyes?"
To tell the truth," said Serafina Pekkala, "I havent dared."
The two queens sat quietly by the stream. Time went past; stars set, and other stars rose; a little cry came from the sleepers, but it was only Lyra dreaming. The witches heard the rumbling of a storm, and they saw the lightning play over the sea and the foothills, but it was a long way off.
Later Ruta Skadi said, "The girl Lyra. What of the part she was supposed to play? Is this it? Shes important because she lead the boy to his father? It was more than that, wasnt it?"
"Thats what she has to do now. But as for later, yes, far more than that. What we witches have said about the child is that she would put ao destiny. Well, we know the hat would make her meaningful to Mrs. Coulter, and we know that the woma know it. The witch she was t on the ship near Svalbard nearly gave it away, but Yambe-Akka came to her in time.
"But Im thinking now that Lyra might be what you heard those ghasts speak of—this ^ Aesahaettr.
Not the witches, not those angel-beings, but that sleeping child: the final on in the war against the Authority. Why else would Mrs. Coulter be so anxious to find her?"
"Mrs. Coulter was a lover of Lord Asriels," said Ruta Skadi. "Of course, and Lyra is their child....
Serafina Pekkala, if I had borne his child, what a witch she would be! A queen of queens!"
"Hush, sister," said Serafina. "Listen... and whats that light?"
They stood, alarmed that something had slipped past their guard, and saw a gleam of light from the camping plaot firelight, though, nothiely like firelight.
They ran ba sile, arrows already o their bs, and stopped suddenly.
All the witches were asleep on the grass, and so were Will and Lyra. But surrounding the two children were a dozen or more angels, gazing down at them.
And then Serafina uood something for which the witches had no word: it was the idea of pilgrimage. She uood why these beings would wait for thousands of years and travel vast distances in order to be close to something important, and how they would feel differently for the rest of time, having been briefly in its presehat was how these creatures looked now, these beautiful pilgrims of rarefied light, standing around the girl with the dirty fad the tartan skirt and the boy with the wounded hand who was frowning in his sleep.
There was a stir at Lyras neck. Pantalaimon, a snow-white ermine, opened his black eyes sleepily and gazed around unafraid. Later, Lyra would remember it as a dream. Pantalaimon seemed to accept the attention as Lyras due, and presently he curled up again and closed his eyes.
Finally one of the creatures spread his wings wide. The others, as close as they were, did so too, and their wings interpeed with ance, sweeping through one another like light through light, until there was a circle of radiance around the sleepers on the grass.
Thechers took to the air, oer another, rising like flames into the sky and increasing in size as they did so, until they were immense; but already they were far away, moving like shooting stars toward the north.
Serafina and Ruta Skadi sprang to their pine branches and followed them upward, but they were left far behind.
"Were they hike the creatures you saw, Ruta Skadi?" said Serafina as they slowed down in the middle airs, watg the bright flames diminish toward the horizon.
"Bigger, I think, but the same kind. They have no flesh, did you see that? All they are is light.
Their senses must be so different from ours.... Serafina Pekkala, Im leaving you now, to call all the witches of our north together. When we meet again, it will be wartime. Go well, my dear..."
They embraced in midair, and Ruta Skadi turned and sped southward.
Serafina watched her go, and then turo see the last of the gleaming angels disappear far away. She felt nothing but passion for those great watchers. How much they must miss, o feel the earth beh their feet, or the wind in their hair, or the tingle of the starlight on their bare skin! And she snapped a little twig off the pine branch she flew with, and she sharp resin smell with greedy pleasure, before flying slowly down to join the sleepers on the grass.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ONE ALAMO GULCH-1
Lee Scoresby looked down at the placid o to his left and the green shore to his right, and shaded his eyes to search for human life. It was a day and a night sihey had left the Yenisei.
"And this is a new world?" he said.
"o those not born in it," said Stanislaus Grumman. "As old as yours or miherwise. What Asriels done has shakehing up, Mr. Scoresby, shaken it more profoundly than its ever been shaken before. These doorways and windows that I spoke of—they open in ued plaow.
Its hard to navigate, but this wind is a fair one."
"New or old, thats a strange world down there," said Lee.
"Yes," said Stanislaus Grumman. "It is a strange world, though no doubt some feel at home there."
"It looks empty," said Lee.
"Not so. Beyond that headland youll find a city that was once powerful ahy. And its still inhabited by the desdants of the merts and nobles who built it, though its fallen on hard times in the past three hundred years."
A few minutes later, as the balloon drifted on, Lee saw first a lighthouse, then the curve of a stone breakwater, theowers and domes and red-brown roofs of a beautiful city around a harbor, with a sumptuous building like an opera house in lush gardens, and wide boulevards with elegant hotels, and little streets where blossom-bearing trees hung over shaded balies.
And Grumman was right; there were people there. But as the balloon drifted closer, Lee was surprised to see that they were children. There was not an adult in sight. And he was even more surprised to see the children had no daemohey were playing on the beach, or running in and out of cafes, or eating and drinking, athering bags full of goods from houses and shops.
And there was a group of boys who were fighting, and a red-haired girl urging them on, and a little boy throwing stoo smash all the windows of a nearby building. It was like a playground the size of a city, with not a teacher in sight; it was a world of children.
But they werent the only presehere. Lee had to rub his eyes when he saw them first, but there was no doubt about it: ns of mist—or something more tenuous than mist—a thiing of the air.... Whatever they were, the city was full of them; they drifted along the boulevards, they entered houses, they clustered in the squares and courtyards. The children moved among them unseeing.
But not uhe farther they drifted over the city, the more Lee could observe the behavior of these forms. And it was clear that some of the children were of io them, and that they followed certain children around: the older children, those who (as far as Lee could see through his telescope) were on the verge of adolesce. There was one boy, a tall thin youth with a shock of black hair, who was so thickly surrounded by the transparent beings that his very outline seemed to shimmer in the air. They were like flies arou. And the boy had no idea of it, though from time to time he would brush his eyes, or shake his head as if to clear his vision.
"What the hell are those things?" said Lee.
The people call them Specters."
"What do they do, exactly?"
"Youve heard of vampires?"
"Oh, in tales."
"The Specters feast as vampires feast on blood, but the Specters food is attention. A scious and informed i in the world. The immaturity of children is less attractive to them."
"Theyre the opposite of those devils at Bolvangar, then."
"On the trary. Both the Oblation Board and the Specters of Indifference are bewitched by this truth about human beings: that innoce is different from experiehe Oblation Board fears and hates Dust, and the Specters feast on it, but its Dust both of them are obsessed by."
"Theyre clustered around that kid down there."
"Hes growing up. Theyll attack him soon, and then his life will bee a blank, indifferent misery. Hes doomed."
"For Petes sake! t we rescue him?"
"No. The Specters would seize us at ohey t touch us up here; all we do is watd fly on."
"But where are the adults? You dont tell me the whole world is full of children alone?"
"Those children are Specter-orphans. There are many gangs of them in this world. They wander about living on what they find when the adults flee. And theres plenty to find, as you see.
They dont starve. It looks as if a multitude of Specters have ihis city, and the adults have goo safety. You notice how few boats there are in the harbor? The children will e to no harm."
"Except for the older ones. Like that poor kid down there."
"Mr. Scoresby, that is the way this world works. And if you want to put ao cruelty and injustice, you must take me farther on. I have a job to do."
"Seems to me—" Lee said, feeling for the words, "seems to me the place you fight cruelty is where you find it, and the place you give help is where you see it needed. Or is that wrong, Dr.
Grumman? Im only an ignorant aeronaut. Im so damn ignorant I believed it when I was told that shamans had the gift of flight, for example. Yet heres a shaman who hasnt."
"Oh, but I have."
"How dyou make that out?"
The balloon was drifting lower, and the ground was rising. A square stoower rose directly in their path, and Lee dido have noticed.
"I o fly," said Grumman, "so I summoned you, and here I am, flying."
He erfectly aware of the peril they were in, but he held back from implying that the aeronaut wasnt. And in perfect time, Lee Scoresby leaned over the side of the basket and pulled the cord on one of the bags of ballast. The sand flowed out, and the balloon lifted gently to clear the tower by six feet or so. A dozen crows, disturbed, rose g around them.
"I guess you are," said Lee. "You have a strange way about you, Dr. Grumman. You ever spend any time among the witches?"
"Yes," said Grumman. "And among academis, and among spirits. I found folly everywhere, but there were grains of wisdom in every stream of it. No doubt there was much more wisdom that I failed tnize. Life is hard, Mr. Scoresby, but we g to it all the same."
"And this journey were on? Is that folly or wisdom?"
"The greatest wisdom I know."
Tell me again what your purpose is. Yoing to find the bearer of this subtle knife, and what then?"
"Tell him what his task is."
"And thats a task that includes proteg Lyra," the aeronaut reminded him.
"It will protect all of us."
They flew on, and sooy was out of sight behind them.
Lee checked his instruments. The pass was still gyrating loosely, but the altimeter was funing accurately, as far as he could judge, and showed them to be floating about a thousa above the seashore and parallel with it. Some way ahead a line of high green hills rose into the haze, and Lee was glad hed provided plenty of ballast.
But when he made his regular s of the horizon, he felt a little check at his heart. Hester felt it too, and flicked up her ears, and turned her head so that one gold-hazel eye rested on his face.
He picked her up, tucked her in the breast of his coat, and opehe telescope again.
No, he wasnt mistaken. Far to the south (if south it was, the dire theyd e from) another balloon was floating in the haze. The heat shimmer and the distance made it impossible to see aails, but the other balloon was larger, and flying higher.
Grumman had seen it too.
"Enemies, Mr. Scoresby?" he said, shading his eyes to peer into the pearly light.
"There t be a doubt. Im uaiher to lose ballast and go higher, to catch the quicker wind, or stay low and be less spicuous. And Im thankful that things not a zeppelin; they could overhaul us in a few hours. No, damn it, Dr. Grumman, Im going higher, because if I was in that balloon Id have seen this one already; and Ill bet they have keen eyesight."
He set Hester down again and leaned out to jettison three bags of ballast. The balloon rose at once, and Lee kept the telescope to his eye.
And a mier he knew for certain theyd been sighted, for there was a stir of movement in the haze, which resolved itself into a line of smoke streaking up and away at an angle from the other balloon; and when it was some distance up, it burst into a flare. It blazed deep red for a moment and then dwindled into a patch of gray smoke, but it was a signal as clear as a to in the night.
" you summon a stiffer breeze, Dr. Grumman?" said Lee. "Id like to make those hills by nightfall."
For they were leaving the shoreline now, and their course was taking them out over a wide bay thirty or forty miles across. A range of hills rose on the far side, and now that hed gained some height, Lee saw that they might more truthfully be called mountains.
He turo Grumman, but found him deep in a trahe shamans eyes were closed, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as he rocked gently bad forth. A low rhythmic moaning came from his throat, and his daemon gripped the edge of the basket, equally entranced.
And whether it was the result of gaini or whether it was the shamans spell, a breath did stir the air on Lees face. He looked up to check the gasbag and saw it sway a degree or two, leaning toward the hills.
But the breeze that moved them more swiftly was w oher balloon, too. It was no closer, but her had they left it behind. And as Lee turhe telescope on it again, he saw darker, smaller shapes behind it in the shimmering distahey were grouped purposefully, and being clearer and more solid every minute.
"Zeppelins," he said. "Well, theres no hiding out here."
He tried to make aimate of their distance, and a similar calculation about the hills toward which they were flying. Their speed had certainly picked up now, and the breeze was flig white tips off the waves far below.
Grumman sat resting in a er of the basket while his daemon groomed her feathers. His eyes were closed, but Lee knew he was awake.
"The situations like this, Dr. Grumman," he said. "I do not want to be caught aloft by those zeppelins. There aint no defeheyd have us down in a minute. Nor do I want to land ier, by free choice or not; we could float for a while, but they could pick us off with grenades as easy as fishing.
"So I want to reach those hills and make a landing. I see some forest now; we hide among the trees for a spell, maybe a long time.
"And meanwhile the suns going down. We have about three hours to su, by my calculation.
And its hard to say, but I think those zeppelins will have closed on us halfway by that time, and we should have gotten to the far shore of this bay.
"Now, you uand what Im saying. Im going to take us up into those hills and then land, because anything else is certaih. Theyll have made a e now between this ring I showed them and the Skraeling I killed on Nova Zembla, and they aint chasing us this hard to say we left our wallet on the ter.
"So sometime tonight, Dr. Grumman, this flights gonna be over. You ever landed in a balloon?"
"No," said the shaman. "But I trust your skill." "Ill try a as high up that range as I . Its a question of balance, because the farther we go, the closer theyll be behind us. If I land when theyre too close behind, theyll be able to see where we go, but if I take us down too early, we wont find the shelter of those trees. Either way, theres going to be some shooting before long."
Grumman sat impassively, moving a magical token of feathers and beads from one hand to the other in a pattern that Lee could see had some purposeful meaning. His eagle daemons eyes never left the pursuing zeppelins.
An hour went by, and another. Lee chewed an unlit cigar and sipped cold coffee from a tin flask.
The suled lower in the sky behind them, and Lee could see the long shade of evening creep along the shore of the bay and up the lower flanks of the hills ahead while the balloon itself, and the mountaintops, were bathed in gold.
And behind them, almost lost hi the su glare, the little dots of the zeppelins grew larger and firmer. They had already overtakeher balloon and could now be easily seen with the naked eye: four of them in line abreast. And across the wide silence of the bay came the sound of their einy but clear, an insistent mosquito whine.
When they were still a few minutes from making the shore at the foot of the hills, Lee noticed something new in the sky behind the zeppelins. A bank of clouds had been building, and a massive thunderhead reared thousands of feet up into the still-bright upper sky. How had he failed to notice? If a storm was ing, the soohey lahe better.
And then a dark green curtain of rain drifted down and hung from the clouds, and the storm seemed to be chasing the zeppelins as they were chasing Lees balloon, for the rai along toward them from the sea, and as the sun finally vanished, a mighty flash came from the clouds, and several seds later a crash of thunder so loud it shook the very fabric of Lees balloon, and echoed back for a long time from the mountains.
Then came another flash of lightning, and this time the jagged fork struck down direct from the thunderhead at one of the zeppelins. In a moment the gas was alight. A bright flower of flame blossomed against the braise-dark clouds, and the craft drifted down slowly, ablaze like a bea, and floated, still blazing, oer.
Lee let out the breath hed been holding. Grumman was standing beside him, one hand on the suspensi, with lines of exhaustion deep in his face.
"Did y that storm?" said Lee.
Grumman nodded.
The sky was now colored like a tiger; bands of gold alternated with patches and stripes of deepest brown-black, and the pattern ged by the minute, for the gold was fading rapidly as the brownblagulfed it. The sea behind atchwork of black water and phosphorest foam, and the last of the burning zeppelins flames were dwindling into nothing as it sank.
The remaining three, however, were flying on, buffeted hard but keeping to their course. More lightning flashed around them, and as the storm came closer, Lee began to fear for the gas in his own balloon. Orike could have it tumbling to earth in flames, and he didnt suppose the shaman could trol the storm so finely as to avoid that.
&quht, Dr. Grumman," he said. "Im going to ighose zeppelins for now and trate oing us safe into the mountains and on the ground. What I want you to do is sit tight and hold on, and be prepared to jump when I tell you. Ill give you warning, and Ill try to make it as gentle as I , but landing in these ditions is a matter of luck as much as skill."
"I trust you, Mr. Scoresby," said the shaman.
He sat ba a er of the basket while his daemon perched on the suspensi, her claws dug deep in the leather binding.
The wind was blowing them hard now, and the great gasbag swelled and billowed in the gusts. The ropes creaked and strained, but Lee had no fear of their giving way. He let go some more ballast and watched the altimeter closely. In a storm, when the air pressure sank, you had to offset that drop against the altimetric reading, and very often it was a crude rule-of-thumb calculation. Lee ran through the figures, double-checked them, and then released the last of his ballast. The only trol he had now was the gas valve. He couldnt go higher; he could only desd.
He peered ily through the stormy air and made out the great bulk of the hills, dark against the dark sky. From below there came a r, rushing sound, like the crash of surf on a stony beach, but he k was the wind tearing through the leaves orees. So far, already! They were moving faster thahought.
And he shouldnt leave it too long before he brought them down. Lee was too cool by nature te at fate; his manner was to raise an eyebrow and greet it laically. But he couldnt help a flicker of despair now, when the ohing he should do—namely, fly before the storm a blow itself out—was the ohing guarao get them shot down.
He scooped up Hester and tucked her securely into his breast, buttoning the vas coat up close to keep her in. Grumman sat steady and quiet; his daemon, wind-torn, g firmly with her talons deep in the basket rim and her feathers blow.
"Im going to take us down, Dr. Grumman," Lee shouted above the wind. "You should stand and be ready to jump clear. Hold the ring and swing yourself up when I call."
Grumman obeyed. Lee gazed down, ahead, down, ahead, cheg each dim glimpse against the , and blinking the rain out of his eyes; for a sudden squall had brought heavy drops at them like handfuls of gravel, and the drumming they made on the gasbag added to the winds howl and the lash of the leaves below until Lee could hardly evehe thunder.
"Here we go!" he shouted. "You cooked up a fiorm, Mr. Shaman."
He pulled at the gas-valve line and lashed it around a cleat to keep it open. As the gas streamed out of the top, invisible far above, the lower curve of the gasbag withdrew into itself, and a fold, and then another, appeared where there had been a bulging sphere only a minute before.
The basket was tossing and lurg so violently it was hard to tell if they were going down, and the gusts were so sudden and wayward that they might easily have been blown high into the sky without knowing; but after a minute or so Lee felt a sudden snag and khe grapnel had caught on a branch. It was only a temporary check, so the branch had broken, but it showed how close they were.
He shouted, "Fifty feet above the trees—"
The shaman nodded.
Then came another snag, more violent, and the two mehrown hard against the rim of the basket. Lee was used to it and found his bala once, but the force took Grumman by surprise.
However, he didnt lose his grip on the suspensi, and Lee could see him safely poised, ready to swing himself clear.
A moment later came the most jolting shock of all as the grapnel found a branch that held it fast.
The basket tilted at ond a sed later was crashing into the treetops, and amid the lashing of wet leaves and the snapping of twigs and the creak of tormented branche藏书网s it jolted to a precarious halt.
"Still there, Dr. Grumman?" Lee called, for it was impossible to see anything.
"Still here, Mr. Scoresby."
"Better keep still for a miill we see the situation clearly," said Lee, for they were wildly swaying in the wind, and he could feel the basket settling with little jerks against whatever was holding them up.
There was still a strong sideull from the gasbag, which was now nearly empty, but which as a result was catg the wind like a sail. It crossed Lees mind to cut it loose, but if it didnt fly away altogether, it would hang ireetops like a banner and give their position away; much better to take it in, if they could.
There came anhtning flash, and a sed later the thunder crashed. The storm was nearly overhead. The glare showed Lee an oak trunk, with a great white scar where a branch had been torn away, but torn only partially, for the basket was resting on it he point where it was still attached to the trunk.
"Im going to throw out a rope and climb down," he shouted. "As soon as our feet touch the ground, we make the plan."
"Ill follow you, Mr. Scoresby," said Grumman. "My daemon tells me the ground is forty feet down."
And Lee was aware of a powerful flutter of wis as the eagle daemoled again on the basket rim.
"She go that far?" he said, surprised, but put that out of his mind and made the rope secure, first to the suspensi and then to the branch, so that even if the basket did fall, it wouldnt fall far.
Then, with Hester secure in his breast, he threw the rest of the rope over and clambered down till he felt solid grouh his feet. The branches grew thick around the trunk; this was a massive tree, a giant of an oak, and Lee muttered a thank-you to it as he tugged on the rope to signal to Grumman that he could desd.
Was there another sound iumult? He listened hard. Yes, the engine of a zeppelin, maybe more than one, some way above. It was impossible to tell how high, or in which dire it was flying; but the sound was there for a minute or so, and then it was gone.
The shaman reached the ground.
"Did you hear it?" said Lee.
"Yes. Going higher, into the mountains, I think. gratulations on landing us safely, Mr. Scoresby."
"We aint finished yet. I want to git that gasbag uhe opy before daybreak, or itll show up our position from miles away. You up to some manual labor, Dr. Grumman?"
Tell me what to do."
"All right. Im going back up the rope, and Ill lower some things down to you. One of thems a tent.
You git that set up while I see what I do up there to hide the balloon."
They labored for a long time, and in peril at one point, when the branch that had been supp the basket finally broke and pitched Lee down with it; but he didnt fall far, sihe gasbag still trailed among the treetops ahe basket suspended.
The fall in fact made cealing the gasbag easier, sihe lower part of it had been pulled down through the opy; and w by flashes of lightning, tugging and wreng and hag, Lee ma the whole body of the balloon down among the lower branches and out of sight.
The wind was still beating the treetops bad forth, but the worst of the rain had passed by the time he decided he could do no more. He clambered down and found that the shaman had not only pitched the tent but had jured a fire into being, and was brewing some coffee.
"This done by magic?" said Lee, soaked and stiff, easing himself down into the tent and taking the mug Grumman handed him.
"No, you thank the Boy Scouts for this," said Grumman. "Do they have Boy Scouts in your world? Be prepared. Of all the ways of starting a fire, the best is dry matches. I ravel without them. We could do worse than this as a campsite, Mr. Scoresby."
"You heard those zeppelins again?"
Grumman held up his hand. Lee listened, and sure enough, there was that engine sound, easier to make out now that the rain had eased a little.
"Theyve beewiow," said Grumman. "They dont know where we are, but they know were here somewhere."
And a mier a flickering glow came from somewhere in the dire the zeppelin had flown. It ..s less bright than lightning, but it ersistent, and Lee k for a flare.
"Best put out the fire, Dr. Grumman," he said, "sorry as I am to do without it. I think that opys thick, but you never know. Im going to sleep now, wet through or not."
"You will be dry by the m," said the shaman.
He took a handful of wet earth and pressed it dowhe flames, aruggled to lie down itle tent and closed his eyes.
He had strange and powerful dreams. At one point he was vinced he had awoken to see the shaman sitting cross-legged, wreathed in flames, and the flames were rapidly ing his flesh to leave only a white skeleton behind, still seated in a mound of glowing ash. Lee looked for Hester in alarm, and found her sleeping, whiever happened, for when he was awake, so was she. So when he found her asleep, his laic, whip-tongued daemon looking so gentle and vulnerable, he was moved by the strangeness of it, and he lay down uneasily beside her, awake in his dream, but really asleep, and he dreamed he lay awake for a long time.
Another dream focused on Grumman, too. Lee seemed to see the shaman shaking a feathertrimmed rattle and anding something to obey him. The something, Lee saw with a touch of nausea, ecter, like the oheyd seen from the balloon. It was tall and nearly invisible, and it invoked such a gut-ing revulsion ihat he nearly woke in terror. But Grumman was direg it fearlessly, and ing to no harm either, because the thing listened closely to him and then drifted upward like a soap bubble until it was lost in the opy.
Then his exhausting night took aurn, for he was in the cockpit of a zeppelin, watg the pilot. In fact, he was sitting in the copilots seat, and they were cruising over the forest, looking down at the wildly tossing treetops, a wild sea of leaf and branch. Then that Specter was in the with them.
Pinioned in his dream, Lee could her move nor cry out, and he suffered the terror of the pilot as the man became aware of what was happening to him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ONE ALAMO GULCH-2
The Specter was leaning over the pilot and pressing what would be its face to his. His daemon, a finch, fluttered and shrieked and tried to pull away, only to fall half-fainting on the instrument pahe pilot turned his face to Lee and put out a hand, but Lee had no power of movement.
The anguish in the mans eyes was wreng. Something true and living was being drained from him, and his daemon fluttered weakly and called in a wild high call, but she was dying.
Then she vanished. But the pilot was still alive. His eyes became filmy and dull, and his reag hand fell back with a limp thud against the throttle. He was alive but not alive; he was indifferent to everything.
And Lee sat and watched helplessly as the zeppelin flew on directly into a scarp of the mountains that rose up before them.
The pilot watched it rear up in the window, but nothing could i him. Lee pushed back against the seat in horror, but nothing happeo stop it, and at the moment of impact he cried, "Hester!"
And woke.
He was ient, safe, aer nibbled his . He was sweating. The shaman was sitting cross-legged, but a shiver passed over Lee as he saw that the eagle daemon was not there near him. Clearly this forest was a bad place, full of haunting phantasms.
Then he became aware of the light by which he was seeing the shaman, because the fire was long out, and the darkness of the forest rofound. Some distant flicker picked out the tree trunks and the undersides of dripping leaves, and Lee k once what i..t was: his dream had been true, and a zeppelin pilot had flown into the hillside.
"Damn, Lee, youre twitg like an aspen leaf. Whats the matter with you?" Hester grumbled, and flicked her long ears.
"Aint you dreaming too, Hester?" he muttered.
"You aint dreaming, Lee, youre seeing. If Ida known you was a seer, Ida cured you a long while baow, you cut it out, you hear?"
He rubbed her head with his thumb, and she shook her ears.
And without the slightest transition he was floating in the air alongside the shamans daemon, Sayan Kotor the osprey. To be in the presence of another mans da;mon and away from his own affected Lee with a powerful throb of guilt and strange pleasure. They were gliding, as if he too were a bird, ourbulent updrafts above the forest, and Lee looked around through the dark air, now suffused with a pallid glow from the full moon that occasionally glared through a brief rent in the cloud cover and made the treet with silver.
The eagle daemon uttered a harsh scream, and from below came in a thousand different voices the calls of a thousand birds: the too-whoo of owls, the alarm shriek of little sparrows, the liquid music of the nightingale. Sayan Kotor was calling them. And in ahey came, every bird in the forest, whether they had been gliding in the hunt on silent wings or roosting asleep; they came fluttering upward ihousands through the tumbling air.
And Lee felt whatever bird nature he was sharing respond with joy to the and of the eagle queen, and whatever humanness he had left felt the stra of pleasures: that of eager obedieo a stronger power that was wholly right. And he wheeled and turned with the rest of the mighty flock, a hundred different species all turning as one in the magic will of the eagle, and saw against the silver cloud rack the hateful dark regularity of a zeppelin.
They all kly what they must do. And they streamed toward the airship, the swiftest reag it first, but none so swiftly as Sayan Kotor; the tiny wrens and fihe darting swifts, the silent-winged owls—within a mihe craft was laden with them, their claws scrabbling for purchase on the oiled silk or puncturing it to gain a hold.
They avoided the ehough some were drawn into it and dashed to pieces by the slig propellers. Most of the birds simply perched on the body of the zeppelin, and those that came seized on to them, until they covered not only the whole body of the craft (now venting hydrogen through a thousand tiny claw holes) but the windows of the too, and the struts and cables—every square inch of room had a bird, two birds, three or more, ging to it.
The pilot was helpless. Uhe weight of the birds the craft began to sink farther and farther down, and then another of those sudden cruel scarps appeared, shouldering up out of the night and of course quite invisible to the men ihe zeppelin, who were swinging their guns wildly and firing at random.
At the last moment Sayan Kotor screamed, and a thunder of wis drowned even the roar of the engine as every bird took off and flew away. And the men in the had four or five horrified seds of knowledge before the zeppelin crashed and burst into flames.
Fire, heat, flames ... Lee woke up again, his body as hot as if hed been lying in the desert sun.
Outside the tent there was still the endless drip-drip of wet leaves on the vas, but the storm was over. Pale gray light seeped in, and Lee propped himself up to fier blinking beside him and the shaman ed in a bla so deeply asleep he might have been dead, had not Sayan Kotor been perched asleep on a fallen branch outside.
The only sound apart from the drip of water was the normal forest birdsong. No engines in the sky, no enemy voices; so Lee thought it might be safe to light the fire, and after a struggle he got it going and brewed some coffee.
"What now, Hester?" he said.
"Depends. There was four of those zeppelins, and he destroyed three."
"I mean, have we discharged our duty?"
She flicked her ears and said, "Dont remember no tract."
"It aint a tractual thing. Its a moral thing."
"We got one more zeppelin to think about before you start fretting about morals, Lee. Theres thirty, forty men with guns all ing for us. Imperial soldiers, whats more. Survival first, morals later."
She was right, of course, and as he sipped the scalding brew and smoked a cigar, with the daylight gradually growing stronger, he wondered what he would do if he were in charge of the one remaining zeppelin. Withdraw and wait for full daylight, no doubt, and fly high enough to s the edge of the forest over a wide area, so he could see when Lee and Grumman broke cover.
The osprey daemon Sayan K6tor awoke, and stretched her great wings above where Lee was sitting. Hester looked up and turned her head this way and that, looking at the mighty daemon with each golden eye hi turn, and a moment later the shaman himself came out of the tent.
"Busy night," Lee remarked.
"A busy day to e. We must leave the forest at once, Mr. Scoresby. They are going to burn it."
Lee looked around incredulously at the soakiation and said, "How?"
"They have an ehat throws out a kind of naphtha blended with potash, which ignites when it touches water. The Imperial Navy developed it to use in their war with Nippon. If the forest is saturated, it will catch all the more quickly."
"You see that, you?"
"As clearly as you saw what happeo the zeppelins during the night. Pack what you want to carry, and e away now."
Lee rubbed his jaw. The most valuable things he owned were also the most portable—namely, the instruments from the balloon—so he retrieved them from the basket, stowed them carefully in a knapsack, and made sure his rifle was loaded and dry. He left the basket, the rigging, and the gasbag where they lay, tangled and twisted among the branches. From now on he was an aeronaut no more, unless by some miracle he escaped with his life and found enough moo buy another balloon. Now he had to move like an i along the surface of the earth.
They smelled the smoke before they heard the flames, because a breeze from the sea was lifting it inland. By the time they reached the edge of the trees they could hear the fire, a deep and greedy roar.
"Why didnt they do this last night?" said Lee. "They could have barbecued us in our sleep."
"I guess they want to catch us alive," Grumman replied, stripping a branch of its leaves so he could use it as a walking stick, "and theyre waiting to see where we leave the forest."
And sure enough, the drone of the zeppelin soon became audible evehe sound of the flames and of their own labored breathing, for they were hurrying now, clambering upward over roots and rocks and fallerunks and stopping only to gather breath. Sayan Kotor, flying high, swooped down to tell them how much progress they were making, and how far behind the flames were; though it wasnt long before they could see smoke above the trees behind them, and then a streaming banner of flame.
Creatures of the forest—squirrels, birds, wild boar—were fleeing with them, and a chorus of squealings, shriekings, alarm calls of every sort rose around them. The two travelers struggled on toward the edge of the tree line, which was not far ahead; and then they reached it, as wave after wave of heat rolled up at them from the r billows of flame that now soared fifty feet into the air. Trees blazed like torches; the sap in their veins boiled and split them asuhe pit the ifers caught like naphtha, the twigs seemed to blossom with ferocious e flowers all in a moment.
Gasping, Lee and Grumman forced themselves up the steep slope of rocks and scree. Half the sky was obscured by smoke a shimmer, but high above there floated the squat shape of the one remaining zeppelin—too far away, Lee thought hopefully, to see them even through binoculars.
The mountainside rose sheer and impassable ahead of them. There was only one route out of the trap they were in, and that was a narrow defile ahead, where a dry riverbed emerged from a fold in the cuffs.
Lee pointed, and Grumman said, "My thoughts exactly, Mr. Scoresby."
His daemon, gliding and cirg above, tipped her wings and sped to the ravine on a billowing updraft. The men didnt pause, climbing on as quickly as they could, but Lee said, "Excuse me for asking this if its imperti, but I never knew anyone whose daemon could do that except witches. But youre no witch. Was that something you learo do, or did it e natural?"
"For a human being, nothing es naturally," said Grumman. "We have to learhing we do.
Sayan Kotor is tellihat the ravine leads to a pass. If we get there before they see us, we could escape yet."
The eagle swooped down again, and the men climbed higher. Hester preferred to find her own way over the rocks, so Lee followed where she led, avoiding the loose stones and moving as swiftly as he could over the larger rocks, making all the time for the little gulch.
Lee was anxious about Grumman, because the other man ale and drawn and breathing hard.
His labors in the night had drained a lot of his energy. How far they could keep going was a question Lee didnt want to face; but when they were nearly at the entrao the ravine, and actually on the edge of the dried riverbed, he heard a ge in the sound of the zeppelin.
"Theyve seen us," he said.
And it was like receiving a sentence of death. Hester stumbled, even surefooted, firm-hearted Hester stumbled and faltered. Grumman leaned oick he carried and shaded his eyes to look back, auro look too.
The zeppelin was desding fast, making for the slope directly below them. It was clear that the pursuers inteo capture them, not kill them, for a burst of gunfire just then would have finished both of them in a sed. Instead, the pilht the airship skillfully to a hover just above the ground, at the highest point in the slope where he safely could, and from the door a stream of blue-uniformed men jumped down, their wolf daemons beside them, and began to climb.
Lee and Grumman were six hundred yards above them, and not far from the entrao the ravine. Ohey reached it, they could hold the soldiers off as long as their ammunition held out; but they had only one rifle.
"Theyre after me, Mr. Scoresby," said Grumman, "not you. If you give me the rifle and surrender yourself, youll survive. Theyre discipliroops. Youll be a prisoner of war."
Lee ighat and said, "Git moving. Make the guld Ill hold them off from the mouth while you find your way out the other end. I brought you this far, and I aint going to sit bad let em catch you now."
The men below were moving up quickly, for they were fit aed. Grumman nodded.
"I had nth left t the fourth one down" was all he said, and they moved quickly into the shelter of the gulch.
"Just tell me before you go," said Lee, "because I wont be easy till I know. What side Im fighting for I t tell, and I dont greatly care. Just teH me this: What Im a-going to do now, is that going to help that little girl Lyra, or harm her?"
"Its going to help her," said Grumman.
"And your oath. You wont fet what you swore to me?"
"I wont fet."
"Because, Dr. Grumman, or John Parry, or whatever name you take up in whatever world you end up in, you be aware of this: I love that little child like a daughter. If Id had a child of my own, I couldnt love her more. And if you break that oath, whatever remains of me will pursue whatever remains of you, and youll spend the rest of eternity wishing you never existed. Thats how important that oath is."
"I uand. And you have my word."
"Then thats all I o know. Go well."
The shaman held out his hand, and Lee shook it. Then Grumman turned and made his the gulch, and Lee looked around for the best plaake his stand.
"Not the big boulder, Lee," said Hester. "You t see to the right from there, and they could rush us. Take the smaller one."
There was a r in Lees ears that had nothing to do with the >?flagration in the forest below, or with the lab drone of the zeppelin trying to rise again. It had to do with his childhood, and the Alamo. How often he and his panions had played that heroic battle, in the ruins of the old fort, taking turns to be Danes and French! His childhood was ing ba, with a vengeance. He took out the Navaj of his mothers and laid it on the rock beside him. In the old Alamo games, Hester had often been a cougar or a wolf, and once or twice a rattlesnake, but mostly a mogbird. Now— "Quit daydreaming and take a sight," she said. "This aint play, Lee."
The men climbing the slope had fanned out and were moving more slowly, because they saw the problem as well as he did. They kheyd have to capture the gulch, and they khat one man with a rifle could hold them off for a long time. Behind them, to Lees surprise, the zeppelin was still lab to rise. Maybe its buoyancy was going, or maybe the fuel was running low, but either way it hadnt taken off yet, and it gave him an idea.
He adjusted his position and sighted along the old Wier until he had the port engine mounting plumb hi view, and fired. The crack raised the soldiers heads as they climbed toward him, but a sed later the engine suddenly roared and then just as suddenly seized and died. The zeppelin lurched over to one side. Lee could hear the ine howling, but the airship was grounded now.
The soldiers had halted and taken cover as well as they could. Lee could t them, and he did:
twenty-five. He had thirty bullets.
Hester crept up close to his left shoulder.
"Ill watch this way," she said.
Crouched on the gray boulder, her ears flat along her back, she looked like a little stone herself, gray-brown and inspicuous, except for her eyes. Hester was y; she was about as plain and sy as a hare could be; but her eyes were marvelously colored, gold-hazel flecked with rays of deepest peat brown and forest green. And now those eyes were looking down at the last landscape theyd ever see: a barren slope of brutal tumbled rocks, and beyond it a forest on fire.
Not a blade of grass, not a speck of green to rest on.
Her ears flicked slightly.
"Theyre talking," she said. "I hear, but I t uand."
"Russian," he said. "Theyre gonna e up all together and at a run. That would be hardest for us, so theyll do that."
"Aim straight," she said.
"I will. But hell, I dont like taking lives, Hester."
"Ours or theirs."
"No, its more than that," he said. "Its theirs or Lyras. I t see how, but were ected to that child, and Im glad of it."
"Theres a man on the left about to shoot," said Hester, and as she spoke, a crack came from his rifle, and chips of stone flew off the boulder a foot from where she crouched. The bullet whined off into the gulch, but she didnt move a muscle.
"Well, that makes me feel better about doing this," said Lee, and took careful aim.
He fired. There was only a small patch of blue to aim at, but he hit it. With a surprised cry the man fell bad died.
And then the fight began. Within a mihe crack of rifles, the whine of ricocheting bullets, the smash of pulverizing rock echoed and rang the length of the mountainside and along the hollow gulch behind. The smell of cordite, and the burning smell that came from the powdered rock where the bullets hit, were just variations on the smell of burning wood from the forest, until it seemed that the whole world was burning.
Lees boulder was soon scarred and pitted, and he felt the thud of the bullets as they hit it. Once he saw the fur oers back ripple as the wind of a bullet passed over it, but she didnt budge.
Nor did he stop firing.
That first minute was fierce. And after it, in the pause that came, Lee found that he was wouhere was blood on the roder his cheek, and his right hand and the rifle bolt were red.
Hester moved around to look.
"Nothing big," she said. "A bullet clipped your scalp."
"Did you t how many fell, Hester?"
"No. Too busy dug. Reload while you , boy."
He rolled down behind the rod worked the bolt bad forth. It was hot, and the blood that had flowed freely over it from the scalp wound was drying and making the meism stiff. He spat on it carefully, and it loosened.
Then he hauled himself bato position, and even before hed set his eye to the sight, he took a bullet.
It felt like an explosion in his left shoulder. For a few seds he was dazed, and then he came to his senses, with his left arm numb and useless. There was a great deal of pain waiting t on him, but it hadnt raised the ce yet, and that thought gave him the strength to focus his mind on shooting again.
He propped the rifle on the dead and useless arm that had been so full of life a minute ago, and sighted with stolid tration: one shot... two ... three, and each found its man.
"How we doing?" he muttered.
"Good shooting," she whispered back, very close to his cheek. "Dont stop. Over by that black boulder—"
He looked, aimed, shot. The figure fell.
"Damn, these are men like me," he said.
"Makes no sense," she said. "Do it anyway."
"Do you believe him? Grumman?"
"Sure. Plumb ahead, Lee."
Crack: another man fell, and his daemo out like a dle.
Then there was a long silence. Lee fumbled in his pocket and found some more bullets. As he reloaded, he felt something so rare his heart nearly failed; he felt Hesters face pressed to his own, and it ith tears.
"Lee, this is my fault," she said.
"Why?"
"The Skraeling. I told you to take his ring. Without that wed never be in this trouble."
"You think I ever did what you told me? I took it because the witch—"
He didnt finish, because another bullet found him. This time it smashed into his left leg, and before he could even blink, a third one clipped his head again, like a red-hot poker laid along his skull.
"Not long now, Hester," he muttered, trying to hold still.
"The witch, Lee! You said the witch! Remember?"
Poor Hester, she was lying now, not croug tense and watchful as shed done all his adult life.
And her beautiful gold-brown eyes were growing dull.
"Still beautiful," he said. "Oh, Hester, yeah, the witch. She gave me..."
"Sure she did. The flower."
"In my breast pocket. Fetch it, Hester, I t move."
It was a hard struggle, but she tugged out the little scarlet flower with her stroh and laid it by his right hand. With a great effort he closed it in his fist and said, "Serafina Pekkala! Help me, I beg ..."
A movement below: he let go of the flower, sighted, fired. The movement died.
Hester was failing.
"Hester, dont you go before I do," Lee whispered.
"Lee, I couldnt abide to be anywhere away from you for a single sed," she whispered back.
"You think the witch will e?"
"Sure she will. We should have called her before."
"We should have done a lot of things."
"Maybe so ..."
Another crack, and this time the bullet went deep somewhere inside, seeking out the ter of his life. He thought: It wont find it there. Hesters my ter. And he saw a blue flicker down below, and strai the barrel over toil.
"Hes the one," Hester breathed.
Lee found it hard to pull the trigger. Everything was hard. He had to try three times, and finally he got it. The blue uniform tumbled away down the slope.
Another long silehe pain nearby was losing its fear of him. It was like a pack of jackals, cirg, sniffing, treading closer, and he khey wouldnt leave him now till theyd eaten him bare.
"Theres one ma," Hester muttered. "Hes a-making for the zeppelin."
And Lee saw him mistily, one soldier of the Imperial Guard creeping away from his panys defeat.
"I t shoot a man in the back," Lee said.
"Shame to die with one bullet left, though."
So he took aim with his last bullet at the zeppelin itself, still r and straining to rise with its one engine, and the bullet must have been red-hot, or maybe a burning brand from the forest beloafted to the airship on an updraft; for the gas suddenly billowed into an e fireball, and the envelope and the metal skeleton rose a little way and then tumbled down very slowly, gently, but full of a fiery death.
And the man creeping away and the six or seven others who were the only remnant of the Guard, and who hadnt dared e closer to the man holding the ravine, were engulfed by the fire that fell on them.
Lee saw the fireball and heard through the roar in his ears Hester saying, "Thats all of em, Lee."
He said, or thought, "Those poor men didnt have to e to this, nor did we."
She said, "We held em off. We held out. Were a-helping Lyra."
Then she ressing her little proud broken self against his face, as close as she could get, and then they died.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN： BLOODMOSS-1
On, said the alethiometer. Farther, higher.
So on they climbed. The witches flew above to spy out the best routes, because the hilly land soon gave way to steeper slopes and rocky footing, and as the sun rose toward noon, the travelers found themselves in a tangled land ullies, cliffs, and boulder-strewn valleys where not a single green leaf grew, and where the stridulation of is was the only sound.
They moved on, stopping only for sips of water from their goatskin flasks, and talking little.
Pantalaimon flew above Lyras head for a while until he tired of that, and then he became a little sure-footed mountain sheep, vain of his horns, leaping among rocks while Lyra scrambled laboriously alongside. Will moved on grimly, screwing up his eyes against the glare, ign the worsening pain from his hand, and finally reag a state in whient alone was good and stillness bad, so that he suffered more from resting than from toiling on. And sihe failure of the witches spell to stop his bleeding, he thought they were regarding him with fear, too, as if he was marked by some curse greater than their own power9９liｂ?s.
At one point they came to a little lake, a patch of intense blue scarcely thirty yards across among the red rocks. They stopped there to drink and refill their flasks, and to soak their ag feet in the icy water. They stayed a few minutes and moved on, and soon afterward, when the sun was at its highest and hottest, Serafina Pekkala darted down to speak to them. She was agitated.
"I must leave you for a while," she said. "Lee Scoresby needs me. I dont know why. But he wouldnt call if he didnt need my help. Keep going, and Ill find you."
"Mr. Scoresby?" said Lyra, excited and anxious. "But where—"
But Serafina was gone, speeding out of sight before Lyra could finish the question. Lyra reached automatically for the alethiometer to ask what had happeo Lee Scoresby, but she let her hand drop, because shed promised to do no more than guide Will.
She looked across to him. He was sitting nearby, his hand held loosely on his knee and still slowly dripping blood, his face scorched by the sun and pale uhe burning.
"Will," she said, "dyou know why you have to find your father?"
"Its what Ive always known. My mother said Id take up my fathers mahats all I know."
"What does that mean, taking up his mantle? Whats a mantle?"
"A task, I suppose. Whatever hes been doing, Ive got to carry on. It makes as much sense as anything else."
He wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his right hand. What he couldnt say was that he longed for his father as a lost child yearns for home. That parison wouldnt have occurred to him, because home was the place he kept safe for his mother, not the place others kept safe for him.
But it had been five years now sihat Saturday m in the supermarket when the pretend game of hiding from the enemies became desperately real, such a long time in his life, and his heart craved to hear the words "Well done, well done, my child; no one oh could have doer; Im proud of you. e a now...."
Will longed for that so much that he hardly knew he did. It was just part of what everythi like. So he couldnt express that to Lyra now, though she could see it in his eyes, and that was new for her, too, to be quite so perceptive. The fact was that where Will was ed, she was developing a new kind of sense, as if he were simply more in focus than anyone shed known before. Everything about him was clear and close and immediate.
And she might have said that to him, but at that moment a witch flew down.
"I see people behind us," she said. "Theyre a long way back, but theyre moving quickly. Shall I go closer and look?"
"Yes, do," said Lyra, "but fly low, and hide, and dohem see you."
Will and Lyra got painfully to their feet again and clambered on.
"I been cold plenty of times," Lyra said, to take her mind off the pursuers, "but I ehis hot, ever. Is it this hot in your world?"
"Not where I used to live. Not normally. But the climates been ging. The summers are hotter than they used to be. They say that people have been interfering with the atmosphere by putting chemicals in it, and the weathers going out of trol."
"Yeah, well, they have," said Lyra, "and it is. And were here in the middle of it."
He was too hot and thirsty to reply, and they climbed ohlessly ihrobbing air.
Pantalaimon was a cricket now, and sat on Lyras shoulder, too tired to leap or fly. From time to time the witches would see a spring high up, too high to climb to, and fly up to fill the childrens flasks. They would soon have died without water, and there was none where they were; any spring that made its way into the air was soon swallowed again among the rocks.
And so they moved on, toward evening.
The witch who flew back to spy was called Le. She flew low, fr t, and as the sun was setting and drawing a wild blood-red out of the rocks, she came to the little blue lake and found a troop of soldiers making camp.
But her first glimpse of them told her more than she wao know; these soldiers had no daemons. And they werent from Wills world, or the world of Cittagazze, where peoples daemons were ihem, and where they still looked alive; these men were from her own world, and to see them without daemons was a gross and siing horror.
Then out of a tent by the lakeside came the explanation. Le saw a woman, a short-life, graceful in her khaki hunting clothes and as full of life as the golden monkey who capered along the waters edge beside>.９9ｌiｂ. her.
Le hid among the rocks above and watched as Mrs. Coulter spoke to the officer in charge, and as his men put up tents, made fires, boiled water.
The witch had been among Serafma Pekkalas troop who rescued the children at Bolvangar, and she loo shoot Mrs. Coulter on the spot; but some fortune roteg the woman, for it was just too far for a bowshot from where she was, and the witch could get no closer without making herself invisible. So she began to make the spell. It took ten minutes of deep tration.
fident at last, Le went down the rocky slope toward the lake, and as she walked through the camp, one or two blank-eyed soldiers glanced up briefly, but found what they saw too hard to remember, and looked away again. The witch stopped outside the tent Mrs. Coulter had goo, and fitted an arrow to her b.
She listeo the low voice through the vas and then moved carefully to the open flap that overlooked the lake.
Ihe tent Mrs. Coulter was talking to a man Le hadnt seen before: an older man, gray-haired and powerful, with a serpent daemon twined around his wrist. He was sitting in a vas chair beside hers, and she was leaning toward him, speaking softly.
"Of course, Carlo," she was saying, "Ill tell you anything you like. What do you want to know?"
"How do you and the Specters?" the man said. "I didnt think it possible, but you have them following you like dogs.... Are they afraid of your bodyguard? What is it?"
"Simple," she said. "They know I give them more nourishment if they let me live than if they e me. I lead them to all the victims their phantom hearts desire. As soon as you described them to me, I knew I could domihem, and so it turns out. And a whole world trembles in the power of these pallid things! But, Carlo," she whispered, "I please you, too, you know. Would you like me to please you even more?"
"Marisa," he murmured, "its enough of a pleasure to be close to you...."
"No, it isnt, Carlo; you know it isnt. You know I please you more than this."
Her daemons little black horny hands were stroking the serpent daemon. Little by little the serpent loosened herself and began to flow along the mans arm toward the monkey. Both the man and the woman were holding glasses of golden wine, and she sipped hers and leaned a little closer to him.
"Ah," said the man as the daemon slipped slowly off his arm a her weight into the golden monkeys hands. The monkey raised her slowly to his fad ran his cheek softly along her emerald skiongue flicked blackly this way and that, and the man sighed.
"Carlo, tell me why youre pursuing the boy," Mrs. Coulter whispered, and her voice was as soft as the monkeys caress. "Why do you o find him?"
"He has something I want. Oh, Marisa—"
"What is it, Carlo? Whats he got?"
He shook his head. But he was finding it hard to resist; his daemon was twined gently around the monkeys breast, and running her head through and through the long, lustrous fur as his hands moved along her fluid length.
Le watched them, standing invisible just two paces from where they sat. Her b was taut, the arrow o it in readiness; she could have pulled and loosed ihan a sed, and Mrs. Coulter would have been dead before she finished drawing breath. But the witch was curious. She stood still and silent and wide-eyed.
But while she was watg Mrs. Coulter, she didnt look behind her across the little blue lake. On the far side of it in the darkness a grove of ghostly trees seemed to have plaself, a grove that shivered every so often with a tremor like a scious iion. But they were not trees, of course; and while all the curiosity of Le and her daemon was directed at Mrs. Coulter, one of the pallid forms detached itself from its fellows and drifted across the surface of the icy water, causing not a single ripple, until it paused a foot from the ro which Les daemon erched.
"You could easily tell me, Carlo," Mrs. Coulter was murmuring. "You could whisper it. You could pretend to be talking in your sleep, and who could blame you for that? Just tell me what the boy has, and why you want it. I could get it for you... .Wouldnt you like me to do that? Just tell me, Carlo. I dont want it. I want the girl. What is it? Just tell me, and you shall have it."
He gave a soft shudder. His eyes were closed. Then he said, "Its a khe subtle knife of Cittagazze. You havent heard of it, Marisa? Some people call it teleutaia makhaira, the last knife of all. Others call it Aesahaettr."
"What does it do, Carlo? Why is it special?"
"Ah ... Its the khat will cut anything. Not even its makers knew what it could do. Nothing, no one, matter, spirit, angel, air—nothing is invulnerable to the subtle knife. Marisa, its mine, you uand?"
"Of course, Carlo. I promise. Let me fill ylass ..."
And as the golden monkey slowly ran his hands along the emerald serpent again and again, squeezing just a little, lifting, stroking as Sir Charles sighed with pleasure, L９9ｌib.e saw what was truly happening: because while the mans eyes were closed, Mrs. Coulter secretly tilted a few drops from a small flask into the glass before filling it again with wine.
"Here, darling," she whispered. "Lets drink, to each other...."
He was already intoxicated. He took the glass and sipped greedily, once, again, and again.
And then, without any warning, Mrs. Coulter stood up and turned and looked Le full in the face.
"Well, witch," she said, "did you think I dont know how you make yourself invisible?"
Le was too surprised to move.
Behihe man was struggling to breathe. His chest was heaving, his face was red, and his daemon was limp and fainting in the monkeys hands. The monkey shook her off in pt.
Le tried to swing her bow up, but a fatal paralysis had touched her shoulder. She couldnt make herself do it. This had never happened before, and she uttered a little cry.
"Oh, its too late for that," said Mrs. Coulter. "Look at the lake, witch."
Le turned and saw her snow bunting daemon fluttering and shrieking as if he were in a glass chamber that was beiied of air; fluttering and falling, slumping, failing, his beak opening wide, gasping in panic. The Specter had enveloped him.
"No!" she cried, and tried to move toward it, but was driven back by a spasm of nausea. Even in her sied distress, Le could see that Mrs. Coulter had more for her soul than anyone she had ever seen. It didnt surprise her to see that the Specter was under Mrs. Coulters power; no one could resist that authority. Le turned ba anguish to the woman.
"Let him go! Please let him go!" she cried.
"Well see. Is the child with you? The girl Lyra?"
"Yes!"
"And a boy, too? A boy with a knife?"
"Yes—I beg you—"
"And how many witches have you?"
"Twenty! Let him go, let him go!"
"All in the air? Or do some of you stay on the ground with the children?"
"Most in the air, three or four on the ground always—this is anguish—let him go or kill me now!"
"Ho the mountaihey? Are they moving on, or have they stopped to rest?"
Le told her everything. She could have resisted any torture but what was happening to her dajmon now. When Mrs. Coulter had learned all she wao know about where the witches were, and how they guarded Lyra and Will, she said, "And now tell me this. You witches know something about the child Lyra. I nearly lear from one of your sisters, but she died before I could plete the torture. Well, there is no oo save you now. Tell me the truth about my daughter."
Le gasped, "She will be the mother—she will be life—mother—she will disobey—she will—"
"Name her! You are saying everything but the most important thing! Name her!" cried Mrs. Coulter.
"Eve! Mother of all! Eve, again! Mother Eve!" stammered Le, sobbing.
"Ah," said Mrs. Coulter.
And she breathed a great sigh, as if the purpose of her life was clear to her at last.
Dimly the witch saw what she had done, and through the horror that was enveloping her she tried to cry out: "What will you do to her? What will you do?"
"Why, I shall have to destroy her," said Mrs. Coulter, "to prevent another Fall.... Why didnt I see this before? It was toe to see...."
She clapped her hands together softly, like a child, wide-eyed. Le, whimpering, heard her go on: "Of course. Asriel will make war ohority, and then.... Of course, of course. As before, so again. And Lyra is Eve. And this time she will not fall. Ill see to that."
And Mrs. Coulter drew herself up, and snapped her fio the Specter feeding ochs daemon. The little snow bunting daemon lay twitg on the rock as the Specter moved toward the witch herself, and then whatever Le had undergone before was doubled and trebled and multiplied a hundredfold. She felt a nausea of the soul, a hideous and siing despair, a melancholy weariness so profound that she was going to die of it. Her last scious thought was disgust at life; her senses had lied to her. The world was not made of energy and delight but of foulness, betrayal, and lassitude. Living was hateful, ah was er, and from end to end of the universe this was the first and last and only truth.
Thus she stood, bow in hand, indifferent, dead in life.
So Le failed to see or to care about what Mrs. Coulter did . Ign the gray-haired man slumped unscious in the vas chair and his dull-skinned daemon coiled in the dust, the woman called the captain of the soldiers and ordered them to get ready for a night march up the mountain.
Then she went to the edge of the water and called to the Specters.
They came at her and, gliding like pillars of mist across the water. She raised her arms and made them fet they were earthbound, so that one by ohey rose into the air and floated free like malignant thistledown, drifting up into the night and borne by the air currents toward Will and Lyra and the other witches; but Le saw nothing of it.
The temperature dropped quickly after dark, and when Will and Lyra had eaten the last of their dry bread, they lay down under an ing rock to keep warm and try to sleep. At least Lyra didnt have to try; she was unscious ihan a minute, curled tightly around Pantalaimon, but Will couldnt find sleep, no matter how long he lay there. It artly his hand, which was now throbbing right up to the elbow and unfortably swollen, and partly the hard ground, and partly the cold, and partly utter exhaustion, and partly his longing for his mother.
He was afraid for her, of course, and he knew shed be safer if he was there to look after her; but he wanted her to look after him, too, as shed done when he was very small. He wanted her to bandage him and tuck him into bed and sing to him and take away all the trouble and surround him with all the warmth and softness and mother-kindness he needed so badly; and it was never going to happen. Part of him was only a little boy still. So he cried, but he lay very still as he did, not wanting to wake Lyra.
But he still wasnt asleep. He was more awake than ever. Finally he uncurled his stiff limbs and got up quietly, shivering; and with the k his waist he set off higher up the mountain, to calm his restlessness.
Behind him the sentry witchs robin daemon cocked his head, and she turned from the watch she was keeping to see Will clambering up the rocks. She reached for her pine brand silently took to the air, not to disturb him but to see that he came to no harm.
He didnt notice. He felt such a o move and keep moving that he hardly noticed the pain in his hand anymore. He felt as if he should walk all night, all day, forever, because nothing else would calm this fever in his breast. And as if in sympathy with him, a wind was rising. There were no leaves to stir in this wilderness, but the air buffeted his body and made his hair stream away from his face; it was wild outside him and wild within.
He climbed higher and higher, hardly ohinking of how he might find his way back down to Lyra, until he came out on a little plateau almost at the top of the world, it seemed. All around him, on every horizon, the mountains reached no higher. In the brilliant glare of the moon the only colors were stark blad dead white, and every edge was jagged and every surface bare.
The wild wind must have been bringing clouds overhead, because suddenly the moon was covered, 藏书网and darkness swept over the whole landscape—thick clouds, too, for no gleam of moonlight shohrough them. Ihan a minute Will found himself in nearly total darkness.
And at the same moment Will felt a grip on his right arm.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN： BLOODMOSS-2
He cried out with shod twisted away at once, but the grip was tenacious. And Will was savage now. He felt he was at the very end of everything; and if it was the end of his life, too, he was going to fight and fight till he fell.
So he twisted and kicked and twisted again, but that hand would go; and si was his right arm being held, he .９9liｂ?could the knife. He tried with his left, but he was being jerked around so much, and his hand was so painful and swollen, that he couldnt reach; he had to fight with one bare, wounded hand against a grown man.
He sank his teeth into the hand on his forearm, but all that happened was that the man landed a dizzying blow on the back of his head. Then Will kicked again and again, and some of the kicks ected and some didnt, and all the time he ulling, jerking, twisting, shoving, and still the grip held him fast.
Dimly he heard his own panting and the mans grunts and harsh breathing; and then by ce he got his leg behind the mans and hurled himself against his chest, and the man fell with Will on top of him, heavily. But never for a moment did that grip sla, and Will, rolling around violently oony ground, felt a heavy fear tighten around his heart: this man would never let him go, and even if he killed him, his corpse would still be holding fast.
But Will was weakening, and now he was g, too, sobbing bitterly as he kicked and tugged a at the man with his head a, and he knew his muscles would give up soon. And theiced that the man had fallen still, though his hand still gripped as tight as ever. He was lying there letting Will batter at him with knees and head; and as soon as Will saw that, the last of his strength left him, and he fell helpless beside his oppo, every nerve in his bing and dizzy and throbbing.
Will hauled himself up painfully, peered through the deep darkness, and made out a blur of white on the ground beside the man. It was the white breast and head of a great bird, an osprey, a daemon, and it was lying still. Will tried to pull away, and his feeble tug woke a response from the man, whose hand hadnt loosened.
But he was moving. He was feeling Wills right hand carefully with his free one. Wills hair stood on end.
Then the man said, "Give me your other hand."
"Be careful," said Will.
The mans free ha down Wills left arm, and his fiips moved gently over the wrist and on to the swollen palm and with the utmost delica to the stumps of Wills two lost fingers.
His other ha go at once, a up.
"Youve got the knife," he said. "Youre the knife bearer."
His voice was resonant, harsh, but breathless. Will sehat he was badly hurt. Had he wouhis dark oppo?
Will was still lying oones, utterly spent. All he could see was the mans shape, croug above him, but he couldnt see his face. The man was reag sideways for something, and after a few moments a marvelous soothing ess spread into his hand from the stumps of his fingers as the man massaged a salve into his skin.
"What are you doing?" Will said.
"g your wound. Keep still.”
"Who are you?"
"Im the only man who knows what the knife is for. Hold your hand up like that. Dont move."
The wind was beating more wildly than ever, and a drop or two of rain splashed onto Wills face.
He was trembling violently, but he propped up his left hand with his right while the man spread more oi over the stumps and wound a strip of liightly around the hand.
And as soon as the dressing was secure, the man slumped sideways and lay down himself. Will, still bemused by the blessed cool numbness in his hand, tried to sit up and look at him. But it was darker than ever. He felt forward with his right hand and found himself toug the mans chest, where the heart was beating like a bird against the bars of a cage.
"Yes," the man said hoarsely. Try and cure that, go on."
"Are you ill?"
"Ill be better soon. You have the knife, yes?"
"Yes."
"And you know how to use it?"
"Yes, yes. But are you from this world? How do you know about it?"
"Listen," said the man, sitting up with a struggle. "Dont interrupt. If youre the bearer of the knife, you have a task thats greater than you imagine. A child... How could they let it happen? Well, so it must be.... There is a war ing, boy. The greatest war there ever was. Something like it happened before, and this time the right side must win. Weve had nothing but lies and propaganda and cruelty a for all the thousands of years of human history. Its time we started again, but properly this time...."
He stopped to take in several rattling breaths.
"The knife," he went on after a minute. "They never knew what they were making, those old philosophers. They ied a device that could split open the very smallest particles of matter, and they used it to steal dy. They had no idea that theyd made the one on in all the universes that could defeat the tyrant. The Authority. God. The rebel angels fell because they didnt have anything like the knife; but now ..."
"I didnt want it! I dont want it now!" Will cried. "If you want it, you have it! I hate it, and I hate what it does—"
Too late. You havent any choice: youre the bearer. Its picked you out. And, whats more, they know youve got it; and if you dont use it against them, theyll tear it from your hands and use it against the rest of us, forever and ever."
"But why should I fight them? Ive been fighting too much; I t go on fighting. I want to—"
"Have you won yhts?"
Will was silent. Then he said, "Yes, I suppose."
"You fought for the knife?"
"Yes, but—-"
"Then youre a warrior. Thats what you are. Argue with anything else, but dont argue with your own nature."
Will khat the man eaking the truth. But it wasnt a wele truth. It was heavy and painful. The man seemed to know that, because he let Will bow his head before he spoke again.
There are two great powers," the man said, "and theyve been fighting siime began. Every advan human life, every scrap of knowledge and wisdom and decy we have has 藏书网been torn by one side from the teeth of the other. Every little increase in human freedom has been fought over ferociously between those who want us to know more and be wiser and stronger, and those who want us to obey and be humble and submit.
"And now those two powers are lining up for battle. And each of them wants that knife of yours more than anything else. You have to choose, boy. Weve been guided here, both of us— you with the knife, ao tell you about it."
"No! Youre wrong!" cried Will. "I wasnt looking for anything like that! Thats not what I was looking for at all!"
"You might not think so, but thats what youve found," said the man in the darkness.
"But what must I do?"
And then Stanislaus Grumman, Jopari, John Parry hesitated.
He ainfully aware of the oath hed sworn to Lee Scoresby, and he hesitated before he broke it; but break it he did.
"You must go to Lord Asriel," he said, "and tell him that Stanislaus Grumma you, and mat you have the one on he needs above all others. Like it or not, boy, you have a job to do. Ignore everything else, no matter how important it seems, and go and do this. Someone will appear to guide you; the night is full of angels. Your wound will heal now—Wait. Before you go, I want to look at you properly."
He felt for the pack hed been carrying and took something out, unfolding layers of oilskin and then striking a match to light a litde tin lantern. In its light, through the rain-dashed windy air, the two looked at each other.
Will saw blazing blue eyes hi a haggard face with several days growth of beard oubborn jaw, gray-haired, drawn with pain, a thin body hunched in a heavy cloak trimmed with feathers.
The shaman saw a boy even youhahought, his slim body shivering in a torn linen shirt and his expression exhausted and savage and wary, but alight with a wild curiosity, his eyes wide uhe straight black brows, so like his mothers....
And there came just the first flicker of something else to both of them.
But in that same moment, as the lantern light flared over John Parrys face, something shot down from the turbid sky, and he fell back dead before he could say a word, an arrow in his faili. The osprey daemon vanished in a moment.
Will could only sit stupefied.
A flicker crossed the er of his vision, and his right hand darted up at once, and he found he was clutg a robin, a daemon, red-breasted, panig.
"No! No!&q?t>uot; cried the witch Juta Kamainen, and fell down after him, clutg at her ow, crashing clumsily into the rocky ground and struggling up again.
But Will was there before she could find her feet, and the subtle knife was at her throat.
"Why did you do that?" he shouted. "Why did you kill him?"
"Because I loved him and he sed me! I am a witch! I dont five!"
And because she was a witch she wouldnt have been afraid of a boy, normally. But she was afraid of Will. This young wounded figure held more ford dahan shed ever met in a human before, and she quailed. She fell backward, and he followed and gripped her hair with his left hand, feeling no pain, feeling only an immense and shattering despair.
"You dont know who he was," he cried. "He was my father!"
She shook her head and whispered, "No. No! That t be true. Impossible!"
"You think things have to be possible? Things have to be true! He was my father, aher of us k till the sed you killed him! Witch, I wait all my life and e all this way and I find him at last, and you kill him...."
And he shook her head like a rag and threw her back against the ground, half-stunning her. Her astonishment was almost greater than her fear of him, which was real enough, and she pulled herself up, dazed, and seized his shirt in supplication. He knocked her hand away.
"What did he ever do that you o kill nun?" he cried. Tell me that, if you !"
And she looked at the dead man. Then she looked back at Will and shook her head sadly.
"No, I t explain," she said. "Youre too young. It wouldnt make seo you. I loved him. Thats all. Thats enough."
And before Will could stop her, she fell softly sideways, her hand on the hilt of the knife she had just taken from her ow and pushed between her ribs.
Will felt no horror, only desolation and bafflement.
He stood up slowly and looked down at the dead witch, at her rich black hair, her flushed cheeks, her smooth pale limbs wet with rain, her lips parted like a lovers.
"I dont uand," he said aloud. "Its toe."
Will turned back to the dead man, his father.
A thousand things jostled at his throat, and only the dashing rain cooled the hotness hi his eyes.
The little lantern still flickered and flared as the draft through the ill-fitting window licked around the flame, and by its light Will k and put his hands on the mans body, toug his face, his shoulders, his chest, closing his eyes, pushing the wet gray hair off his forehead, pressing his hands to the rough cheeks, closing his fathers mouth, squeezing his hands.
"Father," he said, "Dad, Daddy ... Father... I dont uand why she did that. Its toe for me. But whatever you wanted me to do, I promise, I swear Ill do it. Ill fight. Ill be a warrior. I will. This knife, Ill take it to Lord Asriel, wherever he is, and Ill help him fight that enemy. Ill do it. You rest now. Its all right. You sleep now."
Beside the dead man lay his deerskin pack with the oilskin and the lantern and the little horn box of bloodmoss oi. Will picked them up, and theiced his fathers feather-trimmed cloak trailing behind his body on the ground, heavy and sodden but warm. His father had no more use for it, and Will was shaking with cold. He unfastehe bronze buckle at the dead mans throat and swung the vas pack over his shoulder before ing the cloak around himself.
He blew out the lantern and looked back at the dim shapes of his father, of the witch, of his father again before turning to go down the mountain.
The stormy air was electric with whispers, and iearing of the wind Will could hear other sounds, too: fused echoes of cries and ting, the clash of metal oal, pounding wis that one moment sounded so close they might actually be inside his head, and the so far away they might have been on another plahe rocks underfoot were slippery and loose, and it was much harder going down than it had been climbing up; but he didnt falter.
And as he turned down the last little gully before the place where hed left Lyra sleeping, he stopped suddenly. He could see two figures simply standing there, in the dark, waiting. Will put his hand on the knife.
Then one of the figures spoke.
"Youre the boy with the knife?" he said, and his voice had the strange quality of those wis.
Whoever he was, he wasnt a human being.
"Who are you?" Will said. "Are you men, or—"
"Not men, no. We are Watchers. Bene elim. In your language, angels."
Will was silent. The speaker went on: "els have other funs, and other powers. Our task is simple: We need you. We have been following the shaman every inch of his way, hoping he would lead us to you, and so he has. And now we have e to guide you in turn to Lord Asriel."
"You were with my father all the time?"
"Every moment."
"Did he know?"
"He had no idea."
"Why didnt you stop the witch, then? Why did you let her kill him?"
"We would have done, earlier. But his task was over once hed led us to you."
Will said nothing. His head was ringing; this was no less difficult to uand than anything else.
"All right," he said finally. "Ill e with you. But first I must wake Lyra."
They stood aside to let him pass, and he felt a tingle in the air as he went close to them, but he ig and trated oing down the slope toward the little shelter where Lyra was sleeping.
But something made him stop.
In the dimness, he could see the witches who had been guarding Lyra all sitting or standing still.
They looked like statues, except that they were breathing, but they were scarcely alive. There were several black-silk-clad bodies on the ground, too, and as he gazed in horror from oo another of them, Will saw what must have happehey had been attacked in midair by the Specters, and had fallen to their deaths, indifferently.
But— "Wheres Lyra?" he cried aloud.
The hollow uhe rock was empty. Lyra was gone.
There was something uhe where shed been lying. It was Lyras little vas rucksack, and from the weight of it he knew without looking that the alethiometer was still i.
Will was shaking his head. It couldrue, but it was: Lyra was gone, Lyra was captured, Lyra was lost.
The two dark figures of the bene elim had not moved. But they spoke: "You must e with us now. Lord Asriel needs you at ohe enemys power is growing every mihe shaman has told you what your task is. Follow us and help us win. e with us. e this way. e now."
And Will looked from them to Lyras rucksad back again, and he didnt hear a word they said.天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》