TheGoldenCompass

TheSubtleKnife

TheAmberSpyglass

Lyra’sOxford

OnceUponaTimeintheNorth

TheCollectors(ane-story)

TheGoldenCompassGraphicNovel

TheRubyintheSmoke

TheShadowintheNorth

TheTigerintheWell

TheTinPrincess

TheBrokenBridge

TheWhiteMercedes

CountKarlstein

IWasaRat!

TheScarecrowandHisServant

Spring-HeeledJack

TwoCraftyCriminals

THISISABORZOIBOOKPUBLISHEDBYALFREDA.KNOPF

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingor

dead,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Textcopyright©2017byPhilipPullman

Coverartandinteriorillustrationscopyright©2017byChrisWormell

Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyAlfredA.Knopf,animprintofRandomHouseChildren’sBooks,adivisionofPenguinRandomHouseLLC,NewYork.

Knopf,BorzoiBooks,andthecolophonareregisteredtrademarksofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.

VisitusontheWeb!GetUnderlined.com

Educatorsandlibrarians,foravarietyofteachingtools,visitusatRHTeachersLibrarians.com

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataisavailableuponrequest.

ISBN 9780375815300(trade)—ISBN 9780553510720(lib.bdg.)—ebookISBN 9780553510737

RandomHouseChildren’sBookssupportstheFirstAmendmentandcelebratestherighttoread.

v4.1

ep

Worldiscrazierandmoreofitthanwethink,

Incorrigiblyplural….

—LouisMacNeice,“Snow”

Contents

Cover

OtherTitles

TitlePage

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

ChapterOne:TheTerraceRoom

ChapterTwo:TheAcorn

ChapterThree:Lyra

ChapterFour:Uppsala

ChapterFive:TheScholar

ChapterSix:GlazingSprigs

ChapterSeven:TooSoon

ChapterEight:TheLeagueofSt.Alexander

ChapterNine:Counterclockwise

ChapterTen:LordAsriel

ChapterEleven:ThreeLegs

ChapterTwelve:AliceTalks

ChapterThirteen:TheBolognaInstrument

ChapterFourteen:LadywithMonkey

ChapterFifteen:ThePottingShed

ChapterSixteen:ThePharmacy

ChapterSeventeen:Pilgrims’Tower

ChapterEighteen:LordMurderer

ChapterNineteen:ThePoacher

ChapterTwenty:TheSistersofHolyObedience

ChapterTwenty-one:TheEnchantedIsland

ChapterTwenty-two:Resin

ChapterTwenty-three:Ancientry

ChapterTwenty-four:TheMausoleum

ChapterTwenty-five:AQuietRode

Three miles up the river Thames from the center of Oxford, somedistancefromwherethegreatcollegesofJordan,Gabriel,Balliol,andtwodozenotherscontended formastery in theboat races,outwherethecitywasonlyacollectionoftowersandspiresinthedistanceoverthemisty levels of PortMeadow, there stood the Priory ofGodstow,where the gentle nuns went about their holy business; and on theoppositebankfromthepriorytherewasaninncalledtheTrout.

Theinnwasanoldstone-builtrambling,comfortablesortofplace.There was a terrace above the river, where peacocks (one calledNorman and the other called Barry) stalked among the drinkers,helping themselves to snacks without the slightest hesitation andoccasionally lifting their heads to utter ferocious and meaninglessscreams.Therewasasaloonbarwhere thegentry, ifcollegescholarscount as gentry, took their ale and smoked their pipes; there was apublicbarwherewatermenandfarmlaborerssatbythefireorplayeddarts, or stood at the bar gossiping, or arguing, or simply gettingquietlydrunk;therewasakitchenwherethelandlord’swifecookedagreat joint everyday,with a complicatedarrangementofwheels andchainsturningaspitoveranopenfire;andtherewasapotboycalledMalcolmPolstead.

Malcolmwasthelandlord’sson,anonlychild.Hewaselevenyearsold,withaninquisitive,kindlydisposition,astockybuild,andgingerhair.HewenttoUlvercoteElementarySchoolamileaway,andhehadfriends enough, but he was happiest on his own, playing with hisdæmon,Asta,intheircanoe,onwhichMalcolmhadpaintedthenameLABELLESAUVAGE.AwittyacquaintancethoughtitamusingtoscrawlanSover theV, andMalcolmpatientlypainted itout three timesbefore

losinghistemperandknockingthefoolintothewater,atwhichpointtheydeclaredatruce.

Likeeverychildofan innkeeper,Malcolmhad toworkaround thetavern,washingdishesandglasses,carryingplatesoffoodortankardsofbeer,retrievingthemwhentheywereempty.Hetooktheworkforgranted. The only annoyance in his life was a girl called Alice, whohelpedwithwashingthedishes.Shewasaboutsixteen,tallandskinny,withlankdarkhairthatshescrapedbackintoanunflatteringponytail.Lines of self-discontent were already gathering on her forehead andaround her mouth. She teased Malcolm from the day she arrived:“Who’syourgirlfriend,Malcolm?En’t yougotagirlfriend?Whowasyououtwithlastnight?Didyoukissher?En’tyoueverbeenkissed?”

Heignoredthatforalongtime,butfinallyrat-formedAstaleaptatAlice’s scrawny jackdaw dæmon, knocking him into the washing-upwater and then biting and biting the sodden creature till Alicescreamedforpity.ShecomplainedbitterlytoMalcolm’smother,whosaid, “Serves you right. I got no sympathy for you. Keep your nastymindtoyourself.”

Fromthenonshedid.SheandMalcolmtooknottheslightestnoticeof each other; he put the glasses on the draining board, shewashedthem, and he dried them and took them back to the bar without aword,withoutaglance,withoutathought.

But he enjoyed the life of the inn. He especially enjoyed theconversations he overheard, whether they concerned the venalrascalityoftheRiverBoard,thehelplessidiocyofthegovernment,ormorephilosophicalmatters,suchaswhether thestarswerethesameageastheearth.

Sometimes Malcolm became so interested in the latter sort ofconversationthathe’dresthisarmfulofemptyglassesonthetableandjoinin,butonlyafterhavinglistenedintently.Hewasknowntomanyof the scholars and other visitors, and was generously tipped, butbecoming rich was never an aim of his; he took tips to be thegenerosityofprovidence,andcametothinkofhimselfaslucky,whichdidhimnoharminlaterlife.Ifhe’dbeenthesortofboywhoacquiredanickname,hewouldnodoubthavebeenknownasProfessor,buthewasn’t that sort of boy. He was liked when noticed, but not noticedmuch,andthatdidhimnoharmeither.

Malcolm’s other constituency lay just over the bridge outside thetavern, in the gray stone buildings set among green fields and neatorchardsandkitchengardensofthePrioryofSt.Rosamund.Thenunswerelargelyself-sufficient,growingtheirvegetablesandfruit,keepingtheirbees,sewingtheelegantvestmentstheysoldforkeenlybargainedgold,butfromtimetotimetherewereerrandsausefulboycouldrun,or there was a ladder to be repaired under the supervision of Mr.Taphouse,theagedcarpenter,orsomefishtobringfromMedleyPondalittlewaydowntheriver.LaBelleSauvagewasfrequentlyemployedintheserviceof thegoodnuns;morethanonceMalcolmhadferriedSister Benedicta to the Royal Mail zeppelin station with a preciousparcel of stoles or copesor chasubles for thebishopofLondon,whoseemed to wear his vestments very hard, for he got through themunusuallyquickly.Malcolmlearnedalotontheseleisurelyvoyages.

“Howd’youmake themparcels soneat, SisterBenedicta?”he saidoneday.

“Thoseparcels,”saidSisterBenedicta.

“Thoseparcels.Howd’youmake’emsoneat?”

“Neatly,Malcolm.”

Hedidn’tmind;thiswasasortofgametheyhad.

“Ithought‘neat’wasallright,”hesaid.

“Itdependsonwhetheryouwanttheideaofneatnesstomodifytheactoftyingtheparcel,ortheparcelitself,oncetied.”

“Don’tmind,really,”saidMalcolm.“Ijustwanttoknowhowyoudo’em.Them.”

“NexttimeIhaveaparceltotie,IpromiseI’llshowyou,”saidSisterBenedicta,andshedid.

Malcolm admired the nuns for their neat ways in general, for themannerinwhichtheylaidtheirfruittreesinespaliersalongthesunnywall of the orchard, for the charm with which their delicate voicescombined in singing the offices of the Church, for their littlekindnesses here and there to many people. He enjoyed theconversationshehadwiththemaboutreligiousmatters.

“In the Bible,” he said one day as he was helping elderly SisterFenellaintheloftykitchen,“youknowitsaysGodcreatedtheworldin

sixdays?”

“That’sright,”saidSisterFenella,rollingsomepastry.

“Well, how is it that there’s fossils and things that aremillions ofyearsold?”

“Ah, you see, days were much longer then,” said the good sister.“Have you cut up that rhubarb yet? Look, I’ll be finished before youwill.”

“Whydoweusethisknifeforrhubarbbutnottheoldones?Theoldonesaresharper.”

“Becauseoftheoxalicacid,”saidSisterFenella,pressingthepastryintoabaking tin. “Stainless steel isbetterwith rhubarb.Passme thesugarnow.”

“Oxalicacid,”saidMalcolm, likingthewordsverymuch.“What’sachasuble,Sister?”

“It’sakindofvestment.Priestswearthemovertheiralbs.”

“Whydon’tyoudosewingliketheothersisters?”

Sister Fenella’s squirrel dæmon, sitting on the back of a nearbychair,utteredameek“Tut-tut.”

“Wealldowhatwe’regoodat,”saidthenun.“Iwasneververygoodat embroidery—look at my great fat fingers!—but the other sistersthinkmypastry’sallright.”

“Ilikeyourpastry,”saidMalcolm.

“Thankyou,dear.”

“It’s almost as goodasmymum’s.Mymum’s is thicker thanwhatyoursis.Iexpectyourollitharder.”

“IexpectIdo.”

Nothingwaswastedinthepriorykitchen.ThelittlepiecesofpastrySister Fenella had left after trimming her rhubarb pies were formedinto clumsy crosses or fish shapes, or rolled around a few currants,then sprinkled with sugar and baked separately. They each had areligiousmeaning, but Sister Fenella (“My great fat fingers!”)wasn’tvery good atmaking them lookdifferent fromone another.Malcolmwasbetter,buthehadtowashhishandsthoroughlyfirst.

“Whoeatsthese,Sister?”hesaid.

“Oh,they’realleatenintheend.Sometimesavisitorlikessomethingtonibblewiththeirtea.”

Thepriory,situatedasitwaswheretheroadcrossedtheriver,waspopularwithtravelersofallkinds,andthenunsoftenhadvisitorstostay.SodidtheTrout,ofcourse,andtherewereusuallytwoorthreeguests staying at the inn overnight whose breakfastMalcolm had toserve,buttheyweregenerallyfishermenorcommercials,ashisfathercalled them: traders in smokeleaf or hardware or agriculturalmachinery.

Theguestsatthepriorywerepeoplefromahigherclassaltogether:greatlordsandladies,sometimes,bishopsandlesserclergy,peopleofqualitywhodidn’thaveaconnectionwithanyofthecollegesinthecityand couldn’t expecthospitality there.Once therewas aprincesswhostayedforsixweeks,butMalcolmonlysawhertwice.She’dbeensentthere as a punishment. Her dæmon was a weasel who snarled ateveryone.

Malcolm helped with these guests too: looked after their horses,cleaned their boots, took messages for them, and was occasionallytipped. All his money went into a tin walrus in his bedroom. Youpressed its tail and it opened its mouth and you put the coin inbetweenitstusks,oneofwhichhadbeenbrokenoffandgluedbackon.Malcolm didn’t know howmuchmoney he had, but the walrus washeavy. He thought hemight buy a gun once he had enough, but hedidn’t thinkhis fatherwould allowhim to, so thatwas something towait for. In themeantime,hegotused to thewaysof travelers,bothcommonandrare.

Therewasprobablynowhere,hethought,whereanyonecouldlearnsomuchabouttheworldasthislittlebendoftheriver,withtheinnononesideand theprioryon theother.Hesupposed thatwhenhewasgrownuphe’dhelphisfatherinthebar,andthentakeovertheplacewhenhisparentsgrewtoooldtocontinue.Hewasfairlyhappyaboutthat.ItwouldbemuchbetterrunningtheTroutthanmanyotherinns,because the great world came through, and scholars and people ofconsequencewereoftentheretotalkto.Butwhathe’dreallyhavelikedto dowas nothing like that.He’d have liked to be a scholar himself,maybe an astronomer or an experimental theologian, makingdiscoveries about thedeepestnatureof things.Tobe aphilosopher’s

apprentice—now, that would be a fine thing. But there was littlelikelihoodofthat;UlvercoteElementarySchoolprepareditspupilsforcraftsmanship or clerking, at best, before passing them out into theworldatfourteen,andasfarasMalcolmknew,therewerenoopeningsinscholarshipforabrightboywithacanoe.

—

Oneeveninginthemiddleofwinter,somevisitorscametotheTroutwhowereoutoftheusualkind.Threemenarrivedbyanbariccarandwent intotheTerraceRoom,whichwasthesmallestofall thediningrooms in the inn and overlooked the terrace and the river and thepriorybeyond.Itlayattheendofthecorridorandwasn’tmuchusedeitherinwinterorsummer,havingsmallwindowsandnodoorouttotheterrace,despiteitsname.

Malcolmhadfinishedhismeagerhomework(geometry)andwolfeddown some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, followed by a bakedappleandcustard,whenhisfathercalledhimtothebar.

“Goand seewhat thosegents in theTerraceRoomwant,”he said.“Likelythey’reforeignanddon’tknowaboutbuyingtheirdrinksatthebar.Wanttobewaitedon,Iexpect.”

Pleasedby thisnovelty,Malcolmwentdownto the little roomandfound three gentlemen (he could tell their quality at a glance) allstandingatthewindowandstoopingtolookout.

“CanIhelpyou,gentlemen?”hesaid.

They turned at once. Two of them ordered claret, and the thirdwantedrum.WhenMalcolmcamebackwiththeirdrinks,theyaskediftheycouldgetadinnerhere,andifso,whattheplacehadtooffer.

“Roastbeef,sir,andit’sverygood.IknowbecauseIjusthadsome.”

“Oh, lepatronmange ici, eh?” said theoldest of the gentlemenastheydrewup their chairs to the little table.Hisdæmon,ahandsomeblack-and-whitelemur,satcalmlyonhisshoulder.

“I livehere, sir.The landlord’smy father,” saidMalcolm. “Andmymother’sthecook.”

“What’syourname?”askedthetallestandthinnestofthevisitors,ascholarly-looking man with thick gray hair, whose dæmon was agreenfinch.

“MalcolmPolstead,sir.”

“What’s that place over the river,Malcolm?” said the third, amanwithlargedarkeyesandablackmustache.Hisdæmon,whatevershewas,laycurleduponthefloorathisfeet.

Itwasdarkby then,of course, andall they could seeon theothersideoftheriverwerethedimlylitstained-glasswindowsoftheoratoryandthelightthatalwaysshoneoverthegatehouse.

“That’sthepriory,sir.ThesistersoftheOrderofSt.Rosamund.”

“AndwhowasSt.Rosamund?”

“IneveraskedthemaboutSt.Rosamund.There’sapictureofherinthestainedglass, though,sortofstandinginagreatbigrose.I ’spectshe’snamedafterit.I’llhavetoaskSisterBenedicta.”

“Oh,youknowthemwell,then?”

“Italkto ’emeveryday,sir,moreor less.Idooddjobsaroundthepriory,runerrands,thatsortofthing.”

“Anddothesenunseverhavevisitors?”saidtheoldestman.

“Yes, sir, quite often. All sorts of people. Sir, I don’t want tointerfere,but it’seversocold inhere.Wouldyou likemeto light thefire? Unless you’d like to come in the saloon. It’s nice and warm inthere.”

“No,we’ll stay here, thank you,Malcolm, butwe’d certainly like afire.Dolightit.”

Malcolmstruckamatch,andthefirecaughtatonce.Hisfatherwasgood at laying fires; Malcolm had often watched him. There wereenoughlogstolasttheevening,ifthesemenwantedtostay.

“Lotofpeopleintonight?”saidthedark-eyedman.

“Isupposethere’dbeadozenorso,sir.Aboutnormal.”

“Good,”saidtheoldestman.“Well,bringussomeofthatroastbeef.”

“Somesouptostartwith,sir?Spicedparsniptoday.”

“Yes,whynot?Soupallround,followedbyyourfamousroastbeef.Andanotherbottleofthisclaret.”

Malcolmdidn’tthinkthebeefwasreallyfamous;thatwasjustawayof talking.He left togetsomecutleryandtoplace theorderwithhis

motherinthekitchen.

Inhisear,Asta,intheformofagoldfinch,whispered,“Theyalreadyknewaboutthenuns.”

“Thenwhyweretheyasking?”Malcolmwhisperedback.

“Theyweretestingus,toseeifwetoldthetruth.”

“Iwonderwhattheywant.”

“Theydon’tlooklikescholars.”

“Theydo,abit.”

“Theylooklikepoliticians,”sheinsisted.

“Howd’youknowwhatpoliticianslooklike?”

“Ijustgotafeeling.”

Malcolmdidn’targuewithher;therewereothercustomerstoattendto, so he was busy, and besides, he believed in Asta’s feelings. Hehimselfseldomhadthatsortoffeelingaboutpeople—iftheywerenicetohim,helikedthem—buthisdæmon’sintuitionshadprovedreliablemanytimes.Ofcourse,heandAstawereonebeing,sothe intuitionswerehisanyway,asmuchashisfeelingswerehers.

Malcolm’sfathercarriedthefoodintothethreeguestsandopenedtheirwine.Malcolmhadn’tlearnedtomanagethreehotplatesatonce.WhenMr.Polsteadcamebacktothemainbar,hebeckonedMalcolmwithafingerandspokequietly.

“Whatdidthosegentlemensaytoyou?”hesaid.

“Theywereaskingaboutthepriory.”

“Theywant to talk to you again. They said youwere a bright boy.Mindyourmanners,now.Youknowwhotheyare?”

Malcolm,wide-eyed,shookhishead.

“That’s Lord Nugent, that is—the old boy. He used to be the lordchancellorofEngland.”

“Howd’youknowthat?”

“Irecognizedhimfromhispictureinthepaper.Goonnow.Answeralltheirquestions.”

Malcolmsetoffdownthecorridor,withAstawhispering,“See?Who

wasright,then?ThelordchancellorofEngland,noless!”

Themenwere tucking into theirroastbeef (Malcolm’smotherhadgiventhemanextrasliceeach)andtalkingquietly,buttheyfellsilentassoonasMalcolmcamein.

“Icametoseewhetheryou’dlikeanotherlight,gentlemen,”hesaid.“Icanbringanaphthalampforthetable,ifyoulike.”

“In aminute,Malcolm, that would be a very good idea,” said themanwhowasthelordchancellor.“Buttellme,howoldareyou?”

“Eleven,sir.”

Perhapsheshouldhavesaidmylord,buttheex–lordchancellorofEnglandhadseemedquitecontentwithsir.Perhapshewastravelingincognito,inwhichcasehewouldn’tliketobegivenhisrightformofaddressanyway.

“Andwheredoyougotoschool?”

“UlvercoteElementary,sir,justacrossPortMeadow.”

“Whatareyougoingtodowhenyougrowup,d’youthink?”

“MostprobablyI’llbeaninnkeeper,likemyfather,sir.”

“Jollyinterestingoccupation,Ishouldthink.”

“Ithinkitistoo,sir.”

“Allsortsofpeoplepassingthrough,andsoon.”

“That’s right, sir. There’s scholars from the university come here,andwatermenfromallover.”

“Youseealotofwhat’sgoingon,eh?”

“Yes,wedo,sir.”

“Trafficupanddowntheriver,andsuch.”

“It’smostlyonthecanalthatthere’stheinterestingstuff,sir.There’sgyptian boats going up and down, and the horse fair in July—thecanal’sfullofboatsandtravelersthen.”

“Thehorsefair…Gyptians,eh?”

“Theycomefromallovertobuyandsellhorses.”

Thescholarlymansaid,“Thenunsinthepriory.Howdotheyearnaliving?Dotheymakeperfumes,anythinglikethat?”

“Theygrowalotofvegetables,”Malcolmsaid.“Mymumalwaysbuyshervegetablesandfruitfromthepriory.Andhoney.Oh,andtheysewand embroider things for clergymen to wear. Chasubles and that. Ireckon they must get paid a lot for them. They must have a bit ofmoneybecausetheybuyfishfromMedleyPond,downtheriver.”

“When the priory has visitors,” said the ex–lord chancellor, “whatsortofpeoplewouldtheybe,Malcolm?”

“Well,ladies,sometimes…youngladies…Sometimesanoldpriestorbishop,maybe.Ithinktheycomehereforarest.”

“Forarest?”

“That’s what Sister Benedicta told me. She said in the old days,before there was inns like this, and hotels, and specially hospitals,people used to stay at monasteries and priories and suchlike, butnowadays itwasmostly clergymenormaybenuns fromother placesandtheywereconvales—conva—”

“Convalescing,”saidLordNugent.

“Yes,sir,that’sit.Gettingbetter.”

Thelastmantofinishhisroastbeefputhisknifeandforktogetherdecisively.“Anyonethereatthemoment?”hesaid.

“I don’t think so, sir.Unless they’re indoors a lot.Usually visitorsliketowalkabout inthegarden,but theweatheren’tbeenverynice,so…Wouldyoulikeyourpuddingnow,gentlemen?”

“Whatisit?”

“Bakedappleandcustard.Applesfromtheprioryorchard.”

“Well, we can’t pass up a chance to try those,” said the scholarlyman.“Yes,bringussomebakedapplesandcustard.”

Malcolmbegantogathertheirplatesandcutlery.

“Haveyoulivedhereallyourlife,Malcolm?”saidLordNugent.

“Yes,sir.Iwasbornhere.”

“And in all your long experience of the priory, did you ever knowthemtolookafteraninfant?”

“Averyyoungchild,sir?”

“Yes. A child too young to go to school. Even a baby. Ever known

that?”

Malcolm thought carefully and said, “No, sir, never. Ladies andgentlemen,orclergymenanyway,butneverababy.”

“Isee.Thankyou,Malcolm.”

By gathering the wineglasses together, their stems between hisfingers,hemanagedtotakeallthreeofthemaswellastheplates.

“Ababy?”whisperedAstaonthewaytothekitchen.

“That’s a mystery,” said Malcolm with satisfaction. “Maybe anorphan.”

“Orworse,”saidAstadarkly.

Malcolm put the plates on the draining board, ignoring Alice asusual,andgavetheorderforpudding.

“Yourfather,”saidMalcolm’smother,dishinguptheapples,“thinksoneofthoseguestsusedtobethelordchancellor.”

“Youbettergivehimanicebigapple,then,”saidMalcolm.

“Whatdidtheywanttoknow?”shesaid,ladlinghotcustardovertheapples.

“Oh,allaboutthepriory.”

“Areyougoingtomanagethose?They’rehot.”

“Yeah,butthey’renotbig.Icando’em,honest.”

“You better. If you drop the lord chancellor’s apple, you’ll go toprison.”

Hemanagedthebowlsperfectlywell,eventhoughtheyweregettinghotter andhotter. The gentlemendidn’t ask anyquestions this time,justorderingcoffee,andMalcolmbroughtthemanaphthalampbeforegoingthroughtothekitchentosetthecupsup.

“Mum, you know the priory has guests sometimes? Did you everknowthemtolookafterababy?”

“Whatd’youwanttoknowthatfor?”

“Theywereasking.Thelordchancellorandtheothers.”

“Whatdidyoutell’em?”

“IsaidIdidn’tthinkso.”

“Well,that’stherightanswer.Nowgoon—getoutandbringinsomemoreglasses.”

In the main bar, under cover of the noise and laughter, Astawhispered,“Shewasstartledwhenyouaskedthat.IsawKerinwakeupandprickhisears.”

KerinwasMrs.Polstead’sdæmon,agruffbuttolerantbadger.

“It’sjust’causeitwassurprising,”saidMalcolm.“I’spectyoulookedsurprisedwhentheyaskedme.”

“Inever.Iwasinscrutable.”

“Well,I’specttheysawmebeingsurprised.”

“Shallweaskthenuns?”

“Could do,” said Malcolm. “Tomorrow. They need to know ifsomeone’sbeenaskingquestionsabout’em.”

Malcolm’sfatherwasright:LordNugenthadbeenlordchancellor,butthathadbeenunderapreviousgovernment,amoreliberalbodythanthe present one, and ruling at a more liberal time. These days theprevailingfashioninpoliticswasoneofobsequioussubmissivenesstothereligiousauthorities,andultimatelytoGeneva.Asaconsequence,someorganizationsofthefavoredreligiouskindfoundtheirpowerandinfluence greatly enhanced, while officials and ministers who hadsupportedthesecularlinethatwasnowoutoffavorhadeithertofindotherthingstodo,ortoworksurreptitiously,andatcontinuousriskofdiscovery.

SuchamanwasThomasNugent.Totheworld,tothepress,tothegovernment,hewasaretiredlawyeroffadingdistinction,yesterday’sman, of no interest. In fact, he was directing an organization thatfunctionedverylikeasecretservice,whichnotmanyyearsbeforehadbeenpartofthesecurityandintelligenceservicesoftheCrown.Now,underNugent,itsactivitiesweredevotedtofrustratingtheworkofthereligious authorities, and to remaining obscure and apparentlyharmless.Thistookingenuity,courage,andluck,andsofartheyhadremained undetected. Under an innocent and misleading name,Nugent’s organization carried out all kinds of missions, dangerous,complicated, tedious, and sometimes downright illegal. But it hadneverbeforehadtodealwithkeepingasix-month-oldbabyoutofthehandsofthosewhowantedtokillher.

—

OnSaturday,Malcolmwas free,oncehe’ddonehismorning tasksattheTrout,tocrossthebridgeandcallatthepriory.

Heknockedon thekitchendoorandwent in to findSisterFenella

scrapingsomepotatoes.Therewasaneaterwaytodealwithpotatoes,as he knew from his mother’s example, and given a sharp knife,Malcolmcouldhaveshownthegoodnun,butheheldhispeace.

“Haveyoucometohelpme,Malcolm?”shesaid.

“Ifyoulike.ButIwasreallygoingtotellyousomething.”

“YoucouldpreparethoseBrusselssprouts.”

“All right,” saidMalcolm, finding the sharpest knife in the drawerandpullingseveralsproutstalksacrossthetableinthepaleFebruarysunlight.

“Don’tforgetthecrossinthebase,”saidSisterFenella.

ShehadtoldhimoncethatthisputthemarkoftheSavioroneachsprout and made sure the Devil couldn’t get in. Malcolm wasimpressed by that at the time, but he knew now that it was to helpthem cook all the way through.Hismother had explained that, andsaid, “But don’t you go and contradict Sister Fenella. She’s a sweet-heartedoldlady,andifshewantstothinkthat,don’tupsether.”

MalcolmwouldhaveputupwithagooddealratherthanupsetSisterFenella,whomhelovedwithadeepanduncomplicateddevotion.

“Now,whatwereyougoingtotellme?”shesaidasMalcolmsettledontheoldstoolbesideher.

“YouknowwhowehadintheTrouttheothernight?Therewasthreegentlementakingtheirdinner,andoneofthemwasLordNugent,thelord chancellor of England. Ex–lord chancellor. And that’s not all.They were looking across here to the priory and they were ever socurious.Theyaskedallkindsofquestions—whatsortofnunsyouwere,whetheryouhadanyguestshere,whatkindofpeopletheywere—andfinallytheyaskedifyou’deverhadababystaying—”

“Aninfant,”putinAsta.

“Yeah,aninfant.Haveyoueverhadaninfantstayinghere?”

Sister Fenella stopped scraping. “The lord chancellor ofEngland?”shesaid.“Areyousure?”

“Dadwas, becausehe sawhis picture in the paper and recognizedhim.TheywantedtoeatbytheirselvesintheTerraceRoom.”

“Thelordchancellorhimself?”

“Ex–lord chancellor. Sister Fenella, what does the lord chancellordo?”

“Oh,he’sveryhighup,veryimportant.Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifhehad something to dowith the law. Or the government.Was he verygrandandproud?”

“No.Hewasagentleman,allright,itwaseasytotellthat,buthewasniceandfriendly.”

“Andhewantedtoknow…”

“Ifyou’deverhadaninfantstayingatthepriory.I ’specthemeantstayingheretobelookedafter.”

“Andwhatdidyoutellhim,Malcolm?”

“IsaidIdidn’tthinkso.Haveyou,ever?”

“Not in my time. Goodness me! I wonder if I ought to tell SisterBenedicta.”

“Prob’ly.WhatIthoughtwas,hemightbelookingforsomewheretoputanimportantinfant,ifitwasconvalescing,maybe.Maybethere’saroyal infant that we don’t know about because it was ill, right, ormaybegotbittenbyasnake—”

“Whybittenbyasnake?”

“ ’Cause its nursemaid wasn’t paying attention, prob’ly reading amagazine or talking to someone, and this snake comes along andthere’sasuddenscreamandsheturnsroundandthere’sthebabywithasnakehangingoff it.She’dbe inawful trouble, thenursemaid—shemight even go to prison. And when the baby was cured of thesnakebite, it’d still need convalescing. So the king and the primeministerandthelordchancellorwouldallbelookingforsomewheretoconvalesce it. And naturally they wouldn’t want a place that had noexperienceofbabies.”

“Yes,Isee,”saidSisterFenella.“Thatallmakessense.IthinkIreallyoughttotellSisterBenedicta,atleast.She’llknowwhattodo.”

“Ishouldthinkthatiftheywereserious,they’dcomeandaskhere.Imean,we see a lot in theTrout, but the real people to askwouldbehere,wouldn’tthey?”

“Unlesstheydidn’twantustoknow,”saidSisterFenella.

“But theyasked if Ieverspoketoyou,andIsaidIdid,quitea lot,beingashowIworkforyou.Sothey’dexpectmetosaysomething,andtheydidn’taskmenotto.”

“That’sagoodpoint,”saidSisterFenella,andshedroppedthe lastscrapedpotatointothebigsaucepan.“Itdoessoundcurious,though.Perhapsthey’llwritetotheLadyPrioressratherthancallinperson.Iwonderifit’sreallysanctuarythey’reaskingabout.”

“Sanctuary?”Malcolmlikedthesoundoftheword,andhecouldseehowtospellitalready,inhisimagination.“What’sthat?”

“Well, if somebody broke the law and was being hunted by theauthorities, they could go into an oratory and claim sanctuary. Thatmeansthatthey’dbesafefromarrestaslongastheystayedthere.”

“Butthatbabycouldn’thavebrokenthelaw.Notyetanyway.”

“No.Butitwasforrefugeestoo.Peoplewhowereindangerthroughno fault of their own. No one could arrest them if they were insanctuary. Some of the colleges used to be able to give sanctuary toscholars.Idon’tknowiftheystilldo.”

“Itwouldn’tbeascholareither—thebaby,Imean.D’youwantmetodoallthesesprouts?”

“Allbuttwostalks.We’llkeepthemfortomorrow.”

Sister Fenella gatheredup the discarded sprout leaves and cut thestalksinhalfadozenpiecesandputtheminabinforstock.

“Whatareyougoingtodotoday,Malcolm?”shesaid.

“I’mgoingtotakemycanoeout.Theriver’sabithigh,soI’llprob’lyhavetobecareful,butIwanttocleanitoutandmakeitshipshape.”

“Areyouplanninganylongvoyages?”

“Well,I’dliketo.ButIcan’tleaveMumandDad,becausetheyneedmyhelp.”

“They’dbeanxiousaboutyoutoo.”

“I’dsendletters.”

“Wherewouldyougo?”

“Down the river all theway to London.Maybe as far as the sea. Idon’t suppose my boat’d be very good at a sea voyage, though. She

mightoverturninabigwave.Imighthavetotieherupandgooninadifferentboat.Iwilloneday.”

“Willyousendusapostcard?”

“CourseIwill.Oryoucouldcomewithme.”

“Who’dcookforthesisters,then?”

“Theycouldhavepicnics.OreatattheTrout.”

She laughed and clapped her hands. In the weak light that camethrough the dustywindows,Malcolm saw how chapped and crackedtheskinofherfingerswas,howredandraw.Everytimesheputsthemin hot water it must hurt, he thought, but he had never heard hercomplaining.

—

That afternoon, Malcolm went to the lean-to beside the house andhauledthetarpaulinoffhiscanoe.Heinspecteditfromstemtostern,scrapingoff thegreenslime thathadaccumulatedduring thewinter,examiningeveryinch.Normanthepeacockcamealongtoseeiftherewasanythingtoeat,andshookhisfeatherswitharattleofdispleasurewhenhefoundtherewasn’t.

All the timbers ofLaBelle Sauvage were sound, though the paintwasbeginning topeel, andMalcolm thoughthemight scrapeoff theoldnameandgoover itagain,better. Itwas ingreen,butredwouldstand out more clearly. Maybe he could do a few odd jobs for theboatyardatMedleyinexchangeforasmalltinofredpaint.Hepulledthecanoedowntheslopinglawntotheriver’sedgeandhalfthoughtofgoingdowntheriverrightthenandbargaining,butputthatasideforanotherdayandinsteadpaddledupstreamalittlewaybeforeturningrightintoDuke’sCut,oneofthestreamsthatconnectedtheriverandtheOxfordCanal.

Hewasinluck:therewasanarrowboatabouttoenterthelock,soheslippedinbesideit.Sometimeshe’dhadtowaitforanhour,tryingtopersuade Mr. Parsons to operate the lock just for him, but thelockkeeperwasa stickler for the regulations,aswellas fornotdoingmoreworkthanwasnecessary.Hedidn’tmindMalcolmhavingarideupordowniftherewasanotherboatgoingthrough,though.

“Where you off to,Malcolm?”he calleddown as thewater gushedoutatthefarendandthelevelsank.

“Goingfishing,”Malcolmcalledback.

It was what he usually said, and sometimes it was true. Today,though, he couldn’t get that tin of redpaint out of hismind, andhethoughthe’dpaddle along to the chandlery in Jericho, just to get anideaoftheprice.Ofcourse,theymightnothaveany,buthelikedthechandleryanyway.

Onceonthecanal,hepaddledsteadilydownpastgardenallotmentsandschoolplayingfieldsuntilhecametothenorthernedgeofJericho:smallterracesofbrickhouseswheretheworkersfromtheFellPressorthe Eagle Ironworks lived with their families. The area was half-gentrified now, but it still held old corners and dark alleys, anabandoned burial ground and a churchwith an Italianate campanilestandingguardovertheboatyardandthechandlery.

Therewas a towpath on thewestern side of thewater—Malcolm’sright—but it needed clearing.Water plants grew thickly at the edge,and as Malcolm slowed down, his eye was caught by a movementamong the reeds. He let the canoe drift to a halt and then silentlyslippedinamongthestiffstemsandwatchedasagreatcrestedgrebescrambledupontothetowpath,waddledungracefullyacross,andthendroppedintothelittlebackwaterontheotherside.Keepingasquietashe could and moving very slowly, Malcolm wedged the canoe evendeeperintothereedsandwatchedthebirdshakeitsheadandpaddleacrossthewatertojoinitsmate.

Malcolm had heard that there were great crested grebes here, buthe’donlyhalfbelievedit.Nowhehadproof.He’ddefinitelycomebackalittlelaterintheyearandseeiftheywerebreeding.

Thereedswere taller thanhewasashesat in thecanoe,and ifhekept very still, he thought he probably couldn’t be seen. He heardvoicesbehindhim,aman’sandawoman’s,andsatlikeastatueastheywalkedpast, absorbed ineachother.He’dpassed them furtherback:two lovers strolling hand in hand, their dæmons, two small birds,flying ahead a little way, pausing to whisper together, and flying onagain.

Malcolm’sdæmon,Asta,wasakingfisherjustthen,perchingonthegunwaleofthecanoe.Whenthelovershadpassed,sheflewuptohisshoulderandwhispered,“Themanjustalongthere—watch….”

Malcolmhadn’t seen him.A few yards ahead on the towpath, just

visiblethroughthereedstems,amaninagrayraincoatandtrilbyhatwasstandingunderanoaktree.Helookedasifhewasshelteringfromthe rain, except that it wasn’t raining.His coat and hatwere almostexactlythecolorofthelateafternoon:hewasalmostashardtoseeasthegrebes—harder,infact,thoughtMalcolm,becausehedidn’thaveacrestoffeathers.

“What’shedoing?”whisperedMalcolm.

Asta became a fly and flew as far as she could from Malcolm,stoppingwhenitbegantohurt,andsettledattheverytopofabulrushso she could watch the man clearly. He was trying to remaininconspicuous, but being so awkward and unhappy about it that hemightaswellhavebeenwavingaflag.

Astasawhisdæmon—acat—movingamongthe lowestbranchesofthe oak tree while he stood below and looked up and down thetowpath.Thenthecatmadeaquietnoise,themanlookedup,andshejumpeddowntohisshoulder—butindoingso,shedroppedsomethingoutofhermouth.

Themanutteredalittlegruntofdismay,andhisdæmonscrambledto the ground.Theybegan to cast around, lookingunder the tree, attheedgeofthewater,amongthescrubbygrass.

“Whatdidshedrop?”Malcolmwhispered.

“Likeanut.Aboutthesizeofanut.”

“Didyouseewhereitwent?”

“I think so. I think it bouncedoff thebottomof the tree andwentunderthebushthere.Look,they’repretendingnottolookforit….”

Theyweretoo.Someoneelsewascomingalongthepath,amanandhisdogdæmon,andwhilethemanintheraincoatwaitedforthemtopass, he pretended to be looking at his watch, shaking his wrist,listening to it, shaking hiswrist again, taking thewatch off,windingit….Assoonastheothermanhadgonepast,theraincoatmanfastenedthewatchonhiswristagainandwentbacktolookingfortheobjecthisdæmonhaddropped.Hewasanxious—itwaseasytoseethat—andhisdæmon had apology in every line of her body. Between the two ofthem,theylookedthepictureofdistress.

“Wecouldgoandhelp,”saidAsta.

Malcolmwas torn.Hecouldstill see thegrebes,andheverymuchwantedtowatchthem,butthemanseemedasifheneededhelp,andMalcolmwassureAsta’seyeswouldfindthething,whateveritwas.Itwouldonlytakeaminuteorso.

But before he had the chance to do anything, the man bent andscooped up his cat dæmon and made off quite quickly down thetowpath,asifhe’ddecidedtogoandgethelp.AtonceMalcolmbackedthe canoe out of the reeds and sped towards the spot under the oaktreewhere themanhadbeenstanding.Amoment laterhe’d jumpedout,holdingthepainter,andAstaintheshapeofamouseshotacrossthe path and under the bush. A rustling of leaves, a silence, morerustling,moresilencewhileMalcolmwatchedthemanreachthelittleiron footbridge to the piazza and climb the steps. Then a squeak ofexcitementtoldMalcolmthatAstahadfoundit,andsquirrel-formed,shecameracingback,uphisarmandontohisshoulder,anddroppedsomethingintohishand.

“Itmustbethis,”shesaid.“Itmustbe.”

At first sight itwasanacorn,but itwasoddlyheavy,andwhenhelookedmoreclosely,hesawthatitwascarvedoutofapieceoftight-grainedwood.Twopieces,infact:oneforthecup,whosesurfacewascarved into an exact replica of the roughoverlapping scales of a realoneandstainedverylightlywithgreen,andoneforthenut,whichwaspolishedandwaxedaperfectglossylightbrown.Itwasbeautiful,andshewasright:ithadtobethethingthemanhadlost.

“Let’scatchhimbeforehegetsacross thebridge,”hesaid,andputhisfootdownintothecanoe,butAstasaid,“Wait.Look.”

She’dbecomeanowl,whichshealwaysdidwhenshewantedtoseesomething clearly. Her flat face was looking down the canal, and asMalcolm followed her gaze, he saw theman reach themiddle of thefootbridgeandhesitate,becauseanothermanhadsteppedupfromtheother side, a stockymandressed inblackwitha light-steppingvixendæmon, and Malcolm and Asta could see that the second man wasgoingtostoptheraincoatman,andtheraincoatmanwasafraid.

Theysawhimturnandtakeahastysteportwoandthenstopagain,becauseathirdmanhadappearedonthebridgebehindhim.Hewasthinner than the other man, and he too was dressed in black. Hisdæmonwasalargebirdofsomekindonhisshoulder.Bothofthemen

lookedfullofconfidence,asiftheyhadplentyoftimetodowhatevertheywanted.Theysaidsomethingtotheraincoatman,andeachtookone of his arms.He struggled for a futilemoment or two, and thenseemed to sag downwards, but they held him up and walked himacross the bridge, into the little piazza below the church tower, andaway out of sight. His cat dæmon hurried after them, abject anddesperate.

“Putitinyourinsidestpocket,”Astawhispered.

Malcolmputtheacornintotheinsidebreastpocketofhisjacketandthensatdownverycarefully.Hewastrembling.

“Theywerearrestinghim,”hewhispered.

“Theyweren’tpolice.”

“No.Buttheyweren’trobbers.Theyweresortofcalmaboutit,asiftheywereallowedtodoanythingtheywanted.”

“Justgohome,”saidAsta.“Incasetheysawus.”

“Theyweren’tevenbotheringtolook,”saidMalcolm,butheagreedwithher:theyshouldgohome.

TheyspokequietlytogetherwhilehepaddledquicklybacktowardsDuke’sCut.

“Ibethe’saspy,”shesaid.

“Couldbe.Andthosemen—”

“CCD.”

“Shh!”

TheCCDwastheConsistorialCourtofDiscipline,anagencyof theChurch concerned with heresy and unbelief. Malcolm didn’t knowmuchaboutit,butheknewthesenseofsickeningterrortheCCDcouldproduce, through hearing some customers once discuss what mighthave happened to a man they knew, a journalist; he had asked toomanyquestionsabouttheCCDinaseriesofarticlesandhadsuddenlyvanished. The editor of his paper had been arrested and jailed forsedition,butthejournalisthimselfhadneverbeenseenagain.

“Wemustn’tsayanythingaboutthistothesisters,”saidAsta.

“Speciallynottothem,”Malcolmagreed.

Itwashard tounderstand,but theConsistorialCourtofDisciplinewasonthesamesideas thegentlesistersofGodstowPriory,sortof.TheywerebothpartsoftheChurch.TheonlytimeMalcolmhadseenSisterBenedictadistressedwaswhenhe’daskedheraboutitoneday.

“Thesearemysterieswemustn’tinquireinto,Malcolm,”she’dsaid.“They’re toodeep forus.But theHolyChurchknows thewillofGodandwhatmustbedone.Wemustcontinuetoloveoneanotherandnotasktoomanyquestions.”

ThefirstpartwaseasyenoughforMalcolm,whowasfondofmostthings he knew, but the second partwas harder.However, he didn’taskanymoreabouttheCCD.

It was nearly darkwhen they reached home.Malcolm draggedLaBelleSauvageoutofthewaterandunderthelean-toatthesideoftheinnandhurriedinside,hisarmsaching,andraceduptohisbedroom.

Droppinghiscoatonthefloorandkickinghisshoesunderthebed,heswitchedonthebedsidelightwhileAstastruggledtopulltheacornoutoftheinsidestpocket.WhenMalcolmhaditinhishand,heturneditoverandover,examiningitclosely.

“Lookatthewaythisiscarved!”hesaid,marveling.

“Tryopeningit.”

Hewasdoingthatasshespoke,gentlytwistingtheacorninitscupwithout any success. It didn’t unscrew, so he tried harder, and thentriedtopullit,butthatdidn’tworkeither.

“Trytwistingtheotherway,”saidAsta.

“That would just do it up tighter,” he said, but he tried, and itworked.Thethreadwastheoppositeway.

“Ineverseenthatbefore,”saidMalcolm.“Strange.”

Soneatlyandfinelymadewerethethreadsthathehadtoturnitadozentimesbeforethetwopartsfellopen.Therewasapieceofpaperinside, foldedupassmallas itcouldgo: thatvery thinkindofpaperthatBibleswereprintedon.

Malcolm and Asta looked at each other. “This is someone else’ssecret,”hesaid.“Weoughtnottoreadit.”

Heopeneditallthesame,verycarefullysoasnottotearthedelicatepaper,butitwasn’tdelicateatall:itwastough.

“Anyonemighthavefoundit,”saidAsta.“He’sluckyitwasus.”

“Luckyish,”saidMalcolm.

“Anyway,he’sluckyhehadn’tgotitonhimwhenhewasarrested.”

Written on the paper in black ink with a very fine pen were thewords:

Wewouldlikeyoutoturnyourattentionnexttoanothermatter.YouwillbeawarethattheexistenceofaRusakovfieldimpliestheexistenceofarelatedparticle,butsofarsuchaparticlehaseludedus.Whenwetrymeasuringoneway,oursubstanceevadesitandseemstopreferanother,butwhenwetryadifferentway,wehavenomoresuccess.AsuggestionfromTokojima,althoughrejectedoutofhandbymostofficialbodies,seemstoustoholdsomepromise,andwewouldlikeyoutoinquirethroughthealethiometeraboutanyconnectionyoucandiscoverbetweentheRusakovfieldandthephenomenonunofficiallycalledDust.Wedonothavetoremindyouofthedangershouldthisresearchattracttheattentionoftheotherside,butpleasebeawarethattheyarethemselvesbeginningamajorprogramofinquiryintothissubject.Treadcarefully.

“Whatdoesitmean?”saidAsta.

“Something todowitha field.Likeamagnetic field, I s’pose.Theysoundlikeexperimentaltheologians.”

“Whatd’youthinktheymeanby‘theotherside’?”

“TheCCD.Boundtobe,sinceitwasthemchasingtheman.”

“Andwhat’sanaleth—analthe—”

“Malcolm!”camehismother’svoicefromdownstairs.

“Coming,” he called, and folded the paper back along the samecreases before putting it carefully back in the acorn and screwing itshut.Heputitinsideoneofthecleansocksinhischestofdrawersandrandowntostarttheevening’swork.

—

Saturdayeveningwasalwaysbusy,of course,but today conversationwassubdued: therewasamoodofnervouscaution in theplace,andpeoplewerequieterthanusualastheystoodatthebarorsatattheirtablesplayingdominoesorshove-ha’penny.Inamomentofpause,heaskedhisfatherwhy.

“Shh,”saidhisfather, leaningoverthebar.“Thosetwomenbythefire.CCD.Don’tlooknow.Mindwhatyousaynearthem.”

Malcolmfeltashiveroffearthatwasalmostaudible,likethetipofadrumstickdrawnacrossacymbal.

“Howd’youknowthat’swhattheyare?”

“Thecolorsofhistie.Anyway,youcanjusttell.Watchotherpeoplearoundthem—Yes,Bob,whatcanIgetyou?”

While his father pulled a couple of pints for a customer,Malcolmgathered empty glasses in a suitably inconspicuous manner, and hewasgladtoseethathishandsremainedsteady.ThenhefeltalittlejoltofAsta’s fear.Shewasamouseonhis shoulder, and shehad lookeddirectlyatthemenbythefireandseenthattheywerelookingather,andtheywerethemenfromthebridge.

Andthenoneofthembeckonedwithacrookedfinger.

“Youngman,”hesaid.HewasaddressingMalcolm.

Malcolm turnedhisheadand lookedat themproperly for the firsttime.Thespeakerwasastoutishmanwithdeepbrowneyes:thefirstmanfromthebridge.

“Yes,sir?”

“Comehereaminute.”

“CanIgetyouanything,sir?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I’m going to ask a question now, and you’regoingtotellmethetruth,aren’tyou?”

“Ialwaysdo,sir.”

“No,youdon’t.Noboyalwaystellsthetruth.Comehere—comeabitcloser.”

Hewasn’tspeakingloudly,butMalcolmknewthateveryonenearby—and his father, especially—would be listening intently. He wentwherethemanbeckonedandstoodnearhischair,noticingthescentofcolognethatemanatedfromhim.Themanwaswearingadarksuitandawhiteshirt,withanavy-blue-and-ocher-stripedtie.Hisvixendæmonlayathisfeet,hereyeswideopenandwatching.

“Yes,sir?”

“Ireckonyounoticemostpeoplewhocomeinhere,don’tyou?”

“Ireckonso,sir.”

“Youknowtheregulars?”

“Yes,sir.”

“You’dknowastranger?”

“ProbablyIwould,sir.”

“Now,then,afewdaysago,IwonderifyousawthismancomeintotheTrout.”

Heheldupaphotogram.Malcolmrecognizedthefaceatonce.Itwasone of themen who’d come with the lord chancellor: the dark-eyedmanwiththeblackmustache.

So perhaps thiswasn’t going to be about theman on the towpathandtheacorn.Hekepthisexpressionstolidandbland.

“Yes,Isawhim,sir,”saidMalcolm.

“Whowashewith?”

“Twoothermen,sir.Oneoldish,andonetallandsortofscholarly.”

“Didyourecognizeeitherofthem?Seentheminthepaper,anythinglikethat?”

“No, Ididn’t, sir,” saidMalcolm, slowly shakinghishead. “Ididn’trecognizeanyofthem.”

“Whatdidtheytalkabout?”

“Well,Idon’tliketolistentocustomers’conversations,sir.Mydadtoldmeit’srude,so—”

“Youcan’thelpoverhearingthings,though,canyou?”

“No,that’strue.”

“Sowhatdidyouoverhearthemsay?”

The speaker’s tone had become quieter and quieter, drawingMalcolm closer. Conversation at the nearby table had nearly ceased,andheknewthateverythinghesaidwouldbeaudibleasfarasthebar.

“Theytalkedabout theclaret, sir.Theysaidhowgood itwas.Theyorderedasecondbottlewiththeirdinner.”

“Whereweretheysitting?”

“IntheTerraceRoom,sir.”

“Andwhere’sthat?”

“Downthatcorridor.It’sabitcoldinthere,soIsaidtheymightliketocomeinherebythefire,buttheydidn’twantto.”

“Anddidyouthinkthatabitodd?”

“Customersdoallkindsofthings,sir.Idon’tthinkaboutitmuch.”

“Sotheywantedabitofprivacy?”

“Itmighthavebeenthat,sir.”

“Haveyouseenanyofthemensince?”

“No,sir.”

Themantappedhisfingersonthetable.

“Andwhat’syourname?”hesaidafterapause.

“Malcolm,sir.MalcolmPolstead.”

“Allright,Malcolm.Offyougo.”

“Thankyou,sir,”saidMalcolm,tryingtokeephisvoicesteady.

Thenthemanraisedhisvoicealittleandlookedaround.Assoonashe spoke, everyone else fell silent in a moment, as if they’d beenwaitingforittohappen.

“You’veheardwhatI’vebeenaskingyoungMalcolmhere.There’samanwe’reeager to trace. I’mgoing topinhispictureupon thewallbesidethebarinaminute,soyoucanallhavealookatit.Ifanyofyouknow anything about thisman, get in touchwithme.My name andaddress are on thepaper too.Mindwhat I say.This is an importantmatter.Youunderstandthat.Anybodywantstotalktomeaboutthisman,theycancomeanddosooncethey’velookedatthepicture.I’llbesittinghere.”

The other man took the piece of paper and pinned it on thecorkboard,wherethenoticesofdances,auctionsales,whistdrives,andsoonweredisplayed.Tomakeroom,hetuggeddownacoupleofothernoticeswithoutlookingatwhattheywere.

“Hey,” said a man standing nearby, whose big dog dæmon wasbristling.“Youputthemnoticesbackup,whatyoujustpulleddown.”

TheCCDman turned to lookathim.Hiscrowdæmonopenedherwingsandutteredasoft“Kaark.”

“Whatdidyousay?”saidthefirstCCDman,theonewho’dstayedbythefire.

“I said to yourmate, Put them notices back, what you just pulleddown.Thisisournoticeboardinhere,notyours.”

Malcolm drew back towards thewall. The customerwho’d spokenwas calledGeorgeBoatwright, ahigh-coloredand truculentboatmanwhomMr. Polstead had had to throw out of the Trout half a dozentimes; but he was a fair man, and he’d never spoken roughly toMalcolm. The silence in the bar now was profound, and evencustomersinotherpartsoftheinnhadbecomeawarethatsomethingwashappening,andhadcometothedoorwaytowatch.

“Steady,George,”murmuredMr.Polstead.

The first CCDman took a sip of his brantwijn. Then he looked atMalcolmandsaid,“Malcolm,what’sthatman’sname?”

But before Malcolm could even think what to say, Boatwrighthimself answered in a loud, hard voice: “George Boatwright is myname. Don’t try and put the boy on the spot. That’s the way of acoward.”

“George—”saidMr.Polstead.

“No, Reg, I’ll speak formeself,” said Boatwright. “And I’ll do thistoo,”headded,“sinceyoursour-facedfrienddon’tseemtohaveheardme.”

Hereacheduptothewall,toredownthepaper,andcrumpleditupbeforethrowingitintothefire.Thenhestood,swayingslightly,inthemiddleoftheroomandglaredatthechiefCCDman.Malcolmadmiredhimgreatlyatthatmoment.

Then theCCDman’s vixendæmon stoodup. She trotted elegantlyoutfromunderthetableandstoodwithherbrushstickingstraightoutbehindherandherheadperfectlystill,lookingBoatwright’sdæmonintheeye.

Boatwright’s dæmon, Sadie, was much bigger. She was a tough-lookingmongrel, part Staffordshire terrier, part German shepherd—part wolf, for all Malcolm knew—and now, by the look of things,spoilingforafight.ShestoodclosebyBoatwright’slegswithallherfurbristling, her lipsdrawnback, her tail slowly swinging, a deep growllikedistantthundercomingfromherthroat.

Asta crept inside Malcolm’s collar. Fights between grown-updæmonswerenotunknown,butMr.Polsteadneverallowedanythingtogetthatfarinsidetheinn.

“George,youbetter leavenow,”hesaid.“Goon,hopit.Comebackwhenyou’resober.”

Boatwrightturnedhisheadblurrily,andMalcolmsawtohisdismaythat the man was indeed a little drunk, because he was slightly offbalanceandhadtotakeasteptorighthimself—buttheneveryonesawthesamething:itwasn’tthedrinkinBoatwright,itwasthefearinhisdæmon.

Somethinghadterrifiedher.Thatbrutalbitchwhoseteethhadmetin the pelts of several other dæmons was cowering, quivering,whimpering,asthevixenslowlyadvanced.Boatwright’sdæmonfelltothefloorandrolledover,andBoatwrightwascringingback,tryingtoholdhisdæmon,tryingtoavoidthedeadlywhiteteethofthevixen.

The CCDmanmurmured a name. The vixen stood still, and thenbacked away a step. Boatwright’s dæmon lay curled up on the floor,trembling,andBoatwright’sexpressionwaspiteous.Infact,afteroneglanceMalcolm preferred not to look, so as not to see Boatwright’sshame.

Thetrimlittlevixentrottedneatlybacktothetableandlaydown.

“GeorgeBoatwright, go andwait outside,” said theCCDman, andsuchwasthedominancehehadnowthatnoonethoughtforamomentthatBoatwrightwoulddisobey and takeoff. Stroking andhalf liftinghisdæmon,who snappedathimanddrewblood fromhis tremblinghand,Boatwrightmadehismiserablewaytothedoorandthroughtothedarkoutside.

The second CCDman produced another notice from his briefcaseandpinnedituplikethefirstone.Thenthetwoofthemfinishedtheirdrinks,takingtheirtime,andgatheredtheircoatsbeforegoingouttodealwiththeirabjectprisoner.Noonesaidaword.

It turned out that instead of waiting obediently for the CCDmen tocomeoutandtakehimaway,GeorgeBoatwrighthadvanished.Goodfor him, thought Malcolm, but no one talked about it or wonderedaloudwhathadhappenedtohim.ThatwasthewayofthingswiththeCCD:itwasbetternottoask,betternottothinkaboutit.

TheatmosphereintheTroutwassubduedforsomedaysafterwards.Malcolmwenttoschool,didhishomework,fetchedandcarriedattheinn,andreadoverandoveragainthesecretmessage intheacorn.Itwasn’taneasytime;everythingseemedhungaboutwithanunhappyair of suspicion and fear, quiteunlike thenormalworld, asMalcolmthoughtofit,theplacehewasusedtolivingin,whereeverythingwasinterestingandhappy.

Besides, theCCDmanhadbeenaskingabout the lord chancellor’scompanion, and his interest had been in the matter of whether theprioryhadever lookedafteran infant;andMalcolmthought that thecare of infants was probably not the sort of thing the CCD usuallybotheredwith.Acorns containing secretmessages, perhaps, but theyhadn’tmentionedanythinglikethat.Itwasallverypuzzling.

—

In the hope of seeing someone else either leaving or collecting amessagefromtheoaktree,Malcolmwentthereseveraltimesoverthenextfewdays,coveringuphisinterestinthatlittlestretchofthecanalbywatching the great crested grebes. The other thing he didwas tohangaboutinthechandlery.Itwasagoodplacetowatchthepiazza;peoplewerealwaysgoingbackandforthorstoppingtodrinkcoffeeinthe café opposite. They sold all kinds of boat-related stuff in thechandlery, including redpaint, ofwhichhebought a small tin anda

finebrushtogowithit.Thewomanbehindthecountersoonrealizedthathisinterestdidn’tstopatredpaint.

“Whatelseyoulookingfor,Malcolm?”shesaid.HernamewasMrs.Carpenter,andshe’dknownhimeversincehewasallowedtogooutinthecanoeonhisown.

“Somecottoncord,”hesaid.

“Ishowedyouwhatwe’vegotyesterday.”

“Yes,butmaybethere’sanotherreelsomewhere…”

“Idon’tunderstandwhat’swrongwiththeoneIshowedyou.”

“It’s too thin. I want to make a lanyard, and it’s got to be a bitheavierthanthat.”

“Youcouldalwaysdoubleit.Usetwostrandsinsteadofone.”

“Oh,yeah.IsupposeIcould.”

“Howmuchd’youwant,then?”

“Aboutfourfathoms.”

“Doubled,orsingle?”

“Well,eightfathoms.ThatshouldbeenoughifIdoubleit.”

“Ishouldthinkitwouldbe,”shesaid,andmeasuredthecordandcutit.

ItwasagoodthingMalcolmhadplentyofmoneyinhistinwalrus.Oncehe’dgotthecordstowedawaytidilyinabigpaperbag,hepeeredout the window, looking left and right, as he’d been doing for thepreviousquarterofanhour.

“Don’tmindmeasking,”saidMrs.Carpenter,andherdrakedæmonmurmured in agreement, “but what are you looking for? You beenstaring out there for ever such a long time. You meeting someone?Theynotturnedup?”

“No!No.Actually…”Ifhecouldn’ttrustMrs.Carpenter,hethought,hecouldn’ttrustanyone.“Actually,I’mlookingforsomeone.Amaninagraycoatandhat.Isawhimtheotherdayandhedroppedsomethingandwefoundit,andIwanttogiveitbacktohim,butIhaven’tseenhimsince.”

“That’sallyoucantellmeabouthim?Agraycoatandhat?Howold

washe?”

“Ididn’tseehimclearly.Isupposehewasaboutthesameageasmydad.Hewaskindofthin.”

“Wheredidhedropthisthingyou’vegot?Alongthecanal?”

“Yes.Underatreebackdownthetowpath…It’snotimportant.”

“It’snotthischap,isit?”

Mrs.CarpenterbroughtthelatestOxfordTimesoutfromunderthecounterand folded itback toan insidepagebeforeholding itout forMalcolmtosee.

“Yes, I think that’s him….What’s happened? What’s…He’s beendrowned?”

“They found him in the canal. Looked as if he’d just slipped in,apparently.Youknowhowrainyit’sbeen,andtheydon’tlookafterthetowpathastheyoughtto—he’snotthefirsttolosehisfootingandfallin.Whateverhelost,it’stoolatetogiveitbacknow.”

Malcolmwas reading the story with wide eyes, gulping the wordsdown.Theman’snamewasRobertLuckhurst,andhe’dbeenascholarof Magdalen College, an historian. He was unmarried, and wassurvived by his widowed mother and a brother. There would be aninquest in due course, but there were no signs that his death wasanythingotherthananaccident.

“Whatwasithedropped?”saidMrs.Carpenter.

“Justalittleornamentkindofthing,”saidMalcolminasteadyvoice,thoughhisheartwasthumping.“Hewasthrowingitupandcatchingitashewentalong,and thenhedropped it.He looked for itabit,andthenitstartedrainingandheleft.”

“Whatwereyoudoing?”

“Iwaswatchingthegreatcrestedgrebes.Idon’tsupposehesawme.Butwhenheleft,IwenttoseeifIcouldfinditandIdid,soI’vebeenlookingforhimeversincetogiveitback.ButIcan’tnow.”

“Whatdaywasityousawhim?”

“Ithink…”Malcolmhadtothinkquitehard.Helookedatthepaperagaintosee if it saidwhentheman’sbodyhadbeendiscovered.TheOxfordTimeswasaweekly,soitcouldhavebeenanydayinthepast

five or six. With a jolt, he realized that Luckhurst’s body had beenfoundthedayafterhehadseenhimbeingarrestedbytheCCDmen.

Theycouldn’thavekilledhim,couldthey?

“No, itwasa fewdaysbeforethis,”he liedwithgreatassurance.“Idon’tsupposeitwasconnectedatall.There’slotsofpeoplewhowalkalongthetowpath.Hemighthavedoneiteveryday,likeforexercise.Hewasn’tverybotheredabout losing it,becausehe leftas soonas itstartedraining.”

“Oh,well,”saidMrs.Carpenter.“Poorman.Perhapsthey’lltakeabitmorecareofthetowpathnowit’stoolate.”

A customer came in, andMrs. Carpenter turned to dealwith him.Malcolmwishedhehadn’t toldheraboutthemanandthethinghe’ddropped;ifhe’dhadhiswitsabouthim,hecouldhavepretendedthathe’d been looking for a friend. But then she’d never have told himaboutthestoryinthepaper.Thiswasallverydifficult.

“Bye,Mrs.Carpenter,”hesaidasheleft,andshewavedvaguelyasshelistenedtotheothercustomer.

“Iwishwecouldaskhernottosayanything,”Malcolmsaidastheyturnedthecanoeround.

“Thenshe’dthinkitwasevenmoreworthnoticing,andrememberitspecially,”saidAsta.“Thatwasagoodlieyoutold.”

“Ididn’tknowIcoulddothat.Besttodoitaslittleaspossible.”

“Andrememberexactlywhatwe’vesaideachtime.”

“It’srainingagain….”

Hepaddledsteadilyupthecanal,withAstaperchingclosetohisearsotheycouldwhispertogether.

“Didtheykillhim?”shesaid.

“Unlesshekilledhimself…”

“Itmighthavebeenanaccident.”

“It’snotlikely,though.Notafterthewaytheygotholdofhim.”

“AndwhattheydidtoMr.Boatwright…They’ddoanything.Torture,anything,Ibet.”

“Sowhatcouldthemessagemean?”

Theycameback to thatagainandagain.Malcolmhadcopied it sothathedidn’thavetokeepunfoldingthepaperintheacorn,butevenwriting thewordsouthimselfdidn’thelpmakemuch senseof them.Someonewasaskingsomeoneelsetoaskaquestion,anditwasaboutmeasuringsomething,butmorethanthatwashardtoworkout.AndthentherewasthewordDust,withacapitalD,asifitwasn’tordinarydustbutsomethingspecial.

“D’you think if we went toMagdalen College and asked the otherscholars…”

“Askedthemwhat?”

“Well,sortofdetectivequestions.Workoutwhathedid—”

“Hewasahistorian.That’swhatitsaid.”

“Anhistorian.Wecouldworkoutwhatelsehedid.Whatfriendshehad. Maybe talk to his students, or some of them, if we could findthem.Whetherhecamebacktocollegethateveningafterwesawthemgrabholdofhim,orwhetherthatwasthelastanyonesawofhim.Thatsortofthing.”

“They wouldn’t tell us even if they knew. We don’t look likedetectives.Welooklikeaschoolkid.Andthenthere’sthedanger.”

“TheCCD…”

“Ofcourse.Iftheyhearwe’vebeenaskingabouthim,wouldn’ttheyget suspicious? Then they’d come and search the Trout and find theacorn,andthenwe’dbeinrealtrouble.”

“SomeofthestudentswhocomeintheTroutwearcollegescarves.IfweknewwhattheMagdalenonewaslike…”

“That’sagoodidea!Thenifweaskanything,itcouldseemlikejustbeingnosy.Orgossip.”

Itwasrainingevenhardernow,andMalcolmfounditdifficulttoseeahead. Asta became an owl and perched on the prow, her featherssheddingthewater inawayshe’ddiscoveredwhenshewastryingtobecome an animal that didn’t yet exist. The best she could do so farwastotakeoneanimalandaddanaspectofanother,sonowshewasan owl with duck’s feathers; but she only did it when no one butMalcolmwaslooking.Guidedbyherbigeyes,hepaddledasfastashecould,stoppingtobailoutthecanoewhentherainhadfilledittohis

ankles.Whentheygothome,hewassoaked,butallshehadtodowasshakeherselfandshewasdryagain.

“Where’veyoubeen?”saidhismother,butnotcrossly.

“Watchinganowl.What’sforsupper?”

“Steak and kidney pie. Wash your hands. Look at you! You’resoaking wet! You make sure you change into something dry afteryou’veeaten.Anddon’tleaveyourwetthingsonthebedroomfloor.”

Malcolm rinsed his hands under the kitchen tap and wiped themperfunctorilyonateatowel.

“HavetheyfoundMr.Boatwrightyet?”hesaid.

“No.Why?”

“Theywereall talkingabout somethingexciting in thebar. I couldtellsomethingwasup,butIcouldn’thearanydetails.”

“Therewasafamousmaninearlier.Youcouldhavewaitedonhimifyouweren’twatchingyourbloomingowls.”

“Whowasit?”saidMalcolm,helpinghimselftomashedpotato.

“LordAsriel,theexplorer.”

“Oh,” said Malcolm, who hadn’t heard of him. “Where’s heexplored?”

“The Arctic mostly, so they say. But you remember what the lordchancellorwasaskingabout?”

“Oh,theinfant?Ifthesistershadeverhadaninfanttolookafter?”

“That’s right. It turns out it’s LordAsriel’s child.His love child. Alittlebabygirl.”

“Didhetellpeoplethat?”

“Coursenot!Heneversaidawordaboutthat.Well,hewouldn’tgoblabbingaboutthatinapublicbar,wouldhe?”

“Idunno.Prob’lynot.Sohowd’youknow—”

“Oh,you justput twoand two together!ThestoryabouthowLordAsriel killed Mr. Coulter, the politician—that was in the papers amonthback.”

“Ifhekilledsomeone,whyen’the—”

“Eatyourpie.Heen’tinprisonbecauseitwasamatterofhonor.Mr.Coulter’swifehadthebaby,LordAsriel’sbaby,andthenMr.CoultercamechargingdowntoLordAsriel’sestateandburstin,threateningtokillhim,andtheyfoughtandLordAsrielwonanditturnedoutthere’salawallowingamantodefendhimselfandhiskin—that’dbethechild,thebaby—sohewasn’tputingaolnorhanged,buttheyfinedhimallhisfortune,nearenough.Eatyourpie—comeon,forgoodness’sake!”

Malcolm was enthralled by this tale, and plied his knife and forkwithonlyhalfhisattention.

“But how d’you know he’s come here to put his infant with thesisters?”

“Well, I don’t, but itmustbe that.You canaskSisterFenellanexttimeyouseeher.Andstopcallingitaninfant.Noonetalkslikethat.She’sababystill.Mustbe—oh,sixmonthsold,Isuppose.Maybeabitmore.”

“Whyisn’thermotherlookingafterher?”

“Lord,Idon’tknow.Somesaysheneverwantedanythingmoretodowiththechild,butmaybethat’sjustgossip.”

“Thenunswon’tknowhowtolookafterher,ifthey’veneverdoneitbefore.”

“Well, they won’t be short of advice. Give me your plate. There’srhubarbandcustardonthesidethere.”

—

Assoonaspossible,whichwasthreedayslater,Malcolmhurriedtothepriory to learn more about the child of the famous explorer. SisterFenellawashisfirstportofcall,andastherainflungitselfagainstthewindow,theysatatthekitchentableandkneadedsomedoughforthepriory’s bread. After Malcolm had washed his hands three times,makinglittlechangetotheirappearance,SisterFenellagaveuptellinghim.

“Whatisthatinyourfingernails?”shesaid.

“Tar.Iwasrepairingmycanoe.”

“Well,ifit’sonlytar…Theysayit’shealthy,”shesaiddoubtfully.

“There’scoal-tarsoap,”Malcolmpointedout.

“Trueenough.ButIdon’tthinkit’sthatcolor.Nevermind,therestiscleanenough.Kneadaway.”

As he pulled and pushed at the dough, Malcolm pressed the nunwithquestions.Wasittrue,aboutLordAsriel’sbaby?

“Well,andwhathaveyouheardaboutababy?”

“Thatyou’re lookingafter itbecausehekilledamanand thecourttook all hismoney away. And that was why the lord chancellor wasaskingaboutitintheTrouttheotherday.Soisittrue?”

“Yes,itis.Alittlebabygirl.”

“What’shername?”

“Lyra.Idon’tknowwhytheydidn’tgiveheragoodsaint’sname.”

“Willshebeheretillshe’sgrownup?”

“Oh,Idon’tknow,Malcolm….Harderwiththatnow.Teachitwho’sboss.”

“DidyouseeLordAsriel?”

“No.Itriedtopeepalongthecorridor,butSisterBenedictahadthedoorfirmlyclosed.”

“Isshethepersonwho’sinchargeofher?”

“Well,shewasthesisterwhospoketoLordAsriel.”

“Sowholooksafterthebabyandfeedsherandallthat?”

“Wealldo.”

“How do you know how to do all those things? I wonderedbecause…”

“Becausewe’reallmaidenladies?”

“Well,it’snottheusualthingyougetnunsdoing.”

“You’d be surprised at what we know,” she said, and her elderlysquirrel dæmon laughed, and so didAsta, soMalcolmdid too. “But,you know,Malcolm, youmustn’t say anything about the baby. It’s agreatsecretthatshe’shere.Youmustn’tbreatheawordaboutit.”

“Lots of people know already. My mum and dad know, andcustomers…They’veallbeentalkingaboutit.”

“Oh,dear.Well,perhapsitdoesn’tmatter,then.Butyou’dbetternot

sayanymore.Perhapsthatwouldbeallright.”

“Sister Fenella, did anymen from the CCD come the other night?Youknow,theConsist—”

“TheConsistorialCourtofDiscipline?Lordpreserveus.Whathavewedonetodeservethat?”

“Idon’tknow.Nothing.Thereweresomemen,twoof them, intheTrout the other night, and everyone was afraid of them. They wereaskingaboutoneofthemenwhocamewiththelordchancellor.AndMr.Boatwright stoodup to themand theyweregoing to arresthim,but he disappeared. Probably ran away. He might be living in thewoods.”

“Goodnessme!GeorgeBoatwrightthepoacher?”

“Youknowhim,then?”

“Oh,yes.Andnowhe’sintroublewiththe…Oh,dear.Oh,dear.”

“Sister,whatdoestheCCDdo?”

“I expect they do God’s work,” she said. “It’s too hard for us tounderstand.”

“Didtheycomehere?”

“Iwouldn’tknow,Malcolm.SisterBenedictawouldhaveseenthem,notme.Andshewouldhavekeptittoherself, likethebraveladysheis,andnottroubledanyoneelse.”

“Ijustwonderediftheyhadanythingtodowiththebaby.”

“Well,Iwouldn’tknow,andIwouldn’task.Comeon,that’senoughwiththatdough.”

She took it from him and slapped it hard on the stone workingsurface.Malcolmcouldseeshewastroubled,andhewishedhehadn’taskedabouttheCCD.

Beforehe left,SisterFenella tookhimalong to seeLyra.Thebabywasasleepinthenuns’parlor,theroomwheretheyreceivedvisitors,butSisterFenellasaiditwouldbeallrightifhewasveryquiet.

He tiptoedafterher into the room,whichwas coldand smelledoffurniturepolish,andmiserablygrayinthelightfromtherain-washedwindow.Inthemiddleof the floorstoodacribofheavy-lookingoak,andinsideittherelayababy,asleep.

Malcolmhadneverseenababyatclosequarters,andhewasstruckatoncebyhowrealsheseemed.Heknewthatwouldbeasillythingtosay,soheheldhistongue,butthatwashisimpressionallthesame:itwasunexpectedthatsomethingsosmallshouldbesoperfectlyformed.Shewasasperfectlymadeasthewoodenacorn.Herdæmon,thechickofasmallbirdlikeaswallow,wasasleepwithher,butassoonasAstaflewdown, swallow-shaped too,andperchedon theedgeof the crib,thechickwokeupandopenedhisyellowbeakwideforfood.Malcolmlaughed, and that woke the baby, and seeing his laughing face, shebegantolaughtoo.Astapretendedtosnapatatinyinsectandthrustitdown the baby dæmon’s gapingmouth,which satisfied him,makingMalcolm laugh harder, and then the baby laughed so hard she gothiccups,andeverytimeshehicked,thedæmonjumped.

“There, there,” saidSisterFenella, andbent to pickherup; but asshe lifted the baby, Lyra’s little face crumpled into an expression ofgriefandterror,andshereachedroundforherdæmon,nearlytwistingherselfoutofthenun’sarms.Astawasaheadofher:shetookthelittlechick in hermouth and flewup to place him on the baby’s chest, atwhichpointheturnedintoaminiaturetigercubandhissedandbaredhisteethateveryone.Allthebaby’sdismayvanishedatonce,andshelayinSisterFenella’sarms,lookingaroundwithalordlycomplacency.

Malcolm was enchanted. Everything about her was perfect anddelightedhim.

“Better put you down again, sweetheart,” said Sister Fenella.“Shouldn’thavewokenyou,shouldwe,darling?”

Shelaidthebabyinthecrib,tuckingherupandtakingthegreatestcarenot tobrushahandagainstherdæmon.Malcolm supposed theprohibition against touching another person’s dæmon was true forbabiesaswell; inanycase,hewouldneverhavedreamed,afterthosefewminutes, of doing anything to upset that little child.Hewas herservantforlife.

InacomfortablestudyattheUniversityofUppsala,inSweden,threemensattalkingasthewildrainlashedthewindowsandthewindsentoccasionalpuffsofsmokebackdownthechimneytodisturbthefireintheironstove.

ThehostwascalledGunnarHallgrimsson.Hewasabachelor,amanof sixty or so, plump and sharp-witted. He was a professor ofmetaphysicalphilosophyattheuniversity.Hisdæmon,arobin,stayedonhisshoulderandsaidlittle.

Oneofhisguestswasauniversitycolleague,AxelLöfgren,professorof experimental theology.Hewas thin, taciturnbut amiable, andhisdæmonwasaferret.HeandHallgrimssonwereoldfriends,andtheirhabitofteasingeachotherwasusuallyinfullflowafteragooddinner,butitwasmoderatedthiseveningbythepresenceofthethirdman,astrangertothemboth.

ThevisitorwasaboutthesameageasHallgrimsson,buthe lookedolder; certainly his face bore themarks ofmore experience and trialthan did the professor’s smooth cheeks and unlined brow.Hewas agyptianofthepeopleofEasternAnglia,amancalledCoramvanTexel,whohad traveledmuch in the far north.Hewas lean and ofmiddleheight, and his movements were careful, as if he thought he mightbreaksomethinginadvertently,asifhewasunusedtodelicateglassesand fine tableware. His dæmon, a large cat with fur of a thousandbeautiful autumnal colors, stalked the corners of the study beforeleaping gracefully to Coram’s lap. Ten years after this evening, andagain ten years after that, Lyrawouldmarvel at the coloring of thatdæmon’sfur.

They had just dined. Coram had arrived that day from the north,

with a letter of introduction from an acquaintance of ProfessorHallgrimsson’s,theconsulofthewitchesatthetownofTrollesund.

“You’ll take some Tokay?” said Hallgrimsson, sitting down afterlooking through the window along the rain-swept street, and thenpullingthecurtainsacrossagainstthedraft.

“Thatwouldbeararepleasure,”saidCoram.

Theprofessorturnedtoasmalltablenomorethananarm’slengthfrom his comfortable chair and poured some goldenwine into threeglasses.

“AndhowismyfriendMartinLanselius?”theprofessorcontinued,handingaglasstoCoram.“Imustsay,Ineverthoughthewouldendupinthediplomaticserviceofthewitches.”

“He’s thriving,” saidCoram. “In fine fettle.He’smakinga studyoftheirreligion.”

“I’ve often thought the belief systems of the witch clans wouldrewardinvestigation,”saidHallgrimsson,“butmyownstudiesledmeelsewhere.”

“Even further into the void,” said the professor of experimentaltheology,takingaglassfromhishost.

“Youmustexcusemyfriend’sabsurdities.Yourgoodhealth,Mr.VanTexel,”saidHallgrimsson,takingasip.

“Andyours,sir.ByGod,thisisfine.”

“I’mgladyouthinkso.ThereisawinemerchantinBuda-Pesthwhosendsmeacaseofiteveryyear.”

“We don’t taste it very often,” said Löfgren. “Every time I see abottle,there’slessinitthantherewasbefore.”

“Oh,nonsense.Now,what canwedo foryouhere inUppsala,Mr.VanTexel?”

“Dr. Lanselius told me about the instrument you have, the truthmeasurer,”saidthegyptian.“Iwashopingtoconsultit.”

“Ah.Tellmeaboutthenatureofyourinquiry.”

“Mypeople,”saidCoram,“thegyptianpeople,areunderthreatfromvariouspolitical factions inBrytain.Theywanttorestrictourancientfreedoms and limit the activities we can take part in—buying and

selling,forinstance.Iwanttoknowwhichofthesethreatscanbedealtwithbyopposition,whichbynegotiation,andwhichcan’tbedealtwithatall.Isthatthesortofquestionyourinstrumentcouldanswer?”

“In the right hands, yes. Given enough time, I could evenmake aroughattemptatinterpretingitmyself.”

“Youmeanyou’renotanexpertreader?”

“Bynomeansexpert.”

“Then—”

“Letmeshowyoutheinstrument,andperhapsyouwillunderstandtheproblem.”

Theprofessoropenedadrawerinthelittletableandbroughtoutaleatherbox,circularinshapeandaboutthesizeofthepalmofaman’shand, and three fingers deep. Löfgren pulled out a tapestry-coveredstool,andHallgrimssonplacedtheboxonitandliftedthelid.

Coramleanedforward.Inthesoftnaphthalight,somethinggleamedrichly.Theprofessoradjustedthelampshadesothatthelightfell fullonthestool,andtooktheinstrumentoutof itsbox.Hisshortstubbyfingersweretouchingthe instrumentwithwhat lookedtoCoramlikethetendernessofalover,asifhethoughtitwasalive.

It was a clock-shaped device of bright gold, with a crystal faceuppermost.Atfirst,Coramcouldseelittlebutabeautifulcomplexity,untiltheprofessorbegantopointthingsout.

“Aroundtheedgeofthedial—yousee?—wehavethirty-sixpictures,eachpainted on ivorywith a single hair.And around the outsidewehave three littlewheelsahundredand twentydegreesapart, like theknobsyouusetowindawatch.ThisiswhathappenswhenIturnone.”

Coramleanedcloser,andhisdæmonsteppedoffhis lapandstoodon the arm of the chair so that she could see too. As the professorturnedthewheel, theysawaslenderblackhand, likeaminutehand,detach itself from the complicatedbackgroundandmove around thedialwithaseriesofclicks.Theprofessorstoppedwhenitwaspointingatatinypictureofthesun.

“Wehavethreehands,” theprofessorsaid,“andwepointeachatadifferent symbol. If I were framing your question, I would probablyincludethesuninthethreesymbolsIchose,becauseitstands,among

other things, for kingship and authority, and by association, for thelaw.Theothertwo”—heturnedtheotherwheels,andthehandsmovedobediently round the dial—“would depend on which aspect of yourquestion we wanted to deal with first. You mentioned buying andselling. Somewhere in the griffin range of meanings, those actionsoccur.Why?Becausegriffinsareassociatedwithtreasure.Iwouldalsoguessthatthethirdhandshouldpointtothedolphin,whoseprimarymeaningiswater,becauseyourpeoplearewaterdwellers,no?”

“That’strue.Ibegintosee.”

“Let’stry,then.”

Theprofessormovedthesecondhandtothegriffinandthethirdtothedolphin.

“Andthenthishappens,”hesaid.

Aneedlesoslender thatCoramhadn’t seen itatall,andofamid-gray color, began to move, apparently of its own accord, slowly,hesitating, and then swung round very quickly, stopping here andtherebeforemovingonagain.

“What’sthatdoing?”saidCoram.

“Givingustheanswer.”

“Yougottobequick,en’tyou?”

“Your mental faculties have to be calm, but alert. I have heard itcomparedtothewayinwhichahunterwilllieinwait,readytopullthetriggeratanymoment,butwithoutanynervousexcitement.”

“I understand,” said Coram. “I’ve seen archers in Nippon dosomethingsimilar.”

“Really? Iwould like tohearabout that.But thementalattitude isonlyoneaspectofthedifficulty.Anotheristhis:thateachsymbolhasavery deep range of meanings, and they are only made clear in thebooksofreadings.”

“Howmanymeanings?”

“Nobodyknows.Somehavebeenexploredtothedepthofahundredormore,buttheyshownosignofcomingtoanend.Perhapstheygoonforever.”

“Andhowwerethesemeaningsdiscovered?”putinLöfgren.

Coram looked at the professor; he’d thought Löfgren was familiarwiththealethiometer,asHallgrimssonwas,andbelievedinitspowers,buttherewasatoneofskepticisminhisquestion.

“By contemplation, by meditation, by experiment,” saidHallgrimsson.

“Oh.Well,Ibelieveinexperiment,”saidLöfgren.

“I’mgladtohearyoubelieveinsomething,”saidhisfriend.

“Thesemeanings—therelationbetweenthem—iftheyworkbykindsof similarity,” said Coram, “they could go on a lot past a hundred.There’snoendtofindingsimilarities,onceyoustartlookingfor’em.”

“Butwhatmattersisnotthesimilaritiesyourimaginationfinds,butthe similarities that are implicit in the image, and they are notnecessarilythesame.Ihavenoticedthatthemoreimaginativereadersare often the less successful. Theirminds leap to what they think isthereratherthanwaitingwithpatience.Andwhatmattersmostofalliswherethechosenmeaningcomesinthehierarchyofmeanings,yousee,andfor that there isnoalternative to thebooks.That iswhytheonlyalethiometersweknowaboutarekeptinorbygreatlibraries.”

“Howmanyarethere,then?”

“We think therewere sixmade.We knowwhere five of them are:thereisthisoneinUppsala,thereisoneinBologna,oneinParis,theMagisteriumhasoneinGeneva,andthereisoneinOxford.”

“Oxford,eh?”

“In the Bodleian Library. It is a remarkable story. When theConsistorial Court of Discipline was gathering its power in the lastcentury,theprefectofthecourtheardoftheexistenceoftheBodleianalethiometeranddemanded its surrender.The librarian refused.Theconvocation of the university, the governing body, ordered him tocomply. Instead, what he did was to conceal the instrument in thehollowed-outpagesofaworkofexperimentaltheology,ofwhichtheyalreadyhadseveralidenticalcopies,andplaceitontheopenshelvesinplain view—but, of course, impossible to find among the million ormorevolumesinthelibrary.ThattimetheConsistorialCourtgaveup.Thentheycameasecondtime.Theprefectsentabodyofarmedmentothelibraryandthreatenedthelibrarianwithdeathifitwasnotgivenup. Again the librarian refused, saying that he had not taken up his

officeinordertogiveawaythecontentsofthelibrary,andthathehadasacreddutytoconserveandprotectthemforscholarship.Theofficerin charge ordered hismen to arrest the librarian and bring him outintothequadrangletobeshot.Thelibrariantookhisplaceinfrontofthe firing squad and faced the officer for the first time—they hadnegotiatedonlybymessengerpreviously,yousee—andtheyrecognizedeach other as old college friends. The officer was abashed, the storysays, andwouldnot give theorder, and instead stoodhismendownandwenttodrinkbrantwijnwiththelibrarian.TheoutcomewasthatthealethiometerremainedintheBodleianLibrary,whereitisstill,thelibrarian retained his position, and the officer was ordered back toGeneva,whereshortlyafterwardshedied,apparentlybypoison.”

Thegyptiangavealong,lowwhistle.

“AndwhoreadstheOxfordonenow?”hesaid.

“There isasmallbodyofscholarswhohavemadeit theirobjectofstudy. I have heard there is a woman of great gifts who has madeconsiderable progress in the principles….Ralph? Relph? Somethinglikethat.”

“I see,” said Coram, sipping his wine and looking closely at thealethiometer.“Yousaidthereweresixofthese,Professor,andthenyoutoldmethewhereaboutsoffiveof’em.Whereisthesixth?”

“Well might you ask. No one knows. Well, I daresay somebodyknows, but I don’t think any scholar knows. Now, if we could comebacktoyourquestion,Mr.VanTexel:it’sacomplicatedone,butthat’snotthemainproblem.Theproblemisthatour leadingscholar isnothere. He is in Paris, spending a sabbatical term in the BibliothèqueNationale.Iamtooslowandclumsytofindmywayfromoneleveltoanother,andtoseetheconnectionsandestimatewhereIshouldlooknextinthebooks.IwouldreaditforyouifIcould,ofcourse.”

“Despitethedanger?”saidCoram.

Theprofessor saidnothing fora fewmoments.Thenhe said, “Thedangerof…”

“Ofsummaryexecution,”saidCoram,thoughhewassmiling.

“Oh,yes.Aha.Well,Ithinkthosedaysarebehindus,fortunately.”

“Let’shopeso,”saidLöfgren.

Coramtookanothersipofthegoldenwineandsatbackinthechairas if he was contented and comfortable. The fact was that thealethiometer,prettythoughitwas,hadlittleinterestforhim,andthequestion he had posed to Professor Hallgrimsson was a blind: thegyptians were perfectly capable of working out the answerfor themselves, and indeed they already had. Coram was up tosomething else altogether, and now he had to maneuver theconversationtowardsadifferentmatter.

“Idaresayyouhavealotofvisitors,”hesaid.

“Well, I don’t know,” said the professor. “No more than mostuniversities,Isuppose.Ofcourse,wedospecializeinoneortwoareas,andthatbringsinterestedscholarsfromquitesomedistance.Notonlyscholarseither.”

“Explorers,Iexpect.”

“Amongothers,yes.OntheirwaytotheArctic.”

“Iwonderifyou’vemetamancalledLordAsriel.He’safriendofmypeople,anotableexplorerinthatpartoftheworld.”

“He has been here, but not recently. I did hear…” The professorlooked awkward for a second, and then his eagerness overcame hisreluctance.“Idon’tlistentogossip,youunderstand.”

“Oh,neitherdoI,”saidCoram.“SometimesIoverhearit,though.”

“Overhear!”saidLöfgren.“Thatisverygood.”

“Yes, I overheard a remarkable story about Lord Asriel not longago,” Hallgrimsson said. “If you have just come from the north,perhapsitwon’thavereachedyouyet….ItseemsthatLordAsrielhasbeeninvolvedinamurdercase.”

“Murder?”

“He had a childwith awomanwhowasmarried to someone else,andthenhekilledthewoman’shusband.”

“GoodGod!”saidCoram,whoknewthestorywellalready.“Howdidthatcomeabout?”

Helistenedtotheprofessor’sversionofthetale,whichdifferedonlyslightlyfromtheoneheknew,waitingfortheopportunitytosteertheconversationthewayofhisquestion.

“And what happened to the child?” he said. “With its mother, Iexpect?”

“No.Ithinkthecourthascustody.Forthemoment,atanyrate.Themother isaremarkablybeautifulwoman,butnotone inwhom,shallwesay,theflameofmotherhoodburnsverybrightly.”

“Youspeakasifyou’vemether.”

“Indeed we have,” said Hallgrimsson, and if Coram had had todescribe his expression, he would have said that the scholar waspreeninghimself justalittle.“Wehavedinedwithher.Shevisitedusjustamonthago.”

“Didshereally?Andwassheoffexploringtoo?”

“No, she came to consult Axel here. She is a remarkable scholarherself,youknow.”

Thiswasthemoment.

“She came to consult you, sir?” said Coram to the experimentaltheologian.

Löfgren smiled. Coram noticed that his bony face was actuallyshowingafaintblush.

“Iusedtothinkmyoldfriendherewasimmunetothecharmsofthefair sex,” said Hallgrimsson. “In years gone by, Mr. Van Texel, hewouldhardlyhavenoticedthatshewasawoman.ButthistimeIthinkthedartofCupidmightactuallyhavepenetratedhiscarapace.”

“I don’t blame you, sir,” said Coram to Löfgren. “Speaking formyself, I’ve always found great intelligence in a woman a highlyattractive feature.What did shewant to consult you about, if Imayask?”

“Oh, you won’t get anything out of him,” said Hallgrimsson. “I’vetried.Anyonewouldthinkhehadsignedanoathofsecrecy.”

“Because you would make a joke of it, you old buffoon,” saidLöfgren. “Shecame toaskmeabout theRusakov field.Doyouknowwhatthatis?”

“No,sir.Whatisit?”

“Youknowwhatafieldis,innaturalphilosophy?”

“I’vegotavagueidea.It’saregionwheresomeforceapplies.Isthat

it?”

“That will do. But this field is like no other we know of. Itsdiscoverer,aMuscovitecalledRusakov,wasinvestigatingthemysteryof consciousness—human consciousness—that is, of why somethingentirely material, such as a human body—including the brain, ofcourse—should be able to generate this impalpable, invisible thing,awareness.Isitmaterial,thisconsciousnesswehave?Wecan’tweighitormeasureit.Isitsomethingspiritual,then?Onceweusethewordspiritual,wedon’thavetoexplainanymore,becauseitbelongstotheChurchthen,andnoonecanquestionit.Well,that’snogoodtoarealinvestigatorofnature.Iwon’tgointoallthestepsRusakovtook,buthefinally arrived at the extraordinary idea that consciousness is aperfectlynormalpropertyofmatter,likemassoranbariccharge;thatthereisafieldofconsciousnessthatpervadestheentireuniverse,andthatmakes itself apparentmost fully—we believe—in human beings.Preciselyhowisaquestionthatisnowbeinginvestigatedwithurgentexcitementbyscientistsineverypartoftheworld.”

“Every part of the world, that is, where they are allowed to,” saidHallgrimsson.“Soyousee,Mr.VanTexel,howeasilythismustattracttheattentionoftheConsistorialCourt.”

“I do, sir. Itmust have shaken theChurch to its foundations.Andthiswaswhattheladycameheretoaskabout?”

“It was,” said Löfgren. “Mrs. Coulter’s interest was unusual insomeonewhowas not a professional scholar. She asked several veryperceptive questions about the Rusakov field and humanconsciousness. I showed her my results, she absorbed everything Icouldtellherwithinstantunderstanding,andthensheseemedtoloseinterestinme,tomysorrow,andstartedtoflattermycolleaguehere.”

“Hadsheheardaboutthiswine,then,sir?”saidCoram.

“Ho ho! No, it wasn’t the wine, and it wasn’t my many personalattractions. She wanted to consult the alethiometer about herdaughter,Mr.VanTexel.”

“Herdaughter?”saidCoram.“Youmeanthechildshehadby—”

“By Lord Asriel,” said Hallgrimsson. “Indeed. The very same. Shewantedmetousethealethiometertofindoutwherethechildwas.”

“Shedoesn’tknow?”

“Oh,no. It—I suppose Imeanshe—isunder the supervisionof thecourtsof law,butofcourseshecouldbeanywhere.Apparently, it’samatterofsomesecrecy.Andnow—rememberyouarejustoverhearingthis,Mr. Van Texel—themother has discovered that the child is thesubject of a prophecy by the witches. She did not tell us that.We—ahem—overheard it from one of her servants. Mrs. Coulter is veryeagertodiscovermoreaboutthis,andespeciallytofindoutwherethechild is, so as to take her back into her…Iwas going to say into hercare,butIthinkitwouldbemorelikecustody.”

“I see,” said Coram. “And what did this prophecy say? Did youhappentooverhearthat?”

“No, alas. I believe it was simply that the child was of supremeimportance in someway. That is allweheard.Andhermother doesnotknowwhattheprophecyforetells.Yes,averyremarkablewoman.But should we now be expecting a call from the agents of theConsistorialCourt,Mr.VanTexel?”

“Ihopenot.Butthesearetryingtimes,Professor.”

Coramhadaskedenough;hehadlearnedwhathewantedto.Afterafewmoreminutesofconversation,hestoodup.

“Well, gentlemen,”he said, “I’mgreatly obliged to you.A splendiddinner,someofthefinestwineI’veevertastedinmylife,andalookatthatremarkableinstrument.”

“I’mverysorryIcoulddonomoreforyouthanroughlysketchhowitworks,”saidProfessorHallgrimsson,gettingtohis feetwitha littleeffort.“Butatleastyouhaveseenthedifficulties.”

“Indeed,sir.Hasitstoppedrainingyet,Iwonder?”

Coramwenttothewindowandlookedoutatthestreet:emptytoleftand right, and very dark between the streetlamps, the roadwayglisteningwet.

“CanIlendyouanumbrella?”saidtheprofessor.

“No need for that, thank you. It’s dry enough now. Good night,gentlemen,goodnighttoyou,andthankyouagain.”

—

AndnowcamethesecondproblemCoramhadtodealwith.

The rain had stopped, but the air was heavy with moisture and

bitterly cold. A nimbus of mist surrounded every streetlight so thatthey looked like golden dandelion seed heads, and the drip ofwaterfromtheeaveswasunceasingasCoramandSophonaxwalkedslowlyalongtheriverfront.

“Want to come up, Sophie?” said Coram, because dæmon or not,Sophonaxwasacat,andthepavementsweredrenched;butshesaid,“Betternot.”

“Hestillthere?”Corammurmured.

“He’skeepingoutofsight,buthe’sthere.”

SincetheyhadleftNovgorodthepreviousweek,Coramhadknowntheywerebeingfollowed.Itwastimetoputastoptoit.

“Sameone,eh?”

“Thatdæmoncan’thide,”saidSophonax.

Coramwasmoving in a roundaboutway towards the narrow littleboardinghousenear the riverwherehe’d renteda room,andnowhesloweddownbythewater’sedge,wherehalfadozenbargesweretiedupatastoneembankment.Itwashalfpastmidnight.

Hepaused there,handson thewet iron railing, lookingout acrossthe black water while his dæmon wound herself round his legs,pretendingtopesterforattentionbutreallywatchingeverymovementbehindthem.

To get to the boardinghouse, they’d have to cross a little ironfootbridge that spanned the river, but Coram didn’t go that way.Instead,whenSophonax said, “Now,” he turned away from the riverand walked swiftly across the road and into an alley between twostone-fronted buildings that might have been banks or governmentoffices.Hehadnoticedthisalleybefore,whencomingalongtherivertowards the university—a quick glance, an almost automaticregisteringofpossibility—andhe’dseen that itwasopenat theotherend.Hewouldn’tgettrappedhere,buthemightambushwhoeverwasfollowinghim.Assoonashewasintheshadows,heranonsoftfeetforthelargerubbishbinshalfwaydown,almost invisible inthedarknessontheright-handside.

Therehecrouchedandreachedinsidethesleeveofhiscoatfortheshort,heavystickoflignumvitaehecarriedalonghisleftforearm.Heknewhowtouseitinatleastfivelethalways.

Sophonaxwaitedtillhehadthestickreadybeforeleapinguptohisshoulder, and then, after delicately testing the top of the nearestdustbinincaseitwasloose,sheclimbedupthereandlayflat,staringattheentrancetothealleywithhercateyeswide.Coramwatchedtheotherend,whichopenedintoanarrowstreetofofficebuildings.

Whathappenednextwoulddependonhowskillfullytheotherman’sdæmoncouldfight.TheyhadonceoverpoweredaTartarandhiswolfdæmonwhentheywereyounger,andSophonaxwasafraidofnothing,and swift and very strong; in a fight to the death, the great tabooagainst touching another person’s dæmon didn’t count formuch. Infightingfortheirlife,Sophonaxhadmorethanoncehadtoscratchandbite with fury at the hideous touch of a stranger’s hand and thenafterwardswashherselfinanearfrenzytogetridofthetaint.

Butthisdæmon…

Sophiewhispered,“There.”

Coram turned, careful and slow, and saw in silhouette against thelightedembankmentthesmallheadandhulkingshouldersofahyena.Shewaslookingdirectlyatthem.ShewasabrutesuchasCoramhadneverseen:maliceineverylineofher,jawsthatcouldcrackbonesasiftheyweremadeofpastry.Sheandhermanwereclearlytrainedatthebusiness of following, because Coramwas trained at the business ofspottingit,andadmiredtheirskill;butasSophieremarked, itwasn’teasy for such a dæmon to remain inconspicuous. As for what theywanted,Coramhadnoidea;iftheywantedafight,they’dgetone.

Hetightenedhisgriponthefightingstick;Sophiereadiedherselftospring.Thehyenadæmoncame forwarda little, emerging intoa fullsilhouette,andthemansteppedsilentlyforwardafterher.CoramandSophie both spotted the pistol in his hand the moment before heflattened himself against the wall of the alley and disappeared intoshadow.

Silence,apartfromtheeternaldripofwaterfromtheroofs.

Coram wished that Sophie had hidden behind the bin with himratherthancrouchingonthelid.Shewastooexposed—

Asound like aman spitting apip—itwas a gaspistol—followedatoncebyagreatclatterasthebullethitthedustbinandsentittumblingoverCoram and rolling across the alley. In the same instant, Sophieleapt away and landed by Coram’s side. A gas pistolwasn’t accurate

overadistancebutwasdeadly enoughat close range: they’dhave toneutralize it. They kept perfectly still. Slow footsteps came towardsthem, and they could hear the snuffling, grunting sounds of thatcreature and the clicking of her claws on the pavement, and thenCoramthought,Now!andSophiesprangdirectlyatwherethehyena’sheadwouldbe,clawsout,andthemanfiredthegaspistolagaintwice,andonebulletscorcheditswayacrossCoram’sscalp.Butitgavehimafixonwherethemanwas,andhelungedforwardandslashedwithhisstick at the darkness, connecting with something—arm? hand?shoulder?—andknockingthegunaway.

Sophie’sclaws,allofthem,werefirmlyfixedinthehyena’sscalpandthroat.Thedæmonwasshakingherheadwildly,tryingtodislodgeher,and smashing her against the wall and the ground again and again.Coramsawtheman’sshadowreachdownasiftopickupthegun,andhesprangforwardtolashdownwiththestickbutmissedandslippedonthewetgroundandfellattheman’sfeet,rollingawayatonceandkickingouthardtowardswherethegunhadfallen.

His foot connected with something that skittered away over thecobbles,and themankickedhim in theribs,horriblyhard,and thengrappledcloselywithhim,tryingforachokehold,andhewaswiryandtough,butCoramstillhadthestickinhishandandstabbedupwithitashard ashe could into theman’smidriff.A gasping coughand thegrip weakened, and then Coram felt a shock as the hyena finallymanagedtoslamSophieloose,tearingoutacornerofherfurbetweenthosebrutalteeth,andimmediatelyfastenedhermassivejawsaroundSophie’shead.

Instantly Coram twisted upright. The man fell away, and Coramswunghisarmwitheverygramofstrengthhehadtowardsthehyena.Hehadnoideawherehehitherandwasonlyconcernedthathedidn’tfatally damage Sophie, but the blow that landedwas a cruel one: heheard bones snapping and saw in the dimness Sophie trying to tearherself away from the hideous jaws.Merciless now, Coram balancedandtookaim,and lashedagainandagainat thehyena’snow-brokenleg.Hedidn’t letupbecause thehyenahadonly to crushhermouthshutandheandSophiewoulddieinamoment.

So as the hyena opened her great jaws to scream, Sophie twistedaway and scratched at theman’s hand, tearinghis skin anddrawingblood,evenatthecostofherowndisgust;andtheman,cryingoutas

thedæmon’spainmadehisownnervesthrobwithagony,pulledawayanddraggedthehyenawithhim.Thedæmonsnarledandsnappedherjaws ina frenzyofpainandmisery,andCoramwouldhave followedthem and attacked the man himself, now that they were wounded,exceptwhenhetriedtostandup,hefaintedandfelldownagain.

He came to only a fewmoments later, in a sudden silence. ApartfromhimselfandSophie,thealleywasempty.Hisheadwasspinning.He tried to sit up, butSophie said, “Liedown.Let thebloodback inyourbrain.”

“Havetheygone?”

“Theyranaway.Well,hedid.Idon’tthinkshe’lleverrunagain.Hewascarryingher,andshewasmadwithpain.”

“Why…”Hecouldn’tfinish,butsheunderstood.

“You’velostalotofblood,”shesaid.

Hehadn’t feltmuchpaintillshesaidthat,butthenhefeltthe linethe bullet had made through his scalp suddenly reminding him ofitself, and thewarmwetnessonhisneckandshouldersbeginning toturncoldasthefightingpassionsubsided,andhelaybacktogatherhisstrength.Thenhesatupcarefully.

“Youhurtbad?”hesaid.

“I would have been. If those jaws had closed, I don’t think they’deverhaveopenedagain.”

“We should have finished him. Damn, they were good, though.ThinkhewasaMuscovite?”

“No.Don’taskmewhy.Maybe…French?”

Coramstoodup,holdingontothewall.Helookedouttowardsbothendsofthealleyandsaid,“Comeon,then.Backtobed.Idon’tthinkwedidverywellthere,Sophie.”

Hisribshurtfuriously;hethoughtoneofthemmightbebroken.Hisscalpwasbleedingthicklyandfeltasifared-hotironhadbeenpressedagainst it. He scooped up his dæmon and she attended to the scalpwound,lickingandcleaninghimtenderlyastheywalkedbacktotheirboardinghouse.

Afterawashintheonlywateravailable,whichwasicycold,heputonacleanshirtandsatdownatthelittletable.Bythelightofacandle,

hecomposedaletter,sayingeverythingasbrieflyaspossible.

ToLordNugent:

TheladycametoUppsalatoconsulttheprofessorofexperimentaltheology,AxelLöfgren.Sheaskedhim“severalveryperceptivequestions”abouttheRusakovfieldanditsrelationtohumanconsciousness.HesuspectsshewasactingonbehalfoftheCCD.Furthermore,shewantedaProfessorHallgrimssontousehisalethiometertotellherwhereherchildwas.Heeithercouldnotorwouldnot,butinanycasehedidnot.Apparently,theladyhadheardthatthechildwasthesubjectofawitches’prophecy,butshedidnotknowwhatitforetold.YouwillrememberourgoodfriendBudSchlesinger.IspokewithhimatthehouseofMartinLanseliusinTrollesund.Hehasgonefurthernorthtoaskaboutthisamongsomewitchesheknowsandwillcontactyouassoonashereturns.Onefurthermatter:IwasfollowedfromNovgorodbyamanwhosedæmonwasahyena.Ididnotrecognizehim,butheborehimselflikeathoroughlytrainedagent.Wefoughtandhegotaway,thoughthedæmoniswounded.Iamcuriousabouthim.

CvT

ThenhesetaboutthelaborioustaskoftranscribingitintocodeandaddresseditinanordinaryenvelopetoaninsignificantpartofcentralLondon.Hecarefullyburnedtheoriginal,andthenhewenttobed.

Dr.HannahRelf sat up andpressedher hands into the small of herback, stretching painfully. She had been sitting for too long; shewanted to walk briskly for half an hour, but time with the Bodleianalethiometerwaslimited:therewerehalfadozenotherscholarsusingit,andshecouldn’taffordtowastesomeofherpreciousallocationinexercising.Shecouldtakeawalklater.

Shebentfromsidetoside, looseningherspine,stretchedherarmsaboveherheadand rotatedher shoulders, andeventually felt a littleless stiff. She was sitting in Duke Humfrey, the oldest part of theBodleian Library inOxford, and the alethiometer lay on the desk infrontofheramongascatterofpapersandaheapofbooks.

Theworkshewasdoingwasthreefold.Therewasthepartshewassupposed to be doing, the part that justified her time with theinstrument, which was an investigation into the hourglass range ofmeanings.Already shehadadded twomore floors, as she thoughtofthem, to the levels of significance reaching down into the invisibledepths,andshewasonthetrackofathird.

Butsecond,therewasthesecretworkshewasdoingonbehalfofanorganization known to her as Oakley Street; she supposed from itsaddress, though there wasn’t an Oakley Street in Oxford, so it waspossiblyinLondon.She’dbeenrecruitedforthistwoyearsbeforebyaprofessorofByzantinehistorynamedGeorgePapadimitriou,whohadassuredher(andshebelievedhim)thattheworkwasbothimportantand on the side of liberalism and freedom. She realized that OakleyStreetwasabranchofsomesortofsecretservice,butsinceallshedidwas interpret the alethiometer on their behalf, she knew very littlemore. However, she read the papers, and it wasn’t hard for an

intelligent person to see what was going on in the politics of hercountry.ThequestionsOakleyStreetaskedherwerevaried,butalotofthemhadrecentlytrodcloselytowardssubjectsthatwereforbiddenbythe religious authorities; she knew quite well that if the CCD, oranyone like it,were to findoutwhat shewasdoing, shewouldbe inserioustrouble.

And third, and most urgent, there was a question she had beenasking for a week:Wherewas the acorn? She had no idea how themessage in its little carrierhadalways arrived sodependablybehindthestoneintheUniversityParks,orwherevershewastocollectit,butit shouldhave appeared some time ago.Andnow shewas becominganxious.

Hencethequestionshewasasking.Ithadn’tbeeneasytoframe,andtheanswerwasn’teasytointerpret,butthentheyneverwere,thoughshewasbecomingmoresure-footedamongthelevelsofmeaningthansheusedtobe.

Butthisafternoon,asthegraylightfadedoutsidethesix-hundred-year-oldwindowsofDukeHumfreyandthelittleanbariclampabovethedeskglowedmorewarmly,shethoughtshehadthefinalpartofananswer.Afteraweek’slabor,shehadthethreestarkimages:boy—inn—fish.Ifshewasareallypracticedreader,shethought,eachofthoseideaswouldbesurroundedbyaphalanxofqualifyingdetail,butthereitwas:thatwasallshehadtogoon.

She pulled a clean piece of paper towards herself and drew linesdownwardstodivideitintothreecolumns.Thefirstone,Boy,sheleftblank.Sheknewnoboys,excepthersister’s four-year-oldson,and itwasn’tgoingtobehim.ShelefttheInncolumnemptytoo.Howmanyinnsdidsheknow?Notmany,actually.Shelikedtositinabeergardenwithacompanionandaglassofwine,butonlyingoodweather.Fish:thatwasprobably the easiest to startwith.Shewrotedownasmanynames of fish as she could think of: herring, cod, stingray, salmon,mackerel, haddock, shark, trout, perch, pike…What else was there?Sunfish—flyingfish—stickleback—barracuda…

“Chub,”saidherdæmon,whowasamarmoset.

Downitwent,thoughitdidn’thelp.Herdæmonknewnomorethanshe did, of course, though each sometimes remembered things theotherhadforgotten.

“Tench,”hesaid.

As far as her official work went—the extension of the hourglassrange—she could discuss it with five or six other scholars, but hersecretworkwassecret,andnotawordaboutitpassedherlips,excepttoherdæmon.Thisquestionwasapartofthat,sosilencehadtoreignheretoo.

Sheyawned,stretchedagain,stoodup,andwalkedslowlydownthelengthofthelibraryandbackagain,thinkingasstronglyasshecouldofabsolutelynothing.Thatdidn’tworkeither,butwhenshesatdownagain, there came into her mind the image of a peacock on a riverterrace, and herself among a group of friends, and the peacock’seffrontery in snatching a sausage roll out of the very fingers of herneighbor and then trying to run away with it, encumbered by hisridiculous tail. That had happened years ago, when she was anundergraduate.Wherehadthathappened?Whatwasthenameoftheinn?Wasitaninn,orarestaurant,orwhat?

She looked up at the staff desk. The assistant was checking somerequestslips,andtherewasnooneelsearound.

Hannahgotupandwalkedalongtoherwithouthesitation,becauseifshe’dhesitated,shewouldn’thavedoneit.

“Anne,” she said, “I think I’mgoinggaga.What’s thenameof thatpubwiththeriverterraceandthepeacocks?Whereisit?”

“TheTrout?”saidtheassistant.“It’satGodstow.”

“Ofcourse!Thanks.Stupidofme.”

Hannah tapped her forehead and went back to her desk. Shecarefullyfoldedupthepapershe’dbeguntomakethelistonandputitinaninsidepocket.She’ddestroyit later.Hertrainershadbeenverysevere about not leaving behind any written clues to what you weredoing,butshehadtohavepapertothinkwith,andsofarshe’dbeenmeticulousaboutburningit.

Sheworked for another half anhour and then returnedher booksandthealethiometertothedesk.Anneputthebooksonthereservedshelfandpressedabuzzer,whichwouldsoundintheseniorassistant’soffice. The alethiometer was kept in a safe in there, and the seniorassistant had to put it away himself, which he did with an air ofsolemnitythatHannahenjoyedverymuch.

But she didn’t stay to watch this time. She gathered her paperstogether,puttheminherbag,andleftthelibrary.

TheTrout,shethought.Tomorrow.

—

ThenextdaywasaSaturday,andararedrydaywithoccasionalburstsof sunlight. Towardsmidday,Hannah found her bicycle, and havingpumpedupthetires,sherodeuptheWoodstockRoadandturnedleftat thetopforWolvercoteandGodstow.Sherodebriskly,herdæmonsittinginthebasketonthehandlebars,andarrivedattheTroutfeelingalittleoutofbreathandwarmenoughtotakehercoatoffatonce.

Sheorderedacheesesandwichandaglassofpalealeandsatoutsideon the terrace, which wasn’t crowded by any means but wasn’tdesertedeither.Mostpeoplehadprobablydecidedtoplayitsafewiththeweatherandstayindoors.

Hannahatehersandwichslowly,ignoringtheattentionsofNorman(orBarry)andreadingabook.Itwasnothingtodowithwork:itwasathriller,ofthesortsheliked,withamysteriousdeath,skin-of-the-teethescapes, and a haughty and beautiful heroinewhose functionwas tofallinlovewiththesaturninebutwittyhero.

She had finished her sandwich, toNorman’s disgust, andwas justdrainingthelastofherbeerwhen,asshe’dhoped,aboyappeared.

“CanIbringyouanymoretoeatordrink,miss?”hesaid.

His tonewaspoliteand interested,slightly tohersurprise,as ifhereally wanted to help. He was about eleven, she guessed, a stocky,strong-lookingboy,ginger-haired.Aniceboy,friendly,intelligent.

“No,thanks.But…”Howshouldshesayit?She’drehearseditoftenenough, but now her voice sounded thin and nervous. Quiet, shethought,quiet.

“Yes,miss?”

“Doyouknowanythingaboutanacorn?”

Ithadanextraordinaryeffect.Thecolordrainedoutofhisface,andhiseyesseemedtoflashwithunderstanding,andthenfear,andthendetermination.Henodded.

“Don’t say anything now,” Hannah said quietly. “In a minute I’mgoingtoleave,butI’llforgetthisbookandleaveitonmychair.You’ll

finditandlookforme,butI’llbegone.Myaddressisinsidethecover.Tomorrow, if youcan,bring it tomyhouse inJericho.And…and theacorn.Canyoudothat?Wecantalkthere.”

Henoddedagain.

“Tomorrowafternoon,”hesaid.“Icandoitthen.”

Hehadrecoveredhiscolor:ruddy,orevenlionlike,shethought.Shesmiledandwentbacktoreadingashegatheredupherplateandglass,and then she went through a pantomime of putting on her coat,lookingforherpurse, leavingatip,gatheringherbag,andgoingout,leavingherbookonthechairpushedunderthetable.

—

Thenextday,shecouldhardlysettletoanything.Inthemorningshefussedwithherlittlegarden,pruningthis,repottingthat,buthermindwasn’tonit.Thenitstartedtorain,soshewentinsideandmadesomecoffeeanddidwhatshehadneverdoneinherlife:triedthenewspapercrossword.

“Whatastupidexercise,”saidherdæmonafterfiveminutes.“Wordsbelongincontexts,notpeggedoutlikebiologicalspecimens.”

Shethrewthepaperasideandlitafireinthelittlehearth,andthenfoundthatshe’dforgottenhercoffee.

“Whydidn’tyouremindme?”sheaskedherdæmon.

“Because I’d forgotten it too, of course,” he said. “Settle down, forgoodness’sake.”

“I’mtrying,”shesaid.“Iseemtohaveforgottenhow.”

“It’sstoppedraining.Goandfinishpruningtheclematis.”

“Everythingwillbedrenched.”

“Dotheironing.”

“There’sonlyoneblousetodo.”

“Writesomeletters.”

“Don’twantto.”

“Bakeacaketogivethatboyasliceof.”

“He might come while I’m still making it, and then we’d have to

make conversation for an hour and a half till it was ready. Anyway,we’vegotsomebiscuits.”

“Well,Igiveup,”hesaid.

Atmidday,shetoastedacheesesandwichinhermother’sblackenedolddevicethathungbythefire.Thenshemadesomemorecoffeeanddrankitthistime,andthenshefeltalittlemoreontopofthingsandmanagedtoreadforanhourorso.Therainhadstartedupagain.

“Hemightnotcomeatallifit’spouringlikethis,”shesaid.

“Yes,hewill.He’llbetoocuriousnotto.”

“Youthinkso?”

“Hisdæmonchangedfourtimeswhilewewerespeakingtohim.”

“Hmm,” she said, but there was something in what Jesper hadobserved.Frequentchangesof shape inachild’sdæmon,andawidevarietyof forms toassume,wereagood indicatorof intelligenceandcuriosity.“Andyouthink…”

“He’llwanttoknowwhatitmeans.”

“Hewasfrightened.Hewentpale.”

“Onlyforamoment.Thenhiscolorcameback,didn’tyousee?Sortofruddy.”

“Well,we’llknowinafewminutes,”shesaid,seeinghimatthegate.“Herehecomesnow.”

Shestoodupevenbeforethedoorknockerrapped,andputherbookdownonthe littlesidetablebeforesmoothingherskirtandtouchingherhair.Forheaven’ssake,whatwastheretobenervousabout?Well,quitealot,actually.Sheopenedthedoor.

“Youmustbesoakingwet,”shesaid.

“Well,Iamabit,”saidtheboy,shakinghiswaterproofcoatoutsidebefore letting her take it.He looked at the neat carpet, the polishedfloorboards,andtookhisshoesofftoo.

“Come in and get warm,” she said. “How did you get here? Youdidn’twalk?”

“Inmyboat,”hesaid.

“Yourboat?Whereisit?”

“She’stiedupattheboatyard.Theyletmeleaveherthere.IthoughtIbetterbringheruponthebankandturnherupsidedown,becauseifshegetsfullofwater,ittakesagestobailherout.She’scalledLaBelleSauvage.”

“Why?”

“That was the name of my uncle’s pub. My dad’s brother was aninnkeepertoo,andhehadapubatRichmondandIlikedthename.”

“Wasthereanicesign?”

“Yes,itwasabeautifullady,andshe’ddonesomethingbrave,onlyIdon’tknowwhatthatwas.Oh—here’syourbook.Sorryit’sabitwet.”

They were sitting on either side of the fire, and he was steamingprodigiously.

“Thankyou.Perhapsyou’dbetterputitonthehearth.”

“ItwasagoodideatoleaveitlikethatsoIknewwheretocome.”

“Tradecraft,”shesaid.

“Tradecraft?What’sthat?”

“A way of…oh, passing messages, that kind of thing. By the way,what’syourname?”

“MalcolmPolstead.”

“And…theacorn?”

“Howdidyouknowtoaskme?”hesaid,notmoving.

“There’s a way of…There’s an instrument….Well, I found out bymyself.Nooneelseknows.Whatcanyoutellmeabouttheacorn?”

Hereachedintoaninsidepocket.Thenheheldouthishand,andtheacornwasrestinginhispalm.

She took it tentatively, thinking he might snatch it back, but hedidn’tmove.Whathedidwaswatchcloselyassheunscrewedit.Thenhenodded.

“I was watching,” he said, “to see if you knew which way itunscrewed.ItfooledmeatfirstbecauseInevercameacrossanythingthatunscrewedclockwise.Butyouknewstraightaway,soIreckonthismustbeforyou.”

AndhebroughtoutthetightlyfoldedsheetofIndiapaperjustasthetwohalvesoftheacornfellapartinherhands,showingittobeempty.

“IfI’dtriedtounscrewitthewrongway…,”shesaid.

“ThenIwouldn’thavegivenyouthepaper.”

He handed it to her, and she unfolded it, scanned it quickly, andtuckeditinthepocketofhercardigan.Somehowtheboyseemedtobein charge, which hadn’t been her intention. Now she had to decidewhattodoaboutit.

“Howdidyoucomeacrossthis?”shesaid.

Hetoldherthewholestory,fromthemomentAstahadspottedthemanunder theoak tree to the storyMrs.Carpenter in thechandleryhadshownhimintheOxfordTimes.

“MyGod,”shesaid.Shehadgonepale.“RobertLuckhurst?”

“Yes,fromMagdalen.Didyouknowhim?”

“Slightly.Ihadnoideahewastheonewho…We’renotsupposedtoknoweachother,andI’mcertainlynotsupposedtotellyouthis.Whathappenedusuallywasthathe’dputtheacorninadead-letterdropandI’dcollectitfromthere,andthenputitbackinanotherplacewhenI’dwrittenareply.Ineverknewwhoputitthereorcollectedit.”

“That’sagoodsystem,”hesaid.

Shewonderedifshe’dalreadysaidmorethansheshould.Shehadn’texpected to tell him anything, but then she hadn’t expected him toknowsomuch.

“Haveyoutoldanyoneelseaboutthis?”shesaid.

“No.Idon’tthinkit’ssafe.”

“Well, you’re right.” She hesitated. She could thank him and sendhim away now, or…“Would you like something hot to drink? Somechocolatl?”

“Oh,yes,please,”hesaid.

Inthelittlekitchensheputsomemilkontoboilandthenlookedatthe message again. Was there anything compromising in it? It wasquiteclearthatthealethiometerwasinvolved,andtheidentitiesofthealethiometerspecialistsinOxfordwerenosecret.AsforDust,itmeantbigtrouble.

Shemixedthecocoapowderwithalittlesugarandpouredinthehotmilk,makingsomeforherselfaswell.Theboyknewsomuchalreadythatshehadtotrusthim.Therewaslittlechoice.

“You got a lot of books,” he said as she came back. “Are you ascholar?”

“Yes,Iam.AtSt.Sophia’s.”

“Areyouanhistorian?”

“Sortof.Ahistorianofideas,Isuppose.Anhistorian.”Sheswitchedon thestandard lampbeside the fire,and instantly theroombecamewarmer, the weather outside darker and colder. “Malcolm, thismessage…”

“Yeah?Yes?”

“Haveyoumadeacopyofit?”

Heblushed.“Yes.ButI’vehiddenit,”hesaid,“underafloorboardinmybedroom.Nooneknowsthatspaceisthere.”

“Willyoudosomething?Willyouburnyourcopy?”

“Yes.Ipromise.”

Hisdæmonandhershadestablishedafriendshipalready,itseemed:Jesperwassittingontopofaglasscaseofornamentsandcuriosities,and Asta, in the form of a goldfinch, was perching there too as hequietly explained about the Babylonian seal, the Roman coin, theharlequin.

“Isthereanythingyouwanttoaskme?”shesaid.

“Yes.Lots.Whomadetheacorn?”

“Well,thatIdon’tknow.Ithinkthey’resortofstandardissue.”

“What’stheinstrument?WhenIaskedhowyouknewitwasmethathad theacorn,yousaid therewasan instrument. Is that thealthee—almeth—”

“Thealethiometer…yes.”

She explained what it was and how it worked, and he followedclosely.

“A-lee-thee-ometer…Isthattheonlyonethereis?”

“No. There were six originally. The others are all in otheruniversities.Exceptone,anyway,whichislost.”

“Whydon’ttheymakeanotherone?Orlotsofthem?”

“Theydon’tknowhowtoanymore.”

“Theycouldtakeitapartandlook.Iftheydidn’tknowhowtomakeaclock, and they had one that worked, they could take it apart verycarefully and make a drawing of every separate part and how theyjoinedup,andthenmakemorepartslikethatandmakeanotherclock.It’dbecomplicated,butitwouldn’tbehard.”

Thiswasall safe. If shecouldkeephimon this subject, she’dhavenothingtoworryabout.

“Ithinkthere’smoretoitthanthat,”shesaid.“Ithinkpartsofitaremadeofanalloythatcan’tbemadeanymore.Perhapsthemetal’sveryrare—Idon’tknow.Anyway,nobodyhas.”

“Oh. That’s interesting. I’d like to have a look at it someday.Howthingsfittogether—Ilovelookingatthat.”

“Wheredoyougotoschool,Malcolm?”

“UlvercoteElementary.That’stheoldnameforWolvercote.”

“Wherewillyougowhenyouleavethatschool?”

“What school, you mean? I dunno if I will. Prob’ly if I get anapprenticeship…Maybe my dad would like me just to work at theTrout.”

“Whataboutgoingtoaseniorschool?”

“Idon’tthinkthey’vethoughtofthat.”

“Wouldyouliketo?Doyoulikeschool?”

“Yes,Iprob’lywould.Yes,Iwould.Butit’snotverylikely.”

His dæmon was listening closely. She flew to his shoulder andwhispered something, and he very slightly shook his head. Hannahpretendednottoseeandbenttoputalogonthefire.

“Whatdidthemessagemeanbythe‘Rusakovfield’?”saidMalcolm.

“Ah.Well, I don’t really know. It’s not necessary for me to knoweverythingwhenIconsult thealethiometer. Itseemstoknowwhat itneedsto.”

“ ’Cause the message said, ‘When we try measuring one way, oursubstance evades it and seems to prefer another, but whenwe try adifferentway,wehavenomoresuccess.’ ”

“Haveyoumemorizedthewholemessage?”

“I didn’t set out to. I’ve just read it somuch, it memorized itself.Anyway, what I was going to say was, that sounds a bit like theuncertaintyprinciple.”

She felt as if shewaswalkingdownstairs in thedark andhad justmissedastep.

“Howdoyouknowaboutthat?”

“Well, there’s lots of scholars come to the Trout, and they tellmethings. Like the uncertainty principle, where you can know somethingsaboutaparticle,butyoucan’tknoweverything.Ifyouknowthisthing, you can’t know that thing, so you’re always going to beuncertain.Itsoundslikethat.Andtheotherthingitsays,aboutDust.What’sDust?”

Hannahhastilytriedtorecallwhatwaspublicknowledgeandwhatwas Oakley Street knowledge, and said, “It’s a kind of elementaryparticlethatwedon’tknowmuchabout.It’snoteasytoexamine,notjust because of what it says in this message, but because theMagisterium…D’youknowwhatImeanbytheMagisterium?”

“ThesortofchiefauthorityoftheChurch.”

“That’s right. Well, they strongly disapprove of any investigationsintoDust.They think it’s sinful. I don’t knowwhy.That’s oneof themysteriesthatwe’retryingtosolve.”

“Howcanknowingsomethingbesinful?”

“A very good question.Do you talk to anyone at school about thissortofthing?”

“OnlymyfriendRobbie.Hedoesn’tsayverymuch,butIknowhe’sinterested.”

“Nottotheteachers?”

“Idon’t think they’dunderstand. It’s just thatbeingat theTrout, Icantalktoallkindsofpeople.”

“Very useful too,”Hannah said. An ideawas beginning to form in

hermind,butshetriedtopushitaway.

“SoyouthinkwhenhementionsDust,he’stalkingaboutelementaryparticles?”saidMalcolm.

“Iexpectso.Butit’snotmyarea,andIdon’tknowforsure.”

Hestared into the fire forawhile.Thenhesaid, “IfMr.Luckhurstwasthepersonwhopassedtheacornbackandforthfromyou,then…”

“Iknow.HowamIgoingtocontactthe—theotherpeople?There’sanotherway.I’llhavetousethat.”

“Whoaretheotherpeople?”

“Ican’ttellyoubecauseIdon’tknow.”

“Howwasitallsetupinthefirstplace?”

“Someoneaskedmetohelp.”

Hesippedhischocolatlandseemedtobeconsideringthingsdeeply.

“And the enemy,” he said carefully, “that’s the Consistorial Court,isn’tit?”

“Well, you’ve seen enough to realize that, and you’ve seen howdangeroustheyare.Promisemeyouwon’tdoanythingelsetolinkyouwithmeorthetreebythecanal.Anythingdangerousatall.”

“Icanpromisetotry,”hesaid,“butifit’ssecret,Iwon’tknowifI’mdoinganythingdangerousornot.”

“Fairenough.Andyouwon’ttellanyonewhatyouknowalready?”

“Yes,Icanpromisethat.”

“Well,that’sarelieftome.”

Butallthetimetheideakeptnaggingather.

“Malcolm,”shesaid, “when those twoCCDmencame to theTroutandarrestedMr….”

“Mr.Boatwright.Buthegotaway.”

“Yes,him.Theyweren’taskingaboutthissortofthing,werethey?”

“No.They asked about amanwho came to theTrout a fewnightsbefore.Withtheex–lordchancellor.Amanwithablackmustache.”

“Yes, I remember you mentioned him. You do mean the ex–lord

chancellor of England? Lord Nugent? Not just someone who wasnicknamedthelordchancellor,asajoke?”

“Yes,itwasLordNugent,allright.Dadshowedmehispictureinthepaperlater.”

“D’youknowwhytheCCDmenwereaskingabouthim?Wasitaboutababy?”

Malcolm was taken aback. He’d been on his guard not to sayanythingaboutLyra,asSisterFenellahadadvisedhim;but then theold ladyhadrealizedthat lotsofpeopleknewalready,andshe’dsaidthatperhapsitdidn’tmatter.

“Er…howd’youknowaboutthebaby?”hesaid.

“Is it something secret? To tell the truth, I heard someone talkingaboutitwhenIwasintheTroutyesterday.Somebodywassayingthatthenuns…Ican’trememberexactly,butababycameintoitsomehow.”

“Well,”hesaid,“seeingashowyou’veheardofitalready…”Hetoldher how it had begun, from the three guests peering through thewindowoftheTerraceRoomtohisglimpseofthelittlebabyLyraandherfiercedæmon.

“Well,thatisinteresting,”shesaid.

“Youknowthelawofsanctuary?”hesaid.“ ’CauseSisterFenellatoldmeaboutsanctuary,andIwonderediftheyweregoingtoputthebabytherebecauseofthat.Andshesaidthereweresomecollegesthatcoulddosanctuaryaswell.”

“IthinktheyallcouldintheMiddleAges.There’sonlyonethatstillmaintainstherighttodothat.”

“Whichoneisthat?”

“Jordan.Andthey’veusedittoo,quiterecently.Mainlyforpoliticalreasonsthesedays.Scholarswho’veupsettheirgovernmentscanclaimscholastic sanctuary, like seeking asylum. There’s a sort of formula:they have to claim the right to sanctuary in a Latin sentence, whichtheyspeaktotheMaster.”

“Whichone’sJordan?”

“TheoneinTurlStreetwiththeverytallspire.”

“Oh, I know….D’you think those men could have been asking for

sanctuary—forthebaby,Imean?”

“Idon’tknow.Ireallydon’tknow.Butit’sgivenmeanidea.AndI’mgoing to contradict what I said just now, because I’d like to keep intouchwithyou,Malcolm,afterall.Youlikereading,don’tyou?”

“Yeah!”hesaid.

“Well, let’s pretend this: I leftmybookbehind and youbrought itbacktome—that’sperfectlytrue.Yousawallmybooks,wegottalkingaboutbooksandreadingandsoon,andIofferedtolendyousome.Tobea sortof library.Youcouldborrowabookor twoandbring themback when you’ve finished and choose somemore. That would be agoodreasonforcominghere.Shallwepretendthat?”

“Yes,” he said at once. His dæmon, a squirrel now, sat on hisshoulderandclappedherpawstogether.“AndanythingIseeorhear—”

“That’sright.Don’tgo looking—don’tputyourself inanydangeratall.Butifyoudooverhearsomethinginteresting,youcantellmeaboutit. And when you come here, we’ll talk about books anyway. How’sthat?”

“That’sgreat!It’sabrilliantidea.”

“Good.Good!Well,wemightaswell startnow.Look,herearemymurdermysteries—d’youlikethatsortofthing?”

“Ilikeallkinds.”

“Andherearemyhistorybooks.Someofthemmightbeabitdull—Idon’tknow.Anyway,therestareamixtureofallsorts.Takeyourpick.Whynotfindonenovelandonesomethingelse?”

He got up eagerly and scanned the shelves. She watched, sittingback, notwanting to force anything on him.When shewas a younggirl,anelderlyladyinthevillagewhereshegrewuphaddonethesamefor her, and she remembered the delight of choosing for herself, ofbeing allowed to range anywhere on the shelves. There were two orthree commercial subscription libraries inOxford, butno freepubliclibrary,andMalcolmwouldn’tbetheonlyyoungpersonwhosehungerforbookshadtogounsatisfied.

Soshefeltgoodatseeinghimsokeenandhappyashemovedalong,pickingoutbooksandlookingatthemandreadingthefirstpageand

putting them back before trying another. She saw herself in thiscuriousboy.

At the same time, she felt horribly guilty. Shewas exploiting him;shewasputtinghimindanger.Shewasmakingaspyoutofhim.Thathewasbraveand intelligentmade itnobetter;hewas still so youngthathewasunconsciousof the chocolatl remainingonhis top lip. Itwasn’tsomethinghecouldvolunteerfor,thoughsheguessedhewouldhavedonesoeagerly;shehadpressuredhim,ortemptedhim.Shehadmorepower,andshehaddonethat.

Hechosehisbooksandtuckedthemawaytightlyinhisknapsacktokeepthemdry,theyagreedwhenheshouldcomeagain,andhewentoutintothedamp,darkevening.

Shedrewthecurtainsandsatdown.Sheputherheadinherhands.

“Nopointinhiding,”saidJesper.“Icanseeyou.”

“WasIwrong?”

“Yes,ofcourse.Butyouhadnochoice.”

“Imusthave.”

“No,youhadtodoit.Ifyouhadn’tdoneit,you’dhavefeltfeeble.”

“Itshouldn’tbeabouthowwefeel—guilty,feeble—”

“No,anditisn’t.It’saboutwrongandlesswrong.Badandlessbad.Thisisaboutasgoodacoverasanyonecouldfind.Leaveitatthat.”

“Iknow,”shesaid.“Allthesame…”

“Tough,”hesaid.

Malcolmdecidedtotellhisparentsaboutthescholarwhosebookhe’dreturned,andaboutheroffer to lendhimothers,sothathewouldn’tbehidinganythingexceptthemostimportantthingofall.Heshowedhismotherthefirsttwobooksasshedishedupthelambstewthatwashissupper.

“TheBodyintheLibrary,”sheread,“andABriefHistoryofTime.Don’t bring ’em in the kitchen, though. They’ll get all spotted withgrease and gravy. If someone lends you something, youhave to lookafterit.”

“I’llkeep’eminmybedroom,”saidMalcolm,tuckingthembackintheknapsack.

“Good.Nowhurryup—it’sbusytonight.”

Malcolmsatdowntohissupper.

“Mum,”hesaid,“whenIleaveUlvercoteElementary,amIgoingtoseniorschool?”

“Dependswhatyourdadsays.”

“Whatd’youthinkhe’dsay?”

“Ithinkhe’dsayeatyoursupper.”

“Icaneatandlistenatthesametime.”

“PityIcan’ttalkandcook,then.”

—

Thenextday,thenunswerebusyandMr.Taphousewasathome,soMalcolm had no excuse to go to the priory. Instead, he lay in his

bedroom reading the books one after the other, and then when itstopped raining,hewentout to see if itwasdryenough topaint theboat’s name in his new red paint, but itwasn’t. So hewentmoodilyback tohisbedroomand set aboutmakinga lanyardwithhis cottoncord.

Duringlunchtimehecarrieddrinksandfoodtocustomersinthebarasusual, andwhenhewas attending to the fire, hehappened to seesomethingthatsurprisedhim.Alice,thewasher-up,cameintothebarwith two handfuls of clean tankards andwas leaning forward to putthemonthebarwhenoneofthemensittingnearbyreachedoutandpinchedherbottom.

Malcolmheldhisbreath.Alicedidn’tshowtheslightestreactionatfirst, but made sure the glasses were safely on the bar before sheturnedround.

“Whodone that?” she said calmly,butMalcolmcould see thathernostrilswereflaredandhereyesnarrowed.

None of themenmoved or spoke. Themanwho had pinched herwas a plump middle-aged farmer called Arnold Hemsley, whosedæmonwasa ferret.Alice’sdæmon,Ben,hadbecomeabulldog,andMalcolmcouldhearhisquietgrowl,andsawtheferrettryingtohideintheman’ssleeve.

“Nexttimethathappens,”Alicesaid,“Iwon’teventryandfindoutwho done it; I’ll just glass the nearest one of yer.” And she took atankardbythehandleandsmasheditonthebar,leavingajaggededgeofhandleinherbonyfist.Theshardsofglassfellonthestonefloorinthesilence.

“What happened here?” said Malcolm’s father, arriving from thekitchen.

“Someonemade amistake,” said Alice, and she tossed the brokenhandle intoHemsley’s lap.Hepulledawayinalarm,triedtocatchit,andcuthimself.Alicewalkedawayindifferently.

Malcolm, crouching in the fireplace with the poker in his hand,heardHemsleyandhis friendsmuttering together. “She’s tooyoung,youbloodyfool—Shewantstowatchherself—Itwasastupidthingtodo;sheen’toldenough—Deliberatelyprovokingme—Shewasn’t,en’tyougotnosense?—Leaveheralone,she’soldTonyParslow’sgirl….”

Buthisfathertoldhimtosweepupthebrokenglassbeforehecouldhear anymore, and themen soon stopped talking about it anyway,becauseallanyonereallywantedtotalkaboutwastherainandwhatithadbeendoing to thewater levels. The reservoirswere full, and theRiverBoardhadhad to releasea lotofwater into theriverandkeepthe sluice gates open. Severalmeadowswere flooded aroundOxfordandAbingdon,butthatwasnothingunusual;thetroublewasthatthewaterwasn’t draining away, and furtherdown the river anumber ofvillageswereunderthreat.

Malcolmwonderedwhethertomakenotesofall this incase itwasimportant, but decided not to. There’d be conversations like this ineverypuboneveryriverinthekingdom.Itwasstrange,though.

“Mr.Anscombe?”hesaidtooneofthewatermen.

“What’sthat,Malcolm?”

“Hasiteverbeenaswetasthisbefore?”

“Oh,yeah.Youlookatthelockkeeper’shouseatDuke’sCut.Onthewalltherethey’vegotaboardshowinghowhighthewatercameinthefloodsof—Whenwasit,Dougie?”

“Itwas1883,”saidhiscompanion.

“No,morerecentthanthat.”

“Then’52,wasit?Or’53?”

“Summin’likethat.Everyforty,fiftyyearsorsothere’samonstrousflood.Theyoughtergetitsortedoutbynow.”

“Whatcouldtheydo,though?”saidMalcolm.

“Digmore reservoirs,” said Dougie. “There’s always a demand forwater.”

“No, no,” said Mr. Anscombe, “the problem is the river. Theyoughter dredge it proper. You seen them dredgers at work down byWallingford—little flimsy things. They en’t man enough for the job.They’dbeswep’awaytheirselvesifareallybigfloodcomealong.Theproblemiswhenyougetabigmassofwatercomingdownoffthehills,it’sheldupbytheriverbednotbeingdeepenough,anditspreadsoutinstead.”

“Iftheyen’ttakingprecautionspastAbingdonalready,”saidDougie,“they bloody oughter be. All them villages down there—they’re all

vulnerable.See,ifthey’ddugtwoorthreebigreservoirshigherup,thewaterwouldn’tbewastedeither.It’sapreciousresource,water.”

“Yeah, itwouldbe in theSaharaDesert,” saidMr.Anscombe, “butwhat’reyougoingtodo?Sendittherebypost?There’snoshortageofwaterinEngland.It’stheriverdepththat’stheproblem.Dredgeitalloutproper,andit’llflowdowntotheseagoodasgold.”

“Theland’stoolevelthissidetheChilterns,”saidsomeoneelse,andbegantoexplainmore,butMalcolmwascalledawaytotakesomebeertotheConservatoryRoom.

—

ThefirstthingMalcolmheardthatwasworthreportingcamenotfromtheTroutbutfromUlvercoteElementarySchool.Longperiodsofrainwere the teachers’ despair, as the children couldn’t go out and theteachers had to supervise indoor play, and everybody becamefrustratedandfretful.

Inthecrowded,noisy,stuffyplaytimeclassroom,Malcolmandthreefriendshadturnedtwodesksaroundbacktobackandwereplayingaform of table football, but Eric’s dæmon had some exciting andmysteriousnewsthatEricwasn’ttryingveryhardtosuppress.

“What?What?What?”saidRobbie.

“I’mnotsupposedtosay,”saidEricvirtuously.

“Well,justsayitquietly,”saidTom.

“It’snotlegaltosayit.It’sagainstthelaw.”

“Whotoldyou,then?”

“Mydad.Buthetoldmenottorepeatit.”

Eric’s fatherwas theclerkof thecountycourtandoftenpassedonnewsofparticularlyjuicytrialstoEric,whosepopularityincreasedinproportion.

“Your dad’s always saying that,” Malcolm pointed out, “but youalwaystellusanyway.”

“No,thisisdifferent.Thisisreallysecret.”

“Heshouldn’thavetoldyou,then,”saidTom.

“Heknowshecantrustme,”saidEric,toachorusofjeers.

“Youknowyouaregoingtotellus,”saidMalcolm,“soyoumightaswelldoitbeforethebellgoes.”

Eric made a great performance of looking around and leaning inclose.Theyallleanedintoo.

“Youknowtherewasthatmanwhofellinthecanalanddrowned?”hesaid.

Robbiehadheardaboutit,Tomhadn’t,andMalcolmjustnodded.

“Well,therewashisinquestonFriday,”Ericwenton.“Andeveryonethought he’d drowned, but it turned out hewas strangled before hisbodyenteredthewater.Soheneverfellin.Hewasmurderedfirst,andthenthemurdererchuckedhiminthecanal.”

“Wow,”saidRobbie.

“How’dtheyknowthat?”saidTom.

“Therewasnowaterinhislungs.Andtherewasmarksonhisneckwheretheropehadbeen.”

“Sowhat’sgoingtohappennext?”saidMalcolm.

“Well, it’sapolicecasenow,”saidEric. “Idon’t supposewe’llhearanymoretilltheycatchthemurdererandhegoesontrial.”

Atthatpoint,thebellwent,andtheyhadtoputtheirgameawayandturnthedesksaroundandsettledown,sighingheavily,toFrench.

—

Malcolmmadestraightforthenewspaperwhenhegothome,buttherewas nomention of the body in the canal.The Body in the Library,however,wasgripping,andhefinisheditafterhewassupposedtoputhis light out. It was a good deal less horrible, somehow, despite theviolencedonetothevictiminthebook,thanthethoughtofthatpoormanwho’dlosttheacorn:unhappy,frightened,and,finally,strangledtodeath.

Once that thought had got hold of Malcolm, he found it hard tostruggle loose. If onlyhe andAstahadoffered tohelp at once!Theywouldhavefoundtheacorn,themanwouldhavegotawayquickly,theCCDmenwouldn’thavearrestedhim,he’dstillbealive….

Ontheotherhand,theCCDmenmighthavebeenwatchingall thetime.Theymighthavebeengoingtoarresthimwhateverhappened.It

wasthelonelinessofhisdeaththatupsetMalcolmmost.

—

Afterschool thenextday,Malcolmwent to thepriory toseehowthebabywas.Theanswerwasthatshewasfine,andcurrentlyasleep,andno,hecouldn’tseeher.

“But I’ve got a present for her,” saidMalcolm to Sister Benedicta,who was working in the office. Sister Fenella was busy elsewhere,apparently,andcouldn’tseehim.

“Well, that’s very kindof you,Malcolm,” said thenun, “and if yougiveittome,I’llmakesureshegetsit.”

“Thankyou,”saidMalcolm.“ButmaybeI’llleaveittillIcangiveittohermyself.”

“Asyouplease.”

“IsthereanythingIcandowhileI’mhere?”

“No,nottoday,thankyou,Malcolm.Everything’sfine.”

“SisterBenedicta,”hepersisted,“whentheyweredecidingwhethertoputthebabyhere,wasittheex–lordchancellorwhodecided?LordNugent?”

“Hehadapartinthedecision,yes,”shesaid.“Now,if—”

“What’sthelordchancellor’sjob?”

“He’soneofthechieflawofficersoftheCrown.He’stheSpeakeroftheHouseofLords.”

“Whywasithisjobtodecideaboutthisbaby,then?Theremustbeloadsofbabies.Ifhehadtodecidewhereeachofthemshouldgo,hewouldn’thavetimetodoanythingelse.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, “but that’s the way it was. Herparents are important people, mind you. That had something to dowithit.AndIhopeyouhaven’tbeentalkingaboutit.It’ssupposedtobeconfidential.It’scertainlyprivate.Now,Malcolm,IreallymustgettheseaccountsinorderbeforeVespers.Offyougo.We’lltalkanotherday.”

She’d said “Everything’s fine,” but it wasn’t. Sister Fenellashould have been cooking by now, and there were sisters he didn’tknow very well hurrying along the corridors, looking anxious. He’d

have worried about the baby, but Sister Benedicta always told thetruth;allthesame,itwastroubling.

Malcolmwentoutsideintothedrizzleofthedarkeveningandsawawarm light glowing in the workshop. Mr. Taphouse, the carpenter,muststillbethere.Heknockedonthedoorandwentin.

“What’reyoumaking,Mr.Taphouse?”hesaid.

“What’sitlooklike?”

“Looks like windows. That one looks like the kitchen window.Except…No,they’regoingtobeshutters.Isthatright?”

“That’sit.Feeltheweightofthat,Malcolm.”

Theoldmanstoodthekitchen-window-shapedframeuprightinthemiddleofthefloor,andMalcolmtriedtoliftit.

“Blimey!That’sheavy!”

“Two-inch oak all round. Add theweight of the shutter itself, andwhat’llyouhavetobesureof?”

Malcolm thought. “The fixing in the wall. It’ll have to be reallystrong.Isitgoinginsideorout?”

“Outside.”

“There’snothingbutstonetofixittothere.Howareyougoingtodothat?”

Mr.Taphousewinkedandopenedacupboard.Inside,Malcolmsawanewpieceoflargemachinery,surroundedbycoilsofheavywireflex.

“Anbaric drill,” said the carpenter. “You want to giveme a hand?Sweepupforme.”

HeclosedthecupboardandhandedMalcolmabroom.Thefloorwasthickwithshavingsandsawdust.

“Why…,”Malcolmbegan,butMr.Taphousewastooquickforhim.

“You may well ask,” he said. “Every window shuttered to thatquality,andnoonetellsmewhy.Idon’task.Ineverask.JustdowhatI’mtold.Doesn’tmeanIdon’twonder.”

The old man lifted the frame and stood it against the wall withseveralothers.

“Thestained-glasswindowstoo?”askedMalcolm.

“Notthemyet.Ithinkthesistersbelievethey’retooprecious.Theyreckonnoone’dtryanddamagethem.”

“Sotheseareforprotection?”Malcolmsoundedincredulous,andhefelt it too:Whoonearthwouldwant tohurt thenuns,orbreaktheirwindows?

“That’smybestguess,”saidMr.Taphouse,puttingachiselbackintoitsrackonthewall.

“But…”Malcolmcouldn’tthinkhowtofinish.

“Butwho’dthreatenthesisters?Iknow.That’sthequestion.Ican’tanswerit.There’ssomethingup,though.They’reafraidofsomething.”

“Ithoughtitfeltabitfunnyintherejustnow,”saidMalcolm.

“Well,that’sit.”

“Isitanythingtodowiththebaby?”

“Whoknows?Herfather’smadehisselfanuisancetotheChurchinhistime.”

“LordAsriel?”

“Thassit.But youwant tokeepyournoseoutof that sortof thing.There’ssomethingsit’sdangeroustotalkabout.”

“Why?Imean,inwhatway?”

“That’s enough.When I say that’s enough, that’s enough.Don’t becheeky.”

Mr.Taphouse’s dæmon, a ragged-lookingwoodpecker, clackedherbeakcrossly.Malcolmsaidnomore,butsweptuptheshavingsandthesawdustandtippedthemintothebinnexttotheoffcuts, fromwhichMr.Taphousewouldfeedtheoldironstovethenextday.

“Goodnight,Mr.Taphouse,”saidMalcolmasheleft.

Theoldmangruntedandsaidnothing.

—

HavingfinishedTheBodyintheLibrary,MalcolmreturnedtoABriefHistoryofTime.Itwashardergoing,butheexpectedittobe,andthesubjectwasexcitingevenifhedidn’tunderstandeverythingtheauthor

said about it.Hewanted to finish it before Saturday, and just aboutmanagedit.

Dr.Relfwasreplacingabrokenpaneofglassinherbackdoorwhenhearrived.Malcolmwasinterestedatonce.

“Howdidthathappen?”hesaid.

“Someonebrokeit.Iboltthedoortopandbottom,sotheywouldn’thavebeenabletogetinanyway,butIthinktheywerehopingthekeywasinthelock.”

“Haveyougotsomeputty?Andsomeglazingsprigs?”

“Whatarethey?”

“Littlenailswithoutheadsthatholdtheglassinplace.”

“Ithoughttheputtydidthat.”

“Notbyitself.Icangoandgetsomeforyou.”

There was an ironmonger’s in Walton Street, about five minutes’walk away, which was one of Malcolm’s favorite places after thechandlery. He’d cast a quick glance at Dr. Relf’s tools, and she hadeverythingelsenecessary,so itwasn’t longbeforehereturnedwithalittlebagofglazingsprigs.

“Iseen—Isaw—Mr.Taphousedoingthisonceatthepriory.He’sthecarpenter,”heexplained.“Whathedidwas—Look,I’llshowyou.”Toavoidbashingtheglasswiththehammerashetappedtheglazingspriginto the frame, he put the sprig along the glasswith its point in thewood, thenheld the sideof a chisel against theother endof it sohecouldtapthehammeragainstthattodriveithome.

“Oh,that’sclever,”saidDr.Relf.“Letmehaveago.”

When he was sure she wouldn’t break the glass, Malcolm let herfinishwhilehesoftenedandwarmedtheputty.

“ShouldIhaveaputtyknife?”shesaid.

“No.Anordinaryeatingknife’lldo.Onewitharoundend’sbest.”

He’d never actually done it himself, but he rememberedwhatMr.Taphousehaddone,andtheresultwasperfectlyneat.

“Wonderful,”shesaid.

“Youhavetoletitdryandgetabitofaskinbeforeyoucanpaintit,”

hesaid.“Thenit’llbeallweatherproofandeverything.”

“Well,Ithinkwedeserveacupofchocolatlnow,”shesaid.“Thankyouverymuch,Malcolm.”

“I’ll tidy up,” he said. That was what Mr. Taphouse would haveexpected. Malcolm imagined him watching, and giving a stern nodwheneverythingwasputawayandsweptup.

“I’vegottwothingstotellyou,”hesaidwhentheyweresittingdownbythefireinthelittlesittingroom.

“Good!”

“Itmightnotbe good.Youknow thepriory,where they’re lookingafter the infant, the baby?Well,Mr. Taphouse’smaking someheavyshutterstogooveralltheirwindows.Hedoesn’tknowwhy—hedoesn’taskwhyanything—butthey’resoheavyandstrong.WhenIwastheretheotherday,thesisterswerekindofanxious,andthenIfoundhimmakingtheshutters.Youcoulddowithsomehere.Mr.Taphousesaidthe nuns were probably afraid of something, but he couldn’t guesswhatitwas.Idon’tknowifIaskedhimtherightquestions….MaybeIshould’ve asked if one of thewindowshadbeenbroken, but I didn’tthinkofthat.”

“Nevermind.Thatisinteresting.Doyouthinktheywereprotectingthebaby?”

“Boundtobe,partly.Buttheygotallsortsofthingstoprotectthere,like crucifixesand statuesand silverand stuff. If itwas justburglarstheywereworriedabout,though,Idunnoifthey’dbotherwiththesortofshutters thatMr.Taphousewasmaking.Somaybethey’reworriedaboutthebabymostly.”

“I’msuretheywouldbe.”

“Sister Benedicta told me that it was Lord Nugent, the ex–lordchancellorofEngland,whodecided toput thebaby there.Shedidn’tsaywhy,andsometimesshegetscrossifIkeeponasking.Andshesaidthebabywasconfidentialaswell.ButsomanypeopleknowaboutheralreadyIthoughtitwouldn’tmattermuch.”

“Iexpectyou’reright.Whatwastheotherthing?”

“Oh,yes…”

Malcolm told her what Eric’s father, the clerk of the court, had

passedonaboutthemaninthecanal.Herfacegrewpale.

“GoodGod.That’sappalling,”shesaid.

“D’youthinkitmightbetrue?”

“Oh.Well—don’tyou?”

“Thethingis,Ericdoesexaggerateabit.”

“Oh?”

“Helikestoshowoffaboutwhatheknows,whathisdad’sheardincourt.”

“Iwonderifhisdadwouldhavetoldhimthatsortofthing.”

“Yes,Ithinkhewould.I’veheardhimtalklikethataboutthingsthathavehappened,trialsandthat.Ithinkhe’dbetellingthetruthtoEric.But maybe Eric…I dunno, though. I just think that poor man—helookedsounhappy….”

To Malcolm’s intense embarrassment, his voice shook, his throattightened,andhe foundtears flowing fromhiseyes.Whenhe’dbeenmovedtotearsathome,whenhewasmuchyounger,hismotherhadknownwhat to do: she gathered him into her arms and rocked himgentlytillthecryingfadedaway.Malcolmrealizedthathe’dwantedtocryaboutthedeadmansincethemomenthe’dheardabouthim,butofcoursehecouldn’tpossiblytellhismotheraboutanyofthis.

“Sorry,”hesaid.

“Malcolm!Don’t say sorry. I’m sorry that you’remixed up in this.Andactually,nowIthinkwe’dbetterstop.I’vegotnobusinessaskingyouto—”

“Idon’twanttostop!Iwanttofindout!”

“It’stoodangerous.Ifanyonethinksyouknowanythingaboutthis,thenyou’reinreal—”

“Iknow.ButIamanyway.Ican’thelpit.Itcertainlyen’tyourfault.I’dhaveseenallthosethingsevenif itweren’tforyou.Andat leastIcantalktoyou.Icouldn’ttalktoanyoneelse,notevenSisterFenella.Shewouldn’tunderstandatall.”

He was still embarrassed, and he could tell that Dr. Relf wasembarrassed too,becauseshehadn’tknownwhat todo.Hewouldn’thavewantedhertoembracehim,sohewasgladshehadn’ttriedtodo

that,atleast,butitwasstillanawkwardlittlemoment.

“Well,promisemeyouwon’taskanything,”shesaid.

“Yeah, all right, I can promise that,” he said,meaning it. “I won’tstartanyasking.Butifsomeoneelsesayssomething…”

“Well, use your judgment. Try not to seem interested. And we’dbetter get on anddowhat our cover story sayswe’redoing, and talkaboutbooks.Whatdidyouthinkofthesetwo?”

Malcolmhadneverhadaconversationliketheonethatfollowed.Atschool,inaclassofforty,therewasnotimeforsuchathing,evenifthecurriculum allowed it, even if the teachers had been interested; athome it wouldn’t have happened, because neither his father nor hismother was a reader; in the bar he was a listener rather than aparticipant;andtheonlytwofriendswithwhomhemighthavespokenseriouslyaboutsuchthings,RobbieandTom,hadnoneofthebreadthof learning and the depth of understanding that he found when Dr.Relfspoke.

At first,Astasatcloseonhis shoulder,whereshe’dgoneasa littleferret when he had found himself crying; but little by little she felteasier, and before long shewas sitting beside Jesper, the kind-facedmarmoset, having their own quiet exchange while The Body in theLibrarywasdiscussedandABriefHistory ofTime touched onwithwaryrespect.

“Yousaidlasttimethatyouwereahistorianofideas,”saidMalcolm.“Anhistorian.Whatsortofideasdidyoumean?Liketheonesinthisbook?”

“Yes,largely,”shesaid.“Ideasaboutbigthings,suchastheuniverse,andgoodandevil,andwhythingsexistinthefirstplace.”

“Inever thoughtaboutwhy theydid,”saidMalcolm,wondering. “Inever thought you could think things like that. I thought things justwere.Sopeoplethoughtdifferentthingsabout’eminthepast?”

“Oh,yes.Andthereweretimeswhenitwasverydangeroustothinkthewrongthings,oratleasttotalkaboutthem.”

“Itisnow,sortof.”

“Yes.I’mafraidyou’reright.Butas longaswekeeptowhat’sbeenpublished,Idon’tthinkyouandIwillgetintomuchtrouble.”

Malcolm wanted to ask about the secret things she was involvedwith,andwhethertheywerepartofthehistoryofideas,buthefeltthatitwasbettertosticktobooksfornow.Soheaskedifshehadanymorebooksaboutexperimentaltheology,andshefoundhimonecalledTheStrangeStoryoftheQuantum,andthenshelethimscantheshelvesofmurderstories,andhepickedoutanotherbytheauthorofTheBodyintheLibrary.

“Yougotlotsofhers,”hesaid.

“Notasmanyasshewrote.”

“Howmanybookshaveyouread?”

“Thousands.Icouldn’tpossiblyguess.”

“Doyourememberthemall?”

“No. I remember the very good ones. Most of my murders andthrillersaren’tverygoodinthatway,soifIletalittletimegoby,IfindI’veforgottenthemandIcanreadthemagain.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said. “I prob’ly better go now. If I hearanythingelse,I’llsaveitupandtellyou.Andifyougetanotherbrokenwindow—well, you can prob’ly mend it yourself, now I showed youaboutglazingsprigs.”

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she said. “And please—once more—becareful.”

—

That evening,Hannahdidn’t go into her college for dinner as usual.Instead, she took a note to the porter’s lodge at Jordan College andwent home tomake herself some scrambled eggs. Then she drank aglassofwineandwaited.

Attwentypastnine,therewasaknockatthedoor,andsheopeneditatonceandletinthemanwhowaswaitingoutsideintherain.

“I’msorrytobringyououtonanightlikethis,”shesaid.

“Sorrytobebrought,”hesaid.“Nevermind.What’sthisabout?”

His namewasGeorge Papadimitriou, and hewas the professor ofByzantine history who had first recruited her for Oakley Street twoyearsbefore.Hewasalsothetallscholarly-lookingmanwhohadhaddinnerwithLordNugentattheTrout.

Shetookhiscoatandshookofftheworstoftherainbeforehangingitontheradiator.

“I’vedonesomethingstupid,”shesaid.

“That’snotlikeyou.I’llhaveaglassofwhateverthatis.Goon,then,tellme.”

His greenfinchdæmon touchednoses courteouslywith Jesper andthenperchedonthebackofhischairashesatdownbythefirewithhiswine.Hannahfilledherownglassagainandsatdownintheotherchair.

ShetookadeepbreathandtoldhimaboutMalcolm:theacorn,herasking the alethiometer, the Trout, the books. She edited it verycarefully,butshetoldhimeverythingheneededtoknow.

He listened in silence.His long, dark, heavy-eyed facewas seriousandstill.

“I read about the man in the canal,” he said. “Naturally, I didn’tknowhewasyourinsulator.Ihadn’theardaboutthestranglingeither.Anychancethatthisisjustachild’sfantasy?”

“It could be, of course, but not Malcolm’s. I believe him. If it’s afantasy,it’shisfriend’s.”

“Itwon’tbereportedinthepress,ofcourse.”

“Unlessit’snottheCCDbehindit.Thentheywon’tbeafraidanditwon’tbecensored.”

Henodded.Hehadn’twastedtimeagreeingwithherthatshe’dbeenstupid and chastising her for it and threatening reprisals; all hisintellect was focused now on dealing with the situation, with thiscuriousboyandthepositionshe’dputhimin.

“Well,hecouldbeuseful,youknow,”hesaid.

“Iknowhecouldbeuseful.Isawthatfromthestart.I’mjustangrywithmyselfforputtinghimatrisk.”

“Aslongasyoucoveritall,therewon’tbemuchrisktohim.”

“Well…it’s affecting him. When he was telling me about thestrangling,hefoundhimselfcrying.”

“Naturalinayoungchild.”

“He’sasensitiveboy….There’ssomethingelse.He’sveryclosetothenuns atGodstowPriory, just across the river from the Trout. And itseemsthat they’re lookingafter thechildwhowasthesubjectof thatcourtcase,thedaughterofLordAsriel.”

Papadimitriounodded.

“Youknewaboutit?”shewenton.

“Yes. In fact, Iwas discussing thematterwith two colleagues in aroom at the Trout. And it was your Malcolm who was serving us.That’llteachmealesson.”

“Soitwasyou—andthelordchancellor?Washerightaboutthat?”

“Whatdidhetellyou?”

Shewentoveritbriefly.

“Whatanobservantboy,”hesaid.

“He’sanonlychild,andIthinkhewasfascinatedbythebaby.She’s—Idon’tknow—sixmonthsoldorthereabouts.”

“Whoelseknowsshe’sthere?”

“Theboy’sparents,Isuppose.Presumablysomeofthecustomersofthepub,thevillagers,servants…Itdidn’tseemtobeasecret.”

“Normallyachildwouldbeinthecareofitsmother,butinthiscasethewomandidn’twant itandsaidso.Custodywould then fall to thefather, but the court forbade it, on the grounds thathewasnot a fitperson.No,it’snotasecret,butitmightbecomeimportant.”

“Onemore thing,” saidHannah.She toldhimabout theCCDmenwho tried to arrestGeorgeBoatwright, and their interest in themenwho had been in the Trout. “That must have been you and LordNugent,”shesaid.“Buttheywereaskingaboutanotherman.”

“Therewerethreeofus,”saidPapadimitriou.Hefinishedthewine.

“Anotherglass?”shesaid.

“No,thankyou.Don’tcallmeagainlikethis.TheporteratJordanisa gossip. If you want to contactme, put a card on the notice boardoutside theHistoryFacultyLibrary, saying simply ‘Candle.’Thatwillbeasignal togoto thenextEvensongatWykeham.Ishallbesittingalone.Youwillsitnexttomeandwecantalkquietlyunderthemusic.”

“Candle.Iunderstand.Andifyouwanttocontactme?”

“If Ido,youwillknowabout it. I thinkyoudidwell to recruit thisboy.Lookafterhim.”

TheheadquartersofthesecretservicethatemployedHannahRelfwasknown to its agents asOakley Street for the simple reason that thatrespectableChelseathoroughfarewasnowherenearitandhadnothingtodowithitatall.

ThatwasnotknowntoHannah,though.Shehadneverbeentotheheadquarters of the service, and as far as she was aware, the wordsOakley Street, wherever that was, meant no more than astraightforwardaddress.Apart fromProfessorPapadimitriou, almostheronlycontactwiththeservicewastheacorn.Shegathereditwithitsquery,andleftitwithherreply,inoneofanumberofdifferenthidingplacesthatOakleyStreetcalledleft-luggageboxes.Thepersonwholeftitforherandtookitawayagain,thelateMr.Luckhurst,wasknownasan insulator:neitherof themknew theother,whichmeant that theywouldn’tbeabletorevealanythingifquestioned.

The one other way of talking to Oakley Street was through acataloger at the Bodleian Library.What she had to dowas submit aqueryaboutthecatalognumberofaparticularbook,whichwouldtellhimthatshewantedtopassamessagetotheservice.Thebookdidn’tmatter,buttheauthor’snamedid:thefirstletterofthesurnamewasacodethatindicatedthemattershewantedtotalkabout.

Accordingly, she submittedherquery on the official form, and thefollowing day she received a note inviting her tomeet the cataloger,HarryDibdin,inhisofficeatelevena.m.

Dibdinwasathin,sandy-coloredman,whosedæmonwasabirdofsometropicalkindshedidn’tknow.Heshutthedoorandliftedapileofbooksoffthevisitor’schairbeforeofferingheracupofcoffee.

“Cataloging queries can take time,” he said. “And we always payscrupulousattentiontotheviewsofdistinguishedscholars.”

“Inthatcase,I’dlikesomecoffee,thankyou,”shesaid.

Hepluggedinananbarickettleandfussedwithsomecups.

“Youcantalkinherewithperfectconfidence,”hesaid.“Noonecanhearusatall.YouwantedtocontactOakleyStreet.What’sitabout?”

“My insulator has been murdered. I’m pretty sure of that. By theCCD.Forthetimebeing,I’vegotnowayofcontactingmyclients.”

She meant the four or five Oakley Street officers who sent herquestionsintheacorn.

“Murdered?”saidDibdin.“Howdoyouknow?”

Shetoldhimthestory.Bythetimeshefinished,hehadpouredthecoffeeandhandedheracup.

“Ifyou’dlikemilk,I’llhavetogoandhuntforsome.I’vegotsugar,though.”

“Blackisfine.Thankyou.”

“Are your clients in a hurry?” he said, sitting down. His dæmonflutteredanexotictailandsettledonhisshoulder.

“If they were in a hurry, they wouldn’t be consulting thealethiometer,”shesaid.“Butit’snotsomethingIwanttopostponeifIcanhelpit.”

“Quite. Are you sure that Oakley Street doesn’t know about yourinsulator?”

“No.I’mnotsureofanything.Butwhenasystemthat’sworkedforeighteenmonthssuddenlygoeswrong—”

“You’reworried aboutwhat hemight have given away before theykilledhim?”

“Of course. He didn’t know me, but he knew where all the left-luggageboxeswere,andtheycouldwatchthem.”

“Howmanydidyouuse?”

“Nine.”

“Instrictrotation?”

“No.Therewasacode,which—”

“Don’ttellmewhatitwas.Butitmeantyoucouldpickupordropamessageandgostraighttotherightbox?Andhe’ddothesame?”

“Yes.”

“Well, nine…They won’t have enough agents to watch nine boxestwenty-fourhoursaday.Wouldn’tdoanyharmtofindsomenewones,though.LetOakleyStreetknowthroughmewheretheyare.Andiftheinsulatordidn’tknowyou,you’reinnodanger.”

“Soforthemoment…”

“Donothingmorethanlookforthenewboxes.WhenOakleyStreet’sputanewinsulatorinplace,I’llletyouknow.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Actually, there was something else I waswonderingabout.”

“Goon.”

“Isthelordchancellor,LordNugent—ex–lordchancellor—anOakleyStreetman?”

Dibdinblinked,andhisdæmonshiftedherfeet.

“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.

“Yes,youdo.Andbythewayyoureacted,Icantellthatheis.”

“Ididn’tsaythat.”

“Not in so many words. Here’s another question: What’s thesignificance of the child of a man called Lord Asriel and a womancalledMrs.Coulter?”

Hesaidnothingforseveralseconds.Thenherubbedhisjaw,andhisdæmonchirrupedsomethingquietlyinhisear.

“Whatdoyouknowaboutachild?”heasked.

“ThatchildisinthecareofsomenunsatGodstow.She’sababy—sixmonthsoldorso.WhyisLordNugentinterestedinher?”

“Ican’timagine.Howdoyouknowheis?”

“Ithinkhewasresponsibleforgettingherplacedthere.”

“Perhapshe’safriendoftheparents.Noteverything’sconnectedtoOakleyStreet,youknow.”

“No.You’reprobablyright.Thanksforthecoffee.”

“Apleasure,”hesaid,openingthedoorforher.“Anytime.”

AsshemadeherwaybacktoDukeHumfrey,sheresolvednevertomentionOakleyStreet toMalcolm.Hedidn’tneed toknowanythingabout that. And she would have to subdue the guilt she felt aboutasking him to spy; there was nothing about this business that wascomfortable,nothingatall.

—

MalcolmspentsometimehelpingMr.Taphousewiththeshutters.Helikedthenewanbaricdrillverymuch,andwhenMr.Taphouse,aftermuchpestering,lethimtryit,helikeditevenmore.Theyputupalltheshutters that Mr. Taphouse had made, and then went back to theworkshopandmadesomemore.

“Had topaya fortune for thisoak,” theoldmangrumbled. “SisterBenedictadon’tlikepayingsomuch,butIsaystoherdeal’sdealandoak’soak,andshesawthesenseintheend.”

“It’sonlyasstrongasthefixinganyway,”saidMalcolm,who’dheardMr.Taphousesaythosewordsmanytimes.

“Yeah,butbigwoodlikethis’llholdabigfixing.It’dtakealongtimewithascrewdrivertogetthemscrewsoutthewall.”

“Iwasthinking,”saidMalcolm,“aboutthesescrews,right.Youknowwhen theslotgetswornaway, it’smuchharder toundo,because thescrewdrivercan’tbite?”

“Whataboutit?”

“Well,s’posewefiledtheheadofthescrewsoyoucoulddoitupbutnotundoit?”

“Howd’youmean?”

Malcolmputascrew in theviseand filedawaypartof thehead toshowMr.Taphousewhathemeant.

“See,youcanturnittoscrewitin,butthere’snothingtoturnagainstifyouwanttounscrewit.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s a good idea, Malcolm. A very good idea. ButsupposeSisterBenedictachangeshermindnextyearand tellsme totake’emalldownagain?”

“Oh.Ihadn’tthoughtofthat.”

“Well,letmeknowwhenyouhave,”saidtheoldman.

Hisdæmoncackled.Malcolmwasn’tputout;he likedhis ideaandthoughthecouldworkonittoimproveit.HeputthescrewinhistoppocketandhelpedMr.Taphousewiththenextshutter.

“Yougoingtovarnish’em,Mr.Taphouse?”hesaid.

“No.Danishoil,boy.Bestthingthereis.YouknowwhatyougottowatchoutforwithDanishoil?”

“No.What?”

“Spontaneouscombustion,”theoldmansaidroundly.“Youputitonwith a rag, see, and if you don’t soak the rag in water after you’vefinishedanddryitflat,it’llcatchfireallbyitself.”

“Whatdidyoucallit?Spon—”

“Spontaneouscombustion.”

Malcolmsaiditagainforthepleasureofit.

After the carpenter had gone home, Malcolm went to the priorykitchentotalktoSisterFenella.Theoldnunwascuttingupacabbage,andMalcolmtookaknifeandhelpedher.

“Whathaveyoubeenupto,Malcolm?”shesaid.

“Helping Mr. Taphouse,” he said. “You know those shutters he’smaking,SisterFenella?Whyareyouhavingshuttersputup?”

“Itwassomeadvicewehadfromthepolice,”shesaid.“TheycameandsawSisterBenedictaandtoldherthere’dbeenalotofburglariesinOxfordrecently.Andtheythoughtofallthesilverandplateandtheprecious vestments and so on, and advised us to put up some extraprotection.”

“Notforthebaby,then?”

“Well,it’llprotectheraswell,ofcourse.”

“Howisshe?”

“Oh,she’sverylively.”

“CanIseeheragain?”

“Ifthere’stime.”

“Imadeherapresent.”

“Oh,Malcolm,that’skind….”

“I’vegotithere.Ialwayscarryit,justincaseIcanseeher.”

“Well,that’sverygoodofyou.”

“SocanIseeher?”

“Well,allright.Haveyoudonethatcabbage?”

“Yes,look.”

“Comealong,then.”

Sheputherknifedownandwipedherhands,andledhimdownthecorridor to the roomwhere they’dbeenbefore.Thecrib stood in themiddleof the floor,andonegloomy lampwasall the illumination intheroom,sothebabywasinsemi-darkness.Shewasmakingallkindsofbabynoisestoherdæmon,whostoodonhishindlegsasaratandstaredatSisterFenellaandMalcolmbefore fleeing to thepillowandmakingchirrupingnoisesintoLyra’sear.

“She’steachinghimtotalk!”Malcolmsaid.

WiththegreatestofcareSisterFenellaliftedherup,andLyra’sratdæmonleaptontohertinyshoulderandbecameashrew.

Malcolmtookouthispresent.Itwasthelanyardhe’dmade,tiedtoalittleballofbeechwoodthathe’droundedandsandedcarefully.He’dconsultedhismother,who’d said, “As longas it’s toobig to swallow,it’sprobablysafe.”

“Iwasgoing topaint it,”he toldSisterFenella, “but Iknowbabieschew things and there’s all kinds of stuff in paint thatmight not begood for her. So I sanded it as smooth as I could. She won’t getsplintersoranything.Andifsheswallowsthelanyard,youcanusetheballtopullitoutagain.It’sreallysafe.”

“Oh,it’slovely,Malcolm.Look,Lyra!It’sa—It’sablockof—Whatisit?”

“Beech.See,youcantellbythegrain.It’sreallysmooth.Andthewayit’stied,it’llnevercomeoff.”

Lyraseizedthelanyardatonceandputitinhermouth.

“Shelikesit!”saidMalcolm.

“She might—I don’t know—if she tries to swallow the string, shemightchoke….”

“Isupposethat’sapossibility,”Malcolmgrantedreluctantly.“Maybesheoughttowaitandhaveitlater.Orelseyoucouldbringhercribinthekitchen,andifshestartedtomakechokingnoises,youcouldsaveher right away. I bet her dæmon’d make a racket if she started tochoke.What’shisname?”

“Pantalaimon.”

“Hecouldprobablypullitout.”

“It’snotsafe,”saidAstafirmly.“Giveittoherwhenshe’solder.”

“Oh, well,” said Malcolm, and he tried to take the lanyard awaygently.Lyradidn’tcareforthatandstartedtoobject,butthenMalcolmpretended to get hiccups and she laughed so much she forgot thelanyardandletgo.

“CanIholdher?”hesaid.

“Bettersitdownfirst,”saidSisterFenella.

Hesatonanuprightchairandheldouthisarms,andSisterFenellaputLyraverycarefullyonhislap.HerlittledæmonscamperedupanddowntoavoidtouchingMalcolm,butLyraherselfwasintriguedbythischangeofperspectiveandgazedcalmlyaround,andthenfocusedhereyesonMalcolmhimself.

“That’sMalcolm,”saidSisterFenellainasoftbrightvoice.“YoulikeMalcolm,don’tyou?”

Malcolmfeltthat,niceastheoldnunwas,shedidn’tknowthebestwayofspeakingtoababy.Helookeddownatthelittlefaceandsaid,“Now,see,Lyra,Imadeyouthatlanyardandthebeech-woodball,butyou’renotoldenoughforityet.Thatwasmyfault.Ididn’tthinkyou’dprobably choke on the lanyard. Well, you might not, but it’s toodangerousatthemoment.SoI’llkeepittillyou’reoldenoughtoplaywithitwithoutstuffingitinyourmouthallthetime.Whenyou’reoldenough,I’llshowyouhowtomakeone.It’squiteeasywhenyouknowhow. Imade itwith cotton cord, but you could use anything—twine,marline….I’lltakeyouforarideinLaBelleSauvagewhenyou’reabitolder, how’s that? That’smy boat. I s’pose you better learn to swimfirst.We’lldothatinthesummer,allright?”

“Ithinkshe’llstillbealittleyoung…,”saidSisterFenella,andthenshe stopped because they heard voices in the corridor. “Quick!” shewhispered, and took the baby fromMalcolm’s arms just as the dooropened.

“Oh!Whatisthisboydoinghere?”

The speakerwas awomanwith tightly rolled grayhair andahardface.Shewasnotanun,butthedarkbluesuitsheworelookedlikeauniform of some kind, and in the lapel was a small enamel badgeshowingagoldlampwithalittleredflamecomingoutofit.

“SisterFenella?”saidSisterBenedicta,enteringbehindher.

“Oh!Well—Malcolm—ThisisMalcolm—”

“IknowwhoMalcolmis.Whatareyoudoing?”

“Imadeapresent for thebaby,”Malcolmsaid, “and IaskedSisterFenellaifIcouldgiveittoher.”

“Letmesee,”saidthestranger.

She examined the wooden ball and the soggy string with somedistaste.

“Not at all suitable. Take it away. And you, youngman, go home.Thisisnoneofyourbusiness.”

WhenLyra heard thewoman’s harsh tone, her face crumpled, herdæmonburrowedhisfaceintoherneck,andshebegantocryquietly.

“Bye,Lyra,”Malcolmsaid,andsqueezedherlittlehand.“Bye,SisterFenella.”

“Thank you,Malcolm,” the old nunmanaged to say, andMalcolmnoticedhowfrightenedshewas.

Sister Benedicta took Lyra away from Sister Fenella, and the lastthing Malcolm heard as he left the priory was the baby wailingproperly.

ThatwassomethingelsetotellDr.Relf,hethought.

At lunchtime onMonday,Malcolmwas squatting in a corner of theplayground, one of his non-unscrewable screws in one hand and hisSwiss Army knife in the other, trying to work out a way of undoingthem. Around him the shouts and screams of children playing andrunningabout echoed from the school’s brickwalls, anda coldwindcarriedthenoiseawayoverPortMeadow.

Outofthecornerofhiseye,hesawsomeonesidlinguptohim,andheknewwhoitwaswithoutlooking.ItwasEric,whosefatherwastheclerkofthecourt.

“I’m busy,” Malcolm said, knowing too that Eric would take nonotice.

“Hey, you know that man who was murdered? The one who wasstrangledandthrowninthecanal?”

“You’renotsupposedtotalkabouthim.”

“Yeah,butyouknowwhatmydadheard?”

“What?”

“Hewasaspy.”

“Howdotheyknow?”

“Mydadcouldn’ttellmethat,’causeoftheOfficialSecretsAct.”

“Thenhow could he tell you themanwas a spy in the first place?En’tthatanofficialsecret?”

“No,’causeifitwas,hewouldn’tbeabletotellme,wouldhe?”

MalcolmthoughtEric’sfatherwouldfindawaytotellhimanything

ifhewantedto.

“Whowasheaspyfor,then?”hesaid.

“Idunno.Dadcouldn’ttellmethateither.”

“Well,whod’youreckon?”

“TheMuscovites.They’retheenemy,en’tthey?”

“Hemight have been a spy for us, and itwas theMuscoviteswhokilledhim,”Malcolmpointedout.

“Well,whatwashespyingon,then?”

“I dunno. He was on holiday, prob’ly. Spies have got to haveholidays,sameaseveryone.Whoelseyoutold?”

“Nooneyet.”

“Well, you better be careful. I hope your dad’s right about theOfficialSecretsAct.Youknowwhatthepenaltyforbreakingitis?”

“I’llaskhim.”

“That’sagoodidea.But inthemeantime, it’dbesafer ifyoudidn’ttellanyone.There’sspieseverywhere.”

“Notinschool!”Ericscoffed.

“Teachersmightbespies.WhataboutMissDavis?”

Miss Davis was the music teacher, the shortest-tempered personMalcolmhadeverknown.

Eric thought about it. “Maybe,” he said. “But she stands out toomuch.Arealspy’dbelessconspicious.Blendinmore.”

“Thatmightbeacleverdisguise,though.You’dexpectaspytobeallquietandsortofcamouflaged,soifyousawMissDavisscreamingandbangingthepianolid,you’dthinkshecouldn’tpossiblybeaspy,onlyshewasallthetime.”

“Well,whatwouldshespyon?”

“She’d do it in her spare time. She could go anywhere and spy onanything.Anyonecouldbeaspy—that’sthepoint.”

“Well,”saidEric,“maybe.Butthemaninthecanalwasdefinitelyaspy.”

In the form of amouse, Eric’s dæmon climbed up to his shoulder

and said, just loud enough for Malcolm to hear, “Dad never saidexactlythatthemanwasaspy.Notexactly.”

“Nearenough,”saidEric.

“Yeah,butyouexaggerate.”

“Whatdidhesay,then?”saidMalcolm.

“What he saidwas: Iwouldn’t be surprised if hewas a spy. Samething.”

“Notquite.”

“Thepointis,whydidhesaythat?”saidAsta,who’dbeenfollowingall this closely as a robin, her head turning sharply from one to theother.

“Exactly. Thank you,” said Eric ponderously. “He knew somethingthatmadehimthinkitwaslikely.Soitprob’lyis.”

“Canyoufindout?”saidMalcolm.

“Dunno.Icouldaskhim.ButIgottobesuitableaboutit.Can’tjustcomeoutwithaquestion.”

“Whatd’youmean,‘suitable’?”

“Youknow.Notobvious.”

“Oh, right,” said Malcolm. Subtle was the word Eric wanted,probably.Andhe’dprobablymeantconspicuousearlier.

Thebell rangat thatpoint,andtheyhadto lineup in theirclassesandgoinforthelong,drearyafternoon.Theusualwaythishappenedwas that the teacher onplaygroundduty inspected the lines, told offanyonewhowas talkingor foolingaround,anddismissed theclassesoneatatime.Today,however,somethingdifferenthappened.

Theteacherwaitedtilleveryonewasstillandquiet,andthenstoodstill himself and lookedpast themat the schoolbuilding.Thatmadeseveral heads turn, Malcolm’s among them, and they saw theheadmastercomingout,hisgownflappinginthewind.Andtherewassomeonewithhim.

“Thisway,”snappedthedutyteacher,andtheylookedforwardagainbeforeMalcolmcouldmakeoutwhotheextrapersonwas.

Amomentlatershewaswalkingoutinfrontoftheclasslineswith

the headmaster, and he recognized her at once as thewomanwho’dcome to the priory, andwho’d frightened Lyrawith her harsh voice.Sheworethesamedarkbluesuit,hadthesametightlyrolledhairstyle.

“Listen carefully,” said theheadmaster. “When you go in, in a fewmoments,youwillnotgotoyourclasses.Youwillgointothehall,justasyoudoformorningassembly.Goinasusual,sitdownquietly,andwait. Anyone making a noise will find themselves in trouble. ClassFive,leadoff.”

Malcolmcouldhearwhispersaroundhim:“Who’sshe?What’sgoingtohappen?Who’sintrouble?”

He watched the woman closely without seeming to. She wasscanning all the classes in front of her, her cold eyes raking throughthemastheystoodandmovedoffintheirlines.Whenherheadturnedhisway,hemade surehewas standingbehindEric,whowas a littletaller.

The hall was where the lunch ladies set out the tables for schoollunch, and the aroma hung around all afternoon. That day, boiledcabbagehadfeaturedprominentlyonthemenu,andnoteventhejamrollthathadcomeafteritdidanythingtodispeltheheavyatmosphere.Thehallwasalsowheretheyhadgymclasses,andunderneaththefoodsmelltherewasanaromaticreminderofseveralgenerationsofsweatychildren.

Ashisclassenteredthehall,Malcolmlookedatthelineofteacherssitting along the back. Their faces were expressionless for the mostpart, as if thiswasn’t unusual at all but somequitenormalpart of anormal day, except thatMr. Savery, themath teacher,was scowling,with a look of deep disgust. And then in the instant before he sat,Malcolm saw the face of Miss Davis, the music teacher, because itcaughtthelight,anditdidthatbecausehercheekswerewetwithtears.

Malcolmnotedall these thingsand imaginedhimselfwriting themdown,ashewouldlater,totellDr.Relf.

Whenall thechildrenweresittingandstillandsilent,all themorequiet because of their sense that something unusualwas happening,theheadmastercameinandeveryonestoodup.Thewomanwaswithhim.

“Allright,sitdown,”hesaid.

When everything was quiet again, he said, “This lady is MissCarmichael.I’llletherexplainwhatshe’sdoing.”

Thenhesat,gatheringhisgownaroundhim,hiscrowdæmoninherusualpositiononhisleftshoulder.AndMalcolmhadsomethingelsetowrite later, because his facewas as thunderous asMr. Savery’s. Thewomancouldn’tseethat,orelsesheignoredit;shewaitedforabsolutesilence,andthenshebegan.

“Youknow,children,howourHolyChurchhasmanydifferentpartswithin it. Together theymake upwhatwe call theMagisterium, andtheyallworktogetherforthegoodoftheChurch,whichisthesameasthegoodofeveryoneofus.

“ThepartIrepresentiscalledtheLeagueofSt.Alexander.Iexpectsome of you have heard of St. Alexander, but perhaps your lessonshaven’tgotthatfaryet,soI’lltellyouhisstory.

“He lived inNorthAfricawithhis familya long timeago. Itwasatime when the Holy Church was still struggling against the pagans,thosewhoworshippedevilgods,orthosewhobelievedinnogodatall.AndthelittleboyAlexander’sfamilywasoneofthosewhoworshippedanevilgod.Theydidn’tbelieveinJesusChrist,theyhadanaltarinthecellarundertheirhousewheretheymadesacrificestotheevilgodtheyworshipped,andtheymockedthosewhowerelikeus,whoworshipthetrueGod.

“Well, onedayAlexanderheard aman talking in themarketplace.Hewasamissionary.Hehadbravedallthedangersoflandandseatotake the storyofJesusChristand themessageof the true religion tothe lands around theMediterranean Sea, the landswhereAlexanderandhisfamilylived.

“And Alexander was so interested in what the man said that hestayedand listened.HeheardthestoryofJesus’s lifeanddeath,andhowherosefromthedead,andhowthosewhobelieveinhimwillhaveeternallife,andhewentuptothepreacherandsaid,‘IwouldliketobeaChristian.’

“He wasn’t the only one. A lot of people were baptized that day,including the governor of the province, who was a wise man calledRegulus. Regulus ordered that all his officials should becomeChristians,andtheyalldid.

“Buttherewerealotofpeoplewhodidn’t.Alotofpeoplelikedthe

religion they knew and didn’t want to change. Even when RegulusmadelawsforbiddingthepaganreligionandcompellingpeopletobeChristianfortheirowngood,theykepttotheoldwickedways.

“AndAlexander saw that he could do something to serveGod andtheChurch.HeknewsomepeoplewhopretendedtobeChristianbutreallystillworshippedtheoldgods,theevilgods.Hisownfamily,forinstance.Theyhadgivensheltertoanumberofpaganpeopledownintheir cellar, people whowere wanted by the authorities, people whohad wickedly refused to hear the holy word of the Scriptures, thesacredwordofGod.

“SoAlexanderknewwhathemustdo.Verybravelyhewent to theauthoritiesand told themabouthis familyand thepagans theyweresheltering,andthesoldierswenttothefamily’shouseinthemiddleofthe night. They knew which house it was because Alexander took alamp up onto the flat roof and signaled to them. The family wasarrested,thepagansinthecellarweretakencaptive,andthenextdaytheywereallput todeath in themarketplace.Alexanderwasgivenareward, and he went on to become a great hunter of atheists andpagans.Andafterhisdeathmanyyearslater,hewasmadeasaint.

“The League of St. Alexanderwas set up inmemory of that bravelittleboy,and itsemblemisapictureof the lamphecarriedupontotherooftosignalwheretocome.

“Now,youmightthinkthatthosedaysarelongago.Wedon’thavepaganaltarsinourcellarsanymore.WeallbelieveinthetrueGod.Weall cherish and love the Church. This is a Christian country in aChristiancivilization.

“But thereare still enemiesof theChurch,newonesaswellasoldones. There are people who say openly that there is no God. Theybecome famous, someof them; theymakespeechesandwritebooks,or even teach. But they don’tmatter verymuch.We knowwho theyare. More important are the people we don’t know about. Yourneighbors,yourfriends’parents,yourownparents,thegrown-upsyousee every day. Have any of them ever denied the truth about God?HaveyouheardanyonemockingtheChurchorcriticizingit?Haveyouheardanyonetellingliesaboutit?

“Thespiritof littleSt.Alexander livesontoday ineveryboyorgirlwhoisbraveenoughtodowhathedidandtelltheChurchauthorities

aboutanyonewhoisworkingagainstthetruefaith.It’svitalwork.It’sthemost important thing you could everdo.And it’s something thateverychildoughttothinkabout.

“YoucanjointheLeagueofSt.Alexandertoday.You’llgetabadge,liketheoneI’mwearing,towearyourselfandshowwhatyouthinkisimportant.Itdoesn’tcostanything.YoucanbetheeyesandtheearsoftheHoly Church in the corruptworldwe live in.Whowould like tojoin?”

Handswentup,manyhands,andMalcolmcouldseetheexcitementonthe facesallaroundhim;but theteachers,apart fromoneor two,lookeddownatthefloororgazedexpressionlesslyoutthewindows.

Eric’s hand went up at once, and so did Robbie’s, but they bothlookedatMalcolm toseewhathewasgoing todo.The factwas thatMalcolmwouldhavelikedoneofthosebadgesverymuch.Theylookedveryhandsome,butallthesame,he’drathernotjointhisleague.Sohekept his hand down, and seeing that, the other two dithered. Eric’shandcamedownandthenwentupagainlesscertainly.Robbie’scamedownandstayeddown.

“I’m so pleased,” said Miss Carmichael, looking around the hall.“Godwillbeveryhappytoknowthatsomanyboysandgirlsareeagertodotherightthing.TobetheeyesandearsoftheAuthority!Inthestreets and the fields, in the houses and the playgrounds and theclassrooms of the world, a league of little Alexanders watching andlisteningforaholypurpose.”

Shestoppedthere,turnedtothetablenexttoher,andpickedupabadgeandasheetofpaper.

“When you goback to your classes in aminute, your teacherswillhavethese forms.Theywill tellyouhowto fill themin.Whenyou’vedone that, they’ll give you a badge. And you’ll be a member of theLeague of St. Alexander! Oh, and there’s one other thing you’ll begiven.Thislittlebooklet”—sheheldoneup—“isveryimportant.IttellsthestoryofSt.Alexander,hasalistoftherulesoftheleague,andhasan address to write to if you see anything wrong, anything sinful,anythingsuspicious,anythingyouthinktheHolyChurchwouldliketoknow.

“Nowputyourhands togetherandcloseyoureyes….DearLord, letthespiritofyourblessedSt.Alexanderenterourhearts, thatwemay

havetheclearsighttoperceivewickedness,thecouragetodenounceit,andthestrengthtobearwitness,evenwhenitseemsmostpainfulanddifficult.InthenameoftheLordJesusChrist,amen.”

Amurmurof “amen” followed frommostof thechildren.Malcolmlifted his head and looked at thewoman,who seemed to be lookingstraightbackathim,sohefelthorriblyuneasyforamoment;butthensheturnedtotheheadmaster.

“Thankyou,Headmaster,”shesaid.“Ileaveitinyourhands.”

Shewalkedout.Theheadmasterstoodup,stifflyandwearily.

“Leadoff,ClassFive”wasallhesaid.

On Saturday, Malcolm had a lot to tell Hannah. He told her aboutEric’sfatherandhisguessthatthemurderedmanhadbeenaspy;hetold her about the woman in the priory, and about everything she’dsaidonthatstrangeafternoonintheschoolhall,andabouthowmanyofhisclassmateshadsignedupfortheLeagueofSt.Alexander.

“And thenextday,when theyall came to schoolwith theirbadgeson, theheadmaster talkedabout them inassembly.Hesaid theyhadneverallowedbadgewearingintheschool,andhewasn’tgoingtostartnow. Everyonewearing a badge had to take it off.What they did athomewastheirownbusiness,butnoonewasallowedtowearoneatschool.Andhesaidtheformthey’dsignedhadnolegalsomething—nolegalforceorsomething—anditmeantnothing.Somepeopletriedtoarguewithhim,buthepunishedthemandtooktheirbadgesaway.

“Andthensomeofthekidswhohadjoinedtheleaguesaidtheyweregoing to reporthim, and theymusthavedone, becauseonThursdaythe head wasn’t at school, nor yesterday. Mr. Hawkins—he’s thedeputy, and he was in favor of the league—he took the assemblyyesterday, andhe said thatMr.Willis hadmade amistake, and thatpeoplecouldwear thebadges if theywanted to.He found theboxofbadgesintheheadmaster’sstudyandgavethemalloutagain.”

“Whatdotheotherteachersthinkofthisleague?”

“Somelikeitandsomedon’t.Mr.Savery,themathteacher,hatesit.Someoneaskedhimduringalessonwhathethoughtaboutit,andtheymust have guessed hewas against it because he said he thought thewholethingwasdisgusting,itwasacelebrationofanastyrottenlittlesneak who got his parents killed. I think one or two people saw itdifferentlyafter thatandthey tooktheirbadgesoffwhennoonewas

lookingandpretendedthey’dlost’em.NooneactuallysaidtheyagreedwithMr.Savery’causethenthey’dgetreportedthemselves.”

“Butyouhaven’tjoined?”

“No.Isupposeabouthalfthekidshaveandtheotherhalfhaven’t.Ididn’t likeher—thatwasone reason.Anotherwas I didn’t…Well, if Ithoughtmyparentsweredoingsomethingwrong,Istillwouldn’twanttotellon ’em.And…IsupposeIreckonthis leaguehasgotsomethingtodowiththeCCD.”

Ithadoccurred toMalcolmalready,and it cameback tohimnow,thatwhat hewas doing in talking toDr. Relf was very likewhat St.Alexanderwas celebrated for.Whatwas thedifference?Only thathelikedandtrustedDr.Relf.Buthewasnolessaspyforthat.

Hefeltuncomfortable,andshenoticed.

“Areyouthinking—”

“I’mthinkingthatI’msneakingtoyou,really.”

“Well, it’s true in a way, but I wouldn’t call it sneaking. I have toreport the things I findout, so I’mdoing thesamesortof thing.Thedifference is that I think thepeople Iwork for are good. I believe inwhattheydo.Ithinkthey’reontherightside.”

“AgainsttheCCD?”

“Ofcourse.Againstpeoplewhokillandleavebodiesinthecanal.”

“AgainsttheLeagueofSt.Alexander?”

“Onehundredpercent against it. I think it’s a loathsome idea.Butwhataboutthoseformsyousaidpeoplehadtosign?Didn’ttheyhavetotakethemhomefortheirparentstolookat?”

“No,becauseshesaidthatthiswasamatterjustforchildren,andifSt.Alexanderhadhadtoaskhisparents,they’dhavesaidno.Someoftheteachersdidn’tlikeit,buttheyhadtogoalongwithit.”

“Imusttryandfindoutaboutthisleague.Itdoesn’tsoundgoodtomeatall.”

“I don’t know why she came to the priory to see Lyra. She’s tooyoungtojoinanything.”

“It’s interesting, though,” said Dr. Relf, getting up to make somechocolatl.“Butwe’lltalkaboutbooksnow.Howareyougettingalong

withthequantumone?”

—

Hannahhadbeenbusy in thepast fewdaysseekingoutanumberofnew left-luggage boxes. Once she’d found half a dozen, she went toHarryDibdinattheBodleianLibrarywithanothercatalogingquery.

“Gladyoucame,”hesaid.“They’vefoundyouanotherinsulator.”

“Thatwasquick.”

“Well,thingsarehottingup.Youmusthavenoticed.”

“Actually, Ihad.Anyway, if there’s an insulator inplace, I canusethese new boxes straightaway. Harry…you’ve got children at school,haven’tyou?”

“Twoofthem.Why?”

“HavetheyheardoftheLeagueofSt.Alexander?”

“Yes,nowthatyoumentionit.Isaidno.”

“Theycamehomeandasked?”

“Theywerefullofit.Itoldthemitwasahorribleidea.”

“D’youknowwhereitstarted?Who’sbehindit?”

“Iimaginetheusualsources.Why?”

“It’ssomethingnew. I’m justcurious.Yousaid thingswerehottingup—this is part of it. In your children’s school, was there a womancalledCarmichaelinvolved?”

“Idon’tknow.Theyjustsaidithadbeenannounced.Idon’tgettolddetails.”

ShetoldhimwhathadhappenedatUlvercoteElementarySchool.

“Andthisisyouryoungagentreporting?”hesaid.

“He’sverygood.Buthe’sworriednowthathe’sdoingthatverything—spyingonpeopleandtellingme.”

“Well,heis.”

“He’sveryyoung,Harry.He’sgotaconscience.”

“Youhavetolookafterhim.”

“Iknow,”shesaid.“Noonecanadviseme,butIhavetoadvisehim.

No,don’tgetup.Here’sthelistofmynewdrops.Bye,Harry.”

—

ThereportshewrotetookupfoursheetsofthespecialIndiapapersheused, even crammingherwriting as tightly as she could andusing asuper-sharp hard pencil. Itwasn’t easy to fold it small enough to fitinsidetheacorn,butshegotitineventually,andthenwentforawalkin the Botanic Garden, where a space under a particular thick rootinsideoneofthehothouseswasthefirstleft-luggagebox.

Thenshewentbacktotheworksheshouldhavebeendoingwiththealethiometer.Shehadfallenbehind;itwasbeginningtolookasifshe’dhitanobstacle,orhadfallenoutofsympathywiththeinstrument.Shewould have to be careful. There was a monthly meeting of thealethiometer researchgroup comingup,when they compared resultsand discussed lines of approach, and if she had nothing to say, herprivilegesmightbewithdrawn.

—

Malcolm’sheadmaster,Mr.Willis,wasstillawayonMonday,andonTuesday Mr. Hawkins, the deputy head, announced that Mr. Williswouldn’tbecomingback,andthathewouldbeinchargehimselffromthenon.Therewasanintakeofbreathfromthepupils.Theyallknewthereason:Mr.WillishaddefiedtheLeagueofSt.Alexander,andnowhe was being punished. It gave the badge wearers a giddy sense ofpower.Bythemselvestheyhadunseatedtheauthorityofaheadmaster.No teacher was safe now. Malcolm watched the faces of the staffmembersasMr.Hawkinsmadetheannouncement:Mr.Saveryputhishead inhishands,MissDavisbit her lip,Mr.Croker, thewoodworkteacher, looked angry. Some of the others gave little triumphantsmiles;mostwereexpressionless.

And therewas a sort of swagger among the badgewearers. Itwasrumored that in one of the older classes, the Scripture teacher hadbeentellingthemaboutthemiracles intheBibleandexplaininghowsome of them could be interpreted realistically, such as Moses’sparting of theRed Sea.He told them that itmight just have been ashallowpartoftheseaandthatahighwindwouldsometimesblowthewater away, so it was possible to walk across. One of the boys hadchallengedhimandwarnedhimtobecarefulandhelduphisbadge,and the teacher had backed down and said that he was only telling

themthatasanexampleofawicked lie,andtheBiblewasright: thewholedeepseahadbeenheldapartfortheIsraelitestocross.

Otherteachersfellintolineaswell.Theytaughtlessvigorouslyandtoldfewerstories,lessonsbecamedullerandmorecareful,andyetthisseemedtobewhatthebadgewearerswanted.Theeffectwasasifeachteacher was being examined by a fierce inspector, and each lessonbecameanordealinwhichnotthepupilsbuttheteacherswerebeingtested.

Thebadgewearersbegantoputpressureontheotherchildrentoo.

“Whyaren’tyouwearingabadge?”

“Whyhaven’tyoujoined?”

“Areyouanatheist?”

WhenMalcolmwaschallenged,hejustshruggedandsaid,“Dunno.I’ll think about it.” Some children said that their parents hadn’t letthemjoin,butwhenthebadgewearerssmiledwithtriumphandwrotedown theirnamesandaddresses, theybecame frightenedand tookabadgewhentheyweretoldto.

A few teachers held out.Malcolm stayedbehind after awoodworkclassoneday;hewanted toaskMr.Crokerabouthisone-way screwidea.Mr.Crokerlistenedpatiently,thenlookedaroundand,seeingthewoodworkroomemptyexceptforthetwoofthem,said,“Iseeyou’renotwearingabadge,Malcolm.”

“No,sir.”

“Anyreason?”

“Idon’t like ’em,sir.Ididn’t likeher—thatMissCarmichael.AndIdidlikeMr.Willis.What’shappenedtohim,sir?”

“Wehaven’tbeentold.”

“Ishegoingtocomeback?”

“Ihopeso.”

Mr.Croker’sdæmon,agreenwoodpecker,drilledvigorously intoawastepieceofpinewithasoundlikeamachinegun.Malcolmwantedto talkmoreabout thebadgebusiness,buthedidn’twant togetMr.Crokerintotrouble.

“Thesescrews,sir—”

“Oh,yes.Youinventedthatideayourself,didyou?”

“Yes,sir.ButIcan’tthinkofhowtoundo’em.”

“Well,someonebeatyoutoit,Malcolm.Look…”

Mr. Croker opened a drawer and found a little cardboard box ofscrewswithready-filedone-wayheads,justliketheoneMalcolmhadmadeinMr.Taphouse’sworkshop,butmuchneater.

“Blimey,” said Malcolm. “And I thought I was the first person tothinkof’em.Buthowd’youundothem?”

“Well,youneedaspecialtool.Hangon….”

Mr.Croker fumbled through thedrawerandbroughtouta tinboxwithhalfadozenshort steel rods in it.Eachrodhada threadedendthatnarrowed to apoint, and the other endwas shaped to fit into acarpenter’s brace. They varied in thickness as much as the mostcommonsizesofscrews.

Malcolmpickedout the largest,andthensawsomethingabout thescrewthread.

“Oh!Itgoesbackwards!”

“That’sit.Youdrillaholedownthemiddleofthescrewyouwanttogetout,notveryfar,andthenyouscrewoneoftheseintoitthesameway as if you’re unscrewing, and once it bites, it’ll bring the originaloneoutwithit.”

Malcolm was overcome with admiration. “That’s brilliant! That’sgenius,thatis!”

HewassoimpressedthatheverynearlytoldMr.Crokeraboutthewoodenacornthatunscrewedthewrongwaytoo.Hestoppedhimselfjustintime.

“Well, Malcolm,” said Mr. Croker, “I’m never going to use these.You’re a good craftsman—you take them, and the screws aswell.Goon,they’reyours.”

“Oh,thankyou,sir,”saidMalcolm.“That’sreallykind.Thankyou.”

“That’s all right. Dunno how long I’ll last here. Just like to thinkthese toolsare in thehandsof someonewhoappreciates ’em.Goon,buggeroffnow.”

—

By the end of the week, Mr. Croker had vanished too. So hadMissDavis.Theschoolwasplacedinsomedifficulty,whatwiththeneedtoreplace them at such short notice, andMr. Hawkins, the new head,spokeaboutitduringassembly,choosinghiswordswithcare.

“Youwillhavenoticed,boysandgirls,thatsomeofourteachersareno longerwith us.Of course, it’s right andproper that the staff of aschoolshouldchangefromtimetotime,haveanaturalturnover,butitdoescreate temporarydifficulties.Perhaps itwouldbeagood idea ifthis turnover came to ahalt now, for awhile, sowe can settle downintoournormalpatternofworkagain.”

Everyone knew that this was a plea to the badge wearers, but ofcourse he couldn’t beg them directly. Malcolm wondered whether itwouldwork.Astheweekwentpast,helistenedandwatched,andsoonhesawdifferent factionsemerging.Onegroupwasall forpushingonzealously,andtalkedopenlyaboutreportingMr.Hawkinshimselfforspeakinglikethat.Anothergroupsaidthattheyshouldholdtheirhandandbuild on their first great success by reminding the teacherswhowasreallyincharge,andoperatingaseriesofpublicwarningstokeeptheminline.

Eventually the second group seemed to prevail. Nomore teachersweredenounceddirectly, but twoor threeweremade to standup inassemblyandapologizeforthisorthatmisdeed.

“I’mtrulysorrythatIforgottostartthatlessonwithaprayer.”

“LetmeapologizetothewholeschoolforexpressingdoubtaboutthestoryofSt.Alexander.”

“I acknowledge that I was wrong to tell off threemembers of theleagueforwhatIthoughtwasbadbehaviorduringalesson.Irealizeitwasn’t bad behavior at all, but a perfectly justified discussion aboutimportantmatters.Pleaseforgiveme.”

Malcolmtoldhisparentsabouttheseextraordinaryevents,andtheywereangry,butnotangryenough—orperhapstoobusy—todoassomeparentshaddoneandgototheschoolandcomplain.Oneeveningthatweek, some people were talking about it in the bar, and Malcolm’sfather calledhim to come and tell themwhat he’d seen inUlvercoteElementary,because it seemedthatsimilar thingswerehappeningatotherschoolsinthecity.

“Who’s behind it—that’swhat I’d like to know,” said amanwhose

childrenwenttoWestOxfordElementary.

“Have you heardwho’s behind it,Malcolm?” askedMr. Partridge,thebutcher.

“No,”saidMalcolm.“Thebadgepeoplejustreportwhotheywantto,andthingshappentothem.There’ssomeparentsbeentaken,aswellasteachers.”

“Butwhodotheyreportto?”

“I’veasked,buttheywon’ttellmetillIwearabadge.”

Thefactwasthathe’dmorethanoncethoughtofjoiningtheLeagueofSt.Alexandersothathe’dknowmoreaboutit,andhavemoretotellDr. Relf. The thing that stopped him was that the badge wearersseemedtohavetogiveupalotofsparetimetogotoChurchmeetings,which again were secret and not to be spoken about, and Malcolmdidn’twanttodothat.

Therewasonewayhecouldfindout,though.Eric,havingditheredabout joining, had finally committedhimself, andnowwore a badgeproudly.Hehadn’tchangedmuch,ofcourse,andMalcolmfoundthatif he asked the right questions, Ericwould tell him things thatweresupposed to be secret, because the pleasure of knowing secrets wasdoubled by telling them to people.Malcolmbegan by saying that hewas interested in joining the league,but thathewasn’t sureabout it.SoonErichadtoldhimmostofwhattherewastoknow.

“If youwere going to denounceMr. Johnson, like,”Malcolm said,naming a teacher whose pious fervor made him the least likelycandidate,“whowouldyoutell?”

“Ah,well.There’saproperprocedure.Youcan’t justgoandtellonsomeone you don’t like. That would be wrong. If you have soundreasons and clear knowledge of incorrect orwrongful behavior”—theway he said it made it sound like a formula he’d memorized—“youwritetheirnameonapieceofpaperandsendittotheBishop.”

“Whatbishop?ThebishopofOxford?”

“No. The Bishop, he’s called. I think he’s the bishop of London,maybe.Ormaybesomewhereelse.Youjustwritetheirnameandsendittohim.”

“But anyone could do that. I could do that toMrs. Blanchard for

givingmedetention.”

“No,’causethat’snotwrongfulbehavior.Notsinful,like.Ifshewastoteachyouatheism,though,thatwouldbewrongful.Youcouldnameherthen,allright.”

Malcolmdidn’tpressanymoreonthatoccasion.Itwaslikefishing;youhadtobesuitable,asEricwouldhavesaid.

“You knowMiss Carmichael, right,”Malcolm said the next day. “IthinkIseenherbeforeshecametotheschool.Ithinkshewasatthepriorytalkingtothenuns.”

“Maybeshewantstogetthemtotake insometeachersandpeoplewhoneedreeducating,”saidEric.

“What’sreeducating?”

“Oh,beingtaughtwhat’sright.”

“Oh.Isshethebossofthewholeleague?”

“No.She’sadeacon.Shecanbeadeaconbutnotapriest,becauseshe’sawoman.I’spectherbossistheBishop.”

“IstheBishopthebossoftheleague?”

“Well,I’mnots’posedtotellyouthat,”saidEric,whichonlymeantthat he didn’t know. “Actually, I’m not s’posed to talk to you at allunlessI’mpersuadingyoutojointheleague.”

“Well, you are,” said Malcolm. “Everything you say ispersuadingme.”

“Yougoingtowearabadge,then?”

“Notquiteyet.Maybesoon.”

—

Malcolmwasn’tgoingtofindoutwhatthewomanhadbeendoingattheprioryuntilhespoketothenuns,soonThursdayeveningherantherethroughtherainandknockedonthekitchendoor.Assoonashegotinside,henoticedastrongsmellofpaint.

“Oh!Malcolm!Yougavemeastart,”saidSisterFenella.

Malcolmhad been careful about startling Sister Fenella ever sinceshe’d told him she had a weak heart. When he was younger, he’dthoughtherheartwasweakbecause she’dhad it brokena long time

ago,whenshewasagirl,andthat’swhyshe’dbecomeanun.Ayoungmanhadbroken it, she’d toldhim.Malcolmsawnowthat shedidn’tmeanitliterally,butthepooroldladywaseasilystartled,andnowshesatdownandbreathedquickly,herfacepale.

“Sorry,” he said. “I really didn’t think that would startle you. I’msorry.”

“There, there,dear, it’s all right.Noharmdone.You come tohelpmewiththesepotatoes?”

“Yes, I’ll do them,” he said, taking up the knife she’d dropped.“How’sLyra?”

“Oh,babblingaway.Shejabbersallthetimetothatdæmon,andhejabbersback—like apair of swallows. I don’t knowwhat they canbesayingtoeachother,andIdon’tsupposetheydoeither,but it’sveryprettytohear.”

“They’remakingupaprivatelanguage.”

“Well, if it doesn’t turn into proper English soon, they might getstuck.”

“Willthey?”

“No, dear, I don’t expect so, not really. All babies do that sort ofthing.It’spartofhowtheylearn.”

“Oh…”

Thepotatoeswereoldand fullofblackpatches.SisterFenellahadjust ignored that and dropped them in the pot as they were, butMalcolmcutaroundtheworstbits.SisterFenellabegantogratesomecheese.

“SisterFenella,whowasthatladywhowasheretheotherday?”

“Well,I’mnotsure,Malcolm.ShecametoseeSisterBenedicta,andtheydidn’t tellmewhy. Iexpect shehadsomething todowithChildServices.”

“Whatarethey?”

“They’re the peoplewhomake sure that children are being lookedafterproperly,Ithink.Iexpectshecametocheckonus,tomakesureweweredoingitright.”

“Shecametoourschool,”saidMalcolm,andhe toldSisterFenella

allabout it.Theoldladylistenedsointentlythatshestoppedgratingthecheese. “HaveyoueverheardofSt.Alexander?”Malcolmsaid toendwith.

“Well,therearesomanysaints,it’shardtorememberthemall.AlldoingGod’sworkindifferentways.”

“Buthetoldonhisparents,andtheywereexecuted.”

“Oh,thatdoesn’thappenanymore.Andit’shardtounderstandsomethings,dear.Evenif itdoesn’tsoundright, itdoesn’tmeanthatgoodwon’tcomeofit.Thesethingsaretoodeepforustounderstand.”

“I’vedoneallthesepotatoes.ShallIdosomemore?”

“No,that’senough,dear.Ifyou’dliketopolishthesilver…”

Butthekitchendooropenedthen,andSisterBenedictacamein.

“IthoughtIheardyou,Malcolm,”shesaid.“MayIborrowhimforamoment,SisterFenella?”

“Oh,ofcourse,Sister,yes,do.Thankyou,Malcolm.”

“Evening, Sister Benedicta,”Malcolm said as he followed the nundownthecorridor toher littleparlor.He listened forLyra’sbabblingbutheardnothing.

“Sitdown,Malcolm.Don’tworry—you’renotintrouble.Iwantyoutotellmeaboutthatwomanwhowasheretheotherday.Ibelieveshe’sbeentoyourschool.Whatdidshewant?”

For the second time that evening, Malcolm told the story of theLeagueofSt.Alexander, and theheadmaster, and theother teacherswho’dgonemissing,andthewholeaffair.

Sister Benedicta listenedwithout interrupting.Her expressionwasstern.

“Sowhatwasshedoinghere,SisterBenedicta?”hesaidwhenhe’dfinished.“WassheaskingaboutLyra?Becauseshe’stooyoungtojoinanything.”

“Quiteso.MissCarmichael’sbusinesswithusisconcluded,Ihope.But I’m concerned to hear about these children who are beingencouraged to behave badly. Why has nobody told this to anewspaper?”

“Idunno.Maybe—”

“Don’tknow.”

“Idon’tknow,Sister.Perhapsthenewspapersaren’tallowedtoprintit.”

“Yes,possiblyso.Well,thankyou,Malcolm.You’dbettergetbacktoyourparentsnow.”

“CanIseeLyra?”

“Notnow.She’sasleep.Butlook—comewithme.”

SheledhimbackdownthecorridorandstoppedatthedooroftheroomLyrahadbeenin.

“Whatd’youthinkofthis?”shesaid.

Sheopenedthedoorandswitchedonthelight.Amiraculouschangehadtakenplace:insteadofthegloomypaneling,thewallswerepaintedabright,cheerfulcream,andthereweresomewarmrugsonthefloor.

“I thought I could smellpaint!This is lovely,”he said. “Is thisherroomforgoodnow?”

“It waswrong for a little child as it was. Too dark. This is better,don’tyouthink?Whatelsedoyouthinkshemightneedinhere?”

“A little table and chair for when she’s older. Some nice pictures.Andabookshelf, ’causeIbetshe’sgoingtolikelookingatbooks.Shecanteachherdæmontoread.Andatoybox.Andarockinghorse.And—”

“Well, can you andMr. Taphouse get on andmake some of thosethings?”

“Yes!I’llstarttonight.He’sgotsomelovelyoak.”

“He’salreadygonehome.Tomorrow,perhaps.”

“Right.We’lldothat.Iknowexactlywhatsheneeds.”

“I’msureyoudo.”

“SisterBenedicta,”hesaidbeforesheswitchedthelightoff,“whyisMr.Taphousemakingshutters?”

“Security,”shesaid.“Goodnight,Malcolm.”

—

Hehad a lot to tellDr.Relf on Saturday. For awhile he thought he

wouldn’tbeabletogettoher,though,becausetheriverwassofullandfast-flowing that it was hard tomake it toDuke’s Cut, and then thecanalitselfwasbrimfulanddisturbedbytheburdenofwaterthathadflowedintoitfromtheheavyrainofthepastweeks.

HefoundDr.Relffillingsandbags.Severaljutebagslayonapileofsandinherlittlefrontgarden,andshewastryingunsuccessfullytofillthefirstone.

“If you hold it,” said Malcolm, “I’ll put the sand in. It’s almostimpossibleforonepersonontheirown.Isupposeifyoumadeaframetoholdit…”

“Notimeforthat,”saidDr.Relf.

“Hastherebeenafloodwarning?”

“A policeman came to the door last night. It seems they expect aflood soon. I just thought it would be sensible, so I got a builder todropoffsomesand.Butyou’reright, it’sverydifficult foronepairofhands.”

“Haveyoubeenfloodedbefore?”

“No,but Ihaven’t livedherevery long. I think thepreviousownerwas.”

“Theriver’sveryfull.”

“Areyousafe,inthatboatofyours?”

“Oh,yeah.Safer’nbeingonland.Ifyoufloatontopofthewater,itwon’tharmyou.”

“Isupposeso.Butdotakecare.”

“I always do. You ought to sew up the ends of these. You need asailmaker’sneedle.”

“I’llhavetomakedowithwhatI’vegot.There,that’sthelastone.”

It had begun to rain hard, so having stacked the sandbags neatlybesidethedoor,theyhurriedinside.Overtheusualmugsofchocolatl,Malcolm, who was well rehearsed now, told her of the latestdevelopments.

“Ididwonder,”hesaid,“whetheritmightbeagoodideatojointhisleagueso’sI’dhavemoretotellyouaboutit,but—”

“No,don’t,”shesaidatonce.“Remember,Ijustwanttoknowwhatyoufindoutinthenormalcourseofthings.Don’tgolookingspeciallyfor anything.And I think if you got involvedwith thesepeople, theywouldn’tletyouleave.JusttalktoEricfromtimetotime.ButI’vegotsomeinformationforyou,Malcolm.ThepersonbehindtheLeagueofSt.AlexanderisLyra’smother.”

“What?”

“That’sright.Themotherwhodidn’twanther.Mrs.Coulter, that’shername.”

“Maybe thatwaswhyMiss Carmichaelwas at the priory, to see ifthey were looking after Lyra properly so she could tell hermother….Blimey.”

“I wonder. It doesn’t sound as if Mrs. Coulter is very concernedaboutthechildonewayortheother.PerhapsMissCarmichaelwantedtogetholdofherforsomeotherreason.”

“SisterBenedictagotridofheranyway.”

“I’mgladtohearit.AnynewsoftheCCDmen?Haveyouseenthemaroundagain?”

“No, I en’t, and no one at the Trout has either, not since GeorgeBoatwrightgotaway.”

“Iwonderhowhe’sgettingon.”

“I ’specthe’swet,” saidMalcolm. “Ifhe’shiding in thewoods,he’sprobablywetthroughandfreezingcold.”

“Iexpectheis.Now,whataboutyourbooks,Malcolm?”

WhenMalcolm showedMr. Taphouse the new tool Mr. Croker hadgivenhim,andthey’dtrieditwiththehelpoftheanbaricdrill,theoldmanwas impressedenough to lethim filedown theheadsof severalscrewsforuseintheshuttershewasabouttoputup.

“Theywon’tgetinnow,Malcolm,”hesaid,asifhe’dthoughtoftheideahimself.

“Butwhoarethey?”saidMalcolm.

“Malefactors.”

“Whataremalefactors?”

“Evildoers.Don’ttheyteachyounothingatthatschool?”

“Nothinglikethat.Whatsortofevildoers?”

“Neveryoumind.Getonanddousanotherdozenscrews,willyou?”

MalcolmcountedthemoutandputthefirstoneinthevisewhileMr.Taphouseputa secondcoatofDanishoil on the finished shutters tokeepthemsafefromtheweather.

“Course, there’sothersortsofevildoers thanhumanones,” theoldmansaid.

“Isthere?”

“Oh,yes.There’sspiritualevilaswell.Takemore’nanoakshuttertokeepthatout.”

“Whatd’youmeanbyspiritualevil?Ghosts?”

“Ghostsaretheleastofit,boy.Night-ghasts,specters,apparitions—alltheycandoissaybooandfrightenyou.”

“Youeverseenaghost,Mr.Taphouse?”

“Yes. Three times. Once in the graveyard over at St. Peter’s inWolvercote.AnotherintheOldGaolintown.”

“Whatwereyouingaolfor?”

“Iwasn’t ingaol,youhalf-wit. Itwas theOldGaol,after theybuiltthenewone.Iwasworkingthereonewinter’sday,takingdownsomeoftheolddoorsandthatsotheycouldpaintitupniceandmakeitintooffices or whatever. There was this one room—big tall place, highceiling, only one window very high up, and that was all thick withcobwebs,andthisdismalgraylightcomingin.Ihadtotakedownthisbigplatform,oakbeams,heavystuff,Ididn’tknowwhatitwas.Hadasortof trapdoor inthemiddle.Well, Iwasdownonthe floor,settingupmysawhorse,andIheardthis tremendousbangfrombehindme,wheretheplatformwas.SoIjumpedandturnedround,anddamnmeif therewasn’taropehangingthroughthetrapdoorwithadeadmanontheendofit.Thatwastheexecutionchamber,see,andtheplatformwasthescaffold.”

“Whatdidyoudo?”

“IfelltomekneesandIprayedlikefury.WhenIopenedmeeyes,itwasgone.Norope,nodeadman,andthetrapdoorwasclosed.”

“Blimey!”

“Givemeaproperturn,itdid.”

“You never knelt down and prayed—you fainted clean away,” saidtheoldman’swoodpeckerdæmonfromtheworkbench.

“Well,youmayberight,”hesaid.

“Iremember,becauseIfelloffthesawhorse,”shesaid.

“Cor,”saidMalcolm,deeplyimpressed.Andthen,everpractical,hesaid,“Whatdidyoudowiththewood?”

“Iburneditall.Couldn’tuseit.Soakedinmisery,itwas.”

“Yeah,Ibet….Andwherewasthethirdghostyousaw?”

“Right inhere. In fact, now I thinkof it, itwas rightwhere you’restanding. It was the most horrible thing I ever saw. It wasindescribable.Howoldd’youthinkIam,eh?”

“Seventy?”saidMalcolm,whoknewwellthatMr.Taphousehadhad

hisseventy-fifthbirthdaythepreviousautumn.

“See, that’s what terror does to you. I’m thirty-nine, boy. I was ayoungmantill Isawthatapparitionright there,exactlywhereyou’restanding.Turnedmehairwhiteovernight.”

“Idon’tbelieveyou,”saidMalcolm,halfsure.

“Suityourself.Ishan’ttellyouanymore.Howyoudoingwiththemscrews?”

“Ithinkyou’rejustmakingitup.I’vedonefour.”

“Well,getonwith—”

But before he could finish, there came a furious knocking at thedoor,andadesperatefumblingwiththehandle.Malcolmwasalreadyprimed for fear and felt his skin prickle all over and a lurch in hisstomach.Heand theoldman lookedateachother,butbeforeeithercouldsayaword,SisterFenellacalled,“Mr.Taphouse!Comequickly!Pleasecomeandhelp!”

Without hurrying, Mr. Taphouse picked up a stout hammer andopenedthedoor.SisterFenellastumbledintotheworkshopandseizedhimbythearm.

“Comequickly!”shesaid,hervoicehighandquavering,every limbtrembling,herfacewhite.

She didn’t see Malcolm standing behind him, file in hand. Hefollowedthetwoofthemoutquietly.

“What’sthetrouble?”saidtheoldmanasshehurriedhimalongthepathtothepriorykitchen.

Malcolm’sfirstthoughtwasthatapipehadburst,butthatwouldn’taccountfortheoldnun’sterror.Thenhethoughttheremustbeafire,buttherewasnosmellofsmoke,noglareofflame.ShewasgabblingsomethingtoMr.Taphouse,buthecouldn’tmakeitouteither,becausehe said, “Slow down, Sister. Slow down. Take a breath and speakslowly.”

“Somemen—wearinguniforms—theycameinandtheywanttotakeLyraaway—”

Malcolm could hardly stifle a cry. They probably wouldn’t haveheardhimanyway,overthesoundoftheirfeetonthegravelpath,andSisterFenella’spanic,andMr.Taphouse’shearingwasn’tallthatgood

in the first place; but nothing was going to prevent Malcolm fromfollowing.Hewishedhe’dpickedupahammerliketheoldman.

“Theysaywhotheywere?”saidMr.Taphouse.

“No—or at least I didn’t understand—like soldiers, or police, orsomething—oh,dear—”

Theywere entering the kitchen as she said that. She clutched onehandtoherheartandfeltaroundwiththeother,andMalcolmdartedtobringherachair.Shesankontoit,herbreathingfastandshallow.Malcolm thought she might die, and he wanted to do somethingimmediatelytosaveherlife,buthedidn’tknowwhathecoulddo;andinanycasetherewasLyra….

SisterFenellagesturedshakilytowardsthecorridor.Shecouldn’tsayanything.

Mr.Taphousesetoff,slowandsteady,andhedidn’tseemtomindMalcolm coming too. In the corridor outside the room thatwasnowLyra’s,therewasagroupofnuns,allofwhomMalcolmknewwell,andtheywerecrowdingnervouslyaroundthedoor,whichwasclosed.

“What’sgoingon,SisterClara?”saidMr.Taphouse.

Sister Clara was plump and red-faced and sensible. She jumpedslightlyandturnedroundtowhisper,“Threemeninuniform—theysaythey’ve come to take the baby away. Sister Benedicta is talking tothem….”

Aman’svoicewasrumblingbehindthedoor.Mr.Taphousemovedtowardsit,andthenunsallshuffledoutofhisway.Malcolmwentwithhim.

Theoldcarpenterknockedfirmlythreetimes,andthenopenedthedoor. Malcolm heard a man’s voice saying, “But we have all theauthorityweneed—”

Mr.Taphousesaid,“SisterBenedicta,doyouneedmyhelp?”

“Whois—”themanbegan,butSisterBenedictaspokeoverhim.

“Thank you, Mr. Taphouse. Please stay outside, if you’d be goodenough.Butleavethedooropen,becausethesegentlemenareabouttogo.”

“I don’t think you quite understand the situation,” said anotherman’svoice,educatedandpleasant.

“Iunderstanditperfectly,”shesaid.“Youaregoingtogoaway,andIdon’texpectyoutocomeback.”

Malcolmmarveledattheclarityandcalminhervoice.

“Letme explain again,” said the secondman. “We have awarrantfromtheOfficeofChildProtection—”

“Oh,yes,thewarrant,”saidSisterBenedicta.“Letmeseeit.”

“Ihaveshownittoyoualready.”

“I want to see it again. You didn’t give me a chance to read itproperly.”

Therewasthesoundofapieceofpaperbeingunfolded,andthenafewseconds’silence.

“Whatisthisoffice,ofwhichIhaveneverheard?”shesaid.

“It’sunderthejurisdictionoftheConsistorialCourtofDiscipline,ofwhichIexpectyouhaveheard.”

AndthenMalcolm,peeringaroundtheedgeofthedoor,sawSisterBenedicta tear thesheetofpaper intoseveralpiecesand throw theminto the fire. One or two of the nuns gasped. The men watched,narrow-eyed.Theiruniformswereblack,andtwoofthemhadn’ttakentheir caps off, which Malcolm knew was bad manners, apart fromanythingelse.

ThenSisterBenedictapickedupLyrawiththeutmostcareandheldhertight.

“Didyouseriouslythinkforonemoment,”shesaid,soundingfiercenow,“thatIwouldletthislittlebaby,whohasbeengivenintoourcare,be takenawayby three strangerson the strengthof a singlepieceofpaper? Three men who practically forced their way into this holybuilding without any invitation? Who frightened the oldest and theleastwellofuswiththreatsandweapons—yes,weapons—wavingyourguns inher face?Whodoyouthinkyouare?Whatdoyouthinkthisplace is? The sisters have been giving care and hospitality here foreighthundredyears.Thinkwhat thatmeans.AmIgoing toabandonall our holy obligations because three bullies in uniform comeshoulderingtheirwayinandtrytofrightenus?Andforahelplessbabynotsixmonthsold?Nowgo.Getoutanddon’tcomeback.”

“Youhaven’theard—”

“Oh,now,goon—tellmeIhaven’theardthelastofit.Getout,youbully. Take your two thugs and go home. And you might think ofprayingtothegoodLordandaskingforforgiveness.”

All this time Malcolm had heard Lyra and her little dæmonchattering away in their pidgin English. Now, for some reason, theystopped, and a thin, uncertain sobbing began to come from herinstead.Holdingher tight, SisterBenedicta stood firmand faced themen,whohadno choice; they turned sullenly and came towards thedoor.Mr.Taphousesteppedbacktomakeroomforthem,andsodidMalcolmand thenuns, so that therewasalmostaguardofdishonorforthementowalkthrough.

Once they’d gone, all the nuns flooded into the baby’s room andsurrounded Sister Benedicta, uttering little words of sympathy andadmiration, stroking Lyra’s head. Her crying stopped, and Malcolmsaw her smile and laugh and preen herself, as if she had donesomethingsplendid.

Mr.Taphousetookhimbytheshoulderandpulledhimgentlyaway.As the two of themmade their way back to the workshop,Malcolmasked,“Weretheymalefactors?”

“Yes,theywere,”theoldmanreplied.“Timetoclearupnow.Leavethemscrewstillnexttime.”

Hewouldn’t say anymore, soMalcolmhelped sweep up and tidy,and fetched a bucket of water for the rags Mr. Taphouse had beenwipingtheDanishoilonwith,tostopthemspontaneouslycombusting.Thenhewenthome.

—

“Mum,what’stheOfficeofChildProtection?”

“Neverheardofit.Eatyoursupper.”

In between mouthfuls of sausage and mash, Malcolm told hismotherwhathadhappened.ShehadseenLyraherselfnow—hadevenheldher—andsosherealizedwhatitwouldhavemeantforthenunstobedeprivedofher.

“Wicked,”shesaid.“WhathappenedtoSisterFenella?”

“Shewasn’tinthekitchenwhenwewentbackthrough.Sheprobablywenttobed.Shewaswellscared.”

“Pooroldlady.I’lltakeherroundsomecordialtomorrow.”

“Sister Benedicta didn’t budge an inch. You should have seen themalefactorswhenshetoretheirwarrantup.”

“Whatd’youcall’em?”

“Malefactors.Mr.Taphousetoldmethatword.”

“Hmm”wasallshesaidtothat.

WhileMalcolmandhismother talked,Alicehadbeenwashing thedishes in her silent, sullen way, and she and Malcolm had beenpointedlyignoringeachother,asusual.ButjustthenMrs.Polsteadleftthekitchentofetchsomethingfromthecellar,andtoMalcolm’sgreatsurprise,Alice’sdæmongrowled.

Malcolmlookedup,astonished.Thedæmonwasintheformofabigrough-coatedmongrel,sittingbehindAlice’slegs.Thehaironhisneckwas bristling, and hewas looking up at Alice, whowiped a wet andsoapyhandonherdressbeforestrokinghisheadwithit.

Alicesaid,“IknowwhattheOfficeofChildProtectionis.”

Malcolmhadamouthfulof food,buthemanaged to say, “What isit?”

Herdæmonsaid,“Bastards,”andgrowledagain.

Hedidn’t knowhow to reply, and the dæmon saidnomore. ThenMalcolm’smothercameback,thedæmonlaydown,andMalcolmandAliceresumedtheirmutualsilence.

—

Thereweren’tmanycustomers in thatevening,so therewas little forMalcolmtodo.Hewent tohisroomandwrotea listof theprincipalriversofEnglandforgeographyhomeworkbeforedrawingthemonamap.Thereweremoreof them thanhe’d thought.He supposed thattheymustallbefull,liketheThames,ifithadbeenrainingeverywhereas ithadbeenhere in thesouth.And if theywere, then thesea itselfwould get fuller.Hewondered howLaBelle Sauvage would float atsea.CouldhepaddleacrosstoFrance?HeopenedhisatlastothepageshowingtheEnglishChannelandtriedtomeasureitwithhisdividersandtheminiaturescaleatthefootofthepage,butitwasalltoosmalltoreadproperly.

But no, it wasn’t too small. There was something in the way.

Something was flickering and swimming exactly on the spot he waslookingat,sothathecouldn’tseeitclearly,thougheverythingarounditseemedclear,at leastuntilhemovedhisgazeto lookatsomethingelseandtheflickerythingmovedtoo.Itwasalwaysintheway,andhecouldseenothingbehindit.

He brushed the page, but therewas nothing there.He rubbed hiseyes, but it still didn’t go away. In fact, it was even more curiousbecausehecouldstillseeitwhenhiseyeswereclosed.

And itwas very slowly getting bigger. Itwasn’t a spot anymore. Itwas a line: a curved line, like a loosely scribbled letterC, and itwassparkling and flickering in a zigzagpatternof blacks andwhites andsilvers.

Astasaid,“Whatisit?”

“Canyouseeit?”

“Icanfeelsomething.Whatcanyousee?”

He described it as well as he could. “And what can you feel?” headded.

“Something strange, likea sortof far-off feeling…as ifwe’rea longway apart and I can see for miles and everything’s very clear andcalm….I’mnotafraidofanything,justcalm….What’sitdoingnow?”

“Justgettingbigger. Icanseepast itnow. It’sgettingcloser,andIcanseethewordsonthepageandeverythingthroughthemiddleofit.It’smakingmefeeldizzy,abit.IfItryandlookatitdirectly,itslidesaway.It’saboutthisbignow.”

He held out his left hand with the thumb and forefinger curvedround, indicating the gap between them to be about as long as thethumbitself.

“Arewegoingblind?”saidAsta.

“Idon’t thinkso, ’causeIcanseeperfectlywell through it. It’s justgetting closer and bigger, but sort of sliding out of the way too, outtowards the edge…as if it’s just going to float past and behind myhead.”

Theysatinthequietlittleroom,inthewarmlamplight,andwaiteduntilthesparklinglinehaddriftedcloserandclosertotheedgeofhisvision, and eventually just beyond it, and thenwas gone.Altogether,

frombeginningtoend,theexperiencelastedabouttwentyminutes.

“Thatwasvery strange,”he said. “Like spangled.Like thathymn—you remember:And the Hornèd moon at night, ’Mid her spangledsistersbright.Itwasspangled.”

“Wasitreal?”

“Ofcourseitwasreal.Isawit.”

“ButIcouldn’tseeit.Itwasn’toutside.Itwasinyou.”

“Yeah…but itwas real. And youwere feeling something. Thatwasrealtoo.Soitmustbepartofit.”

“Yeah…Iwonderwhatitmeans.”

“Maybe…Idon’tknow.Maybenothing.”

“No,itmustbesomething,”shesaidfirmly.

But if it did mean something, they couldn’t imagine what. Andbefore they could think about it anymore, there was a knock on hisdoor,andthehandleturned.

Itwashisfather.

“Malcolm,youen’tinbedyet—good.Comedownstairsforaminute.There’sagentlemanwantsawordwithyou.”

“Is it the lord chancellor?” saidMalcolm eagerly, jumping up andfollowinghisfatherout.

“Keepyourvoicedown.Iten’tthelordchancellor,no.He’lltellyouwhoheisifhewantsto.”

“Whereishe?”

“IntheTerraceRoom.TakehimaglassofTokay.”

“What’sthat?”

“Hungarianwine.Comeon,hurryup.”

“Hasitsuddenlygotbusyorsomething?”

“No.Gentlemanwantstoseeyou,that’sall.Mindyourmannersandtellthetruth.”

“Ialwaysdo,”saidMalcolmautomatically.

“Newstome,”saidhis father.ButheruffledMalcolm’shairbefore

theyenteredthebar.

TheTokaywasarichgoldcolorandsmelledsweetandcomplicated.Malcolm was seldom tempted by the drinks they sold in the Trout:beer was bitter, and wine was usually sour, and whisky wasabominable.Butifhecouldfindthebottlelater,he’dtakeasipofthis,allright,oncehisfather’sbackwasturned.

MalcolmhadtostandinthecorridoroutsidetheTerraceRoomforamomenttoregainhissenseofreality.Hismindwasstillabsorbedbythespangledring.Hetookadeepbreathandwentin.

Thegentlemanwaitinggavehimastart,thoughallhewasdoingwassitting by the cold fireplace. Perhaps it was his dæmon, a beautifulsilvery spotted leopard, or perhaps it was his dark, saturnineexpression; in any event,Malcolm felt daunted, and very young andsmall.Astabecameamoth.

“Goodevening,sir,”hesaid.“YourTokaywhatyouordered.Wouldyoulikemetomakeupthefire?It’seversocoldinhere.”

“IsyournameMalcolm?”Theman’svoicewasharshanddeep.

“Yes,sir.MalcolmPolstead.”

“I’mafriendofDr.Relf,”saidtheman.“MynameisAsriel.”

“Oh.Er—shehasn’ttoldmeaboutyou,”Malcolmsaid.

“Whydidyousaythat?”

“Becauseifshehad,I’dknowitwastrue.”

Theleopardgrowled,andMalcolmtookastepbackwards.Butthenhe remembered how Sister Benedicta had faced down the men andsteppedforwardagain.

Asrielgaveashortlaugh.

“Iunderstand,”hesaid.“Youwantanotherreference?I’mthefatherofthatbabyinthepriory.”

“Oh!You’reLordAsriel!”

“That’sright.Buthowareyougoingtotestthetruthofthatclaim?”

“What’sthebaby’sname?”

“Lyra.”

“Andwhat’sherdæmoncalled?”

“Pantalaimon.”

“Allright,”saidMalcolm.

“Allrightnow?Yousure?”

“No,Ien’tsure.ButI’mmoresurethanIwas.”

“Good.Canyoutellmewhathappenedearlierthisevening?”

Malcolmwentthroughitasfullyashecouldremember.

“TheOfficeofChildProtection?”

“That’swhattheycalledthemselves,sir.”

“Whatdidtheylooklike?”

Malcolmdescribedtheiruniforms.“Theonewhotookhiscapoff,heseemed like he was in charge. He was more polite than the others,more sort of smooth and smiling.But itwas a real smile, not a fakeone.IthinkI’deven’velikedhimifhe’dcomeinhereasacustomer—thatsortofthing.Theothertwowerejustdullandthreatening.Mostpeople would’ve been dead scared, but Sister Benedicta wasn’t. Shefaced’emoffallbyherself.”

ThemansippedhisTokay.Hisdæmonlaywithherheadupandherfrontpawsstretchedoutaheadofher,likethepictureoftheSphinxinMalcolm’s encyclopedia. The black-and-silver patterns on her backseemed to flickerand shimmer foramoment, andMalcolm felt as ifthespangledringhadchangeditsformandbecomeadæmon,butthenLordAsrielspokesuddenly.

“DoyouknowwhyIhaven’tbeentoseemydaughter?”

“Ithoughtyouwerebusy.Youprobablyhadimportantthingstodo.”

“Ihaven’tbeentoseeherbecauseifIdo,she’llbetakenawayfromthere and put in a much less congenial place. There’ll be no SisterBenedictatostandupforherthere.Butnowthey’retryingtotakeheranyway….AndwhatwasthatotherthingI’veheardabout?TheLeagueofSt.Alexander?”

Malcolmtoldhimaboutthat.

“Disgusting,”saidAsriel.

“There’splentyofkidsatmyschool joined.They likebeingable to

wearabadgeandtelltheteacherswhattodo.Excuseme,sir,butItoldDr.Relfaboutallthis.Didn’tshetellyou?”

“Stillnotquitesureaboutme?”

“Well…no,”saidMalcolm.

“Don’tblameyou.YougoingtogoonvisitingDr.Relf?”

“Yes. Because she lends me books as well as listening to what’shappened.”

“Does she? Good for her. But tellme, the baby—is she being welllookedafter?”

“Oh,yes.SisterFenella,shelovesherlike—”HewasgoingtosaylikeIdo, but thoughtbetter of it. “She lovesher a lot.They all do. She’svery happy—Lyra, Imean. She talks to her dæmon all the time, justjabber jabber jabber, andhe jabbersback.SisterFenella says they’reteachingeachothertotalk.”

“Doessheeatproperly?Doesshelaugh?Issheactiveandcurious?”

“Oh,yeah.Thenunsarereallygoodtoher.”

“Butnowthey’rebeingthreatened….”

Asrielgotupandwenttothewindowtolookatthefewlightsfromtheprioryacrosstheriver.

“Seemslikeit,sir.Imean,YourLordship.”

“Sirwilldo.D’youthinkthey’dletmeseeher?”

“Thenuns?Notifthelordchancellorhadtoldthemnotto.”

“Andhehas,eh?”

“Icouldn’tsay,sir.WhatIthinkisthey’ddoanythingtoprotecther.Specially Sister Benedicta. If they thought anyone or anythingwas adangertoher,they’d…Isupposethey’ddoanything,likeIsaid.”

“Soyouknowthemwell,thesenuns.”

“I’veknown’emallmylife,sir.”

“Andthey’dlistentoyou?”

“Isupposetheywould,yes.”

“CouldyoutellthemI’mhereandI’dliketoseemydaughter?”

“When?”

“Rightnow.I’mbeingpursued.TheHighCourthasorderedmenottogowithin fiftymilesofher, and if I’m foundhere, they’ll takeherawayandputhersomewhereelsewheretheyaren’tsocareful.”

Malcolmwas torn between saying, “Well, you ought not to risk it,then” and simple admiration and understanding: of course themanwouldwant to see his daughter, and it waswicked to try to preventhim.

“Well…”Malcolmthought,thensaid,“Idon’tthinkyoucouldseeherrightnow,sir.Theygotobedeversoearly.Iwouldn’tbesurprisediftheywereallfastasleep.Inthemorningtheygetupeversoearlytoo.Maybe—”

“I haven’t got that long. Which room have they made into anursery?”

“Roundtheotherside,sir,facingtheorchard.”

“Whichfloor?”

“Alltheirbedroomsareonthegroundfloor,andhersistoo.”

“Andyouknowwhichone?”

“Yes,Ido,but—”

“Youcouldshowme,then.Comeon.”

Therewasnorefusingthisman.MalcolmledhimoutoftheTerraceRoomandalongthecorridorandoutontotheterracebeforehisfathercould see them. He closed the door very carefully behind them andfound thegardenbrilliantly litby theclearest fullmoon there’dbeenformonths.Itfeltasiftheywerebeinglitbyafloodlight.

“Did you say there was someone pursuing you?” said Malcolmquietly.

“Yes.There’s someonewatching thebridge. Is thereanyotherwayacrosstheriver?”

“There’smy canoe. It’s down thisway, sir. Let’s get off the terracebeforeanyoneseesus.”

Lord Asriel went beside him across the grass and into the lean-towherethecanoewaskept.

“Ah,it’sapropercanoe,”saidLordAsriel,asifhe’dbeenexpectingatoy.Malcolmfelta littleaffrontedonbehalfofLaBelleSauvage andsaidnothingashe turnedherover and lether slip silentlydown thegrassandontothewater.

“First thing,”he said, “iswe’ll godownstreama shortway, so’snoonecanseeusfromthebridge.There’sawayintothepriorygardenonthatside.Yougetinfirst,sir.”

Asrieldidso,muchmorecapablythanMalcolmhadanticipated,andhisleoparddæmonfollowed,withnomoreweightthanashadow.Thecanoehardlymovedatall,andAsrielsatdownlightlyandkeptstillasMalcolmgotinafterhim.

“Youbeeninacanoebefore,”Malcolmwhispered.

“Yes.Thisisagoodone.”

“Quietnow…”

Malcolmpushedoffandbegantopaddle,stayingclosetothebankunder the trees and making no noise whatsoever. If there was onethinghewas good at, thiswas it.Once theywere out of sight of thebridge,heturnedtheboattostarboardandmadefortheothershore.

“I’m going to come up alongside a willow stump,” he said veryquietly. “The grass is thick there.We’ll tie her up and go across thefield,behindthehedge.”

LordAsrielwasjustasgoodatgettingoutashe’dbeenatgettingin.Malcolm couldn’t imagine a better passenger. He tied the boat to astoutwillowbranchgrowingfromthestump,andafewsecondslatertheyweremovingalong theedgeof themeadow,under the shadeofthehedge.

Malcolmfound thegapheknewaboutand forcedhisway throughthebrambles.Itmusthavebeenharderfortheman,beingbigger,buthedidn’tsayaword.Theywereintheprioryorchard;thelinesofplumtreesandappletrees,ofpeartreesanddamsontrees,stoodbareandneatandfastasleepunderthemoon.

Malcolmledthewayaroundthebackoftheprioryandcametothesidewhere thewindow of Lyra’s nurserywould be, if it hadn’t beenhiddenbythenewshutters.Theydidlookremarkablysolid.

Hecountedoncemoretomakesure itwastherightone,andthen

tappedquietlyontheshutterwithastone.

LordAsrielwasstandingcloseby.Themoonwasshiningfullonthissideof thebuilding, so theywouldbothbe clearly visible fromsomewayoff.

Malcolmwhispered,“Idon’twanttowakeanyoftheothernuns,andIdon’twanttostartleSisterFenellabecauseofherheart.Wegottobecareful.”

“I’minyourhands,”saidLordAsriel.

Malcolmtappedagainalittleharder.

“SisterFenella,”hesaidquietly.

Noresponse.Hetappedathirdtime.

“SisterFenella,it’sme,Malcolm!”

What hewas reallyworried aboutwas Sister Benedicta, of course.Hedreadedtothinkwhatwouldhappenifhewokeher,sohekeptasquiet ashe couldwhile still trying towakeSisterFenella,whichwasnoteasy.

Asrielstoodstill,watchingandsayingnothing.

FinallyMalcolmheardastirring insidetheroom.Lyragavea littlemew,andthenitsoundedasifSisterFenellamovedachairorasmalltable.Her softoldvoicemurmured something, likeawordor twoofcomforttothebaby.

Hetriedagain,justalittlelouder.“SisterFenella…”

Alittleexclamationofshock.

“It’sme,Malcolm,”herepeated.

Asoftnoise, like themovementofbare feeton the floor,and thentheclickofthewindowcatch.

“SisterFenella—”

“Malcolm?Whatareyoudoing?”

Like him, shewaswhispering.Her voicewas frightened and thickwithsleep.Shehadn’topenedtheshutter.

“Sister, I’msorry, I reallyam,”hesaidquickly. “ButLyra’s father’shere,andhe’sbeingpursuedby—byhisenemies,andhereallyneeds

to see Lyra before—before he goes on somewhere else. To—to saygood-bye,”headded.

“Oh,that’snonsense,Malcolm!Youknowwecan’tlethim—”

“Sister, please! He’s really in earnest,” Malcolm said, finding thatphrasefromsomewhere.

“It’s impossible. You must go away now, Malcolm. This is a badthingtoask.Goawaybeforeshewakesup.Idaren’tthinkwhatSisterBenedicta—”

Malcolm didn’t dare think it either. But then he felt Lord Asriel’shand on his shoulder, and the man said, “Let me speak to SisterFenella.Yougoandkeepwatch,Malcolm.”

Malcolmmovedaway to the cornerof thebuilding.From therehecouldseethebridgeandmostofthegarden,andhewatchedasLordAsrielleanedtowardstheshutterandspokequietly.Itwasawhisper;Malcolmcouldhearnothingatall.HowlongAsrielandSisterFenellaspoke he couldn’t have guessed, but it was a long time, and he wasshiveringhardwhenhesaw,tohisamazement,theheavyshuttermoveslowly.LordAsrielstoodbacktoletitopen,andthensteppedinagain,showinghisopen,weaponlesshands,turninghisheadalittletoletthemoonlightfallclearlyonhisface.

He whispered again. Then there was a minute—two minutes,perhaps—in which nothing happened; and then Sister Fenella’s thinarmsheldoutthelittlebundle,andAsrieltookitwithinfinitedelicacy.His leopard dæmon stood up to put her forepaws on his waist, andAsrielheldthebabydownsoshecouldwhispertoLyra’sdæmon.

HowhadhepersuadedSisterFenella?Malcolmcouldonlywonder.He watched the man lift the baby again and walk along the grassbetweenonebareflowerbedandthenext,holdingthebundlehighsohe couldwhisper toher, rockingher gently, strolling along slowly inthe brilliant moonlight. At one point he seemed to be showing themoon toLyra,pointingupat it andholdingher so she could see, orperhapshewasshowingLyratothemoon;atanyratehelookedlikealordinhisowndomain,withnothingtofearandallthesilverynighttoenjoy.

Upanddownhe strolledwithhis child.Malcolm thoughtofSisterFenellawaiting in fear—in case LordAsriel didn’t bring her back, incase his enemies attacked, in case Sister Benedicta suspected

somethingwasup.Buttherewasnosoundfromthepriory,nosoundfrom the road,no sound from themanandhisbabydaughter in themoonlight.

Atonepointtheleoparddæmonseemedtohearsomething.Hertaillashed once, her ears pricked, her head turned to face the bridge.Malcolm andAsta turned immediately, ears and eyes tightly focusedon the bridge, every separate stone of which was clearly outlined inblackandsilver;butnothingmoved,andtherewasnosoundbutthecallofahuntingowlhalfamileaway.

Presently the leopard dæmon’s statuelike stillnessmelted, and shemoved away oncemore, lithe and silent.Malcolm realized that thatwas trueof themanaswell—during their journeyover the river andthroughthemeadow,intotheorchardanduptothepriorywall,hehadnot heard the slightest sound of footsteps. Asrielmight aswell havebeenaghost,forallthesoundhemade.

Hewas turning now at the end of thewalk andmaking for SisterFenella’swindowagain.Malcolmwatchedthebridge,thegarden,whathecouldseeoftheroad,andsawnothingwrong;andwhenheturned,Asriel was handing the little bundle up through the window,whisperingawordortwo,andsilentlyswingingtheshutterclosed.

Thenhebeckoned,andMalcolmjoinedhim.Itwasverydifficulttomakenonoiseatall,evenongrass,andMalcolmwatchedtoseehowthemansethisfeetdown:therewassomethingleopardlikeaboutit—somethingtopracticehimselfanyway.

Backthroughtheorchard,tothehedge,throughthebrambles,intothemeadow,acrosstothewillowstump—

Then a stronger, yellower light than the moon stabbed the sky.Someone on the bridge had a searchlight, and Malcolm heard thesoundofagasengine.

“Theretheyare,”saidAsrielquietly.“Leavemehere,Malcolm.”

“No!Igotabetteridea.Takemycanoeandgodowntheriver.Justgetmebackacrosstotheothersidefirst.”

TheideaoccurredtoMalcolminthesamemomenthesaidit.

“Yousure?”

“You can go downstream a long way. They’ll never think of that.

Comeon!”

Hestepped inanduntied thepainter,holding theboat tight to thebank while Asriel got in too; then Malcolm paddled swiftly and assilently as he could across to the inn garden, though the currentwanted towhirlhimout into theopenwater,where they’dbevisiblefromthebridge.

AsrielcaughtholdofthefixedlineonthelittlejettyasMalcolmgotout; and thenMalcolmheld theboatwhile theman sat in the stern,tookthepaddle,andheldouthishandtoshake.

“I’ll getherback to you,”he said, and thenhewasgone, speedingwithlong,powerfulstrokesdowntheriverontheswollencurrent,theleoparddæmonlikeagreatfigureheadattheprow.LaBelleSauvagehadnevergonesofast,Malcolmthought.

Inthedaysthatfollowed,MalcolmthoughtalotaboutthestrangehalfhourorsowithLordAsrielinthemoonlitpriorygarden.HeandAstadiscussed it endlessly. It wasn’t something he could talk about toanyonebuthisdæmon;he certainly couldn’tmention it tohis fatherandmother.Theywere always toobusywith the inn tonoticemuchabout him, except whether he needed a wash or wasn’t doing hishomework;heknewtheywouldn’trealizethathiscanoewasgone,forexample.HetoldnooneaboutitexceptDr.Relf.GettingtoherhouseinJerichowouldbea land-basedbusinessuntilLordAsrielmanagedto sendLaBelle Sauvage back to him, andwhen he knocked at thefamiliardooronSaturday,hewaslaterthanheusuallywas.

“You lenthimyourboat?Thatwasgenerous,” shesaidwhenshe’dheardthestory.

“Well,Itrustedhim. ’CausehewasgoodwithLyra.Heshowedherthemoonandkeptherwarmanddidn’tmakehercry,andobviouslySister Fenellamust have trusted him to let him hold her. I couldn’tbelieveitatfirst.”

“He’shardtosaynoto.I’msureyoudidtherightthing.”

“Heknowshowtopaddleacanoe,allright.”

“D’youthinktheseenemiesofhiswerethesamepeoplewhotriedtotakeLyraawayfromthepriory?TheCourtofProtection,orwhateveritwas?”

“TheOffice of Child Protection. I don’t think so. I thought hewasgoing to take Lyra away himself to keep her safe from them, but hemusthavethoughtshewassaferwhereshewasthanwithhim.Sohemustbeinalotofdanger.IhopeLaBelleSauvagedoesn’tgetbullet

holesinher.”

“I’msurehe’lllookafterher.Now,whataboutsomenewbooks?”

Malcolmwenthomewith a book about symbolic pictures, becausewhatDr.Relfhadtoldhimaboutthealethiometerhadintriguedhimgreatly,andabookcalledTheSilkRoad.Forsomereasonhethoughtit was going to be a murder story, but it turned out to be a truedescription, by amodern traveler, of the trade routes across CentralAsiafromTartarytotheLevant.Hehadtolookthoseplacesupinhisatlas when he got home, and soon realized that he needed a betteratlas.

“Mum,formybirthday,canIhaveabigatlas?”

“Whatd’youwantthatfor?”

Shewasfryingsomepotatoes,andhewaseatingricepudding.Itwasabusynight,andhe’dbeneededinthebarbeforelong.

“Well,tolookthingsup,”hesaid.

“Iexpect so,” shesaid. “I’ll talk toDadabout it.Comeon,get thatfinished.”

The steamy, noisy kitchen was the safest place in the world, itseemedtohim.Safetyhadneverbeenanythingtothinkaboutbefore;it was something you took for granted, like his mother’s endless,effortless,generous food,andthe fact that therewouldalwaysbehotplatesreadytoserveiton.

Soheknew thathewas safe, and thatLyrawas safe in thepriory,and thatLordAsrielwassafebecausehe’descapedhispursuers;buttherewasdangerallaround,justthesame.

—

ThenextdaywasSunday,andtherainwascomingdownharderthanever.HannahRelfmadeaninspectionofthesandbagsprotectingherfrontdoorandwentalongtotheendofthestreettoseehowmuchthelevelofthecanalhadrisen.Shewasalarmedtosee,beyondthecanal,the entire stretchof land calledPortMeadow, acres of open ground,invisible under a gray and rain-sweptwilderness ofwater. Thewindgaveittheappearanceofflowing,althoughsheknewitcouldn’tbe:agreat mass of water flowing inexorably towards the houses andbusinessesofJerichobehindher.

Itwas toobleakanddepressing to standand lookat for long, andbesides, the rain was coming down harder than ever, so she turnedback,intendingtoshutherdoorandputanotherlogonthefireandsitwithherstudiesandacupofcoffee.

But there was a van outside her house, an unmarked vehicle thatneverthelesssaid“official”ineverylineofthegrayunwindowedmetalofthebodywork.

“Crossover,”saidherdæmon.“Justwalknaturallyandgoonpast.”

“Whataretheydoing?”shewhispered.

“Knocking.Don’tlook.”

She tried to keep a steady pace. She had nothing to fear from thepolice, or from any other agency, except that like every other citizenshehadeverythingtofear.Theycouldlockherupwithnowarrantandkeephertherewithnocharge;theoldactofhabeascorpushadbeenset aside, with little protest from those in Parliament who weresupposed to look after English liberty, and now one heard tales ofsecretarrestsandimprisonmentwithouttrial,andtherewasnowayoffindingoutwhethertherumorsweretrue.HerassociationwithOakleyStreetwouldbenohelp;infact,ifanyonefoundoutaboutit,itmightevenmakethingsworse.Theseagenciesandhalf-hiddenpowerswerefiercelyrivalrous.

But she couldn’t walk in the rain all afternoon. It was absurd.Besides, she had friends. She was a highly respectablemember of agreatOxfordcollege.Shewouldbemissed;questionswouldbeasked;sheknewlawyerswhocouldgetheroutofanycellinamatterofhours.

Sheturnedbackandmadestraightforherhouse.Splashingthroughthewater that already layan inchor twodeepon thepavement, shecalled out when she was close enough: “Can I help? What do youwant?”

Themanknockingturnedandlooked.Shestoodatthegate,tryingtoseemasifshewasn’tafraid.

“Thisyourhouse,ma’am?”

“Yes.Whatisityouwant?”

“We’re from Environmental Protection, ma’am. Just calling on allthehousesinthisstreetandtheotherstoseeifyou’reallrightincase

wegetanyflooding.”

The speaker was a man in his forties, whose dæmon was abedraggled-looking robin. The other man was younger. His dæmonwas an otter, and she had been standing on the sandbags outsideHannah’s door.WhenHannah spoke, the dæmon flowedover to theyoungman,whopickedherup.

“I—”Hannahbegan.

“Thesesandbagsare leaking,ma’am,” theyoungmansaid.“They’llletwaterindowninthatcorner.”

“Oh.Well,thankyouforlettingmeknow.”

“Allrightroundtheback?”theothermansaid.

“Yes,that’ssandbaggedaswell.”

“Mindifwehavealook?”

“No,Isupposenot….Roundthisway.”

She led them along the narrow space betweenher house andnextdoor’sfence,andstoodbackwhiletheylookedatthesandbagsatthefoot of the back door. While the younger man examined the gapbetween the door and the frame, the older man said, pointing nextdoor:“Anyideawholivesthere,miss?”

Miss,now,shethought.

“It’samancalledMr.Hopkins,” she said. “He’s ratherold. I thinkhe’sgonetostaywithhisdaughter.”

Hepeeredoverthefence.Thehousewasdarkandquiet.

“Nosandbagsthere,”hesaid.“Charlie,webetterputafewbagshere,frontandback.”

“Righto,”saidCharlie.

“Isitgoingtoflood,then?”Hannahasked.

“No way of telling, really. The weather forecast…” He shrugged.“Besttobeready,Ialwaysthink.”

“Quitetrue,”shesaid.“Thankyouforchecking.”

“ ’Sallright,miss.Ta-ta.”

They splashed away to their van. Hannah pulled and pushed and

kickedat thecorner they’dsaidwas leaking, toredistribute thesand,andthenwentinsideandlockedthedoor.

—

Malcolmwas keen to speak to Sister Fenella and ask herwhat LordAsrielhadsaidtoherinthenight,butshesimplyrefusedtotalkaboutit.

“Ifyouwanttohelp,peelthoseapples”wasallshesaid.

He had never known her to be so stubborn. She didn’t evenacknowledgehisquestions.Finallyhefelthewasbeingrude,andalsofelt thathe shouldhave realized that from the first, sohe kept quietand peeled and cored the Bramley apples, allmisshapen and full ofbrown spots. The nuns sold their best specimens and kept the lessperfect ones to eat themselves, though Malcolm thought SisterFenella’spiestastedprettygood,whatevertheappleslookedlike.Shegenerallykeptbackasmallsliceforhim.

When enoughminutes had gone by, he said, “I wonder whatMr.Boatwright’sdoing.”

“Iftheyhaven’tcaughthim,Iexpecthe’sstillhidinginthewoods,”saidSisterFenella.

“Hemightbeindisguise.”

“Whatd’youthinkhe’ddisguisehimselfas?”

“Asa…Idon’tknow.Hisdæmonwouldhavetobedisguisedaswell.”

“Mucheasierforchildren,”saidhersquirreldæmon.

“When you were little, what sort of games did you play?” saidMalcolm.

“Our favorite game was King Arthur,” said the old lady, puttingdownherrollingpin.

“Howdidyouplaythat?”

“Pulling the sword out of the stone. You remember, no one elsecouldpullitout,andhedidn’tknowitwasimpossibleandhejustputhishandonthehilt,andoutitcame….”

She took a clean knife from the drawer and thrust it into the biglumpofpastryshehadn’tyetrolled.

“There, now you pretend you can’t pull it out,” she said, andMalcolmwentintoapantomimeofvasteffort,strainingandgruntingandgrittinghisteethandhaulingattheknifewithoutmovingitatall.Astajoinedin,heavingathiswristasamonkey.

“And then theboyArthurgoes to fetchhisbrother’s sword—”saidSisterFenella’sdæmon.

“—andheseestheswordstuckinthestoneandthinks,Oh,I’lltakethatone,”saidSisterFenella,andherdæmonfinished,“Andhesethishandonthehilt,anditcameout—justlikethat!”

SisterFenellapulledouttheknifeandwaveditintheair.

“AndsoArthurbecametheking,”shesaid.

Malcolm laughed. She was contracting her features in what shethoughtwasamajesticfrown,andthesquirreldæmonranupherarmandstoodonhershoulderintriumph.

“WereyoualwaysKingArthur?”saidMalcolm.

“No. I always wanted to be. Usually I was a squire or someonelowly.”

“Weplayedonour own, though, too,” saidherdæmon. “YouwerealwaysKingArthurthen.”

“Yes,always,”shesaid,andwipedtheknifecleanandputitbackinthedrawer.“Whatgamesdoyouplay,Malcolm?”

“Oh, I suppose exploring games. Discovering lost civilizations andstufflikethat.”

“GoinguptheAmazoninyourcanoe?”

“Er—yeah.Thatsortofthing.”

“Howisyourboatthesedays?Isshesurvivingthewinter?”

“Well…IlenthertoLordAsriel.WhenhecameandsawLyra.”

Shesaidnothingandwentbacktorollingthepastry.Thenshesaid,“I’msurehewasverygrateful.”

Buthertonewasascloseassheevergottobeingsevere.

—

After they left thekitchen,Astasaid, “Shewasembarrassed.Shewas

ashamedbecausesheknewshe’ddonesomethingwrong.”

“IwonderifSisterBenedictafoundout.”

“ShemightstopSisterFenellafromlookingafterLyraaltogether.”

“Maybe.Butmaybeshehasn’tfoundout.”

“SisterFenellawouldconfess.”

“Yes,”Malcolmagreed.“Sheprobablywould.”

Theydidn’t look inonMr.Taphousebecause therewasno light inhisworkshop.He’dprobablygonehomeearly.

“No—wait,”saidAstasuddenly.“There’ssomeonethere.”

Itwasduskalready;thegrayrain-soddenskywasusheringdarknessinthebetterpartofanhourbeforeitwasreallydue.Malcolmstoppedonthepathtothebridgeandpeeredbacktowardsthedarkworkshop.

“Where?”hewhispered.

“Roundtheback.Isawashadow….”

“It’sallshadows.”

“No,likeaman—”

They were about a hundred yards from the workshop. The gravelpathlayopenandclearinthegraytwilightandthelittleglowofyellowfromthepriorywindows.Nothingmoved.Andthen frombehindtheworkshopcame, inasortof lurchinglimp,ashapethesizeofa largedog,buthunchedandheavyintheshoulders,whichstoodandstaredatthemdirectly.

“It’sadæmon,”Astabreathed.

“Adog?Andwhat’s—”

“Notadog.That’sahyena.”

“Andit’sgot…It’sonlygotthreelegs.”

Thehyenadidn’tmove,butbehind it theshapeofamandetacheditselffromthedarknessofthebuilding.HelookeddirectlyatMalcolm,thoughMalcolmcouldn’tseehisfaceatall,andthenmergedbackintotheshadow.

Buthisdæmonstayedwhereshewas,andthenspreadhertwobacklegsandpissedright inthemiddleof thepath.Herheavy-jawedface

nevermovedassheglaredatMalcolm;allhecouldseeofitweretwoglints where her eyes caught the light. She took a lurching stepforward, propping her weight on her one front leg, and looked atMalcolmforamomentmorebeforeturningandlopingclumsilybackintotheshadow.

The little episode shookMalcolm considerably. He’d never seen amaimeddæmonbefore,orahyena,orfeltsuchawaveofmalevolence.Nevertheless…

“We’vegotto,”saidAsta.

“Iknow.Beanowl.”

Shechangedatonce,andsatonhisshoulder,staringintentlyatthedarkshapeoftheworkshop.

“Can’tseethem,”shewhispered.

“Don’ttakeyoureyesoffthatshadow….”

Hemovedbackalongthepath,orratheralongthegrassbesidethegravel,andcametothekitchendooragain,fumblingatthehandleandalmostfallinginside.

“Malcolm,”saidSisterFenella.“Haveyouforgottensomething?”

“JustsomethingIneedtotellSisterBenedicta.Issheinheroffice?”

“Iexpectso,dear.Iseverythingallright?”

“Yes,yes,”saidMalcolm,hurryingtothecorridor.Thesmellofpaintwas still faintly apparent near Lyra’s nursery. He knocked on SisterBenedicta’sdoor.

“Come in,” she said, and blinked in surprise when she saw him.“Whatisit,Malcolm?”

“Isaw—Ijust—WeweregoinghomepastMr.Taphouse’sworkshopandwesawaman—andhisdæmonwasahyenawiththreelegs—andthey—”

“Slowdown,”shesaid.“Didyouseethemclearly?”

“Only thedæmon.She—shehad three legs,andshe…Ididn’t thinktheyought tobe there,so—Imean,I thoughtyouought toknow,soyoucouldmakeextrasuretheshutterswerelocked.”

Hecouldn’ttellherwhatthehyenahaddone.Evenifhe’dfoundthe

rightwords,hewouldn’thavebeenable toexpress thecontemptandhatredintheaction.Hefeltsoiledandbelittledbyit.

Shemust have seen something of that in his face because she putdownherpenandstooduptoputahandonhisshoulder.Hecouldn’trememberherevertouchinghimbefore.

“Andyetyoucamebacktowarnus.Well,Malcolm,thatwasagooddeed.Nowlet’sgoandmakesureyougethomesafely.”

“You’renotgoingtocomewithme!”

“Youwouldn’tlikemetodothat?Verywell,I’llwatchyoufromthedoor.Howwouldthatbe?”

“Becareful,Sister!He—Idon’tknowhowtosayit—Haveyoueverheardofamanwithadæmonlikethat?”

“Onehearsallsortsofthings.Thequestioniswhethertheymatter.Comealong.”

“Ididn’twanttofrightenSisterFenella.”

“Thatwasgoodofyou.”

“IsLyra—”

“She’s asleep. You can see her tomorrow. And she’s perfectly safebehindMr.Taphouse’sshutters.”

Theywentthroughthekitchen,whereSisterFenellawatchedthem,puzzled,andSisterBenedictastoodatthedoor.

“Wouldyoulikealantern,Malcolm?”

“Oh, no, thanks, really. There’s enough light…and Asta can be anowl.”

“I’llwaittillyou’reonthebridge.”

“Thankyou,Sister.Goodnight.Youbetterlockallthedoors.”

“Iwill.Goodnight,Malcolm.”

Whatshecouldactuallydo, if themanleaptoutandattackedhim,Malcolmdidn’tknow,buthefeltprotectedbythenun’sattention,andheknewshewouldn’ttakehereyesoffhimtillhewasonthebridge.

When he was, he turned and waved. Sister Benedicta waved backandwentinsideandclosedthedoor.

Malcolm ran home, with Asta flying ahead of him. They tumbledintothekitchentogether.

“Abouttime,”saidhismother.

“Where’sDad?”

“Ontheroof,signalingtoMars.Whered’youthink?”

Malcolmranintothebarandthenstoppeddead.Sittingonastool,with his elbow on the counter, was a manMalcolm had never seenbefore,andathisfeetlayahyenadæmonwithoneforeleg.

Theman had been talking toMalcolm’s father. There were half adozenotherdrinkersthere,butnoneofthemwerecloseby;infact,acoupleofmenwhowerealwaysfoundstandingbythebarweresittingata table inthe farcorner,andtherestwerenearthem,almostas iftheywantedtobeasfarawayfromthestrangerastheycouldget.

Malcolm took this in at once, and then saw the expression on hisfather’sface.ThestrangerwaslookingatMalcolm,andbehindhimhisfather was looking down with weary, helpless loathing. When thestrangerturnedback,Mr.Polsteadliftedhisheadandforcedabrightsmile.

“Whereyoubeen,Malcolm?”hesaid.

“Usual place,” Malcolm muttered, and turned away. The hyenadæmonclackedherteeth—bigsharpyellowteethinasmallhead.Shewasastonishinglyugly.Whateverhadrobbedherofher right forelegwouldhavesufferedforit,ifthoseteethhadmetinitsflesh.

Malcolmwenttothetablesacrosstheroom.

“Anything I can get you, gentlemen?” he said, conscious that hisvoicewasshakingalittleasitfellintothesilentroom.

Hetookordersfortwomorepints,butbeforehecouldleave,oneofthedrinkerssurreptitiouslytookholdofhissleeve.

“Justmindhim,”cameawhisper fromthe table. “Watchyourstepwiththatman.”

ThenthemanletgoandMalcolmtooktheglassesdowntotheotherendof thebar.Asta,ofcourse,hadbeenlookingatnothingelse,andsinceshewasaladybug,thedirectionofhergazewasn’tobvious.

“I’ll goand look in theTerraceRoom,” saidMalcolm tohis father,

whonoddedbriefly.

Therewasnoone in theTerraceRoom,but therewere two emptyglassesonthetable.HepickedthemupandwhisperedtoAsta,“Whatdoeshelooklike?”

“Actually, he’s sort of friendly and interested, as if he’s listeningwhile you’re telling him something hewants to know about. There’snothingreallywrongabouthim.It’sher….”

“They’reoneperson,en’tthey?Weare!”

“Yeah,course,but…”

Therewereafewemptyglassesinotherplacesaroundthepub,andMalcolmtookhistimecollectingthem.

“There’shardlyanyonehere,”hesaidtoAsta.

“We won’t have to stay in the bar, then. Go upstairs and write itdown.SomethingtotellDr.Relf.”

Hetooktheglassesintothekitchenandbegantowashthem.

“Mum,”hesaid,“there’samaninthebar….”Hetoldherwhathadhappenedasheleftthepriory,againleavingoutwhatthedæmonhaddoneonthepath.“Andnowhe’shere!AndDadlookseversofedup.Andnooneelsewantstogonearhim.”

“You went and told Sister Benedicta? She’ll make sure they’re allshutupsafe.”

“Butwhoishe?What’shedo?”

“Goodnessknows.Ifyoudon’tlikethelookofhim,stayawayfromhim.”

That was the trouble with his mother: she thought an instructionwasanexplanation.Well,he’daskhisfatherlater.

“There’shardlyanyoneintonight,”hesaid.“NotevenAlice.”

“I said she needn’t bother to stay on, since itwas so quiet. If thatmanmakesahabitofcominghere,it’llbelikethiseverynight.Dad’llhavetotellhimtostayaway.”

“Butwhy—”

“Nevermindwhy.Gotanyhomework?”

“Somegeometry.”

“Well,youmightaswelleatyoursuppernowandgetitoverwith.”

Supperwascauliflowerwithcheesesauce.Astaperchedonthetableasasquirrelandtoyedwithanut.Malcolmhurriedthroughthemealandburnedhismouth,butsootheditwithapieceofcoldplumpieandcream.

Theglasseshe’dwashedhaddraineddry,sobeforegoingupstairs,hetookthembacktothebar.Therewereafewmorepeoplein,butthemanwiththehyenadæmonwasstillsittingonhisstoolatthecounter,andthenewarrivalswereattheotherend,ignoringhim.

“Everyoneseemstoknowabouthim,”Astagrumbled.“Exceptus.”

Thehyenadæmonhadn’tmoved.Shelaytheregnawingandlickingatthestumpofhermissingleg,andthemansatstill,oneelbowonthebar,lookingallaroundwithanairofmildandknowinginterest.

Thensomethingsurprisinghappened.Malcolmwassurenooneelsecouldsee:hisfatherwaschattingwiththenewcomersattheotherendofthebar,andthemenatthetableswereplayingdominoes.Afirewithcuriosity, Malcolm couldn’t help staring at the man. He was aboutforty,Malcolmthought,withblackhairandbrightbrowneyes,andallhis features were clear and easy to see, as if he was a very well-litphotogram.Hewaswearingthesortofclothesatravelermightwear,and hemight have been handsome, except that there was a kind ofvigorandroughmischiefabouthimthatthatworddidn’tdojusticeto.Malcolmcouldn’thelplikinghim.

Andthemansawhimlooking,andsmiled,andwinked.

Itwasasmileofwarmthandcomplicity.Itseemedtosay,Weknowathingortwo,thepairofus…,meaninghimandMalcolm.Therewasknowledgeinhisexpression,andenjoyment.ItinvitedMalcolmintoalittle conspiracy of acquaintance against the rest of the world, andMalcolm found himself smiling back. Under normal circumstances,Asta would have flown down at once to talk to the dæmon, frompoliteness, even though she was frightening and ugly, but thesecircumstancesweren’tnormal.So itwas just thecuriousboyandthemanwiththecomplicated,attractiveface,andMalcolmhadtosmileinreturn.

Then it was over. Malcolm left the clean glasses on the bar and

turnedtogoupstairs.

“I can’t even remember what he’s wearing,” he said once thebedroomdoorwasshut.

“Somethingdark,”saidAsta.

“D’youthinkhe’sacriminal?”

“Boundtobe.Butshe…”

“She’s horrible. I’ve never seen a dæmon so different from theirpersonbefore.”

“IwonderifDr.Relfwillknowwhoheis.”

“Ishouldn’tthinkso.Sheknowsprofessorsandscholarsandpeoplelikethat.He’sdifferent.”

“Andspies.Sheknowsspies.”

“Idon’ts’posehe’saspy.He’s tooobvious.Anyonewouldnoticeadæmonlikethat.”

Malcolmturnedtohishomework,constructingfigureswithhisrulerandcompasses,ataskhenormallyenjoyed,buthecouldn’tfocusonitatall.Thatsmilewasstilldazzlinghim.

—

Dr.Relfhadneverheardofanyonewithadæmonthatwasmaimedinthatway.

“Itmusthappen,though,occasionally,”shesaid.

ThenMalcolmtoldherwhatthedæmonhaddoneonthepath,andthat puzzled her even more. Dæmons were as keen on privacy aspeoplewere,beingpeoplethemselves,ofcourse.

“Well,it’sapuzzle,”shesaid.

“Whatd’youthinkitmeans?”

“Quiteright,Malcolm.Treat it likeaquestionforthealethiometer.Seeifwecanworkoutwhat itallsignifies.Whatshedidonthepathwasanexpressionofcontempt,wasn’tit?”

“Yeah,Ithoughtso.”

“Foryou,whowerewatching,andfortheplacewhereshewas—forthe priory. Perhaps for the nuns and all the things they represent.

Then…ahyenaisascavenger.Itfeedsoncarrionanddeadbodiesleftbyotheranimals,aswellaskillingpreyitself.”

“Soit’sdisgusting,butusefultoo,”saidMalcolm.

“Soitis.Ihadn’tthoughtofthat.Anditlaughs.”

“Doesit?”

“The‘laughinghyena.’Notreallyalaugh,butacrythatsoundslikeit.”

“Likethecrocodilecryingtearswhenitdoesn’tmeanit.”

“Hypocritical,youmean?”

“Hypocritical,”saidMalcolm,relishingtheword.

“Andthemankeptoutofsight,yousaid.”

“Intheshadow,anyway.”

“Tellmeaboutthesmile.”

“Oh, yes, itwas the strangest thinghedid.He smiledandwinked.Nooneelsesaw it. Itwasas ifhewas lettingmeknowthatheknewsomethingIknewandnooneelsedid.Itwasasecretbetweenus.Butnot…Youknowhow that sort of thing couldmake you feel creepy ordirtyorguilty….”

“Butitwasn’tlikethat?”

“Itwashappy, sort of.Really friendly andnice.And I can’t hardlybelieveitnow,butIcouldn’thelpsortoflikinghim.”

“Buthisdæmonkeptgnawingatherleg,”saidAsta.“Iwaswatching.Itwasstillraw—thestump,Imean.Sortofbloody.”

“Whatcouldthatmean?”saidMalcolm.

“She—he—they’re vulnerable, perhaps?” said Dr. Relf. “If she lostanother leg, she wouldn’t be able to walk at all. What an awfulsituation.”

“Hedidn’tlookworried,though.Hedidn’tlookasifanythingwouldworryhimorfrightenhimever.”

“Didyoufeelsorryforhisdæmon?”

“No,” said Malcolm decisively. “I felt glad. She’d be much moredangerousifshewasn’thurtlikethat.”

“Soyou’reintwomindsaboutthisman.”

“Exactly.”

“Butyourparents…”

“Mumjustsaidkeepaway,anddidn’tsaywhy.Dadobviouslyhatedhimbeinginthebar,buthehadnoreasontoaskhimtoleave,andtheothercustomershatedhimbeingtheretoo.IaskedDadlater,andallhesaidwasthathewasabadmanandhewasn’tgoingtolethiminthepubagain.Buthedidn’ttellmewhathe’ddone,orwhyhewasbad,oranything.Ithinkitwasjustsomethinghefelt.”

“Haveyouseenhimsince?”

“Itwasonlythedaybeforeyesterday.Butno.”

“Letme seewhat I can find out,” saidDr.Relf. “Now,what aboutyourbooksthisweek?”

“The symbolic pictures one was difficult,” said Malcolm. “I didn’tunderstandmostofit.”

“Whatdidyouunderstand?”

“That…thingscanstandforotherthings.”

“That’sthemainpoint.Good.Therestisamatterofdetail.Noonecan remember all the meanings of the alethiometer pictures, so weneedthebookstobeabletoreadit.”

“It’slikeasecretlanguage.”

“Yes,itis.”

“Didsomeonemakeitup?Or…”

“Ordidtheydiscoverit?Wasthatwhatyouweregoingtosay?”

“Yes,itwas,”hesaid,alittlesurprised.“Sowhichisit?”

“That’snotsoeasy.Let’sthinkofanotherexample—somethingelse.YouknowthetheoremofPythagoras?”

“Thesquareofthehypotenuseisequaltothesumofthesquaresoftheothertwosides.”

“That’sexactlyit.Andisthattrueforeveryexampleyou’vetried?”

“Yes.”

“AndwasittruebeforePythagorasrealizedit?”

Malcolmthought.“Yes,”hesaid.“Itmusthavebeen.”

“Sohedidn’tinventit.Hediscoveredit.”

“Yes.”

“Good.Nowlet’stakeoneofthealethiometersymbols.Thehive,forexample, surroundedby bees.One of itsmeanings is sweetness, andanotherislight.Canyouseewhy?”

“Honeyforthesweetness.And…”

“Whatarecandlesmadeof?”

“Wax!Beeswax!”

“That’sright.Wedon’tknowwhofirstrealizedthatthosemeaningswere there, but did the similarity, the association, exist before theyrealizedit,ornotuntilthen?Didtheyinventitordiscoverit?”

Malcolmthoughthard.

“That’snotquitethesame,”hesaidslowly.“BecauseyoucanprovePythagoras’s theorem. So you know it must be true. But there’snothingtoprovewiththebeehive.Youcanseetheconnection,butyoucan’tprove…”

“All right, put it like this. Suppose the person who made thealethiometer was looking for a symbol to express the ideas ofsweetnessandlight.Couldtheyhavechosenjustanything?Couldtheyhavechosenasword,forexample,oradolphin?”

Malcolmtriedtoworkitout.“Notreally,”hesaid.“Youcouldtwistitalotandmakethemsimilar,but…”

“That’sright.There’sanaturalsortofconnectionwiththebeehive,butnotwiththeothertwo.”

“Yeah.Yes.”

“Sowasitinventedordiscovered?”

Malcolmthoughthardagain,andthensmiled.

“Discovered,”hesaid.

“Allright.Nextlet’strythis.Canyouimagineanotherworld?”

“Ithinkso.”

“AworldwherePythagorasneverexisted?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldhistheorembetruethereaswell?”

“Yes.Itwouldbetrueeverywhere.”

“Nowimaginethatworldhaspeoplelikeusinit,butnobees.They’dhave the experience of sweetness and of light, but how would theysymbolizethem?”

“Well, they…they’d find some other things. Maybe sugar for thesweetnessandsomethingelse,maybethesun,forlight.”

“Yes,thosewouldwork.Let’simagineanotherworld,adifferentoneagain, where there are bees but no people. Would there still be aconnectionbetweenabeehiveandsweetnessandlight?”

“Well,theconnectionwouldbe…here,inourminds.Butnotthere.Ifwecanthinkaboutthatotherworld,wecouldseeaconnection,eveniftherewasnoonetheretoseeit.”

“That’s good. Now, we still can’t say whether that language youspoke about, the language of symbols, was definitely invented ordefinitelydiscovered,butitlooksmoreasif—”

“As if it was discovered,” said Malcolm. “But it’s still not likePythagoras’stheorem.Youcan’tproveit.Itdependson…on…”

“Yes?”

“Itdependsonpeoplebeingtheretoseeit.Thetheoremdoesn’t.”

“That’sright!”

“Butit’sabitinventedaswell.Withoutpeopletoseeit,itwouldjustbe…itmightaswellnotbethereatall.”

Hesatback,feelingslightlydizzy.Herfamiliarroomwaswarm,thechairwascomfortable, theplateofbiscuitswas tohand.He feltas ifthis was the place where he was truly at home, more so than hismother’skitchenorhisownbedroom,andheknewhewouldneversaythattoanyonebutAsta.

“I’llhavetogosoon,”hesaid.

“You’veworkedhard.”

“Wasthatwork?”

“Yes,Ithinkso.Don’tyou?”

“Isupposeso.CanIseethealethiometer?”

“I’m afraid it has to stay in the library. We’ve only got the oneinstrument.Buthere’sapictureyoucanhave.”

She tooka folded sheetofpaper fromadrawer in the cabinet andgave it to him.Unfolding it, he found the plan of a large circlewiththirty-sixdivisions around the rim. In eachof the little spaceswas apicture:anant,atree,ananchor,anhourglass….

“There’sthebeehive,”hesaid.

“Keep it,” she toldhim. “Iused itwhen Iwas learning them,but Iknowthemnow.”

“Thankyou!I’lllearnthemtoo.”

“There’samemorytrickI’lltellyouaboutanothertime.Ratherthanmemorize them all for now, you could choose one of them and justthinkaboutit.Whatideasdoesitsuggest?Whatcoulditsymbolize?”

“Right, I will. There’s—” He stopped. The circle in the diagram,dividedintoitslittlesections,remindedhimofsomething.

“There’swhat?”

“It’ssortoflikesomethingIsaw….”

He described the spangled ring that he’d seen on the night LordAsrielhadcometotheTrout.Shewasinterestedatonce.

“That sounds like a migraine aura,” she said. “Do you have badheadaches?”

“No,never.”

“Justtheaura,then.You’llprobablyseeitagainsometime.Didyouliketheotherbook?TheoneabouttheSilkRoad?”

“It’stheplaceIwanttogotomostintheworld.”

“Oneday,perhaps,youwill.”

—

Thatevening,someonebroughtLaBelleSauvageback.

JustasMalcolmfinishedhissupperandtookhispuddingbowltothesink, therewasaknockon thekitchendoor—thedoor to thegarden.Noonecametothatdoorasarule.Malcolmlookedathismother,butshewasbusyatthestoveandhewasclosetothedoor,soheopeneditalittleway.

There stood amanhe didn’t know,wearing a leather jacket and awide-brimmed hat, with a blue-and-white-spotted handkerchiefaround his neck. Something about his clothes, or the way he stood,madeMalcolmthink:gyptian.

“AreyouMalcolm?”themanasked.

“Yes,”saidMalcolm,andatthesamemomenthismothersaid,“Whoisit?”

Themansteppedforwardintothelightandtookoffhishat.Hewasin latemiddleage, leanandbrown-skinned.Hisexpressionwascalmandcourteous,andhisdæmonwasaverylargeandbeautifulcat.

“CoramvanTexel,ma’am,”hesaid.“I’vegotsomethingforMalcolm,ifyou’lljustexcusehimforafewminutes.”

“Got something?Gotwhat? Come inside and give it to him here,”shesaid.

“It’sabitbigforthat,”saidthegyptian.“Itwon’ttakemore’nashortwhile.Ineedtoexplainacoupleofthings.”

His mother’s badger dæmon had left his corner and come to thedoor, and he and the cat dæmon touched noses and exchanged awhisper.ThenMrs.Polsteadnodded.

“Goon,then,”shesaid.

Malcolm finished drying his hands and went outside with thestranger. It had stopped raining, but the air was saturated withmoisture,andthelightsthroughthewindowsshoneontheterraceandthegrasswithamistyradiancethatmadeeverythinglookasif itwasunderwater.

The stranger steppedoff the terraceandheaded towards the river.Malcolmcouldseethelineofthefootprintsinthewetgrasshe’djustmadecomingup.

“YourememberLordAsriel,”thestrangersaid.

“Yes.Isit—”

“He chargedmewithbringingback yourboat, andhe said to giveyougreatthanks,andhehopesyou’llbepleasedwithhercondition.”

As theywentbeyond thereachof the lights fromthewindows, themanstruckamatchandlitalantern.Headjustedthewickandclosedthelens,andaclearbeamfelloutonthegrassaheadandallthewaytothelittlejetty,whereLaBelleSauvagewastiedup.

Malcolmran to look.The riverwas full,holdinghisbeloved canoehigherthanusual,andhecouldseeatoncethatshehadbeenworkedon.

“Thename—oh,thanks!”hesaid.

Hernamehadbeenpaintedwithgreatskillinredpaintandoutlinedwithafinelineofcreaminawaythathewouldneverhavemanaged.Itstoodoutproudlyagainstthegreenoftheboat,whichitself…Ignoringthewetgrass,heknelttolookclosely.Somethingwasdifferent.

“She’sbeen through thehandsof the finestboatbuilderonEnglishwaters,”saidCoramvanTexel.“Every inchofherhasbeenlookedatandstrengthened,andthatpaintonhernow isaspecialanti-foulingpaint thathasanothervirtue too.She’llbe theslippiestvesselon theThames,apartfromrealgyptianboats.She’llgothroughthewaterlikeahotknifethroughbutter.”

Malcolmtouchedthecanoeinwonderment.

“Now letmeshowyousomethingelse,” said thevisitor. “See thosebracketssetalongthegunwales?”

“Whataretheyfor?”

Theman reacheddown into the canoe andpulled up a handful of

long,slenderhazelsticks.HetookoneandhandedtheresttoMalcolm,thenheleanedoutandslippedoneendintoabracketonthefarsideofthecanoe,bentittowardshimself,andputtheotherendinabracketonthenearside.Theresultwasaneathoopacrossthecanoe.

“You try another,” he said, and shone the lantern on the nextbracket.AfterafewtriesMalcolmslippeditin.Hefoundthatthestickbentwithgreatease,butthatoncebothendswerefixed,thestickwascompletelyfirmandunmoving.

“Whataretheyfor?”hesaid.

“Iwon’tshowyounow,butunderthethwartamidshipsyou’llfindatarpaulin.Aspecialkindmadeofcoalsilk.Youputalltherodsinplaceandpullthetarpaulinoverandyou’llbesnuganddry,nomatterhowmuch rain comes down. There’s fixings along the edge, but you canworkouthowtodothem.”

“Thankyou!”saidMalcolm.“That’s—oh,that’swonderful!”

“It’s Lord Asriel youmust thank. But this is his thanks to you, soyou’reallsquare.Now,Malcolm,Ineedtoaskyouaquestionortwo.Iknowyou’revisitinga ladycalledDr.Relf, and Iknowwhy.Youcantellheraboutthis,andyoucantellheraboutme,andifsheneedstoknowanymore,youcanjustsaythewordsOakleyStreet.”

“OakleyStreet.”

“Thassit.That’llreassureher.Don’tsaythosewordstoanyoneelse,mind.Now, everything you tell her comesback tome indue course,buttime’spressing,andIneedtoknowthisurgently.IdaresayyouseemostpeoplewhocometotheTrout?”

“Yes,Ido.”

“Youknowalotof’embyname?”

“Well,some.”

“YoueverknowofamanbythenameofGerardBonneville?”

Before Malcolm could answer, he heard the kitchen door openbehind him, and his mother’s voice calling, “Malcolm! Malcolm!Whereareyou?”

“I’mhere!”heshouted.“Iwon’tbeaminute.”

“Well,don’t,then,”shecalled,andwentbackinside.

Malcolmwaitedtillsheshutthedoor,andthensaid,“Mr.VanTexel,what’sallthisabout?”

“Igottwowarningsforyou,andI’llbeoff.”

For the first timeMalcolmsawanotherboaton thewater—a long,low-cabinedlaunchwithaquietmotorthatputteredgentlyandhelditagainstthestream.Itshowednolights,andhecouldjustmakeoutaman’soutlineatthewheel.

“First,”saidVanTexel,“theweather’sgoingtoimproveinthenextfewdays.Sunshine,warmwinds.Don’tbefooledby it.Afterthattherain’ll come back even harder, and then there’ll be the biggest floodanyone’s seen for a hundred years, and not a normal flood either.Every river’s full tobursting, anda lotof theweirs are about to giveway.TheRiverBoarden’tbeendoingitsjob.Butmore’nthat,there’sthings in the water been disturbed, and things in the sky too, andthey’rebothclearandbright to themascanreadthesigns.Tellyourmotherandfather.Beready.”

“Iwill.”

“Andsecond,rememberthatnameIsaid:GerardBonneville.You’llknowhimifyouseehimbecausehisdæmon’sahyena.”

“Oh! Yes! He’s been here. A few days ago. His dæmon’s only gotthreelegs.”

“Hasshe,now.Didhesayanythingtoyou?”

“No.Idon’tthinkanyonewantedtospeaktohim.Hewasdrinkingbyhimself.Helookednice.”

“Well, hemight try to be nice to you, but don’t you go near him.Neverlethimgetyoualone.Havenothingtodowithhim.”

“Thank you,” said Malcolm. “I won’t. Mr. Van Texel, are you agyptian?”

“Yes,Iam.”

“ArethegyptiansagainsttheCCD,then?”

“We’renotall the same,Malcolm.Someare, andsomearen’t.”Heturned to thewater andgave a lowwhistle, and instantly the launchturneditsheadandglidedtowardsthejetty.

CoramvanTexelhelpedMalcolmhaulLaBelleSauvageupontothe

grassandthensaid,“RememberwhatItoldyouabouttheflood.AndaboutBonneville.”

They shook hands, and the gyptian stepped onto the launch. Amomentlatertheenginesoundincreasedjustalittleandtheboatspedawayupstreamandwaslostinthedark.

“Whatwasthatallabout?”saidhismothertwominuteslater.

“Ilentthecanoetosomeone,andthatmanbroughtitback.”

“Oh.Well,getonand take thesedinners through.Tableby thebigfire.”

Therewere fourplatesof roastporkandvegetables.Hecouldonlymanagetwoatatime,astheywerehot,buthedidthatasquicklyashecouldandthenbroughtthedinersthreepintsofBadgerandabottleofIPA,andtheeveningwasunderway,asbusyaSaturdayasthey’dhadforweeks.Malcolmlookedoutforthemanwiththethree-leggedhyenadæmon,buttherewasnosignofhim.Heworkedhardandpickedupalotoftips,whichwouldallgointothewalrus.

At one point, he heard some men—familiar customers—talkingabout theriver level,andhestopped to listen in thewayhe’dalwaysdoneandthathardlyanyonenoticed.

“Iten’tgoneupfordays,”saidsomeone.

“They know how to manage the level now,” said another.“Remember when old Barley was in charge of the River Board? Heusedtopaniceverytimetherewasashower.”

“Itneverfloodedinhistime,mindyou,”saidathird.“Thisrainwhatwebeenhaving,that’sexceptional.”

“It’sstoppednow,though.TheWeatherOffice—”

Jeersfromtheothers.

“TheWeatherOffice!Whatdotheyknow?”

“They got the latest philosophical instruments. Course they knowwhat’sgoingonintheatmosphere.”

“Whatdotheysay,then?”

“Theysaywegotfineweathercoming.”

“Well,theymightberightforonce.Thewind’schanged,ennit?This

isdryairout thenorthwhat’scomingalongnow.Youwatch—it’llbeclear in the morning, and then it won’t rain for a month. A wholemonthofsunshine,boys.”

“Ien’tsosure.Mygrannysays—”

“Yourgranny?SheknowmorethantheWeatherOffice?”

“IfthearmyandnavylistenedtomygrannyinsteadoftheWeatherOffice,they’dbebetteroffforit.Shesays—”

“Youknowwhytheriveren’tburstitsbanks?Scientificmanagementofresources, that’swhat it is.Theyknowwhat todonow,better’n inoldBarley’stime,howtoholditbackandwhentoletitout.”

“There’smorewaterupGloucesterway—”

“Thewatermeadowsen’ttakenupatenthofwhattheycan.Iseen’emfarworse—”

“Scientificmanagementofresources—”

“Italldependsonthestateoftheupperatmosphere—”

“It’sdryingout.Youwatch—”

“Mygranny—”

“No,we’vehadtheworstofitnow.”

“GetusanotherpintofBadger,wouldyou,Malcolm?”

—

WhenMalcolmwasgoingtobed,Astasaid,“Mr.VanTexelknowsalotmorethantheydo.”

“Theywouldn’tlistenifwewarnedthem,though,”hesaid.

“Don’tforgettolookupthatword….”

“Oh,yeah!”

Malcolm darted into the sitting room and found the familydictionary.Hewasgoingto lookuptheexpressionDr.Relfhadusedwhenhe’d toldherabout thespangledring.Heknewwhatmigrainemeantbecausesometimeshismotherhadone,onlyshecalled itmy-grainandDr.Relfhadcalleditme-grain.Buttheotherword…

“Hereitis.Ithoughtso.”

RobinAstapeeredatthepagefromhisforearmandread,“ ‘Aurora:

a luminous celestial phenomenon of anbarical character seen in thepolar regions, with a tremulous motion and streamers of light,sometimes known as the northern lights.’…You sure that was theword?ItsoundedmorelikeLyra.Twosyllables.”

“No,thisisit,”saidMalcolmfirmly.“Aurora.It’sthenorthernlights,inmyhead.”

“Itdoesn’tsayspangled,though.”

“Probablyit’sdifferenteachtime.Itwastremulousandluminous,allright.Whatevercausesthenorthernlightscausesthespangledring,Ibet!”

Thethoughtthattheinsideofhisheadwasindirectcontactwiththeremote skies above the North Pole gave him a feeling of immenseprivilegeandevenawe.Astawasstillnotquiteconvinced,buthewasthrilled.

—

Inthemorninghecouldhardlywaittogooutandlookatthecanoeindaylight, but his father wanted help clearing up in the bar after thebusyevening.LaBelleSauvagewouldhavetowait.

So he hurried between the tables and the kitchen, jamming hisfingersthroughasmanytankardhandlesashecouldorcarryingfourglasseswithonefingerineachofthreeandtwointhefourth.WhenhetookthemthroughtoAliceinthescullery,wherehenormallyjustputthemdownonthecounterandleftwithoutsayingaword,somethingmadehimstopandlookather.Sheseemedunusuallydistractedthismorning, as if there was something on her mind. She kept lookingaround, clearing her throat as if to speak, turning back to the sink,glancingatMalcolm.Hewas tempted tosay, “What is it?What’s thematter?”butheldhistongue.

Thencameamomentwhenhismotherwasoutofthekitchen.AlicelookedatMalcolmdirectlyandsaidunderhervoice,“Hey,youknowthenuns?”

Malcolmwastoosurprisedtoansweratfirst.Hehadjustpickeduphalfadozencleanglassesthatwerereadytobetakenbacktothebar,andheputthemdownagainandsaid,“Inthepriory?”

“Course.That’stheonlyonesthereare,en’tthere?”

“No.There’sothersinotherplaces.Whataboutthem?”

“Aretheylookingafterababy?”

“Yeah.”

“Youknowwhosebabyitis?”

“Yeah,Ido.Sowhat?”

“Well,there’samanwho—Tellyoulater.”

Malcolm’smotherhadcomeback.Alicetuckedherheaddownandplungedherhandsbackintothewater.Malcolmpickeduptheglassesagain and carried them through, and found his father reading thepaper.

“Dad,”hesaid,“d’youreckonthere’sgoingtobeaflood?”

“Was that what they were on about last night?” said his father,foldingbackthesportspage.

“Yeah.Mr.Addison reckoned therewasn’t, ’cause the air from thenorthwas dry and there’s going to be amonth of sunshine, butMr.Twiggsayshisgranny—”

“Oh, don’t worry about ’em. What’s this about your canoe? Yourmothertellsmesomegyptiancametothedoorlastnight.”

“YourememberLordAsriel?Ilentittohim,andthatmancametoreturnit.”

“I didn’t know he was a pal of the gyptians. What’d he want toborrowyourcanoefor?”

“ ’Causehe liked canoeingandhewanted to goup the river in themoonlight.”

“There’snoaccountingforsomepeople.You’reluckytogetitback.Isitallright?”

“Betterthanever.And,Dad,thatgyptianmansaidtherewasgoingtobemorerainafterthisbitofsunshine,andthenthebiggestfloodinahundredyears.”

“Didhe?”

“Hesaidtowarnyou. ’Causethegyptianscanreadthesignsinthewaterandthesky.”

“Didyouwarnthoseoldboyslastnight?”

“No, ’cause they’d already drunk a bit, and I didn’t reckon they’dlisten.Buthedidsaytowarnyou.”

“Well, theyarewaterpeople,gyptians….That’sworthknowing, justtothinkabout.Butnoneedtotakeitseriously.”

“Hemeantitseriously.There’dbenoharmingettingreadyforit.”

Mr. Polstead considered thematter. “True enough,” he said. “LikeNoah.YoureckonmeandMumcouldfitintheLaBelleSauvagealongwithyou?”

“No,” saidMalcolm firmly. “But youought tomend thepunt.AndmaybeMumoughttokeepherflourandstuffuphereandnot inthecellar.”

“Good idea,” saidhis father, turningback to the sportspage. “Youtellher.YouclearedtheTerraceRoom?”

“I’mjustgoinginthere.”

Seeinghismother come into thebarand start to talk tohis fatheraboutvegetables,MalcolmtooktheglassesfromtheTerraceRoomandhurriedbacktothekitchen.

“Whatwasthataboutaman?”hesaidtoAlice.

“IdunnoifIshouldsay.”

“Ifit’saboutthebaby…Yousaidsomethingaboutthebaby,andthenaman.Whatman?”

“Well,Idunno.MaybeIsaidtoomuch.”

“No,youen’tsaidenough.Whatman?”

Shelookedaround.

“Idon’twanttogetintotrouble,”shesaid.

“Well,justtellme.Iwon’ttellonyou.”

“Allright…Thisman,hisdæmon’sgotalegmissing.She’sahyenaorsomething.Horribleugly.Buthe’snice,orheseemsniceenough.”

“Yeah,I’veseenhim.Youmethim,then?”

“Sortof,” she said,andshewasblushing, so she turnedaway.Herjackdawdæmonlookeddownfromhershoulderandturnedhishead

awayfromMalcolmtoo.Thenshewenton:“Ispokentohimabit.”

“When?”

“Last night. Down Jericho. He was asking about the baby in thepriory,thenuns,allthat….”

“Whatd’youmean,‘allthat’?Whatelse?”

“Well,hesaidhewasthebaby’sfather.”

“He’snot!Herfather’sLordAsriel.Iknowthat.”

“Hesaidhewas,though,andhewantedtoknowiftheykepthersafeinthepriory,whethertheylockedthedoorsatnight—”

“What?”

“Andhowmanynunstherewere,andthat.”

“Didhetellyouhisname?”

“Gerard.GerardBonneville.”

“Didhesaywhyhewantedtoknowaboutthenunsandthebaby?”

“No. We didn’t only talk about that. But…I dunno…it gave me aweird feeling. And his dæmon chewing at her bloody leg…Except hewasnice.Heboughtmesomefishandchips.”

“Washeonhisown?”

“Well,yeah.”

“Andyou?Didyouhaveanyfriendswithyou?”

“WhatifIdid?”

“Itmighthavemadeadifferenceinwhathesaid.”

“Iwasonmeown.”

Malcolmdidn’t knowwhat else to ask. Itwas clearly important tofind out whatever he could, but his imagination was limited at thispoint: he couldn’t conceive what a grown man would want with asolitarygirlatnight,orwhatcouldpassbetweenthem.Norcouldheunderstandwhyshewasblushing.

“Didyourdæmontalktothehyena?”hesaidafterapause.

“Hetriedabit,butshedidn’tsaynothing.”

She lookeddowntowards thesinkandplungedherhands into the

water.Malcolm’smotherhadcomebackfromthebar.Malcolmcarriedthecleanglassesout,andthemomentpassed.

ButwhenAlicehadfinishedforthemorningandwasputtingonhercoattoleave,Malcolmsawandcaughtupwithherontheporch.

“Alice—waitaminute….”

“Whatd’youwant?”

“Thatman—withthehyenadæmon—”

“Forgetit.Ishouldn’thavesaidnothing.”

“It’sjustthatsomeonewarnedmeabouthim.”

“Who?”

“Agyptianman.Hesaidnottogonearhim.”

“Why?”

“Idon’tknow.Buthereallymeantit.Anyway,ifyouseehimagain—Bonneville,Imean—canyoutellmewhathesays?”

“Iten’tyourbusiness.Ishouldn’thavetoldyou.”

“I’mworriedaboutthenuns,yousee.Iknowthey’reworriedaboutsafety and that, ’cause they told me. That’s why they got the newshuttersputup.So if thismanBonneville is trying to findthingsoutaboutthem…”

“Hewasnice.Itoldyou.Maybehewantstohelpthem.”

“Well,thethingis,hecameinheretheothernightandnoonewouldgonearhim.Asiftheywerefrightened.Mydadsaysifhecomesagain,he en’t going to let him in because he keeps other customers away.They know something about him, as if he’s been in prison orsomething.Andthere’sthatgyptianmanwhowarnedmeabouthim.”

“Hedidn’tworryme.”

“Still,ifyouseehimagain,canyoutellme?”

“S’poseso.”

“Andspeciallyifheasksaboutthebaby.”

“Whyareyousoworriedaboutthebaby?”

“Because she is a baby. There’s no one to protect her except thenuns.”

“And you thinkyou can? Is that it? You’re going to save the babyfromthebigbadman?”

“Justcanyoutellme?”

“IsaidIwould.Don’tgoonaboutit.”

Sheturnedawayandstampedoffquicklyinthethinsunshine.

—

That afternoon, Malcolm went to the lean-to and inspected theimprovements toLaBelleSauvage.The tarpaulinof coal silkwasaslightandimpermeable(hetriedit)asMr.VanTexelhadsaid,andtheclipstoattachittothegunwaleswereeasytoworkandfirmlyfixed.Itwas water green in color, like the boat herself, and he thought thatwhenitwasinplace,heandhisvesselwouldbepracticallyinvisible.

Thecurrentwasrunningverystrongly,sohedecidednottotakeheroutandtrytheslippinessofthenewpaint,buthisfingertipstoldhimthedifference.Whatagiftthiswas!

Therewerenoother surprises in thecanoe, soMalcolmpulled theoldtarpaulinoveritandmadesureitwaspeggeddown.

“Itmightrainagain,”hesaidtoAsta.

Buttherewasnosignofthat.Thecoldsunshinelastedallday,andthe sky was red when the sun went down, meaning more sunshinetomorrow.Astheskywasclear,theeveningwasbitterlycold,andforthefirsttimeinweeks,therewereonlyafewcustomersintheTrout.Hismotherdecidednottoroasta jointormakeasetofpiesbecausemost would remain uneaten. It was going to be ham and eggs thatevening,withfriedpotatoes ifyouwereearlyandbreadandbutter ifyouweren’t.

But since so few customers came at all, and since the assistantbarmanFrankwas onduty in case they did,Malcolmandhis fatherandmothersatdowntogetherinthekitchentohavesupper.

“Mightaswellfinishupthesecoldpotatoes.Canyoueatanymore,Reg?”

“Youbet.Fry’emup.”

“Malcolm?”

“Yes,please.”

Into the frying pan they went, sizzling and spitting and makingMalcolm’s mouth water. He sat there happily with his parents,thinkingofnothing,contentwith thewarmthand thesmellof fryingfood.

Thenhewasawarethathismotherhadaskedhimsomething.

“What?”

“Again,politely,”shesaid.

“Oh.Ibegyourpardon?”

“That’sbetter.”

“Theboy’sdreaming,”saidhisfather.

“Isaid,whatwereyouandAlicetalkingabout?”

“WashetalkingtoAlice?”saidMr.Polstead.“Ithoughttherewasanoncommunicationtreatybetweenthosetwo.”

“Nothinginparticular,”saidMalcolm.

“Butcometothinkofit,hespentfiveminutesyakkingtoherontheporchwhensheleft,”saidhisfather.“Musthavebeenimportant.”

“Not really,” Malcolm said, beginning to feel awkward. He didn’twanttokeepthingsfromhisparents,butthentheydidn’tusuallyhavethe time to ask anything more than once. A noncommittal answernormallysatisfiedthem.Butwithnothingelsetodothisevening,thematterofMalcolm’stalkingtoAlicebecameofgreatinterest.

“You were talking to her when I came back in the kitchen,” hismothersaid.“Icouldhardlybelievemyeyes.Isshegettingfriendly?”

“No, it’s not that,” saidMalcolm reluctantly. “She was just askingaboutthemanwiththethree-leggeddæmon.”

“Why?”saidhisfather.“Shewasn’therethatnight.How’dsheknowhecamein?”

“Shedidn’ttillItoldher.Shetoldmeabouthimbecausehe’dbeenaskingheraboutthenuns.”

“Washe?When?”saidhismother,dishingupthefriedpotatoes.

“InJerichotheothernight.Hewastalkingtoherandaskingaboutthenunsandthebaby.”

“Whatwashedoingtalkingtoher?”

“Idunno.”

“Wassheonherown?”

Malcolmshrugged.He’djustputaforkfulofhotpotatoinhismouthandcouldn’tspeak.Buthedidseetheglancethatpassedbetweenhisparents:anexpressionofmutedalarm.

Whenhe’dswallowedhismouthful,he said, “What is itabout thatman?Whydideveryonemoveawayfromhiminthebar?AndwhatifhewastalkingtoAlice?Shesaidhewasnice.”

“The thing is,Malcolm,” said his father, “he’s got a reputation forviolence.Andfor…forattackingwomen.Peopledon’tlikehim.Yousawthe bar the other night. That dæmon—she has a strange effect onpeople.”

“Hecan’thelpthat,”saidMalcolm.“Youcan’thelpwhatshapeyourdæmonsettlesas,canyou?”

“You’dbesurprised,”cameavoicefromthefloor,gruffandrichandslow. His mother’s badger dæmon rarely spoke, but when he did,Malcolmalwayslistenedwithcloseattention.

“Youmeanyoucanchoose?”hesaid,surprised.

“Youdidn’t say you can’t choose; you said you can’thelp.You canhelp,allright,butyoudon’tknowyou’redoingit.”

“Buthow—whatdoyou—”

“Eatyoursupperandyou’llfindout,”hesaid,andtrundledbacktohisbedinthecorner.

“Hmm,”Malcolmsaid.

They didn’t speak any more about Gerard Bonneville. Malcolm’smother said she was worried about her mother because she hadn’tbeenwell,andsaidshe’dgoovertoherhouseinWolvercotethenextdayandseeifshewasallright.

“Hasshegotenoughsandbags?”saidMalcolm.

“Shewon’tneedthoseanymore,”saidhismother.

“Well,Mr.VanTexelsaidpeopleweregoingtothinkithadstoppedraining,buttherainwasgoingtocomebackandtherewasgoingtobe

abigflood.”

“Isthere,indeed?”

“Hesaidtowarnyou.”

“Didyouseehim,Brenda?”saidhisfather.

“Thegyptian?Yes,briefly.Verypoliteandquiet.”

“Theydoknowtherivers.”

“SoGrannymightneedmoresandbags,”saidMalcolm.“I’llhelpherifshedoes.”

“I’llbearitinmind,”saidhismother.“Haveyoutoldthesisters?”

“They’llallhavetocomeoverandstayhere,”saidMalcolm.“They’dhavetobringLyra.”

“Who’sLyra?”saidhisfather.

“Thebaby,ofcourse.Theonethey’relookingafterforLordAsriel.”

“Oh.Well, therewouldn’t be room for ’em all.We’re probably notholyenougheither.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Mrs. Polstead. “They do the holinessthemselves.They’djustneedsomewheredry.”

“Itprobablywouldn’tbeforlong,”saidMalcolm.

“No,itwouldn’twork.Butyoubettertell’emanyway,likeyourmumsays.What’sforpudding?”

“Stewedapple,andluckytogetit,”shesaid.

After he’d dried the dishes, Malcolm said good night and wentupstairs.Therewasnohomeworktodo,sohetookoutthediagramDr.Relfhadgivenhim,theoneaboutthesymbolsonthealethiometer.

“Besystematicaboutit,”saidAsta.

He didn’t think that deserved an answer, because he was alwayssystematic.Theyporedoverthediagramunderthelamplight,andthenhe wrote down what each of the thirty-six pictures showed, or wasintendedtoshow;buttheyweresosmallthathecouldn’tmakethemallout.

“We’llhavetoaskher,”saidAsta.

“Someof’emareeasy,though.Liketheskull.Andthehourglass.”

Butitwaslaboriouswork,andoncehe’dlistedalltheoneshecouldrecognizeandleftgapsfortherest,heandAstabothfeltthey’dspentenoughtimewithit.

They didn’t feel like sleep, and they didn’t feel like reading, soMalcolm took the lamp and they wandered through the guestbedrooms in the old building to look across the river. His ownbedroomfacedtheotherway,sohecouldn’tkeeparegulareyeonthepriory,but theguestbedroomswereallon theriversidebecause theviewwasbetter;andastherehappenedtobenoonestaying,hecouldgowhereheliked.

Inthehighestbedroom,justbelowtheeaves,heturnedoutthelampandleanedonthewindowsill.

“Beanowl,”hewhispered.

“Iam.”

“Well,Ican’tseeyou.Lookoverthere.”

“Iam!”

“Canyouseeanything?”

Therewasapause.Thenshesaid,“Oneoftheshuttersisopen.”

“Whichone?”

“Topfloor.Secondonealong.”

Malcolm could only just make out the windows because the gatelightwasontheothersideofthebuilding,andthehalfmoonshoneonthatsidetoo;butfinallyhemadeitout.

“We’llhavetotellMr.Taphousetomorrow,”hesaid.

“Theriver’snoisy.”

“Yeah…Iwonderifthey’vebeenfloodedbefore.”

“Inallthetimethepriory’sbeenthere,theymusthavebeen.”

“There’dbestoriesabout it.There’dbeapicture ina stained-glasswindow.I’llaskSisterFenella.”

Malcolmwonderedwhatsinglepicturesmallandclearenoughtofitonthedialofthealethiometercouldsymbolizeaflood.Maybeitwouldbeamixtureoftwopictures,ormaybeitwasalower-downmeaningofanotheronealtogether.He’daskDr.Relf.Andhe’d tellherwhat the

gyptian had said about the flood—he must certainly do that. Hethought of all those books that would be ruined if her house wasflooded.Perhapshecouldhelptakethemupstairs.

“What’sthat?”saidAsta.

“What?Where?”

Malcolm’seyeswereadjustedtothedarkbythistime,orasmuchastheyeverwouldbe,buthecouldn’tseemore thanthestonebuildingandthelightershapesoftheshutteredwindows.

“There!Justatthecornerofthewall!”

Malcolmwidenedhiseyesandpeeredashardashecould.Wasthereamovement?Hewasn’tsure.

Butthenhedidseesomethingatthebaseofthewall:justashadow,slightlydarker than thebuilding.Somethingman-sizedbutnotman-shaped—amassivebulkwheretheshouldersshouldhavebeenandnohead—and it moved with a crabwise shuffle….Malcolm felt a greatdrenchof fearpouroverhisheartanddown intohisbelly.Andthentheshadowvanished.

“Whatwasthat?”hewhispered.

“Aman?”

“Itdidn’thaveahead—”

“Amancarryingsomething?”

Malcolmthought.Itcouldhavebeen.

“Whatwashedoing?”hesaid.

“Goingtoclosetheshutter?Mr.Taphouse,maybe?”

“Whatwashecarrying?”

“Abagoftools?Idon’tknow.”

“Idon’tthinkitwasMr.Taphouse.”

“NordoI,really,”saidAsta.“Itdidn’tmovelikehim.”

“It’stheman—”

“GerardBonneville.”

“Yes.Butwhat’shecarrying?”

“Tools?”

“Oh!Iknow!Hisdæmon!”

Ifshelayacrosshisshoulders,shewouldaccountforthebulk,andforthefactthattheycouldn’tseehishead.

“What’shedoing?”saidAsta.

“Ishegoingtoclimbup—”

“Hashegotaladder?”

“Can’tsee.”

Theybothpeeredagainasfiercelyastheycould.IfitwasBonneville,andhewantedtoclimbuptothewindowbehindtheshutter,hewouldhave to carry his dæmon; he wouldn’t be able to leave her on theground. Every roofer, tiler, and steeplejack had a dæmonwho couldfly,oronesosmallshecouldcomeupinapocket.

“WeshouldtellDad,”Malcolmsaid.

“Onlyifwe’resure.”

“Weare,though,en’twe?”

“Well…”

Herreluctancewasspeakingforhis.

“He’safterLyra,”hesaid.“Hemustbe.”

“D’youthinkhe’samurderer?”

“Whywouldhewanttokillababy,though?”

“I thinkhe’s amurderer,” saidAsta. “EvenAlicewas frightenedofhim.”

“Ithoughtshelikedhim.”

“Youdon’tseemuch,doyou?Shewasscaredstiffaswell.That’swhysheaskedusabouthim.”

“MaybehewantstotakeLyrabecausehereallyisherfather.”

“Look—”

The shadow appeared around the side of the building again. Andthen theman staggered, and the burden onhis shoulders seemed tosquirm away and fall to the ground; and then they heard a hideous

high-pitchedcryoflaughter.

Theman and the dæmon seemed to be spinning around in amaddance. That uncanny laughter tormentedMalcolm’s ears; it soundedlikeahighhiccuppingyellofagony.

“He’shittingher…,”whisperedAsta,unabletobelieveit.

Whenshesaidthat,itbecamecleartoMalcolmtoo.Themanhadastickinhishand,andhehadforcedthehyenadæmonbackagainstthewall.Hewas thrashingandthrashingherwith fury,andshecouldn’tescape.

MalcolmandAstawereterrified.Sheturnedintoacatandburrowedintohisarms,andhehidhisfaceinherfur.Theyhadneverimaginedanythingsovile.

And the noise had been heard inside the priory. Therewas a dimlightbobbingitswaytowardsthewindowwiththebrokenshutter,andthen it was there, with a pale face beside it, trying to look directlydown.Malcolmcouldn’ttellwhichofthenunsitwas,butthenitwasjoinedbyanotherface,andthewindowswungopen,intothedarkandthecriesofagonizedlaughter.

Two heads craned out and looked down. Malcolm heard acommandingcallandrecognizedthevoiceofSisterBenedicta,thoughhe couldn’t make out the words. In the dim light from the lanternabove,Malcolm saw theman look up, and in that instant the hyenadæmongaveadesperate leapsideways, lurchingawayfromtheman,whofelttheinevitableheart-deeptugassoonasshereachedthelimitoftheinvisiblebondthat joinedeveryhumanwiththeirdæmon,andstumbledafterher.

She dragged herself away, limping as fast as she could, and theterriblefuryofthemancameafterher,thrashingandbeatingwithhisstick,andthefrenziedlaughter-likeagonyfilledtheairagain.Malcolmsaw the twonuns flinch as they sawwhatwas happening; then theypulledtheshutterclosedandthelightvanished.

Gradually the cries faded. Malcolm and Asta clung together withhorror.

“Never…,”shewhispered.

“…never thoughtwe’d ever see anything like that,” he finished forher.

“Whatcouldmakehimdothat?”

“Anditwashurtinghimtoo.Hemustbeinsane.”

Theyheldeachothertillthenoiseofthatlaughterhadentirelygone.

“Hemusthateher,”Malcolmsaid.“Ican’timagine….”

“D’youthinkthesisterssawhimdoingit?”

“Yeah,whentheyfirstlooked.Buthestoppedforasecondwhenoneofthemcalled,andhisdæmongotaway.”

“IfitwasSisterBenedicta,wecouldask…”

“Shewouldn’tsay.There’sthingstheyliketokeepawayfromus.”

“Ifsheknewwe’dseenit,maybe.”

“Maybe.Iwouldn’ttellSisterFenella,though.”

“No,no.”

The man and his tormented dæmon had gone, and there wasnothing now but the darkness and the sound of the river; so afteranotherminuteMalcolmandAstacreptoutof thatroomin thedarkandfelttheirwaytobed.

When theyslept,hedreamedofwilddogs,apackof them, fiftyorsixty,allkinds,racingthroughthestreetsofadesertedcity;andashewatched them,he felta strange,wildexhilaration thatwasstill therewhenhewokeupinthemorning.

The philosophical instruments of the Weather Office, so highlyregarded by some of the drinkers at the Trout and so disdained byothers,didwhattheyalwaysdidandtoldtheirattendantsexactlywhattheycouldhaveseenby lookingat thesky.Theweatherwas fairandcold; the skywas cleardayandnight; therewasnoprospectof rain.FurtheroutintheAtlanticthantheycouldperceive,theremighthavebeenallsortsofbadweather;theremighthavebeenthemotherofalldepressions,anditmighthavebeenheadingtowardsBrytaintobringaboutjustthesortof inundationthatCoramvanTexelhadpredictedtoMalcolm; but there were no instruments that could see it, exceptperhapsanalethiometer.

So the citizens of Oxford read the weather forecasts in thenewspaper,andenjoyedthepalesunontheirfaces,andbegantoputtheir sandbags away.The riverwas still racing; adog that fell in thewateratBotleywaswhirledawayanddrownedbeforeitsownercouldrescue it.Therewas littlesignof the levelgoingdown,but thebanksweren’tgivingwayandtheroadsweredry,sopeoplethoughttheworstwasover.

Hannah Relf sat at home, writing up her latest findings on thedepths of the hourglass range of alethiometer meanings. She hadplentytooccupyherinthepagesofnotesshe’dbeenbuildingup.

Sheworkedhardallday,andwhentherewasaknockonthe frontdoor in the lateafternoon,her thoughtshadbegun to turn teawards.She pushed her chair back, feeling pleased at the interruption, andwentdownstairstoopenthedoor.

“Malcolm!Whatareyou—Comein,comein.”

“Iknowit’snottheusualday,”hesaid,shivering,“butI thought itwasimportant,so…”

“Iwasjustabouttomakesometea.You’vecomeattherighttime.”

“Icamestraightfromschool.”

“Let’sgointhesittingroom,andI’lllightthefire.It’scold.”

She’d been working upstairs with a blanket over her knees and alittlenaphthastoveatherfeet,soshehadn’tlitthesittingroomfirealldayanditfeltchillyinthere.Malcolmstoodawkwardlyonthehearthrugwhileshesetnewspaperandkindlingandstruckamatch.

“Ihadtocomebecause—”

“Wait,wait.Teafirst.Orwouldyoupreferchocolatl?”

“Idon’tthinkIoughttostay.Ijustcametowarnyou.”

“Warnme?”

“Therewasthisman—agyptian—”

“Comeinthekitchen,then.You’renotgoingoutwithoutahotdrink—it’stoocold.YoucanwarnmewhileImakeit.”

Shemade tea for themboth, andMalcolm toldher aboutMr.VanTexel,andthecanoe,andthefloodwarning.

“Ithoughttheweatherwasgettingbetter.”

“No,heknows.Thegyptiansknowalltheriversandthecanals,andthey know the state of the weirs all the way up to Gloucester. It’scoming,allright,andit’sgoingtobethebiggestfloodforages.Hesaidtherewassomethinginthewaterandtheskythatwasdisturbed,andnoonecouldtellexceptthepeoplewhocouldreadthesigns,andthatmademethinkofyouandthealethiometer….SoI thoughtIought tocome and tell you because of that, and because of all these books. Icouldhelpyoutakethemupstairs,maybe.”

“That’skindofyou.Butnotnow.Haveyou toldanyoneelseaboutthegyptian’swarning?”

“Itoldmymumanddad.Oh,andhesaid—thegyptianman—hesaidheknewaboutyou.”

“Whatwashisname?”

“CoramvanTexel.He said Iwas to sayOakleyStreet to you—just

that,so’syoucouldbelievehim.”

“Goodgrief,”saidHannah.

“WhereisOakleyStreet?Idon’tknowastreetcalledthatinOxford.”

“No,it’snotinOxford.Itjustmeans—Well,it’sasortofpassword.Did he say anything else? Let’s go in and keep the fire going. Bringyourtea.”

WhenMalcolmwassittingasclosetothefireashecouldget,hetoldheraboutGerardBonneville,andwhathe’dseenattheprioryfromtheguestroomwindow.

She listened wide-eyed. Then she said, “Gerard Bonneville…Howodd.Iheardthatnameyesterday.Idinedincollegeandspoketooneofourguests,who’salawyer.Apparently,Bonnevilleisn’t longoutofprison, I think for assault, or grievous bodily harm—something likethat—and itwas rather a famous case, because the chief prosecutionwitness was Mrs. Coulter. That’s right—Lyra’s mother. Bonnevillesworeinthedockthathe’dgetrevenge.”

“Lyra,” saidMalcolm at once. “He wants to hurt Lyra. Or kidnapher.”

“Itwouldn’tsurpriseme.Hesoundsdemented.”

“HesaidtoAlicethathewasLyra’sfather.”

“Who’sAlice?Oh,Iremember.Didhereally?”

“I’mgoingtotellthenunsthisevening.Theyneedtogetthatshutterfixed.I’llhelpMr.Taphouse.”

“Washegoingtoclimbup?Didhehavealadder?”

“Wedidn’tsee.Butitwouldmakesense.”

“Theyneedmore than shutters,” saidHannah, stirring the fire. “Ifonlyonecouldtrustthepolice!”

“I’ll tell thenunsanyway.SisterBenedictacanprotectLyraagainstanything.Dr.Relf, have you ever heard of anyonehurting their owndæmonbefore?”

“Notanyonesane.”

“Itmadeusthinkthatmaybeitwashimthatcutherlegoff.”

“Yes,Icanseethat.Howhorrible.”

Theybothsattherelookingintothefire.

“I’m sure Mr. Van Texel’s right about the flood,” Malcolm said.“Eventhoughitdoesn’tlooklikeitnow.”

“I’lldosomethingaboutit.I’llstartwiththebooks,asyousuggest.Ifnecessary, I’ll live upstairs till the water goes away.What about thepriory?”

“I’lltellthemtoo,butitwon’tmeanmuchifIsay‘OakleyStreet’tothenuns.”

“No.You’lljusthavetobepersuasive.Andyoumustn’tactuallysaythosewordstoanyonebutme.”

“Hetoldmethat.”

“Thenyou’vehearditfrombothofus.”

“Haveyoumethim?Mr.VanTexel?”

“No,never.Now,Malcolm,ifyou’vefinishedyourtea,I’mgoingtohurry you away. I’ve got to go out this evening. Thank you for thewarning.Ireallywilltakeitseriously.”

“Thankyouforthetea.I’llcomeonSaturdayasusual.”

—

Hannahwondered ifMalcolm had told his parents about seeing themanandhis dæmonoutside thepriory. Itwas the sort of thing thatwouldworryasensitivechild,andshecouldseethathe’dbeenbadlydisturbed.Shewantedtohearmore,especiallyaboutthisgyptianwhoknew Oakley Street. Could he be an agent himself? It wasn’tinconceivable.

Her engagement this evening was amysterious one. The problemwas that she didn’t know where she was going.When she had seenProfessor Papadimitriou some days before, he had told her how tocontacthim.“IfIneedtocontactyou,”he’dsaid,“youwillknowaboutit.”

Acardhadcomethatmorning.Itwasasimplewhitecardinsideawhite envelope, and all it said was “Come to dinner this evening.GeorgePapadimitriou.”

Not an invitation, exactly;more of a command. She supposed thedinner would be at his college, where the porter, he’d said, was a

gossip, though,ofcourse, therewasmore thanoneporteratJordan;nevertheless,itwaspuzzling.

But as she was sorting through her not-very-many dresses anddecidingthatthenotetostrikeshouldbeseriousandquiet,herletterboxclattered.Herdæmonlookeddownfromthelanding.

“Anotherwhiteenvelope,”hesaid.

Thecardinsidesaidonly“28StavertonRoad.7p.m.”

“Easyenough,Jesper,”shesaid.

—

Atoneminutepastseven,afterabriskcoldwalk,sherangthebellofalarge,comfortable-lookingvillainoneoftheroadsalittlewaynorthofJericho. There was a thickly grown garden heavy with shrubs andtrees, hard to see past from the road. She wondered if this wasPapadimitriou’s own house: it would be interesting to see how thisenigmaticfigurelived.Andwhoelsewouldbethere?

“It’s not a social invitation,” murmured her dæmon. “This isbusiness.”

Thedoorwas openedby a pleasant-featuredwomanof forty or sowholookedNorthAfrican.

“Dr. Relf, how nice of you to come! I’m Yasmin Al-Kaisy. Bitterlycold,isn’tit?Doputyourcoatonthechairhere….Comethrough.”

Therewerethreeotherpeopleinthewarmdrawingroom.ProfessorPapadimitriouwas one, and he seemed to be in charge, but then healwaysdid.Itwasalarge,low-ceilingedroom,withnaphthalampsonside tables and two or three anbaric standard lamps beside thearmchairs. There were numerous pictures—drawings, prints, awatercolorpaintingortwo—allofhighquality,asfarasHannahcouldjudge. The furniture was neither antique nor modern, and lookedextremelycomfortable.

Inthewarmlight,PapadimitrioumovedforwardtoshakeHannah’shand.

“Letmeintroduceourhosts,firstofall:Dr.AdnanAl-KaisyandMrs.YasminAl-Kaisy,”hesaid.Hannahsmiledatthewomanwho’dopenedthedoor,whowasnow standingby a table of drinks, and shook thehandoftheman:tall,lean,dark,withbrillianteyesandashortblack

mustache,hisdæmonsomekindofdesertfox.

“This is Lord Nugent,” Papadimitriou continued. “And this is ourguest,Dr.HannahRelf.”

Hannah had never seen them before, but Malcolm would haverecognizedthethreemenastheoneswhohadcometotheTroutandaskedaboutthepriory.

“Whatwillyoudrink,Dr.Relf?”saidAl-Kaisy.

“Wine,thankyou.Whitewine.”

“We’lleatverysoon,”saidPapadimitriou.“Idon’twanttowasteanytime. For our purposes this evening, Hannah, this is Oakley Street.LordNugentisthedirector,andAdnanishisdeputy.Everyonehereispart of Oakley Street, and knows about you.What we have to do isexplainacomplicatedsituation,andthenaskyoutodosomething.”

“Isee,”shesaid.“Well,Ishalllistenwithgreatinterest.”

“Shallwesitatthetable?”saidAl-Kaisy.“Thenwecantalkwithoutinterruptingourselvestomove.”

“Verygoodidea,”saidPapadimitriou.

“Thisway,” Al-Kaisy said, and led them into a small dining room.Thetablewassetwithcoldmeatsandsaladssonoonewouldhavetofetchandcarryfoodfromthekitchen.

“I know it’s a cold night,” said Yasmin Al-Kaisy, “but this will bequicker,andsomeofushavetocatchatrain.Pleasehelpyourself.”

“As this isOakleyStreet,” saidPapadimitriou, “I suggest thatLordNugentspeaksfirst.Hannah,youknow,ofcourse,thathewasthelordchancellor.”

“ButhereIamthedirectorofOakleyStreet,”saidLordNugent.Hewasverytallandthin,andhisvoicewasverydeep.Hislemurdæmonsprangtoanemptychairnexttohimashecontinued.“Dr.Relf,we’vebeenrelyingonyourreadingsofthealethiometerforacoupleofyearsnow.We’regrateful for that.You’llhave realized that thereareotheralethiometristsworkingforus.”

“Well,no,Ididn’trealizethat,”saidHannah.“Irealizedverylittle.”

“Readers in Uppsala and in Bologna were also providing theirspecialized advice. The instrument in Geneva is in the hands of the

Magisterium,andtheParispeoplearesympathetictothatcause.TheOxfordalethiometeristheonlyotheroneweknowof.”

“Sincewe’renowOakleyStreet,”saidHannah,“mayIaskyouthis:IsthereanotherOakleyStreetagentamongtheOxfordreaders?”

“No, there isn’t.TheotherOxfordreadersarehonestscholarswithsoundacademicreasonsforusingtheinstrument.”

“UnlessoneofthemisanagentoftheMagisterium,”saidYasminAl-Kaisy.

Shedidn’tsmile,butLordNugentdid.

“Unless,ofcourse,that,”hesaid.“Sofar,thingshaveremainedinasortofbalance.ButlastweekthereaderinBolognawasmurdered,andheralethiometerwasstolen.Wecanonlyassume itwouldsoonhavebeenonitswaytoGeneva.”

“Itwouldhavebeenonitsway?”

“A very quick-witted agent of ours was able to deal with themurdererandcapturetheinstrument.It’sinthatboxunderthelamp.”

Hannahturnedtolook.Onasidetableunderanaphthalamplayabatteredwoodenbox,certainlytherightsizetocontaintheinstrumentshe knew. She longed to get up at once and examine this one, andPapadimitrioucouldtell.

“Youcanseeitafterdinner,”hesaid.“Asfaraswecantell,ithasn’tbeendamagedbyitsadventures,butyou’llbeabletotellusforsure.”

She felt breathless. Rather than trust her voice, she took a sip ofwineandlookedbacktoLordNugent.

“What we would like, Dr. Relf,” he said, “is your agreement to aproposition. It comes at a cost, so youmight need to think about it.Andcertainlyweshallansweranyquestionsyouhave.Here it is:wewould be very glad if you would put your academic work aside andreadthealethiometerforusfull-time.Youwouldusethisinstrument.Itwouldbeinyourcare.Nooneelse,ofcourse,wouldknow.Youmusttelluswhatproblemsthatwouldcauseyou,andofcoursethedecisionis entirely yours, but first I’ll ask Adnan to say a word about thebackgroundandwhythismatters.”

“Before you do, Dr. Al-Kaisy,” Hannah said, “I want to ask aquestion.Perhapsyouweregoingtoansweritanyway,butheregoes.

LordNugentjustnowreferredtotheMagisteriuminawaythatmadeitclearthatitwastheenemy,andIknowthattheConsistorialCourtofDiscipline has been responsible for various…um…unfriendly things,such as killing the poor man who was my insulator. And there’s arevolting organization called the League of St. Alexander nowpoisoning relations between children and their teachers in variousschools.Iassumethesethingsareallconnected,andI’mgladtofightthem.Butwhoarewe?WhatisOakleyStreetpartof?What’sthecausethat I’ve been supporting in my work for Oakley Street? It soundshopelessly naive and stupid when I put it like that, but I’ve beenworking…well, I’ve been working blind for the past few years. I’veassumed that I was on the right side. How could anyone be soignorant?Well, I could. I find it quite easy. I hope you canmake itclear,Dr.Al-Kaisy.But,asIsay,perhapsyouweregoingtoanyway.”

“IhopeIwas,”hesaid,“butnowIshalltakeextracare.”Hisdæmon,the desert fox,moved to the other side of his chair, fromwhere shecouldseeHannah,andsettledherselfneatly.“OakleyStreetisasecretagency of government.We were set up with the express purpose offrustratingtheworkoftheagenciesyoumentionedandseveralotherstoo. We were created in 1933, just before the Swiss War, when itseemed likely that Brytain would be defeated by the Magisterium’sarmedforces.Asitturnedout,weweren’t,andsomeofthecreditforour survival belongs to the Office for Special Inquiry, which laterbecameknowninformallyasOakleyStreet.Itspurposewastodefenddemocracyinthiscountry,firstofall.Thentodefendtheprinciplesoffreedomofthoughtandexpression.Wewereluckyinourmonarchy,Ihavetosay.KingRichardwasastrongsupporterofouractivities;thedirectorofOakleyStreetisalwaysaPrivyCounselor,andtheoldkinghad a passionate interest in what we were doing and why. KingMichael,perhaps rather less so…But thepresentkingseems to sharehis grandfather’s interest and has been very helpful in ways thathaven’tbeenmadepublic.”

“WhatdoesParliamentknowaboutOakleyStreet?”

“Very little. Our activities are funded—not very well—out of thegeneraldefense fund, throughtheCabinetOffice.There isagroupofMPs,governmentbackbencherswhoarepassionatelypro-Magisterium—I’m sure you would know some of their names—who suspect thatsomething likeOakley Street exists, andwould love to expose it anddestroy it and put a stop to everything we do. This is a deep and

uncomfortableparadox,whichwillnothaveescapedyou:wecanonlydefenddemocracybybeingundemocratic.Everysecretserviceknowsthisparadox.Somearemorecomfortablewithitthanothers.”

“Yes,”saidHannah.“Itisaparadox.Anditisuncomfortable.Togoback to the instrument fromBologna for amoment: presumably it’sreallyapossessionofBolognaUniversity?”

“Itwas,”saidLordNugent.

“Surelyitstillis?Legally?Morally?”

“I daresay,” said LordNugent. “Like Adnan’s democratic paradox,this isanotherethicalproblem.Thegoverningbodyof theuniversitythere is now in the hands of a pro-Geneva faction. Our reader wasworkingforusinsecret,asyouare,andwesuspectshewasfoundoutandkilledon theordersof that very faction.They’ddiscoveredwhatshe was doing, and they killed her for it, and if our agent hadn’tmanagedtostepinatonce,thisinstrumentwouldnowbeinGeneva,helpingourenemies.”

“Goodgrief,”saidHannah.

She took a sip of her wine and looked clearly at the four others:Nugent, lean and subtle; Yasmin Al-Kaisy, elegant and warmlyinterestedatthesametime;AdnanAl-Kaisy,dark-eyed,sympathetic;andPapadimitriou,cool,curious,fierce.

“So,forthemoment,theBolognainstrumentcountsasthespoilsofwar,”Al-Kaisywentonafterapause.

“And this is awar?We’re fighting awar?” saidHannah. “A secretwar?”

“Yes, it is,” said Nugent. “And we’re asking you to take a moreprominentpart.We’requiteawareofalltheimplications.”

“Implications…”

“Aboutyoursafety,andsoon.Thelastpersontodowhatwe’dlikeyoutodowaskilled,afterall.Yes,weseethatasclearlyasyoudo.Herpositionwasconsiderablymoreexposedthanyourswillbe,mindyou.Shewas inwhatwas effectively an enemy stronghold.We canmakesurethatyouareprotected.”

“Andyou’dneedmetodothis—what,full-time?”

“Remind my colleagues what you do at the moment,” said

Papadimitriou.

Yasmin Al-Kaisy was putting a glass bowl of some fragrant ice infrontofeachofthem.

“Thank you,” said Hannah. “This looks delicious. Well, I dotwo things. In the small amount of time I have with theBodleian alethiometer, I’m supposed to be working, like the othermembersofthegroup,ononeofthesymbolrangesoftheinstrument.My particular symbol is the hourglass. There are twelve of us in thegroup,andeachofustakesonesymboltostudy,andwemeetregularlytocomparenotes.Ihavefivehourswiththeinstrumenteachweek.

“That’swhatIdoonthesurface,so tospeak.Officially.Butasyouknow, I also work for Oakley Street. When they—you—send me aspecificquestiontoanswer,Iworkonthat,takingtimeoutofmyfivehours. But if I make no progress with my official—my proper—research,I’llbeaskedtoleavethegroupandletsomeoneelsehavemyalethiometertime.Asitis,I’moneoftheslowestbecauseoftheworkIdoforyou.Andthat’s…It’sgalling.”

“It must be,” said Al-Kaisy. “But in that case—I mean, if you areknown to be slow—it wouldn’t be surprising if, say, you voluntarilygaveupyourfivehourswiththeBodleianalethiometer….”

“And said that it was too difficult, you mean? And gave up myresearch?”Hannahdroppedthespoonbesideherbowl.“Well,no,thatwouldbepossible.Andthehumiliation—well,nodoubtIcouldputupwiththat.ButIhaveacareer….”

Shepickedupthespoonagain,droppeditoncemore.ShelookedatPapadimitriou.

“Professor,youcanseewhatthiswouldmean!”shesaid,andJesper,expressingher indignation,bristledallover. “You’reaskingme todosomethingthatledthelastpersontodoittoherdeath.Simultaneouslyyou’dlikemetosabotagemycareerbyseemingtogiveupacourseofresearch because it was too difficult for me. That’s…well, bothtogether…it’sunreasonable,isn’tit?”

Papadimitrioupushedhisuntouchediceaside.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “War asks many people to do unreasonablethings.Andmakenomistake,weareatwar.Hannah,thereisnooneelse who could do this. I know all the Oxford alethiometer group.

Frankly—well, covertly—I have been following the group’s reports.Your colleagues are diligent and well informed and skillful, but theonlyonetoworkwitharealdegreeofinsightintothesymbolsisyou.Youmaybe the slowest; youare also, by a longway, thebest.Don’tworryaboutyourcareer.”

And, of course, Hannah immediately felt ashamed. But there wasnothingshethoughtshecouldsay.Sheateaspoonfulofice.

“Asforthedanger,”saidLordNugent,“Iwon’tdenyit.Ifitbecomesknown what you’re doing—especially that you have the Bolognainstrument—youwillbeatsomerisk.Ishallseetoitthatsomeonewillbewatching.WewerewatchingtheBolognareader,which ishowwewereable todealwith themattersoquicklyonce itwas…once itwastoolate,ofcourse.Buttherewewerestretched.Herewewouldnotbe.Youwouldn’tbeawareoftheprotection,butitwouldbethere.”

“Andyouwouldknow,”saidAl-Kaisy,“thatyouweremakingagreatcontributiontotheprogressofthiswar,thissecretwar.Youknowwhotheenemy is, soyouknowwhatwe’re fighting.Rememberwhat isatstake.Therightwehavetospeakandthinkfreely,topursueresearchinto any subject under the sun—all thatwould be destroyed. That isworthfightingfor,don’tyouagree?”

“Of course I agree,” said Hannah fiercely. “You don’t have topersuademeofsomethingsoobvious.WhatelsewouldIbelieve?OfcourseIbelievethat.”

Shepushedhericeaway.

“Werealizethatverywell,”saidNugent.“Andofcoursethepositionwe’reputtingyouinisprofoundlyuncomfortable.Whydon’twefinishthis delicious dessert, and then you can see the instrument fromBologna.I’dbeveryinterestedtohearwhatyoumakeofit.”

“How many alethiometers are there?” asked Yasmin Al-Kaisy. “IsupposeIshouldknow,butIdon’t.”

Papadimitriou spoke forHannah,who tookbackher ice and ate aspoonful.“Five,asfarasweknow.Therearerumorsofasixth,but…”

“Whycan’twemakeanother?”

“Hannahcouldtellusmorefully,butIthinkit’stodowiththealloyofwhichthehandsortheneedlesaremade.Buttheinstrumentitselfisonlypartofthematter.Eachoneformsaunitywithitsreader.Neither

iscomplete,whenitcomestoworking,withouttheother.”

“Whichisoneoftheverymysterieswehavetosolve,”saidAl-Kaisy.

LordNugent gotup from the table andbrought the littleboxwiththe battered corners over to Hannah. It looked like rosewood; apainteddesignonthetopwasonlyjustrecognizableasacoatofarms.

Sheliftedthelidandlookedatthealethiometercloselybeforeliftingitoutofitsnestofmaroonvelvetandsettingitonthewhitetablecloth.Itwasdeeper than theBodleian instrument,but thegoldencasewasequallywornwithhandling,andglowedinthelamplightwithasmuchintensity and fire. The thirty-six symbols arranged in their placesaroundthedialweremoresimplypainted,andonlyinblackonwhiteenamelandnotinbrilliantcolorsonivory,astheBodleian’swere;butthey looked less like decoration and more like essential qualities.Behindthehandsandtheneedle,anengravingofthesuninsplendoroccupiedthecenterofthedial.

Hannahfeltherhandsmovingtowardsit,asiftothefaceofalover.TheBodleianalethiometerwasbeautifulandornate,andwhatshefeltabout itwas great respect and evenawe.This onewasworkmanlike,butitsuitedherinsomeinexpressibleway.Itwelcomedherhandsasifthey were the very ones that had worn down the golden case overcenturies and smoothedaway theknurlingof thewheels.As soonasshefelt it,shewantedtobealonewithit;shewantedtospendhoursanddaysinitscompany;shewanteditnevertobemorethananarm’slengthaway.

Shelethermindslipintothestateofrelaxedattentioninwhichshecouldfeelthefirsttenortwelvelayersofmeaningbeloweachsymbol,andturnedoneofthehandstothebaby,oneofwhosefunctionswastostandforthepersonmakingtheinquiry.Thesecondsheturnedtothebeehive—inthiscasestandingforproductivework.Thethirdshesettotheapple,lockingitsmeaninginhermindontothelevelthatstoodforageneralinquiryofanysort.Withthebooksshecouldhaveaskedherquestionmoreprecisely,butthiswouldhavetodo:Shouldsheacceptthischallengeornot?

Immediately the needle began to swing round and round, andHannah counted six revolutions before it settled firmly on themarionette.Thesixthlevelofthemarionetterange,inasimplereadinglikethis,stoodforaffirmation:yes,sheshould.

Shelookedup,breatheddeeply,andblinkedasshecameoutofherslighttrance.Theywereallwatchingher.

“Yes,I’lldoit,”shesaid.

Therewasnomistakingthereliefandpleasurethatcameintotheirexpressions. Even Papadimitriou smiled like a young boy given apresent. What Hannah didn’t tell them was that her hands on theinstrumentfeltinstantlyathomeandatworkinawaythattheyneverhadwiththeOxfordalethiometer.

Andalmostinthesamemomentshesawtheproblem.

“But…,”shesaid.

“Yes?”saidPapadimitriou.

“IcandowhatIdowiththeBodleianalethiometeronlybecausethelibraryhasallthebooksthatdealwiththedeeperlayersofthesymbolranges.Frommemory I canworkaboutadozen layersdeep,butnotmuchmorethanthat.IfI’mgoingtoleavethegroup,Iwon’tbeabletousethebookswithoutmakingitobviousthatIhaveaccesstoanotheralethiometer.Andwithoutthebooks,Iwon’tbeanyusetoyou.”

Theothers lookedatPapadimitriou.Fromsomewhere the smell ofcoffeewasdrifting.

Papadimitriousaid,“Onthefaceofit,thatdoespresentaproblem.Butbooksareeasiertoduplicatethanalethiometers.Ishallmakeitmybusinesstofindasmanyasyouneed.”

“Ifitbecomesknownthatyou’reinthemarketforsuchbooks,”saidAl-Kaisy, “people will put two and two together. A missingalethiometer here, a scholar keenly seeking to acquire certain booksthere…”

“Itwon’tbethisthere,”saidPapadimitriou.“It’llbeseveraldifferenttheres.Don’tworryaboutit.”

“Wecanputoutsomegreenpaper,”saidNugent,acceptingacupofcoffeefromYasminAl-Kaisy.

“Greenpaper?”saidHannah.

“Falserumors.IntheearlydaysofOakleyStreet,plansforthatsortofthingwereoftensketchedoutongreenpaper.Westillusetheterm.Wecansuggestthatwe’vefoundtheonemissinginstrument.Orthatwe’ve succeeded inmaking another, or severalmore.Green paper is

sometimesveryuseful.”

“Yes,Isee,”saidHannah.“CanIbepracticalagain?”

“Pleasedo.”

“Ishallneedanincome.IfIgobacktoteaching,whichofcourseIcoulddo,itwouldgivemelittletimetoworkforOakleyStreet.”

“Leave that tome,” said LordNugent. “An uncle you didn’t knowverywell…alegacy—somethinglikethat.Wehaven’tgotmuchmoney,butwecancertainlykeepyoufromstarvation.”

“Ihopeyoucan,”saidHannah.

Sherealizedthatherhandshadnotleftthealethiometersinceshe’dfirst touched it.Self-consciously, she took themawayandsippedhercoffee.

“Practical arrangements,” said Yasmin Al-Kaisy. “More practicalarrangements.Haveyougotasafeatyourhouse?”

“No,”Hannahsaid,andcouldn’tkeepaslightlaughfromhervoice.“I’vegotnothingvaluable.”

“Youhavenow.We’llarrangeforanewitemofdomesticapparatus—say, a new central heating boiler, something of that sort—to bedelivered and installed in the next two or three days. It won’t be aboiler,butitwillbeasafe.Pleasekeepthealethiometerinthatwhenyou’renotusingit.”

“Ofcourse.”Shethought,Ithadbetterbeputupstairs, incaseofaflood. And that reminded her of Malcolm’s warning, and she said,“Lord Nugent, is there an agent of Oakley Street called Coram vanTexel?”

“No,”hesaid.

Shethought,Interesting.Oneofthemmustbelying,andIthinkit’sNugent. I can ask the alethiometer anyway. Shewenton: “Or amancalledGerardBonneville?Hasheanythingtodowiththisbusiness?”

“Bonnevilletheexperimentaltheologian?”

“Washeascientist?Ididn’tknow.He’sgotahyenadæmonwithamissingleg.”

“HewasaleadingresearcherintotheRusakovbusiness.Dust—thatsortofthing.Thenhelosthisbearingsandwasjailedforasexoffense,

Ithink.Howhaveyoucomeacrosshim?”

“Apparently, he’s in Oxford. He’s been to Malcolm’s father’s pub.Malcolmmentionedhimtheotherday.Onemorething:Howwillwecontactoneanother?Inthesamewayasbefore?”

“No,” said Papadimitriou. “You and I will have to make somearrangement to meet regularly. In your new capacity as anindependent scholar, let’s say, you’ve askedmy advice about a bookyouwanttowrite.Wemeettotalkaboutyourresearch.Somethinglikethat.WhatareyoudoingthisFridayafternoon?”

“Iwouldnormallybeworkingathome.”

“CometoJordanatthreeo’clock.”

“Verywell.”

“AndIwonderifyoucouldmakeastartonsomethingrightaway,”saidNugent.

“Yes,IsupposeIcould,”shesaid,“nowI’vegotthis.”

“It’s about the child at the priory. For some reason we don’tunderstand, she’s very important to the other side. Can you makegeneralinquiries,ordoesithavetobeatightlyfocusedquestion?”

“Both—butthemoretightlyfocused,thelongerittakes.”

“Make it general, then. We badly need to know why the child isimportant.Ifyoucouldframeaquestionthatwouldgetananswertothat,itwouldbeveryhelpful.”

“I’lldomybest.”

“One more thing,” Nugent went on. “Your young friend, the boyfromtheinn—Matthew,isit?”

“MalcolmPolstead.”

“Malcolm.Wewon’tputhimindanger,buthecouldbevaluableinanumberofways.Keepintouchwithhim.Tellhimwhatyouthinkhecankeepquietabout.Pickupwhateveryoucan.”

Somethinghadhappened.Theatmosphereintheroomhadchangedquitesuddenly.Therewasanairof—Shecouldn’tunderstandit.Itwasas if the others all knew a secret she didn’t, and they didn’twant tolookather.Itcouldn’thavebeenLordNugent’swords,whichseemedtobeinnocuous;orwasshemissingwhattheymeant?

The moment passed. People got up, good-byes were said, coatsfound, thanks uttered, and Hannah put the alethiometer in itsrosewoodboxinacottonshoppingbagandsetoffhome.

“Jesper,whathappenedthen?”shesaidwhenthey’dturnedintotheWoodstockRoad.

“Theyknew thathemeant somethingunderneathwhatheactuallysaid,andtheydidn’tlikeit.”

“Well,Igotthatfarmyself.Iwonderwhatitwas.”

Thenextday,MalcolmfoundthenunsbusypreparingfortheFeastofSt. Scholastica. It wasn’t actually a feast, as Sister Fenella hadexplained to adisappointedMalcolmonpreviousoccasions; itwas adayofcelebration.But thatmeant longservices in theoratoryratherthanwell-filledtablesintherefectory.

However,Lyraobviouslywasn’texpectedtosingandpraywiththesisters, and equally obviously couldn’t be left untended while theirhymns and psalms and prayers ascended into the infinite, so SisterFenellawasexcusedthedutyofpraisingthedeadsaintanddetailedtolookafterthebabywhileshepreparedtheeveningmeal.

Malcolm came into the kitchen just as the old lady was putting alambstewtosimmerontherange.Pantalaimon,thebabydæmon,setup a brisk chirruping, andMalcolmmoved closer so thatAsta couldperchontherimofthecribandchangeintoallthebirdssheknew,oneaftertheother,makingLyraandherdæmonscreamwithlaughter,asifitwasthefunniestthingintheworld.

“Wehaven’tseenyouforadayortwo,Malcolm,”saidSisterFenella.“Whathaveyoubeenupto?”

“Lotsofthings.SisterFenella,willSisterBenedictabeabletoseemeaftertheservice?”

“Not for long, dear. This is a busyday.Can I tell her anything foryou?”

“Well…I’vegottowarnher,butIcanwarnyouaswell,becauseit’sforallofyou.”

“Oh,dear.Whatareyouwarningusabout?”

Shesettledonherstoolanddrewthenearestcabbage towardsheronthetable.Malcolmwatchedherhandsandtheoldknifeunhurriedlyshredding it, setting theoutside leaves and theheart aside for stock,andreachingforanother.

“You know the river’s been high?” he said. “Well, everyone thinksthatit’llgodown,nowit’sstoppedraining,buttherain’sgoingtocomebackandtheriver’sgoingtofloodmorethanit’sdoneforyears.”

“Really?”

“Yes. A gyptian man told me. And they know the river, gyptians.TheyknowallthewatersinEngland.IjustwantedtomakesureSisterBenedicta knew, so she could make everything safe, specially Lyra.’Causeyou’re low-lyinghereonthisbank.I toldmydad,andhesaidyoucouldallcomeandstayattheTrout,onlyitprobablywouldn’tbeholyenough.”

Shelaughedandclappedheroldredhands.

“I’vetoldotherpeople,”Malcolmwenton,“butnoonebelievesme,Idon’tthink.Iwishyouhadsomeboatshere.Ifyoucouldfloat,you’dbeallrightinaflood,but…”

“We’d all be carried away,” said Sister Fenella. “But I shouldn’tworry.Wehadabigfloodin…oh,fiftyyearsago—Iwasanovice—andall the garden was underwater and it came right in and the groundfloor was three or four inches deep. I thought it was marvelouslyexciting,but theoldernunsweredistressed,soIdidn’tsayanything.Of course, I had nothing to be responsible for in those days. And itsoonwentdownagain.SoIshouldn’tworrytoomuch,Malcolm.Mostthingshavehappenedbefore, andwe’re all still here,by thegraceofGod.”

“There was something else I wanted to tell Sister Benedicta,” saidMalcolm. “But maybe it’ll wait till tomorrow. Is Mr. Taphouse heretoday?”

“Ihaven’tseenhim.Iheardhewasn’twell.”

“Oh…Iwasgoingtosaysomethingtohimaswell.MaybeIcouldgoandseehim,butIdon’tknowwherehelives.”

“NeitherdoI.”

“I’llhavetoseeSisterBenedictaafterall,then.Whendotheyfinish

worshipping?”

Itturnedoutthatthelongservicefinishedintwentyminutes’time,which gave the sisters an hour for recreation and exercise, or forgettingonwiththeirworkinthegardenorwiththeembroideryneedle,beforesittingdowntoeat.MalcolmdecidedtofillthetimebyteachingLyrahowtotalk.

“Now,Lyra,see,I’mMalcolm.That’seasytosay.Goon,haveago.Mal-colm.”

Shestaredathimsolemnly.Pantalaimonbecameamoleandburiedhimselfinherblankets,andAstalaughed.

“No,don’tlaugh,”saidMalcolm.“Tryit,Lyra.Mal-colm.”

Shefrownedanddribbled.

“Well, you’ll get the hang of it eventually,” he said, patting hercheeksdrywithateatowel.“TryAsta.Goon.As-ta.”

Shewatchedhimcautiouslyandsaidnothingatall.

“Well,she’sveryadvancedforherage,anyway,”saidMalcolm.“It’sreally clever for her dæmon to be a mole. How’d they know aboutmoles?”

“That’samystery,”saidtheoldnun.“OnlythegoodLordknowstheanswer to that,but that’snotsurprising,becauseafterallHecreatedeverything.”

“I remember being a mole,” said Geraint, her old dæmon, whonormallysaidverylittleandjustwatchedeverythingwithhisheadtooneside.“WhenIwasfrightened,Iusedtobeamole.”

“Buthowdidyouknowaboutmoles?”saidMalcolm.

“Youjustfeelmole-ish,”saidAsta.

“Hmm,”saidMalcolm.“Look,he’scomingupagain.”

Pan,nolongeramolebutnowarabbit,emergedfromtheblankets,veryclosetoLyra,forsafety,butverycurious.

“Tellyouwhat,Lyra,”Malcolmsaid.“YoucanteachPanhowtosayMalcolm.”

The baby and the dæmon gabbled cautiously together. Then Astabecameamonkeyandstoodonherhands,andtheybothlaughed.

“Well,youcanlaugh,evenifyoucan’ttalk,”saidMalcolm.“I’spectyou’lllearnsoon.WhataboutSisterFenella?Canyousaythat?Sis-terFen-el-la?”

The little girl turned her head to Sister Fenella and gave a broadhappy smile, and her dæmon became a squirrel like Geraint andchatteredwithglee.

“She’sreallyclever,”saidMalcolm.Hewasfullofadmiration.

At that moment, he heard a stir of talk in the corridor, and thekitchendooropenedtoletinSisterBenedicta.

“Ah!Malcolm! I wanted to talk to you. Glad you’re here. All well,Sister?”

Shemeant,All well with Lyra? but she didn’t really listen to theanswer.Anothernun,SisterKatarina,was coming tokeepaneyeonthebabywhileSisterFenellawenttotheoratoryforaprivateserviceofher own, or so Malcolm gathered. Sister Katarina was young andpretty,withlargedarkeyes,butshewasnervous,andshemadeLyranervous too. The baby was really only perfectly happy with SisterFenella.

“Come along, Malcolm,” said Sister Benedicta. “I want a quickword.”

It didn’t sound as if he was in trouble. It wasn’t that kind ofsummons.

“Iwantedtotellyousomethingtoo,Sister,”hesaidassheclosedtheofficedoorbehindthem.

“Inaminute.Yourememberthatmanyoutoldmeabout?Withthethree-leggeddæmon?”

“Isawhimtheothernight,”saidMalcolm.“Iwasgoingthroughtheupstairsbedroomsathomelookingforsomethingand…”

Hedescribedwhathe’dseen.Shelistenedclose,frowning.

“Abroken shutter?No, it’snotbroken.Someone forgot to close it.Nevermind that. You sawwhat hewas doing to his dæmon—clearlythemanismentallyill,Malcolm.WhatIwantedtotellyouwastokeepaway from him. If you see him anywhere, just go in the oppositedirection.Don’tgetdrawnintoconversation.Iknowhowfriendlyyouarewitheveryone,andthat’savirtue,butyouhavetousejudgmentas

well,whichisanothervirtue.Thatmanisnotcapableofreason,poorthing, and his obsessions can damage other people, just as they’vedamagedhisdæmon.Now,whatdidyouwanttotellme?Wasitabouthim?”

“Partly. But the other part is that there’s going to be a flood. Agyptianmantoldme.”

“Oh, nonsense! The weather’s changed. It’ll be spring before weknowit.ThankthegoodLord,allthatrain’soveranddonewith.”

“Butheexplained—”

“Alotofwhatthegyptianssayissuperstition,Malcolm.Listentoitpolitely, but again—use your judgment. All the forecasts from theWeatherOfficeagree:theheavyrainsareover,andthere’snodangerofflood.”

“Butthegyptiansknowtheriversandtheweather—”

“Thankyouforpassingonhiswarning.ButIthinkwe’regoingtobesafe.Wasthereanythingelse?”

“IsMr.Taphouseallright?”

“He’salittlepoorly.Nowthatalltheshuttersareup,I’vetoldhimtorest for a fewdays.Off yougo,Malcolm.Rememberwhat I told youabouttheman.”

Shewasveryhardtoarguewith.Notthathewantedtoargue;allhewastryingtodowaswarn,asMr.VanTexelhadaskedhimtodo.

—

Thatnight,hehadanotherdreamaboutwilddogs.Orperhapsitwasthesamedream:apackofwilddogs,allkindsofdogs, runningwithfurious speed across a bare plain this time, intent on hunting andkilling something he couldn’t see. And he was relishing it. It wasfrighteningandexcitingat thesametime,andhewokesweatingandbreathingfast,andlayholdingtightlytoAsta,who,ofcourse,hadbeendreamingthesamedream.Hewasstillthinkingaboutitwhentheygotupmuchlatertogotoschool.

—

Havinghadnosuccessatwarningthenunsabouttheflood,Malcolmtriedwithhisteachers.Hehadthesameresponse.Itwasnonsense—itwas superstition—the gyptians knew nothing, or they were up to

something,ortheyweren’ttobetrusted.

“I dunno,” said Malcolm to Robbie and Eric and Tom in theplayground.“Somepeoplejustdon’twanttobewarned.”

“Well,itdoesn’tlooklikely,thisflood,”saidRobbie.

“River’sstillhigh,”saidTom,whowasafaithfulfollowerofwhateverMalcolmsaid.“Itwouldn’ttakemuchmorerain….”

“My dad says you can’t believe anything the gyptians say,”announcedEric.“There’salwaysahiddengenderwiththem.”

“Awhat?”saidRobbie.

“Theygotsecretplansthatnooneelseknowsabout.”

“Don’ttalkdaft,”saidMalcolm.“Whatsecretplancouldthisbe?”

“Idunno,”saidEricrighteously.“That’swhyit’ssecret.”

“Youstoppedwearingyourleaguebadge,”saidRobbie.“Ibetthere’sasecretagendabehindthat,an’all.”

In answer Eric slowly reached up to the lapel of his blazer andturned it backwith a finger and thumb. Pinned underneathwas thelittleenamellampoftheLeagueofSt.Alexander.

“Why’reyouhidingit?”saidMalcolm.

“Thoseofuswhohavereachedtheseconddegreewearitlikethat,”saidEric.“There’safewofusinschool,butnotmany.”

“At least if youwear iton theoutside,peoplecanseeyoubelong,”saidRobbie.“Buthidingit’ssneaky.”

“Why?”saidEric,honestlyastonished.

“ ’Causeifyouseesomeone’swearingabadge,youcanjustnotsayanything they could report,” saidMalcolm. “But if they hide it, youcouldfindyourselfintroublewithoutknowingwhy.”

“Whatisthis‘seconddegree’anyway?”saidRobbie.

“I’mnotallowedtotellyou.”

“Bet youwill, though,” saidMalcolm. “Bet you’ll tell us before theendoftheweek.”

“Iwon’t,”saidEric.

“Yes,youwill,”saidRobbieandTomtogether.

Ericstalkedaway,offended.

Theinfluenceoftheleaguehadstabilizedsinceitsfirstbigsuccesses.Mr.Hawkins,thedeputyheadwhohadcompromisedwithitatonce,was confirmed as successor to the old headmaster, who haddisappeared.EricsaidMr.Williswasataspecialtrainingcamp,buthewasbelievedasmuchasheusuallywas,sonooneknewforsure.Someof the teachers who had left in protest or by being required to takeleave had come back, sullen or chastened; others had vanished andbeenreplaced.Therealauthorityintheschoolwasheldbythenever-quite-named,never-quite-described,never-quite-admitted-togroupofsenior pupils forming the first andmost influential members of theleague.TheymetwithMr.Hawkinseveryday,andtheirdecisionsororders were announced in the next day’s assembly. Somehow it wasimpliedthatanysuchproclamationwasthedirectwordofGod,sothattodisobeyorprotestwastoblaspheme.Manypupilsgot intotroublebefore they understood this. Now, though, the understanding hadpermeatedeverywhere.

Thepupilsinthishalf-secretgroupwerehelpedandguidedbytwoorthreeadults,whowererumoredtobespecialgovernors.Theyneverspoke in assembly, never taught any lessons, hardly ever spoke to apupil;theypatrolledthecorridorsmakingnotesandweretreatedwithparticularobsequiousnessbythestaff,butnochildrenweretoldtheirnamesorwhattheirfunctionswere.Itjustbecameunderstood.

About half the school had joined the league; of those, a few hadfallen away, and of the rest, a few had given in and joined. For themomentnothingmorehadbeenseenofthewomanwhohadfirstcometo tell them about it, and absolutely nothing had been said in thenewspapers.Youcouldspendquitesometimeintheschoolandneverhear it mentioned; but all the same, its existence became known toeveryone.Itwasasifithadalwaysbeenthere,asifitwouldbestrangefor a school not to be pervaded by this half-enthralling, half-frighteningmiasma. Lessonswent on as normal, though each lessonwas now preceded by a prayer. The pictures that had hung in thecorridorsandclassrooms—mostly reproductionsof famouspaintings,or paintings of historical scenes—hadbeen takendownand replacedwith posters bearing quotations from the Bible in rather hectoringcolor. Few pupils were openly naughty anymore—there were fewerfightsintheplayground,forinstance—buteveryoneseemedguiltier.

—

On Saturday,Malcolm tookLa Belle Sauvage for her first extendedtrip since Mr. Van Texel had brought her back. It was just as thegyptianhadsaid:thelittlecraftwasstiffer,moreresponsive,andverymuchslippier throughthewater thanshe’dever feltbefore.Malcolmwas delighted; he thought he’d be able to paddle for miles withouttiring,andcampanywhere,moreorlessinvisibly,andaltogetherownthewaterinaquitenewway.

“Whenweneedabigboat,”hesaidtothekingfisher-formedAstaasshesatonthegunwalebesidehim,“we’llgotothatgyptianboatbuilderandhecanmakeitforus.”

“Howwillwefindhim?Andwhatwoulditcost?”

“Dunno.WecouldaskMr.VanTexel.”

“How’llwefindwhereheis?”

“Dunnothateither.Iwonderifhewasaspy,”Malcolmsaidafterawhile.“Imean,OakleyStreet…”

Astadidn’t reply.Shewasgazingata small fish.Theywereon thecanalnow,whichwashigh itself,but stiller than the river,of course.Malcolm could feel his dæmon’s eagerness to plunge into the waterandcatchthefish,andsilentlyurgedheron;butsheheldback.

They tied up the canoe in their usual place, and the chandlerpromised to keep an eye on her, and soon they were in CranhamStreet.

“What’sthat?”saidAstaassoonastheyturnedthecorner.

A grand gas-powered vehicle was standing right outsideDr. Relf’shouse.Malcolmstoppedtolookatit.

“She’sgotavisitor,”saidAsta,ajackdawnow.

“Maybeweshouldwait.”

“Don’tyouwanttoseewhoitis?”

“Sortof.Idon’twanttogetintheway,though.”

“It’s them who’s in our way,” said Asta. “She’s expecting us. Wealwayscomeatthistime.”

“No,Igotafeeling….”

Itwas the grandeur of the vehicle that disturbed him. It didn’t fitwith his knowledge of Dr. Relf. Still, Asta was right: they wereexpected.

“Well,we’ll justhavetobepoliteandkeepoureyesopen,”hesaid.“Likeproperspies.”

“Weareproperspies,”saidAsta.

There was a chauffeur with a short pipe in his mouth who wasloungingoutsidethecar.HegavethemanincuriousglanceasMalcolmrangthebell.

Dr.Relf,lookingalittlebothered,openedthedoor.

“We can come back later if—”Malcolm began, but she shook herheadfirmly.

“No,Malcolm, come in,” she said, and Jespermurmured, “But becareful,”onlyjustloudenoughforthemtohear.Then,louder,shesaid,“Myvisitor’sjustgoing.”

Malcolmsteppedover thesandbags,andAstabecamearobin,andthenchangedbacktoajackdaw.Malcolmwascompletelyatonewithheruncertainty,butthought,Staylikethat,whenshewasinherdustyblack feathers. And he assumed an expression of dim and mildagreeableness,thenextbestthingtobeinginvisible.

Itwasaswellhedid.InthesittingroomDr.Relfsaid,“Mrs.Coulter,thisismypupilMalcolm.Malcolm,sayhellotoMrs.Coulter.”

The woman’s name hit Malcolm like a bullet. This was Lyra’smother.Shewasthemostbeautifulladyhehadeverseen:youngandgolden-haired and sweet-faced, dressed in gray silk, and wearing ascent, just thevery faintesthintofa fragrance, thatspokeofwarmthandsunlightandthesouth.Shesmiledathimwithsuch friendlinessthathewasremindedofthatstrangemomentwithGerardBonneville.Andthiswasthewomanwhowantednothingmoretodowithherownchild!Buthewasn’t supposed toknow that,andnothingwouldhavemadehimadmitthatheknewanythingaboutthebaby.

“Hello,Malcolm,” she said, and held out her hand to shake. “Andwhat’sDr.Relfteachingyou?”

“Thehistoryofideas,”saidMalcolmstolidly.

“Youcouldn’thaveabetterteacher.”

Herdæmonwasdisconcerting.Hewasamonkeywith longgoldenfur, and if there was an expression in his black eyes, it wasunfathomable.Hesatperfectlystillon thebackofherarmchair,andAsta,whoout of politenesswouldnormallyhave flownacross to saygood day, felt repelled and frightened and stayed on Malcolm’sshoulder.

“Areyouascholartoo,Mrs.Coulter?”Malcolmsaid.

“Onlyanamateur.HowdidyoufindateacherlikeDr.Relf?”

“Ifoundabookshe’dlostandbroughtitback.NowIborrowbooksfromherandwetalkaboutthem,”hesaidinthesortofpolite,neutraltone thatheusedwith customers in theTroutwhomhedidn’tknowverywell.Hewashopingshewouldn’taskwherehelived,incasesheknewwhereLyrawasandmade theconnection;buthadn’t theysaidshehadno interest in thechild?Perhaps shedidn’tknowanddidn’tcare.

“Andwheredoyoulive?”shesaid.

“DownSt.Ebbe’s,”hesaid,namingadistrictinthesouthofthecity,andsurprisinghimselfbysayingitsocalmly.

Thegoldenmonkeystirredbutsaidnothing.

“Andwhatdoyouwanttodowhenyougrowup?”

Everybody asked that, but somehow he expected something moreinterestingfromher.

“Idunno,really,”hesaid.“Maybeworkontheboatsortherailway.”

“I expect the history of ideas will be very useful, then,” she said,smilingsweetly.

Thatwas sarcastic.Hedidn’t like it, sohe thoughthe’ddisconcerther.

“Mrs. Coulter,” he said, “Imet someone the other day who was afriendofyours.”

Asta could see Jesper’s eyeswiden.Mrs.Coulter smiled again, butdifferently.

“Iwonderwhothatwas,”shesaid.

“Idon’tknowhisname.Hecameinourpub.Hewastalkingaboutyou.Hisdæmon’sahyenawiththreelegs.”

Thatwas a horrible shock for her.Malcolm could see it, andAstacould see it, and Dr. Relf and Jesper could see it too—but all thathappenedwas that the goldenmonkey leaned forward and put bothpawsonMrs.Coulter’sshoulders,andthefaintpinklefthercheeks.

“What an extraordinary thing,” she said in the calmest tone in theworld.“I’msureIdon’tknowanyonelikethat.Andwhatpubisthis?”

“TheScrivener’sArms,”saidMalcolm,certainthattherewasnopubofthatnameanywhereinthecity.

“Andwhatwashesaying?”

“Justthathewasafriendofyoursandhewasgoingtoseeyousoon.I don’t thinkmany people believed him, actually, because he hadn’tbeeninbeforeandnoonereallyknewhim.”

“Anddoyouspendalotoftimechattinginthebartostrangers?”

The color had come back to her cheeks, but where it had been adelicateflushbefore,itwasnowasmallfiercespotoneachcheekbone.

“No, I just help out in the evenings,” Malcolm said in his mostequable tone. “I hear lots of people saying all sorts of things. If hecomesback,shallItellhimI’veseenyouandyoudon’tknowhim?”

“You’dbetternot sayanything.You’dbetternot listen tononsenseeither.I’msureDr.Relfwouldagree.”

Malcolm looked atDr. Relf, whowas listeningwide-eyed. But sheblinkedandrecovered,andsaid, “Was thereanythingelse I canhelpyouwith,Mrs.Coulter?”

“Notfornow,”saidMrs.Coulter.Thegoldenmonkeyhadcometositonherlapandpresshisfaceintoherhair,asifhewaswhispering.Shestroked his fur automatically, and he turned his head to glare atMalcolmwith thoseunfathomableeyes.Malcolmstaredback calmly,thoughhefeltanythingbutcalm:ifthatmonkeyhadaname,itmightbeMalice,hethought.

Mrs. Coulter gathered the dæmon into her arms and stood up,whisperingsomethingtohim.ThensheheldoutherhandtoDr.Relf.

“Verykindofyoutoputupwithmecallingwithoutanynotice,”shesaid, and then turned toMalcolm. “Good-bye,Malcolm” was all shesaid.Shedidn’toffertoshakehishand.

Dr.Relfshowedhertothefrontdoor,helpedheronwithawarmfur

coat, and saw her out.Malcolmwatched through thewindow as thechauffeurstoodupstraightandbustledaroundbeinguseful.

“Well,whatdidyousaythatfor?”saidDr.Relfasthegreatcardrewaway.

“Ididn’twanttotellherwhereIlived.”

“Butthemanwiththehyenadæmon!Whyonearth—”

“Iwantedtoseewhatwouldhappen.”

“Malcolm,thatwasveryreckless.”

“Yes.ButIdon’ttrusther.Iwantedtoshakeherabit,andIthoughtthatwouldwork.”

“Itcertainlydid.Butdidhesayanythingabouther?Didhesayhewasafriend?”

Malcolm told her what Alice had said about Bonneville. “I justthought,” he added, “if shewasmeaning any harm to Lyra, itmightfrightenherabit.”

“Itfrightenedme,”saidDr.Relf.“Buttellmeagain:Hesaidwhat?”

“HesaidhewasLyra’sfather.”

“Thankgoodnessyoudidn’ttellherthat.”

“Iwouldn’tbethatsilly,”saidMalcolm.

“No…Ineedacupoftea.Let’sgointhekitchen.”

“Whatdidshecomeherefor?”saidMalcolm,sittingonthekitchenstool.

“Well,”shesaid,“toaskaboutLyra.”

“Really?Whatdidyoutellher?”

“Itwasstrange.SheseemedtothinkIhadsomeconnectionwiththechild. As I do, I suppose, indirectly, through you. It was…” Shestopped,holdingthekettleinmidair,asifstruckbyasuddenthought.“Yes.Itwasjustasifshe’dlearnedaboutthatfromanalethiometer.Iwonder! It’s exactly the sort of partial knowledge that you get whenyou’re in a hurry, or you’re not an expert reader. She was clearlypassionatelyinterestedinwherethechildwas,andsomethinghadtoldherthatImightknow.”

“Butyoudidn’t…”

“Ofcoursenot.Ofcoursenot!ShebeganbyaskingabouttheOxfordalethiometer group, about…all sorts of things. But politely, as if shewasn’treallyinterested.ThenshebegantoaskaboutthechildwhowasbeingheldsomewhereinOxford,ornearOxford,asifitwassomethinginteresting but not important, except that it clearly was. Jesper waswatchingherdæmon,whowasgrippingthebackofherchair….”

Assheputthekettleonthestoveandbusiedherhandswiththeteacaddy,shewasthinkinghard.Malcolmsaw,andsaidnothing.

Shedidn’tspeaktilltheyweresittingdownbesidethefire.Thenshetookadeepbreath.

“Malcolm,”shesaid,“I’mgoingtotakearisknowandtellyousomethingsIshouldn’t.Youwillkeepquietaboutthem?Youdounderstandhowimportantitis?”

“Well,course.”

“Yes,ofcourseyoudo.Ijustdreadputtingyouindanger,andIdon’tknowwhetherit’smoredangerousforyoutoknowthesethingsornotto.”

“Probablymoredangerousnotto.”

“Yes, that’swhatI think.Well, thefact is,I’ve left thealethiometergroup.”

“Why?”

“I was offered a chance to do something else. To work with adifferentalethiometer,onmyown.”

“Ithoughttherewasn’tmanyofthem.”

“Thisonebecamefree.Unexpectedly.”

“Thatwaslucky.”

“Idon’tknow. Itmightbe. I think thatwasoneof the thingsMrs.Coulterwastryingtofindout—whetherIhadit.”

“Issheaspy,then?”

“Ithinkso.Fortheotherside.”

“Didyouhideitfromher?Imean,hidethatyouweredoingit?”

“Ihope so.Thatdæmon…it’s impossible to tell anything from thatface.”

“HewasabitshockedwhenIsaidaboutGerardBonneville.”

“Yes,hewas.Andshewasveryshocked.I’mstillnotsureyoushouldhavedoneit.”

“Wewouldn’thaveknownotherwise.”

“Knownwhat?”

“Thatsheknewabouthim.Oh,yourememberItoldyouaboutthebroken shutter on the priory window, when we saw him hitting hisdæmon?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it wasn’t broken. Sister Benedicta told me someone hadforgottentocloseit.”

“That’sinteresting.Iwonderifsomeoneleftitopenonpurpose.”

“That’swhatwe’vebeenthinking,”saidMalcolm.“ButIdunnowhowouldhavedonethat.”

Dr.Relfputherteacupdownonthehearth.

“Malcolm, you won’t tell anyone about the alethiometer business,willyou?”

“Absolutelynot,”hesaid,surprisedsheshouldask.

“Ididn’tthinkyouwould.Butitisdeadlysecret.”

“CourseIwon’t,”hesaid.

Heateabiscuit.Shewenttothewindow.

“But,Dr.Relf,”he said, “can I ask youwhat you’redoingwith thenewalethiometer?Isitthesameaswhatyoudidinthegroup?”

“No, it’s not. The peoplewho gave it tomewantme to ask aboutLyra,amongotherthings.”

“Whatdotheywanttoknowabouther?”

“She’simportantinsomewaytheydon’tunderstand.AndtheywantmetolookintosomemorequestionsaboutDust.”

Shehadherbacktohim,andhefeltshewasn’thappyansweringtoomanyquestions,buthehadtoaskonemore.

“Andis‘they’OakleyStreet?”

She turned around.The skyhadbecomedarkbehindher, and theonly light in the room came from the coal fire in the hearth, so hecouldn’tseeherexpression.

“Yes, it is,” she said heavily. “But that’s not for mentioning,remember.”

“No.Allright.Iwon’taskanymorequestions.”

Sheturnedbacktothewindow.“Itlooksasthoughyourgyptianwasright,andit’sgoingtorainagain,”shesaid.“Let’sfinishsoonoryou’llgetsoaked.Comeandchooseacoupleofbooks.”

He could tell shewasworried, andnotwanting tohangaround incaseheannoyedher,hequicklypickedoutamurderstoryandabookaboutChinaandsaidgood-bye.

—

Oncethesafehadbeeninstalledandthebreakwiththealethiometergroup was complete, Hannah asked Professor Papadimitriou aboutthatoddmomentattheendofthedinner,whennoonecouldlookather,whentheatmospherechangedsosuddenly.

Papadimitriouexplainedit.ItseemedthatsometimesOakleyStreetandothersecretserviceshadtouseblackmailinordertoturnanagentontheotherside.Therewasanagent theywere targetingatpresent,forexample,whowasreputedtohaveanunhealthyinterestinyoungboys.

Assoonashesaidthat,shesawthetrapshe’dfalleninto,andcriedoutindismay,“No!NotMalcolm!”

“Hannah—”

“I won’t allow it! You want to offer him up—I don’t know—as atemptation—andthenwhat?You’llburst intotheroomandcatchthemanred-handed?Orworse?You’llhaveasecretcamerainstalledandtakephotograms?YouwanttoputMalcolmintoasituationlikethat?Howdespicable.AndNugentsaiditwouldn’tputhimindanger—andIbelievedhim.God,whatafool!”

“Hannah, he would not be in the slightest danger. It would be soquick,hewouldn’tevenbeawareofwhatwashappening.We’dmakesureofthat.He’stoovaluabletorisk.”

“Iwon’tletithappen.Never.I’dsoonergivethisalethiometerbackandforgetIeverhadanythingtodowith—”

“Well,thatwouldbe—”

“AndyouwaitedtillIwascommittedbeforetellingme.Well,nowIseewhatsortofthingI’mcommittedto.”

“Comebackwhenyou’vecalmeddown”wasallhesaid.

“Iwon’tcalmdown.Notaboutthis.”

No,ofcourseshe’ddoanythingtokeepMalcolmsafefromthat.Andshe sawLordNugent in a new light too: under that patrician charmand friendliness, he was ruthless. All she could do was ask thealethiometeraboutit,andmakewhatsenseshecouldoutoftheswingsand pauses of the silvery needle. As ever, the deeper she went, themorequestionsshesaw.

—

Thatevening,therainstartedinearnest.

When Malcolm went to the priory that afternoon to see if Mr.Taphousewasbetter,hefoundtheworkshopdarkandlockedup;butin the kitchen he had a surprise, because there was Alice, kneadingsomedough.

“Oh,”hesaid,becausehecouldthinkofnothingelse.

Alicelookeddisdainful,asusual,andsaidnothing.

“Hello,Malcolm,”saidSisterFenella.TheoldladywassittingbythestovenearLyra’scrib,andshedidn’tlookatallwell.

“Aliceishelpingusforawhile,”thenunwenton,hervoicelightandbreathless.

“Oh,right,”hesaid.“How’sLyra?”

“Fastasleep.Comeandsee.”

Lyra’sfacewaspressedintothefurofherkittendæmon,butnotforlong,becauseassoonasAstaflewdowntothecrib,Pantalaimonwokeup and spat fiercely. That woke Lyra, of course, and she startedbellowingwithallthebreathinherlittlelungs.

“It’sall right,Lyra,”Malcolmsaid, “youknowwhoweare.Whataracket!IshouldthinktheycanhearyouallthewayacrosstheriverandintotheTrout.”

Asta became a young cat and jumped into the crib, taking care toavoid touching Lyra, and picked up Pan the kitten dæmon and gavehim a little shake.Hewas so astonished that Lyra stopped crying atonce to seewhatwashappening,and thatmadeMalcolm laugh,andthatmadeLyralaughtoo,hereyesbrilliantwithtears.

Malcolmwas delighted to have this effect. Alice had come over tolook.

“Littleflirt,”saidAlice,andwentbacktoherbread.

“Oh,no,”saidSisterFenella,“sheknowsMalcolm,doesn’tshe,mysweet?WeknowMalcolmandAsta,don’twe?”

“CanIholdher?”saidMalcolm.

“It’snearlytimeforherfeed—yes,goon.Canyoutakeherout?”

“Easy,”saidMalcolm,andwhileAstaplayfullybattedthekittenoverandover,hereachedinandpickedthebabyup.Theywereusedtoitnow,anddidn’tcrywithalarmasthey’ddoneatfirst.MalcolmpulledupastoolwithhisfootandsatLyraonhiskneenexttoSisterFenella.Thebaby lookedaroundat everything, and thenherhand foundhermouthandinwentathumb.

“She’ssohungryshe’seatingherself,”Malcolmsaid.

Sister Fenella was stirring a saucepan of milk on the range andtestingtheheatwithherlittlefinger.

“There, that’s just right,” she said. “Malcolm,dear, canyou fill thebottleforme?”

MalcolmpassedLyratoherandpouredthemilkverycarefullyintothecleanbottle.HewantedtotellAlicewhathadhappenedearlierthatafternoonwithMrs. Coulter, but not while Sister Fenella was there;andinanycasethegirlwassohaughtyandcoldhedidn’tfinditeasytosayanythingtoheratall.

Whenthebottlewasready,SisterFenellatookLyrainthecrookofher armand settledback to feedher.Malcolmwas troubled; theoldladywasassweetandkindlyasshealwayswas,butherfacewasgrayandhereyeswerered-rimmedandtired.

“I came to see ifMr.Taphousewasbetter,” he said, sitting on thestoolagain.

“Wehaven’tseenhimforafewdays.Ihopehe’sallright.I’msureMrs.Taphousewouldletusknowifhewaspoorly.”

“Perhaps he’s having a holiday. He got all those shutters done,though,didn’the?”

“Oh,he’samarvelousworkman.”

“Ifyouneedanythingelsedone,I’lldoit.”

Alicegaveashortlaugh.Malcolmdecidedtoignoreher.

For a while the only sounds in the kitchen were the rhythmicalslappingofAlice’shandsonthedough,thesubduedcrackleofthefirein the range, the contented suckingofLyra’s lips on the rubber teat,andanothersoundthatMalcolmcouldn’tidentifytillherealizedthatitwas the faint straining of Sister Fenella’s breath. The old lady’s eyeswereclosed,andalittlefrownofeffortdrewherbrowstogether.

Then,asMalcolmwatched,thebottleslippedoutofherhand,veryslowly,andthearmholdingLyrafelloutward,evenmoreslowly,sohehad time to call, “Alice!” and seize the baby before she fell into thehearth.

Lyra howled in protest, butMalcolmhad her safe, and caught thebottle too. Alice in amoment caught Sister Fenella by the shouldersandpulledhergentlyupright,but theold ladywasunconscious.Hersquirreldæmonhadfaintedonherbreast.

“Whatshouldwe—”saidAlice.

“Youholdhersoshedoesn’tfall,andI’llgoandget—”

“Yeah,yeah—goon—”

MalcolmstoodupwithLyra.Thiswasinterestingenoughtostopthechildyelling,butMalcolmclampedthebottleintohermouthanyway,andwithAsta,cat-formed,on the floorholding thekittenPan inhermouth and following closely, he set off down the corridor towardsSisterBenedicta’soffice.

Whichwas empty, of course.He looked around as if shemight behiding,thenshookhishead.

“She’s not here, Lyra,” he said. “Never therewhenweneedher, isshe?”

Hewentoutandsawaslenderfigurefurtherdownthecorridor.

“SisterKatarina?”hecalled.

The young nun turned. She seemed more startled than Malcolmexpected.

“What?Whatisit?”

“Sister Fenella’s fainted and we need some help—she was feeding

Lyraand—”

“Oh!Oh,goodness!What—”

“CallSisterBenedicta,andthencomeandhelpinthekitchen.”

“Yes!Yes!Ofcourse!”

Sheturnedandhurriedaway,callingforSisterBenedicta.

“ThatwasSisterKatarina,Lyra,”saidMalcolm.“She’sgoingtofindSister Benedicta. You just carry on guzzling, girl. Don’t you worryaboutit.We’regoingbacktothekitchennow.Bloomingcoldouthere,en’tit?”

AlicehadpulledSisterFenellaback intoher armchair,but theoldnunhadn’twoken,andherbreathingwasloudanddifficult.

“Pneumonia,” saidAlice, stillholdingherupright. “That’swhatmygranwaslikewhenshegotit.”

“Didshedie?”

“Well, she did in the end, but not of that. Blimey, she needschanging.”

ShewaslookingatLyra,whowasdeterminedtodrainthebottle.

“Well,Ican’tdothat,”saidMalcolm.

“Typical.”

“OnlybecauseIneverbeenshownhow.”

“ ‘Ifyouneedanythingelsedone,I’lldoit,’ ”shemimicked.

“Theywouldn’t send for a carpenter to do that,”Malcolm pointedout.“Isthereanymoremilkinthesaucepan?”

“Yeah,abit.Holdherup—here,givehertome—I’lldoit.Youputthemilkin.”

“Canyoudobabythings?”

“Igottwolittlesisters.CourseIcan.”

ShedidseemtotakeLyrainasteadyandcompetentway,andwhenshepattedthechild’sback,agiganticburpemerged,whichstartledherlittledæmonintobecomingaturkeychick.Malcolmputthesaucepanbackontherangetoheatforamoment.

“Nottoohot,”saidAlice.

“No,no.Isawwhatshedid.”

Malcolm’slittlefingerwasnotveryclean,sohesuckedithardfirstand thenheld it in the saucepan till themilkwaswarmenough,andtippeditallintothebottle.ThenhehauledSisterFenellabackuprightandwasputtingacushionbehindherheadjustasSisterBenedictaandSisterKatarinacamein.

“Seetothebaby,”SisterBenedictasaid,andSisterKatarinatriedtotakeLyra,butAliceresisted.

“She’s settled with me now,” she said. “I’ll keep her till she’sfinished.”

“Oh—ifyou’resure—”

Alice lookedather.Malcolmknew that lookandwas interested toseeitseffectonsomeoneelse.SisterKatarinalookedawaynervously,andthenevenpushedthestoolalittleforwardforAlicetositon.Thenun’spugdæmonhidbehindherlegs.

Sister Benedicta was attending to Sister Fenella. She passed somesmellingsaltsundertheoldlady’snose,makingherflinchandmoan,butshedidn’twakeup.

“ShallIgoandgetthedoctor?”Malcolmsaid.

“Thank you,Malcolm, butwewon’t need him tonight,” said SisterBenedicta. “Poor Sister Fenella needs rest more than anything else.We’ll takeher toherbed.Welldone,bothof you.Alice, giveLyra toSister Katarina now. You’d better get back to your bread dough.Malcolm,that’sallfortonight,thankyou.Offyougohome.”

“Ifyouneedanything—”

“Yes,I’llaskyouatonce.Goodnight.”

ShewasworriedaboutSisterFenella,andsowashe.ButtherewasnoneedtoworryaboutLyra,hethought.

—

ThenextdaybeingSunday,Malcolmhadtimeinthemorningtostockthecanoewithemergencysupplies—just incase,asAstakeptsaying.Most important of all was his little toolbox, but he also had an oldbiscuittinfromthekitchenwithotherbitsandpiecesinit.Hethoughtof includingsomefirst-aidmaterialsbutdecidedagainstthemonthegroundsthathedidn’thaveany,thoughitwouldbegoodtogetholdof

someoneday.

Whenhe’dfinished,Alicehadarrivedforherlunchtimehoursinthekitchen.AssoonasMalcolmwasalonewithher, shesaid, “YouseenSisterFenellathismorning?”

“No.Butiftheyneededthedoctor,I’dhavebeensent.”

TheysaidnothingwhileMrs.Polsteadwasthere,asifthey’dagreedtokeep a secret, though therewasnoneed to.Malcolmhad toldhisparents what had happened, and they’d been surprised, asMalcolmhadbeen,thatAlicewasworkinginthepriorykitchen.

“Ifshecanmakebread,Imightgivehersomemorehours,”saidhismother.

“She’sadarkhorse,”saidhisfather.

When his mother went out again, Malcolm and Alice both beganspeakingatonce.

“You knowwhat you said about—” saidMalcolm, and “That othernun—”saidAlice,andthen,“Allright,youfirst.”

“You know what you said about Gerard Bonneville saying he wasLyra’sfather?”

“Youen’tsaidthattoanyone?”

“Just listen,” saidMalcolm,andhe toldAliceabouthisvisit toDr.Relf,andfindingMrs.Coulterthere,andwhathesaidtoher.

“Youdidn’tsaythathesaidhewas—”

“No,coursenot.Justthathesaidheknewher.Thatwasenough.Shewasdeadshocked.SoI’msuresheknewwhohewas,allright.”

“Whatwasshedoingthereanyway?”

“SheaskedDr.RelfwhereLyrawas.”

“Didshetellher?”

“Dr.Relf?No!Sheneverwould.”Hewasgoingtoadd,“She’saspy,”butheldback.Hemustn’tsayanythingaboutthat,butitwasbecomingeasiertotalktoAliceallthetime,sohe’dhavetobeverycareful.Hewenton:“Shesaidshedidn’tknowherself—Dr.Relf,Imean.Shewassurprised. Mrs. Coulter prob’ly came to see her about thealethiometer.”

“What’sthat?”

Hebegantoexplain,andthenhismothercameback,and itwouldhavelookedawkwardtostoptalking,sohefinishedhisaccountofthealethiometerandwhatitdid.Hismotherstoppedtolisten.

“IsthatwhatyougetuptoinJericho?”shesaid.

“No.It’swhatshegetsuptointheBodleianLibrary.”

“Stone the crows.Listen,Alice, howwould you like somehours inthekitchenhere?Notwashingup.Imean,preparingfood.”

“Idunno,”saidAlice.“Maybe.”

“Well,whenyou’veconsultedyoursocialdiary,letmeknow.”

“I’mworkinginthepriorykitchennow.TheymightneedmemoreifSisterFenella’sill.”

“Seewhatyoucanfitin.There’sworkhere,ifyou’dlikeit.”

“All right,” said Alice, not looking anywhere except into the sink,whichwasfullofhotdishwater.

Malcolm’smotherblewouthercheeksandrolledhereyesandthenwentouttothestoreroom.

“YousaidaboutSisterKatarina,”saidMalcolm.

“Yeah.Shewas theone that left that shutteropen.Shedone it forhim.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,course,really.Don’tyoubelieveme?”

“Yeah,Ibelieveyou.Buthowdoessheknowhim?”

“I’llshowyou,”saidAlice,andthensaidnomore.

But beforeMalcolm left, Alice’s dæmon, Ben, spoke to Asta, bothbeingcatsatthetime.Thathadneverhappenedbefore,andMalcolmwasamazed,butsimplywaitedtillthetwodæmonshadfinishedtheirbriefconversationandwentout.

“Whatdidhesay?”hewhisperedtoAstaastheywentthroughtothebar.

“He said we should go to the priory kitchen about eight o’clock.That’sall.Hedidn’tsaywhy.”

—

Eight o’clock was the hour of Compline, as Malcolm knew. All thesisterswouldbe in theoratory for the finalserviceof theday,exceptforSisterFenella,hesupposed,andSisterKatarina,ifshewaslookingafterLyra.

Andtherainhadsetinwithafury.Itfellnotindropsbutinsheets,andthegroundwasrunningwithit,sothatyoucouldn’tseeanythingsolid: just flowing fields of bitter cold water. With the excuse ofhomework,Malcolm had gone upstairs by half past seven, and thentiptoeddownagain,notthatanyonewouldhaveheardhimabovethethunderousdrummingontheroofandthedoorsandthewindows.

In the storeroomheputonhishighbootsandhisoilskin raincoatandsou’wester,and thenhewent to the lean-toandputup thecoal-silktarpaulinonLaBelleSauvage.Justincase,hethought.

Then, leaning against the wind, with Asta tucked tight into hisbreast, he fought his way onto the bridge and looked down at theracingwater.He rememberedwhatCoramvanTexelhad said: therewerethingsinthewaterthathadbeendisturbed,andthingsintheskytoo….Heshelteredhiseyeswithhishandandpeeredupwards.Almostat once a flash of lightning dazzled him, like an inscription on theheavens of his own private aurora, and such a crash of thunderhammeredhisears thathe feltdizzyandnearly fell, andheclutchedthestoneparapetinalarm.

Astasaid,“Hischariotsofwraththedeepthundercloudsform—”

Malcolmfinishedtheverse:“AnddarkisHispathonthewingsofthestorm.”

Itwassoexposedwherehestoodthathefeltgenuinelyafraid,andhehastenedtotheothersideand intotheshelterof thepriorywalls.Thesoundofsingingcameveryfaintlyfromtheoratory.

Hetappedonthekitchenwindowwithastonetomakeiteasiertohear, and amoment later Alice opened the door and came out. Theraindashedagainstherandflattenedherhairlanklyoverhercheeks.

“Youknowthepottingsheds?”shesaidquietly.

“Theprioryones?”

“Course,idiot.There’soneattheleft-handend.There’salightinit.

Youcangetintotheonenextdoorandlookthrough.Goandsee.”

Theyhadtoleanclosetogethertospeak,andherbreathwaswarmagainsthisface.

“Butwhat—”

“Justgo.Ican’tstayouthere.I’mlookingafterLyra.”

“Butwhere’sSisterKat—”

She shook her head. Ben and Asta were whispering urgentlytogether.WhenAliceturnedtoopenthedoor,Benleaptintoherarms,ferret-formed.MalcolmfeltAstaleapuptohisshoulder,andthenthedoorwasshutagainandtheywerealone.

“Whatdidhesay?”heaskedforthesecondtimethatday.

“Hesaidwe’vegottobecarefulandnotmakeanoise.Anynoiseatall.”

Malcolm nodded, and Asta slipped inside his oilskin raincoat andtwistedaroundtolookoutfromunderhischin.Theysetoffaroundthewall of the priory, away from the bridge, towards the garden whereLord Asriel had walked up and down with his daughter in themoonlight.Malcolmhadtopeercloselyat theground,so thicklywastherainfalling,andhefeltagainsthisbootsacurrentofwaterrunningstronglyawayfromtheriver.Wasitoverflowingitsbanks?Hecouldn’tsee,butitmustbe.

Theycametothekitchengarden,andAstasaid,“Thatshed—thelastone—there’salightthere,likeshesaid.”

Sureenough,ifhewipedhiseyesandshelteredthemwithhishandforafewseconds,hecouldmakeoutadimlyflickeringlightbehindthewindow.Itwasonthesidefacingawayfromthepriory.

He knew how the sheds were laid out because he’d helped SisterMarthamanytimesinthegarden.Thelasttwowereoneshed,really,withathindividingwall.Thedoorswereeachonasimpleironlatch.SisterMarthakeptthemunlockedonpurpose:shehadnotoolsworthstealing,shesaid,anditwastoomuchtroubletofiddlewithakeyallthetime.

Takingthegreatestcarewiththelatch,Malcolmopenedthedoortotheshednexttothelightedone.Astahadalreadybecomeanowltoseebetter,becauseSisterMarthausedthissidetostoreflowerpots,andif

Malcolmknockedapileofthemover,itwouldmakeanoisethateventherainwouldn’tbeabletocover.

Hetiptoedthroughthedarkness,whichwasactuallynotquitedark:thesinglelayerofplanksbetweenthisshedandtheotherhadwarpedinplaces,lettingthroughthefaintyellowglowofacandlethatwaveredinthestrongdraft.Thethinroofresonatedundertherain:itwaslikebeing insidea greatdrum,whichmightgivewayanymomentunderthecrazyassaultofthedrummer.

Malcolmdelicatelysteppedovertheflowerpotsandputhishandsontheplanksofthewall.Listeninghard,hethoughthecouldhearavoice—two voices—and then, abruptly stifled, that hideous high cacklinglaugh.Bonnevillewasthere,onlyfeetaway.Astabecameamoth,andasshesettlednearanothercrack inthewall,Malcolmfeltashockasshesawsomething.HeleanedcloserandpeeredthroughthecracktoseeGerardBonneville and SisterKatarina in a clumsy embrace. Shewasleaningbackagainstapileofemptysacks—herbarelegsgleamedinthecandlelight.Thehyenawaslickingherpugdæmon,whowasonhisback,squirmingwithpleasure—

Malcolmcarefully tookastepback.Hismindwascalmenoughforthat,butonlyjust.Hemovedawayfromthewallandsatdownonanupturnedcrateattheotherendoftheshed.

“Yousaw?”whisperedAsta.

“She’ssupposedtobelookingafter—”

“That’swhyhe’swithher!HewantshertogivehimLyra!”

Malcolmfelttheinsideofhisheadwhirlinglikeleavesinawind.Hecouldn’tthinkfirmlyorclearlyaboutanything.

“Whatarewegoingtodo?”saidAsta.

“IfwetoldSisterBenedicta,shewouldn’tbelieveus.She’daskSisterKatarina,who’dsayitneverhappened,weweremakingitup—”

“SheknowsSisterKatarinalefttheshutteropen.”

“And she knows Bonneville’s around. But she’d never believe this.Andthereen’tanyproof.”

“Notyet,”saidAsta.

“Whatd’youmean?”

“Weknowhowpeoplemakebabies,don’twe?”

“Oh.Oh!So—”

“So that’s what they’re doing, and if she gets pregnant, that’d beproofenough,evenforSisterBenedicta.”

“Butnotthatitwashim,”saidMalcolm.

“Well,no.”

“Andhemighthavegonebythen.”

“WithLyra.”

“Youthinkshe’swhathewants?”

“Course.Don’tyou?”

Theideawashorrible.

“Yes,Ido,”Malcolmsaid.“You’reright.HewantsLyra.Ijustdon’tunderstandwhy.”

“Doesn’tmatterwhy.Revenge.Hemightwanttokillher,orholdherhostage.Toransomher.”

Thenunutteredalong,highmoanofsomeemotionMalcolmdidn’tunderstand. It sounded through the wall, above the rain, above thewind.Hethoughtofhercry flying throughthenightskyandmakingthemoonturnherfaceaway,makingtheowlstrembleintheirflight.

Hediscoveredthathewasclenchinghisfists.

“Well,we’llhaveto…,”hesaid.

“Yeah,we’llhaveto,”shesaid.“Havetosomething.”

“Supposewedonothing,andhegetsholdofLyra?”

Alowrichmalelaughcamenext,notlikethehyena’satall,norlikealaughatsomethingfunnyeither,butlikealittlegushofsatisfaction.

“That’shim!”saidAsta.

Malcolm said, “Ifwe tell SisterBenedicta, she’ll prob’ly think theybothdonewrong,butshecouldonlypunishSisterKatarina.Shecan’tpunishhim.”

“Ifshebelievesus.Shemightnot.”

“Isthisacrime,whatthey’redoing?”

“Ifshedidn’twantto,it’dbeacrime,Ireckon.”

“Ithinkshedoes,though.”

“Yeah,sodoI.Sothere’snothingthepolicecoulddotohim,eveniftheybelievedus,eveniftheycouldcatchhim,evenifevenif.”

“But evenpunishinghim’snot so important asmaking sureLyra’ssafe.That’sthemostimportantthing.”

“Isupposeso….”

From the direction of the priory building there came a deeprumblingcrash—deeperthanthethunder,andit lastedlonger.Itwasnotlikeanoiseatalltobeginwithbutamovementoftheearth,andeventheflowerpotsclinkedandclattered,andsomefellover,andstilltherumblingwentonandthegroundwentontrembling.

SisterKatarinacriedout,“No!No!Letgo—please—Imustgo—”

Bonneville’sdeepvoicemurmuredsomething.

“Yes—Ipromise—butImust—”

SuddenlyMalcolmleaptup,thinking,Lyra!

Heshotoutthedoor,crashingitbackagainstthewoodenwall,andraced for the priory, ignoring the sheets ofwater that fell, thewaterrushingoverthepath,theman’sshoutbehind,andthecrazed“Haaa!Ha!Haaa!”fromthehyenadæmon.

Asta raced, greyhound-formed, beside him. As they reached thepriory building and rounded the corner, Malcolm realized that thewatertheywererunningthroughwasdeeperandfaster,andthatthegatehouselighthadgoneout—

—because the gatehouse was no longer there. A heap of stones,planks, rubble, boards, and roof tiles lay there instead, illuminatedflickeringly from inside the building. As Malcolm stood in shock, awavebrokeover the topof the rubble: the riverhadburst its banks.When the surge reachedhim, itwas as high ashis knees andnearlyknockedhimover.

“Alice!”Malcolmyelled.

From behind him came a wail of terror in the voice of SisterKatarina.

“The kitchen!” cried Asta, and Malcolm struggled to the kitchen

door.Thewaterwas surging at the foot of it, andwhenhe shoved itopen, he found the kitchen already flooded—the fire in the rangehissingandsteaming,thefloorawash.

And there was Lyra’s crib actually afloat—actually rocking on thewater—andAlicelyingdazedacrossthekitchentable,halfunderapileofplasterandbeamsfromtheceiling—

“Alice!” he cried, and she stirred, moaning, but then sat up tooquicklyandsaggedsidewaysagain.

MalcolmsnatchedLyrafromthecrib,AstadartingdowntotakecareofPan.Malcolmpulled theblanketsout after the childandwrappedthem around her. All he could see bywas the orange glow from therange.Hadhegotalltheblankets?Wouldshebewarmenough?

Alicewasgropingforthewallandtryingtostandup.Suddenlyshewashurledaside as themanBonnevilleburst in—smashing thedooropen even against the water at its foot—and, seeing Malcolm, leapttowardshim,snarlingsovilelythathesoundedworsethanthedæmonwhofollowedhimclose—

MalcolmheldLyratightagainsthischest—shewascryinginfear—

And then Bonneville fell forward with a great splash as Alicesmashedhishead frombehindwitha chair.Hegrabbedat the tablebut couldn’t hold it—all he didwas tip it over and fall with a heavysplashbesideit.Sheraisedthechairagainandbroughtitdownonhimagain.

“Quick!Quick!” Alice cried, andMalcolm tried to run through thewater, but could only manage a horrible slowness as Bonneville’shandsandarmsandthenhisblood-streamingheademergedabovethetable,andthenthemanslippedandfellbackandemergedagain,thesideofhisheadamaskofflaringblood.

“Malcolm!”Alicescreamed.

He leapt for thedoor, claspingLyra tight. Thebabywas yelling infuryandkickingandwavingherlittlefists.

“Givemethat—”themanroared,andthenslippeddownagain,andMalcolmwasoutthedoorandrunningwithAlicetowardsthebridge,butthewaterslowedthemsomuchitwasworsethanabaddream.

NosignofSisterKatarina,nosignoftheothernuns—theycouldn’t

allbedrowned?Orcrushedunderfallentimbers?Theonlyotherlivingbeing was the blood-soaked Bonneville and his limping, lurchingdæmoncomingoutofthekitchendoorbehindthem—

But there was hardly any light to see by, and the air was full ofdriving, smashingwater. By instinct andmemoryMalcolm stumbledalongthepath,calling,“Alice!Alice!”

Thenhebumpedintoherandtheybothnearlyfellover.

“Holdon!Don’tletgo!”heshouted.

Linkedbytheircoldhands,theyforcedtheirwaythroughthefloodandupontothebridge.OnelightfromtheTroutwasstillglowingandshowedthattheparapetandonesideoftheroadwayweregone.

“Careful!”shecried.

“Don’tletgo!”

Theyshuffledsidewaysalongtheremainingpartoftheroadwayandfeltitshakeandrumbleundertheirfeet.Lyrahadstoppedcryingandfoundher thumb,andshe lay inMalcolm’s tightgraspquitehappily,interestedineverything.

“It’s going to go—the bridge!” Alice cried, and then, “He’s there!Quick!”asshelookedbackpastMalcolm.

“Howcouldhe—”

“Comeon!”

They stumbled down the steps that led to the terrace of theTroutandfoundtheyhadtogoback—theriverwasracingovertheterraceattheheightofatabletop:itwouldsweepthemofftheirfeetandawayinamoment.

“Where?Whichway?”shoutedAlice.

“Roundtheotherside—maybethedoor—”

Malcolmdidn’tknowwhathewasgoingtosay,becauseclosebehindcame that terrifying laugh—“Haa!Ha!Haaa!”—and there, full in thegleam of the light hanging over the inn door, was Bonneville’s face,astreamwithwater and astreamwith blood. Alice picked up a loosestonefromtheparapet,asbigasherfist,andhurleditstraightathim,andagainhefell.

“Quick! Quick!” cried Malcolm, and led them running down the

slopetowardstheothersideoftheinn,towardsthefrontdoor,towardssafety.

Andthedoorwaslocked.

Oh,ofcourse,hethought,theythinkI’mupstairs….

“Mum!Dad!”heyelled,butthewindandtherainandthetorrentsoftherivertorehisvoiceawaylikeascrapoftissuepaper.

Clutching Lyra close with one arm, holding Alice’s hand with theotherhand,hescrambledalongthewallof thepubtothebackdoor.Lockedaswell.

HeshovedLyraatAliceandpickedupabigstonetohammeronthedoorwith.Buttheroarofthewaterandthelashingofthetreesinthewindweretooloud:hecouldhardlyhearthehammeringhimself.Hehitthedoortimeandagain,untilhecouldn’tholdthestoneanymore.Therewasnoresponse,andBonnevillewassomewhereclose,andtheycouldn’tstandandwaitforhimtofindthem.

“Comeon,”hesaid,andAlicefollowedashesplashedaroundtothegarden, to thestoreroom, to the lean-to,wherehekept thecanoe. Inthefaintlightcomingthroughtherainfromthelandingwindow,theysawapeacockdrownedanddrapedoverabush.

In the lean-to, La Belle Sauvage sat snugly under her coal-silkcanopy.

“Get in. Sit down there and take Lyra.Don’tmove,” he said, andpulledbackenoughofthecanopyforAlicetoseethebow,andwheretostepandwheretosit.HeshovedLyraather,andshetookherwithfirm arms, and then he pulled the canopy back over her and got inhimself.Therewassomuchwaterstreamingoverthegrassthathewaspretty sure this would work, and indeed La Belle Sauvage wasstrainingathermooringropealready,asifshesensedwhatMalcolmwanted.

Aquicktug—theknotcameloose—andMalcolmtookthepaddleandused it tokeepherupright as shebegan tomove, slowlyat first andthenfasterandfaster,downthegrassslopetowardstheriver.

But the riverwas comingup tomeet them, and suddenly the littleboatcamefreefromthegrassandsurgedforward.

Theycouldonlygooneway.LaBelleSauvagespedlikeadartover

themadriver,downtowardsPortMeadow,towardsthewildwasteofwater that was sweeping through Oxford, towards whatever laybeyond.

Malcolmcouldseealmostnothing.Apartfromtheprofounddarknessof the sky and the slashing rain, the canopy obstructed everythingahead. Besides, it caught the wind and made the canoe lurchunpredictablytotheleftandright,sohewouldhavefoundithardtogetavisualfixonanything,evenifhecouldseeit.Forafewminuteshe thoughthe’dmade ahorriblemistake in embarking in the canoe,and that they’d be drowned for sure; but what else could they havedone?Bonnevillewouldhavecaughtthem,stolenLyra,killedher….

He concentrated on keeping the little boat as upright as possible,steering,notpaddling.Theforceofthefloodwassweepingthemalongwithout any effort fromhim,buthehadno ideawhere theywere orwhattheymightsmashintoatanymoment:atree,abridge,ahouse—Hetriedtopushthethoughtaway.

There was another problem too.Malcolmwas sitting at the stern,andinordertokeepthepaddleinthewater,hehadtoleavehisendofthecanoeuncoveredbythecoal-silktarpaulin,andtheunceasingrainwasfillingtheboatsoquicklythathisfeetwerealreadycovered.

“As soon as we find something solid, we’ll tie up!” he shouted toAlice.“Andbailthiswaterout.”

“Allright”wasallshesaid.

Heleanedtotheright,tryingtoseeroundthecanopy,tryingtokeepthebrimofhissou’westeroutofhiseyes,tryingtomakeoutanythingin the teemingmurk. Something large, tall, dark swept past—a tree?Astapeered ahead, owl-formed, from the rearmost hoop, though thegreatraindropsslappingatherwideeyesmadeitalmostimpossibletoseeanything.

Thensuddenly, “Go left!Go left!” shescreeched,andMalcolmdugthe paddle into thewater and heavedwith all his strength as a low-hangingtreeslasheditswayalongthecanopyandnearlysnatchedhissou’westeroffhishead.

“Moretrees!”shecriedagain.

Malcolmdug in the paddlewith all hismight, shovingdesperatelyagainstthecurrent,andfoundthecanoeswirlingaroundandbumpingand scraping against branches and twigs—and then a thorn-ladenbranchsweptacrosshisface,makinghimyell,andstartlingLyraintoloudsobs.

“Whatisit?”calledAlice.

“Nothing. ’S all right, Lyra,” he called back, though his eyes werefilledwithtearsofpainandhecouldhardlythink.

But he kept hold of the paddle, and then found a heavy branchnudgingatthehoopwhereAstawasperching,andheseizedthatandheldthecanoestillagainstit.

Hedroppedthepaddleathisfeetandgropedforthepainterwithhisfreehand.Hefoundit,flungitoverthebranch,andfumbledabowlinewithhiscold,wet,tremblingfingers.

“Underyourfeetsomewherethere’sacanvasbucket,”hecalled,andwhile Alice looked for that, he pulled the canopy back over the lasthoopandfixeditaroundthegunwale,leavingonlyonefasteningopen.

“Herey’are,”shesaid,reachingforward.Lyrawasstillyelling.

He took the bucket and started to bail, tipping thewater over thesidewhere the canopywas still undone. It didn’t take long. Thenherealizedhisbootswere fullofwater too,sohestruggledtopull themoff and empty them. He fastened the tarpaulin and leaned back,exhausted, and let Asta explore the scratches on his facewith a softcleanpuppytongue.Ithurtevenmore,buthetriednottoyelp.

Atleastwiththetarpaulinovertheboat,hewasn’toutinthatbrutalrainanymore.Ithammeredatthecoalsilk,butnotadropgotin.

“Under your seat there’s a tin,” he said. “I sealed it with tape, sothere shouldn’t be any water in it. If you pass it here, I’ll open it.There’ssomebiscuitsinit.”

Shefumbledaroundandfoundthetin.Hepickedatthetapeuntilhe

foundtheend,andopenedit.Itwasperfectlydry.Andhe’dforgotten:he’dputhisSwissArmyknife in there,anda littleanbaric torch!Heswitched it on, dazzled by the brilliance. And it stopped Lyra fromcrying.

“Giveherabiscuittosuck,”hesaid.

Alicetooktwo,oneforherselfandoneforLyra,whoafterwavingitarounddoubtfully foundhermouthandbegantosuckwith immensepleasure.

Malcolmsawsomethingoutofthecornerofhiseye—orwasitinhiseye?Alittlepatchofwhiteonthefloorofthecanoe.Andthen,withoutthe slightest warning, it became the shimmering, flickering spot oflight,floatinginthedarknessaheadofhim.Heblinkedandshookhishead:thiswasn’tagoodtimeforspangledrings,butitwouldn’tgo.Itfloatedinmidair,scintillatingandspinning,flashingandturning.

“What’sthematter?”saidAlice.Shemusthavefelthimshakinghisheadorsensedthathisattentionwasdistracted.

“Somethinginmyeye.Igottokeepstill.”

Hesatthereinthewetdiscomfortandtriedtofeelcalm.Hedidfeelsomething,thekindofthingAstahaddescribedonthateveningwhenit cameon themduringhis geographyhomework, a sort ofpeaceful,disembodiedfloating,inaspacethatwasimmenseoreveninfiniteinall directions. The spangled ring grew larger, just like before, and asbefore,hewashelplessandparalyzedwhile itcamecloserandcloserandexpandedtofilltheentirecircumferenceofhisvision,buthewasneverfrightened;itwasn’talarming;inawayitwasevencomforting,thatcalm,oceanicdrifting.Itwashisaurora:itwastellinghimthathewas still part of the great order of things, and that that could neverchange.

He let the phenomenon run its course and came to himself,exhausted, as if the experience had been strenuous and demanding.But the littlepatchofwhitewasstill thereonthe floor.He feltdownand found it: a card of the sort ladies and gentlemenhadwith theirnamesprintedonthem.Hiseyeswerestilltoodisturbedtoreadit,andwithoutawordtoAliceheputitinhisshirtpocket.

Andonceallhisconsciousnesswasbackinthelittleenclosedspaceunderthecanopy,hecouldeasilytellwhatAlicehadmadeoutearlier:Lyraneededchanging.Well, therewasabsolutelynothing theycould

doaboutitnow.

“Whatwegonnado?”saidAlice.

“Stayawake,that’sthefirstthing.Ifthewatergoesdownwhilethecanoe’s still tied to the branch,we’ll get tipped out and leftwith thecanoehalfwayupatree.”

“Yeah,that’dbeprettystupid.”

Lyra was humming, or saying something to Pantalaimon, or justexpressingherpleasureinthesoggybiscuit.

“Well,she’seasilypleased,”saidMalcolm.

“Wegottochangehersoon.She’llgetsoreotherwise.”

“That’ll have towait tillwe can seewherewe’re going.And tillwecangetsomehotwatertowashher.Assoonasit’smorning,we’llseeifwecanpaddlebackhome.”

“He’llstillbearound,”shesaid.

That was the least of it, Malcolm thought. The force of the floodmight prevent them from going back anyway; they might findthemselvessweptallthewaythroughOxfordandonto…where?

“Well,we’llaimforahouseorashoporsomethingwherewecanget—whateversheneeds,”hesaid.

“Yeah,”saidAlice.“Allright.”

“There’sablanketdownthereifyou’recold.Wrapitroundbothofyou.”

Morefumbling,andthenshefoundit.

“It’ssoakingwet,”shesaid.“Yougoingtostayawake?”

“Yeah.Keepwatch.I’lltryanyway.”

“Well,wakemeupwhenyoucan’tanymore.”

He switched the torch off. The canoe certainly wasn’t made forsleepingin.Evenifhe’dwantedtostretchout,therewasstillaninchorso of freezing water in the bottom that he couldn’t get out with thebucket;andevenifithadbeendry,therewasnowheretoresthisheadbutthewoodenseat;andevenifevenif,asAstahadsaidearlier.

In fact, there was plenty to complain about. But Alice hadn’t

complained once. He was impressed, and vowed not to say a wordaboutthepainfromthethornscratchesacrosshisface.

Hefelthersettlingdownattheotherendofthelittleboat.Lyrahadstoppedcrying, thanksto thebiscuit,andwasdozing inAlice’sarms.Alicehadproppedherself insidethebow,withherkneesupover thefront seat, so as tomake her body and arms a cradle for Lyra. Herdæmonwassqueezeddownbesideher.

AstabecameaferretandsettledaroundMalcolm’sneck.

“Wheredoyouthinkweare?”shewhispered.

“SomewheredownPortMeadow.There’sthatoratoryofftotherightwithagroveoftrees….”

“That’snowhereneartheriver.”

“Idon’t thinkthere’sariveranymore.This iseversomuchhigher.There’swatereverywhere.”

“Yeah…D’youthinkwe’llgetsweptaway?”

“No.Wemanagedtotieupinthedark,didn’twe?Oncewecansee,inthemorning,we’llfindourwayback.”

“It’sgoingeversofast,though.”

“Well,we’llstaytieduptillitstops,then.”

Astawas silent for a fewminutes, buthe knew shehadn’t gone tosleep;hecouldfeelherthinking.

“Supposeitneverstops?”shewhispered.

“Thegyptianmandidn’tsayit’ddothat.Justthattherewasgoingtobeaflood.”

“Itfeelsasifit’sgoingonforever.”

“Thereisn’tenoughwaterinalltheworldtodothat.Eventuallyit’llstop and the sun’ll come out. Every flood stops in the end and goesdown.”

“Thistimemightbedifferent.”

“Itwon’t.”

“What’sonthatcard?”shesaidafteramoment.“Theoneyoupickedup.”

“Oh,yeah…”

Hefisheditoutofhispocket,andshadingthetorchwithhishandsoitwouldn’twakeAlice,heread:

LORDASRIELOctoberHouse

Chelsea

London

OnthebackwerewrittenthewordsWithmanythanks.Ifyouneedmyhelpatanytime,besuretoask.Asriel.

An idea came to him, glittering, shimmering, spangled withbrilliance.Asta knewwhat itwas at once, andwhispered, “Don’t tellAlice.” The idea was to set off over the flood, all the way down theThames,andfindLordAsrielandtakehischildtohim.Itwasalmostas if that was why Lord Asriel had paid forLa Belle Sauvage to beimproved,asifheknewthefloodwascomingandhadpreparedasafevessel for his daughter, and as if the faithful canoe had given themessage to Malcolm. He felt the idea warming him through andthrough.

Andtheyagreedwordlessly:Don’ttellAlice.Notyet.Hetuckedthecardbackinhispocketandswitchedoffthetorch.

Therainwasbeatingonthetarpaulinjustasfuriouslyasithadbeendoing since they started, and if anything, Malcolm thought, feelingcautiouslyalong thepainter, thecanoewashigher in the tree than ithad been when he tied it. Even worse than being tipped out as thewaterfellwouldbebeingdraggedbelowasitrose.

Still,abowlinewasagoodknot,andhe’dbeable toundoit in thedark,ifheneededto.

“Mindyou,”hewhispered,“aslippedreefknotwouldbeevenbetter.Justonepull…”

“Should’vepracticed,”Astawhisperedback.

Another few minutes of silence. He felt his head nodding andsnappeditupright.

“Don’tfallasleep,”sheurged.

“I’mnotsleepy.”

“Yes,youare.”

Malcolmsupposedhereplied,butthenextthingheknewwaswhenhisthorn-slashedfacemetthegunwale.He’dslippedoverlittlebylittletillhewasalmosthorizontal.

“Whydidn’tyouwakeme?”hewhisperedtoAsta.

“Iwasasleeptoo.”

He struggled up, blinking and yawning and rubbing his left eye,wheretheskinwasn’tasscratchedastheothersidewas.

“Youallright?”cameinaquietvoicefromAlice.

“Yeah.Ijustslippedoversideways.”

“Ithoughtyouwasgoingtostayawake.”

“Iwasawake.Ijustslipped.”

“Yeah.”

Hesettledhimselfuprightagainandcheckedthebranch.Theboatdidn’tseemtohavegoneupordown,buttherainwasstillhammeringonthetarpaulin.

“Youcold?”hesaid.

“Yeah.You?”

“Abit.Weneedmoreblankets.”

“Dryones.Andcushionsorsomething.It’sbloodyuncomfortable.”

“We’ll get ’em in the morning. I’m going to try and paddle backhomewhen I can seewherewe are,” he said. “Butwe’ll get stuff forLyrafirst.”

Theywerequiet foraminute.Thenshesaid, “What ifwecan’tgetback?”

“Wewill.”

“Youhope.”

“Well,it’snotfar….”

“Thiswater’sracingalong.Youcan’tpaddleagainstthat.”

“Thenwe’llholdtightheretillitstops.”

“Butsheneeds…”

“We’re not in themiddle of nowhere. There’s shops and stuff justacross Port Meadow. We’ll go there as soon as we can see, in themorning.”

“Yourmumanddad’llworry.”

“Nothingwecandoaboutitnow.Whataboutyours?”

“Gotnodad.JustMumandmysisters.”

“Idon’tevenknowwhereyoulive.”

“Wolvercote.She’llthinkI’vedrowned.”

“Sowillthenuns.They’llthinkLyra’sbeencarriedaway….”

“Well,shehasbeen.”

“YouknowwhatImean.”

“Ifthere’sanyof’emsurvived.”

Another minute or two went by. Malcolm heard her dæmonwhisperingsomethingtoher,andheardherwhisperingback.

Thenshesaid,“Didyougotothepottingshed,likeItoldyou?”

Malcolmfelthimselfblushandwasgladofthedark.Hesaid,“Yeah.HewastherewithSisterKatarina.”

“Whatweretheydoing?”

“I…Icouldn’treallysee.”

“I knowwhat they were doing. Bastard. I wanted to kill him, youknow,Bonneville,whenIhithim.”

“Why?”

“ ’Causehe’dbeennicetome.Youwouldn’tunderstand.”

“No,Idon’t.Butifyoudidkillhim,Iwouldn’ttellanyone.”

“Youthinkhe’sreallyafterLyra?”

“Well,youtoldmethat.”

“D’youthinkhecouldbeLyra’sfather?”

“No,I’vespokentoLyra’sfather.Therealone.”

“When?”

He told her about the strange nighttime episode in the priorygarden, and about lending LordAsriel the canoe. She didn’t scoff indisbelief,ashe’dthoughtshewould.

“Whatdidhedowithher?”

“Itoldyou.Hewalkedupanddown,holdingherandwhisperingtoher.”

Theywerepracticallywhisperingthemselves,speakingasquietlyastheycouldundertherain.Alicesaidnothingforaminuteorso.

Thenshesaid,“Didyouhearwhathewassaying?”

“No.Iwaskeepingwatchbythepriorywall.”

“Buthelookedasifhelovedher?”

“Yeah.Certainly.”

Anotherminutewentby.

“Ifwecan’tgetback,”shesaid,“ifwejustgetsweptaway,right…”

“Yeah?”

“Whatwegoingtodowithher?”

“Prob’ly…prob’lyseeifwecangettoJordanCollege.”

“Why?”

“Becauseofscholasticsanctuary.”

“What’sthat?”

Heexplainedaswellashecould.

“Youreckonthey’dtakeherin?Sheen’tascholar,oranythinglike.”

“Ithinkifsomeoneasksforsanctuary,theyhavetotake’emin.”

“Andhow could they look after a baby, anyway?All those collegesarefullofoldmen.Theywouldn’tknowwhattodo.”

“They’dpaysomeonetodothat,prob’ly.Theycouldprob’lywritetoLordAsrielandhe’dpay,orelsemaybecomeandgetherhimself.”

“Whereisthatcollege,then?”Alicesaid.

“OnTurlStreet.Rightinthemiddleoftown.”

“How’dyouknowaboutthatsanctuarything?”

“Dr.Relf toldme,”he said,andexplainedhowshe’d leftabookattheTroutwithheraddressinit,andhe’dtakenitbacktoher.Hesaidnot aword about the acorn or the spying. Talking toAlicewas a loteasier in the dark. He spun the story out, even though he’d told itbefore, thinking it would help to keep her awake, not realizing for amomentthatthatwasherpurposewithregardtohim.

“Wheredidyousayshelived?”

“In Jericho. Cranham Street. It’ll be underwater now—downstairs,anyway. I hope she did what I told her to andmoved all her booksupstairs.”

IfinthemorningthewateronPortMeadowlaycalmandstilllikeagreatlagoon,andthesuncameoutandglitteredandsparkledonthewater,andallthebuildingsofOxfordshoneagainstthebluesky,asifthey’dbeen freshlypainted, itwouldbeeasy togetacross to thecitycenter and find Jordan College, he thought. And what a delight itwouldbetopaddletowardsthem,andslipalongcanal-likestreetsandtie up by second-floor windows and look at all the odd views andstrangereflections.Andonthewaythey’dfindsomewherethathadthesupplies Lyra needed, whichwould includemilk now, because she’dhad nothing but a biscuit. And she had to have something clean todrink,becausethewatertheyfloatedonwouldbefullofstirred-updirtanddeadanimals.Theghostsofalltheanimalswouldbecryingunderthewater.Hecouldhearthemnow—“Ha!Haa!Haaa!”

Alicewaskickinghisankle.

“Malcolm!”shewhisperedsavagely.“Malcolm!”

“Yeah,I’mawake—What’sthat?Isthathim?”

“Shutup!”

Hestrainedtohear.Thatghastlylaughwasunmistakable,butwherewas it? The rain had not ceased, the wind was still moaning andwhistling in the bare boughs all around, but through the chaos ofnatural sounds Malcolm could make out something different andregular: the splashofoars, the creakofungreasedoarlocks, and thathyena laugh over it all, as if it was mocking Bonneville himself,mockingtheflood,mockingMalcolmandhiseffortstomakethelittlecanoesafe.

ThentheyheardBonneville’svoice.

“Shutup,youbitch—shutyourcrazymouth—filthynoise—biteyourotherbloodylegoff,goon—chewonthat—shutup!Stopthatgoddamnnoise!”

Itgotcloserandcloser.Malcolm’shandfoundtheSwissArmyknifeand opened it silently.Hewould stab the dæmon first, and then theman.Thepaddlewasathisfeet—ifheswungithard,hemightknockthedæmonintothewaterandthenthemanwouldbehelpless—buthemightgrabthepaddlebeforeMalcolmcoulddothat….

Thesoundsdiminished.

MalcolmheardAliceblowoutherbreath,asifshe’dbeenholdingitin.AndLyrastirredandinhersleeputteredalittlewhimperingmew,whichAlicequicklymuffled.Malcolmcouldseenothing,ofcourse,butitsoundedasifAlicehadherhandoverLyra’smouth,andthencameasound of contentment from the child. But itwas such a quiet soundthatonlysomeoneactuallyinthecanoecouldhaveheardit,Malcolmthought.

“Hashegone?”Alicewhispered.

“Ithinkso,”hewhisperedback.

“Didhehavealight?”

“Ididn’tseeone.”

“He’sjustrowingalonginthedark?”

“Well,he’smad.”

“Didn’tseeus,though.”

“He’snotgoingtoleaveusalone,”saidMalcolmafteraminute.

“He’snothavinghereither,”Alicesaidatonce.

“No.”

He listened hard. No oars, no voice, no dæmonic laughter.Bonneville’sboathadbeengoinginthesamedirectionastheirs,whichwas the same direction as the flood: downriver. Butwith everythingunderwater,andallkindsofunpredictableswirlsandcurrentslikelytohave been born in the darkness,who knewwhere hemight end up?Malcolmlongedforthemorningwitheveryparticleofhisbody.

“Here,”whisperedAlice,andheleanedforwardtofindherhandandtookthebiscuitshewasholding.

Henibbleditslowly,onlytakinganotherbitewheneverycrumbofthelastonewasgone.Thesugarslowlyworkeditswayintohissystemandmadehim feel a little stronger.Therewas awholepacket there,enoughtolastthemsometimeyet.

Buthis exhaustionwasmore than amatch for the sugar. Little bylittlehisheadslippedlower,andAlicesaidnothing,andLyraslepton;andsoonallthreeofthemwerefastasleep.

—

Malcolmwokewhenafaintgraylightpenetratedthetarpaulin.Hewasbitterlycold,andshiveringsohardhewasshakingthecanoe.Atleastthedrummingoftherainhadstopped,andatleastthecanoewasstilllyinglevelonthewater.

Hecarefullyunfastenedthenearestpartofthetarpaulinandlifteditenoughtopeerout.Throughthebarebrancheshesawawildwasteofgraywater,surgingfromleft torightacrossthewideopenspacethathad been Port Meadow: he could see the city’s spires beyond it.Nothing but water: no ground, no riverbank, no bridge. And allspeedingwithamightyforce,almostsilent,certainlyirresistible.Therewas no possibility of paddling against it andmaking their way backhome.

Hecheckedthebranch,theknotinthepainter,thetree.Thecanoewasquitehandilyplaced,infact;luckhadbeenontheirside,oralittleluck anyway. They were among the crowns of a group of treessurrounding the tower of an old oratory: exactlywhere he’d thoughtthey were, though it all looked different from high up in a tree. Hecouldn’trememberthenameoftheplace,butitwashalfwaydownPortMeadowtowardsthesouth.Themainforceofthefloodwasbrokenuphere and baffled by the trees,whichwaswhy the canoe hadn’t beentornlooseandsweptaway.

They’d have to move soon, though. Malcolm looked at that wildwaste, and his heart quailed. His little boat, and all that force ofwater…Calm rivers and still backwaters and shallow canalswere onething.Thiswasanotherthingentirely.

But it had to be done. By eye he measured the distance betweenthemandtheroofsofOxford,andestimatedhowfarhecouldsteerthe

canoeacrossthatsurgingflood….Thecitywasalongwayoff,withallthatwaterbetweenthem.

He pulled himself up, rolled back the tarpaulin, found the paddle.Hismovingmade theboat swayandwokeAlice,whowas lyingwithLyraonherchest.Thechildwasstillasleep.

“Whatyoudoing?”Alicewhispered.

“Thesoonerwemove, the soonerwecansortherout. It’s stoppedraining,atleast.”

Sheliftedthetarpaulinandpeeredout.

“That’shorrible,”shesaid.“Youcan’tpaddleacrossthat.Wherearewe?”

“SortofnearBinsey.”

“That’slikethebloodyGermanOceanoutthere.”

“It’s not that big. And it’ll be a lot easier once we get among thebuildings.”

“Ifyousayso,”shesaid,closingthetarpaulinagain.

“How’sLyra?”

“Soakingwetandstinking.”

“Well,we’dbetterstart,then.Nopointinwaitingtillthesuncomesout.”

Hereacheduptoundotheknot.Itwascloserthanithadbeenwhenhetiedit,sothewaterwashigher.

“WhatshouldIdo?”saidAlice.

“Sitasstillasyoucan.It’llrockabit,but ifyougetfrightenedandpanic,it’llbetentimesworse.Justsitstill.”

He could feel the contempt in her eyes, but she said nothing andsettledherselfmorecomfortably.Thebowlinehadbeenpulledtightbythe strain on it during the night, but by working it back and forth,Malcolmwasable toundo it.Thatwas the thingwithabowline:youcouldalwaysundoit.Thoughaslippedreefknotwouldbequicker,hethoughtagain.Well,nexttime.

Assoonasthepainterwasfree,thecanoebegantoswingawayfromthetrees.AndatonceMalcolmbegantoregretnothavingrolledback

moreofthetarpaulin:hecouldseehardlyanythingahead.

“I’mgoingtoundothetarpaulin,”hesaid.“Notallofit.Justenoughso’sIcanseeahead.”

“Youshould’ve—”

“Iknow.”

She held her tongue. Malcolm thanked those gyptian craftsmenwho’dmadethefastenings,becausetheyallcamefreewithgreatease.Alicereacheduptopullthecoalsilkbacktowardsherself,andthenhecouldseealotbetter.

He took the paddle and tentatively moved the canoe out into theopen.Immediatelythecurrentseizeditandspunitroundsothesternwas leading, and Malcolm knew his mistake: nothing should betentative.Hedugthepaddle inthewatertill theboatwastheproperwayround,andtohercreditAlicedidashe’dtoldherandsaidnotaword.ThenMalcolmtriedtostrikeacourseacrosstheopenwasteofsweepingwaterandmadehardlyanyprogress.HecouldseetheroofsofJericho,thecampanileofSt.Barnabas,thegreatclassicalbuildingoftheFellPress, thespiresandtowersofcentralOxford itself,but theywerefaroffandunreachable;thefloodhaditsownideaaboutwherethecanoeshouldgo.

All right: concentrate on keeping steady, and hope to avoid anyunderwatersnags.

Actually, the thoughtof strikinganythingbelowthesurfacewassoabominablethatMalcolmputitoutofhisheadatonce.Thecanoewaswhirled forward, with as little purchase on the water as a twig. Thefloodwascarryingtheminexorably intothecity,butnotsmoothlyoreasily, because the buildings broke up the flow andmade the waterseethe and surge with turbulence. Malcolm couldn’t keep the canoesteady: all he could do was stop it from tipping over and hope thatthey’d find a calmer patch of water near Broad Street and JordanCollege.TheideaofgoingallthewaytoLondonseemedlikeafantasyofthenight:JordanCollege—sanctuary—safety—thatwastheprioritynow.

ThegreatmassofwatercomingoffPortMeadowhadforceditswaythroughthegridofnarrowstreetsinJerichoandwasracingdownthewideboulevardofSt.Giles,havingbeenjoinedbyevenmorepowerfulstreams coming down the Banbury andWoodstock roads. And now

Malcolm and Alice could see other people struggling with the flood,somedesperatelytryingtokeeptheirheadsabovewaterastheywerecarriedalong,someinlittleboats—puntsordinghies—tryingtorescuethose in danger of drowning, some clinging to the trees in St.MaryMagdalen’sgraveyard,somebeinghelpedthroughopenwindowsintoBalliol or St. John’s colleges. Cries of despair, shouts ofencouragement,andthesoundofanengine-boatroaringalongasidestreetallmingledwiththecrashofthewateragainsttheancientstonebuildings,andbeforeMalcolmhadthecanoereadytoturnintoBroadStreet,LaBelleSauvagewasnearlycapsizedbytheturbulence.

Alicecriedoutinalarm.Malcolmdugthepaddleintothewaterwithall his strength and kept the little craft upright, but at the cost ofmissingtheturnintoBroadStreet.Beforehecoulddoanythingaboutit,theywerealreadyintheCornmarket.

“ShipStreet!”criedhawkAsta,andMalcolmshoutedback,“Iknow—I’mtrying—”asheforcedthecanoetowardsthetowerofSt.MichaelNorthgate,atthecornerofthelittlestreetthatleddirectlytoJordan.

Butthewaywasblocked.Partofthetowerhadfallen,andthefloodsurgedandfoamedagainstthegreatheapofstonesattheentrancetothe street. The onlywaywas to go forward again andhopehe couldturnontoMarketStreet,butthatwasfoiledtoo:alargewagoncarryingvegetablestotheCoveredMarkethadsmashedagainsttheshoponthecorner. Boxes of cabbages and onions bobbed on thewater, and thehorsepullingthewagonlaydrownedbetweentheshafts.Therewasnopassagethroughhereeither.

And the floodbore themonrelentlessly, towards thecrossroadsatCarfax,whereagainMalcolmtriedtoforcethecanoeleftandontotheHigh Street, in the hope of turning onto Turl Street and reachingJordan that way. But the little vessel had no more headway than acork.ThefloodhurledthemacrossthejunctionandintoSt.Aldate’s,wherethedownwardslopeofthestreetletthewaterrushonwithevengreaterspeed.

“Iten’tgonnawork!”Aliceshouted.

Malcolm could hear Lyra crying, not with shrill fear but with asteady note of complaint at the cold and the wet and the incessantlurchingofthecanoe.

“We’llfindsomewheretostopsoon,Lyra!”heshoutedback.

All around them, buildings lay with smashed windows or fallenwalls,andbrokendoorsanduprootedtreesracedalongonthewater.Someone in an engine-boat was trying to maneuver it towards anupstairs window, where a gray-haired woman in a nightdress wascalling for help, her terrier dæmon barkingmadly. Folly Bridge hadbeensweptawayaltogether,andtheThameswasnolongerariverbuta swollen sea of gray turbulence sweeping from right to left andthreateningtooverwhelmLaBelleSauvageentirely.ButMalcolmhadtime toprepare, anddug thepaddle inharder than ever before, andjustmanagedtokeepheronacourseforthelevellandfurtherdown.

Thiswasadistrictofsuburbanstreetsandsmallshops,andbeforelong, hawk-eyed Asta, with Ben flying close to her, cried out, “Left!Left!”

Therewasnothingtoimpedethemthistime,andMalcolmbroughtthecanoeintoasidestreetawayfromthemainflood,whereitwasalittlequieter.

“I’m going to bring us in by that green cross!” he shouted. “It’s apharmacy.Seeifyoucangrabhold—it’sonabracket—”

Alice sat up, looked around, shifted Lyra to her other side, andreachedout todoashesaid.Theyweren’tmovingveryquicklyhere,and itwasn’thard forher to seize thebracketandhold theboat stillagainst the building. Malcolm leaned out and looked closely down,sideways,downagain.

“Doesitfeelfirm?”

“Iten’tloose,ifthat’swhatyoumean.”

“Right,letgoandI’llcatchitandtieusup.”

Shedid.Thecanoemovedalongunderthegreencross,andMalcolmcaught hold of the bracket. He tied a bowline again, just in case,becausehisfingersknewitandhetrustedit.Theywererightnexttoanupstairswindow.

“I’mgoingtosmashtheglass,”hesaid.“Coverherface.”

He swung the paddle, and the glass fell inward with a crash thatmighthave sounded loud innormal circumstancesbut thathe couldhardlyhearforthenoiseofthewater.Hethoughtthatnormallyhe’dfeelguiltyaboutthat,but itwouldbemoreguiltybyfartokeepLyraoutsideinthecoldandthewet.

“I’llgoin,”hesaid,butAlicesaid,“No!Wait.”

Helookedatherinpuzzlement.

“Knockalltheglassoutfirst,elseyou’llgetslashedtoribbons,”sheexplained.

Hesawthesenseof that,andwentroundthesashframeknockingeveryshardofglassintotheroombehindit.

“It’sempty,”hesaid.“Nofurnitureoranything.”

“I expect they called the movers when they heard the flood wascoming,”shesaid.

Hewasgladshewasbeingsarcastic.Itsoundedlikeheragain.

Whentheframewasclearofglass,Malcolmstoodupcarefullyandput both hands on it, then one leg through, and then the other, andthenhewasin.

“PassmeLyra,”hesaid.

Alice had tomove to themiddle of the canoe,whichwas difficult,and Lyra was squirming and yelling, which didn’t help; but after aminute or so of negotiation, while Asta, hawk-formed, carried theprotestingswallow-chickPan,Alicehelduptheblanket-wrappedchild,andMalcolmtookherthroughintotheemptyroom.

“Cor!Yousmelllikeafarmyard,Lyra,”hesaid.“That’sachampionstink,thatis.Well,we’llcleanyouupsoon.”

“ ‘We,’ ”saidAlice,nowintheroombesidehim.“Ilikethatwe.You’llbeofftyingknotsorsummink.It’llbemewhatcleansherup.”

“Apharmacy’sall right,” saidMalcolm. “But Iwish theysold food.Look,there’sastoreroomthroughthere.”

Itwasasgoodasatreasure-house.Inthestoreroomwaseverythingneededforbabycare,andmedicinesofallsorts,andevenbiscuitsandvariouskindsofjuice.

“Weneedhotwater,”saidAlice,unimpressed.

“Theremight still be some in a tank. I’ll go andhave a look,” saidMalcolm,seeingasmallbathroom,andbecomingsuddenlyawarethathebadlyneededtorelievehimself.Hefoundthatthelavatoryflushed,the taps ran, and there was even a trickle of warmish water. HehastenedtotellAlice.

“Right,”shesaid.“Nowgoandfindsomeofthemnappies,theonesyou throw away.We’ll wash her and change her first, and then feedher.Ifyoucanfindawayofboilingthewater,somuchthebetter.Anddon’tdrinkit.”

Therewerelogsandkindlingandpaperinthefireplaceintheemptyroom,andMalcolmlookedforasaucepanorsomethingtoboilwaterin, blessing the farseeing proprietor who had stocked his shop socomprehensively.Nodoubt therewas every kind of domestic utensildownstairs,butasthefloodwaterhadrisentojustunderthetopstepofthestaircase,therewasnowayofgettingthem;andwhatastrokeofluck that they stored theirwaresuphere rather than in a basement.Andtherewasevenalittlekitchen,withagasstove(notworking)andakettle.

Hetookouthisknifeandstruckthesparkeragainandagainontherasp,producingashowerofsparkseachtime,whicheachtimefailedtolightthepaperinthefireplace.

“What you doing?” said Alice, throwing him a box of matches.“Idiot.”

Hesighed,struckamatch,andsoonhad the fireblazing.He filledthekettlefromthecoldtapandhelditovertheflames.

LyrahadbeenyellingasAlicewashedherandputaclean,drynappyonher, but itwas a shout of general anger rather thandistress.Herlittledæmon,whohadbeenaverydisheveledrat,becameaminiaturebulldogandjoinedintherowtillAlice’sgreyhounddæmonpickedhimupandshookhim,whichstartledthechildintooutragedsilence.

“That’sbetter,”saidAlice.“Nowkeepquiet.I’llgiveyouafeedinaminute,whenthatboy’sboiledsomewater.”

She took Lyra into the little kitchen and laid her on the drainingboard while Malcolm nursed the little flames. He had to wrap hishands in thewet blanket to keep them from burning as he held thekettle.Therewasnowheretobalanceitonthefire.

“Atleastit’sdryingtheblanket,”hesaidtoAsta.

“Supposetheshopkeepercomes?”hisdæmonsaid.

“Nobody would expect us not to change and feed a baby. ’CeptmaybeBonneville.”

“Itwashiminthenight,wasn’tit?”

“Yeah.Hemustbemad.Reallymad.”

“Arewereallygoingtotakeherallthewayto—”

“Shh.”

Helookedaround,butAlicewasintheotherroomwashingLyra.

“Yes,”hewhispered.“Gottonow.”

“WhynottellAlice,then?”shewhisperedback.

“ ’Causeshewouldn’twantto.She’dstaybehindorgiveusawayorsomething.AndtakeLyra.”

Thefirewassettling intoaproperglow,andtheheatonhishandsandhisfacemadeMalcolmallthemoreawareofhowcoldandsoakingwet the rest of him was. He was shifting uncomfortably when Alicespokebehindhim.

“Where’sthatwater?”

“Oh…nearlyboiling.”

“Youbetterboil it fora fewminutes.Kill all thegerms.Then let itcool.SoIreckonit’llbeawhileyetbeforeIcanmixherfeed.”

“How’sshedoing?”

“Well,shesmellsbetter.Butherpoorlittlebum’sallsore.”

“Theremustbesomecreamorsomething—”

“Yeah, there is. Good thing this is a pharmacy and not a bloodyironmonger’s.Don’tspillthatwater.”

Thewaterwasboiling,andhishandwasfeelingscorched.

“Can you get me some cold water?” he said. “I need to wet thisblanketagain.Myhand’sgettingburned.”

She went out and came back with a jug. She poured the watercarefullyovertheblanket,andhishandimmediatelyfeltworse,moretenderaltogether.Hetookthekettleawayandlookedaround.

“What’sthematter?”

“I’mgoingtofindsomethingbettertoholditwith.”

Hedidn’t have to look far. In the little pile of logs beside the fire,

there was one that, when he propped it against the hearth, was therightheighttostandthekettleon,halfonandhalfoffthefire.

“Ifthatfallsoff—”

“Iknow,”hesaid.“Youstayandwatchitforaminute.”

He stood up and went to look at Lyra, finding her comfortableenoughon the floorwithabiscuit inher fist.Asta licked theheadofthe little puppy Pantalaimon, and Lyra responded with a stream ofgurgles.

InthestoreroomMalcolmfoundwhathewaslookingfor:apencil.Hewroteon the landingwall: “MalcolmPolsteadof theTrout InnatGodstowwillpayforanydamageandwhatwehavetaken.”

Thenhefoundapileofnewtowelsandcarriedthemthroughtothebroken window, where he leaned out andmopped the inside of thecanoe.

“Let’stryandkeepyoudrynow,”hesaidtoher.

Therainhadstopped,but theairwassaturated,and thewindwaswhippingsprayofftheflood.Thelevelhadnotgonedownatall.

“Well,we’veonlybeenherehalfanhour,”saidAsta.

“Iwishwecouldhideitabit.IfBonnevillegoespasttheendofthestreet,he’llseeitstraightaway.”

“But henever saw the canoe in daylight,” she pointed out. “Itwaspitch-dark.Wemightbeinapunt,forallheknows.”

“Hmm,”saidMalcolm,fasteningthecanopydownallround.

“Here,Malcolm,”Alicecalled.“Comehere.”

“What?”hesaid,pullinghimselfbackinthroughthewindow.

“Sitonthatstoolandkeepstill,”shesaid.

“Why?”

She’dtakenthekettleoffthefire,soitmusthavecometoaboil.Shehadadampclothinonehand,andwiththeothersheturnedhisheadthiswayandthat,notroughlybutfirmly,whileshedabbedathisface.Herealizedwhyassoonasshebegan.

“Ow!”

“Shut up. You look horrible with all them scratches. Besides, youmightgetgermsin’em.Keepstill!”

He put up with the stinging and held his tongue. When she’dfinished cleaning off the dried blood, she dabbed some antisepticcreamon.

“Stopwriggling.Itcan’thurtthatmuch.”

It did, though he would never dream of saying so. He gritted histeethandputupwithit.

“There,”shesaid.“Idunnowhetheryouneedabandageortwo—”

“They’llonlycomeoff.”

“Suityourself.Nowletmehavethestool.IgottofeedLyra.”

ShetestedthetemperatureofthewaterasSisterFenellahaddone,andthensprinkledinsomemilkpowderandstirreditupwell.

“Giveusthatbottle,”shesaid.

Malcolmpassedherthebottleandtherubberteat.

“Oughttosterilizeeverything,really,”shesaid.

Hewenttopickthechildup.Panwasasparrowchicknow,soAstabecameabirdtoo,agreenfinchthistime.

“You finished your biscuit?” he said to Lyra. “Youwon’t want anymilk,then.I’llhaveit.”

Shewasfullofbeans,ashismotherwouldhavesaid.HepassedherovertoAliceandthenwenttothewindowagain,becausethethoughtofhismotherhadbroughtsudden,helplesstearstohiseyes.

“What’sthematter?”saidAlicesuspiciously.

“Stinging.”

Heleanedoutthewindow,tryingtoseeanysignofmovementintheother buildings, but there was none. Windows were curtained oruncurtained,but therewereno lights glowing,no soundsapart fromthesurgeandrushofthewater.

Thenhedid see somethingmoving.Asta saw it first anduttered alittlegaspandfledtohisbreastasakitten,andthenhesawittoo.Itcame floating down the street towards them, bumping into thehousefronts, dull and soft and half submerged. It was the body of a

womanfacedowninthewater,drownedanddead.

“Whatshouldwedo?”whisperedAsta.

“Nothingwecando.”

“Isaid‘should.’That’sdifferent.”

“Isuppose…weshould pullheroutand layherdown.Sortof treatherwithrespect.Idunno.Butiftheshopkeepercamebackandfoundadeadwomaninhisshop…”

Forafewmomentsitlookedasifthepoordeadwomanwastryingtoget lodged between the shopfront and the canoe. Malcolm dreadedhavingtoreachforthepaddleandpushheraway,but intheendthecurrent carried her down the street. Malcolm and Asta stoppedlooking;itfeltdisrespectful.

“Whathappenstodæmonswhenpeopledie?”Astawhispered.

“Idunno…maybeherdæmonwassmall,likeabird,andhe’sinherpocketorsomething….”

“Maybehegotleftbehind.”

But thatwas toohorrible to thinkabout.They lookedbackonceatthe dead woman, now some distance away, and tried to think ofsomethingelse.

“Stores,”saidMalcolm.“Weoughttotakeasmuchaswecanpackintheboat.”

“Why?”demandedAlice.Shewasstandingrightbehindthem,givingLyraabreak.Hehadn’tknownshewasthere.

“In case we can’t get back,” said Malcolm calmly. “You saw howstrong the flood is. In case we get swept further down where therearen’tanyshopsorhousesoranything.”

“Wecouldstayhere.”

“Bonneville’sgoingtofindusifwedothat.”

Shethought.“Yeah,”shesaid.“Maybe.”

ShepattedLyraontheback,andthechildburpedloudly.

“What’shewantherfor,anyway?”Alicesaid.

“Hewantstokillher,prob’ly.Vengeance.”

“Forwhat?”

“Onherparents.Idunno.Anyway…”

“Anywaywhat?”

“Thatsanctuarything…Weprob’lycouldn’thavegotherintoJordanCollege, even if we could’ve reached it, because you have to saysomethinginLatin,andIdon’tknowwhatitis.Somaybe—”

Alicelookedathimnarrowly.Somethinghadchanged.

“What?”hesaid.

“Younevermeanttogoback,didyou?”

“CourseIdid—”

“No,youdidn’t.Icanreadyoulikeabook,youlittlebastard.”

Suddenly she reached forward and snatched the little white cardfromhisshirtpocket.Shereadbothsides,herfacepinchedwithanger,andflungittothefloor.

Thenshekickedhisleghard.Shecouldn’tdoanythingelsewiththebabyinherarms,andnowLyrawaspickingupherangerandseemedfrightened.Malcolmmovedoutofrange.

“You’rejustimagining—”

“NoIen’t!Youmeantto,didn’tyou?Eh?IsawyoulookatthiscardinthecanoewhenyouthoughtIwasasleep.Andyoumeanttotakemewithyoutolookafterthekid.”

She kicked him again, and her dæmon growled and tried to seizeAsta, who became a bird easily enough and flew up out of reach.Malcolmsimplyretreatedandpickedupthestool.

“Andwhatyougonnadowiththat,eh?Hitmeoverthehead?I’dliketoseeyoutry.I’d—Hush,hush,littleone.Don’tcrynow.Alicehasjustlosthertemperwiththatlittlepieceofsewageoverthere,butnotwithyou, my lovely. Put that bloody stool down where it was. I haven’tfinishedfeedingher.Andputanotherlogonthefire.”

Malcolm did as she said.When she’d sat down and put the bottleback to Lyra’smouth, he said, “Thinkwhat happened last night.Wedidn’thaveanychoice.Wecouldn’thavedoneanythingdifferent.WehadtocometotheTrout—therewasnowhereelsetogo,nootherwaytobesafe.Therewasonlythecanoe.Wehadtogetinitand—”

“Shutup.Juststopbloodytalking.Igottothinkwhattodonow.”

“Wecan’tstayhere.He’llfindus.”

“Shutup!”

Somethingwastricklingdownhisforeheadintohisrighteye.Itwasblood: the scratches had opened up. He mopped it with hishandkerchief,which,likeeverythingelse,wasstilldamp,andretreatedtothestoreroom.

“Well,weknewshehadatemper,”whisperedAsta.

“Hmm.”

Thefactwas,theywerebothshaken.Alice’sfurywashardertofacethanthedeadwomaninthewater,harderthanthethoughtofGerardBonneville.

Malcolm turned to the shelves, but he couldn’t see anything. Hecouldn’t think of stocking the canoe or anything else; his mind wasswirlingliketheflood.

“Wegottoexplain,”hesaidquietlytoAsta.

“D’youthinkshe’lllisten?”

“Atleastifshe’sgotLyraonherlap…”

Hefoundabottleoforangejuiceandtwistedthetopoff.

“What’sthatfor?”snappedAlicewhenheofferedittoher.

“Breakfast.”

“Stickitupyourarse.”

“Justlisten.Letmeexplain.”

Inreturnsheglared,butsaidnothing.Hewenton.“Lyra’sindangerwhereversheis—whereverinOxford,anyway.Eveniftheprioryissafeandthenunsareallalive,there’stwolotsofpeople,atleast,tryingtogetholdofher.One’sBonneville.Idunnowhathe’supto,buthewantsher,andhe’sviolentandhe’smad.Hebeatshisowndæmon.Ithinkitwashimthatbrokeherlegsoshelostit.Wecan’tlethimgetholdofLyra.Thenthere’sthe…”

“OfficeofChildProtection,”saidAsta.

“Office of Child Protection. You heard, when I was telling Mum

aboutthem.Andyourdæmon…”

“Oh,yeah,”saidAlice.“Bastards.”

“Butthere’sscholasticsanctuary,right.LikeItoldyouinthenight.”

“Oh, yeah. If it’s true.And ifwe could get back to JordanCollege,withthefloodlikethis.They’dneverletusinanyway.Somuchforthatidea.”

“But there’sLordAsriel.Lyra’s father.You remember, I told you…he’son theotherside fromtheCCD.Andheclearly lovesher—that’sobvious.SoI thoughtweshould takeher tohimbecausenooneelsewouldprotecther.TheOfficeofChildProtectionpeoplewillcomebackto the priory, and the nuns will be all busy with clearing up andrebuildingand theywouldn’tbeable to lookafterherproperly, evenSister Benedicta. And then there’s Bonneville. He’s…well, he’s wild.He’soutofcontrol.Hecouldsnatchheranytime.AndSisterKatarina,she’dgiveherawaytohim….”

Alice considered that, and then said, “What about yourmum anddad?Whycouldn’ttheylookafterher?”

“They got their hands fullwith the pub. And theCCD could comeagain.There’snodefenseagainsttheCCD.Iftheywantedtosearchthepubfromtoptobottom,theycoulddoit,andnoonecouldstop ’em.Andthenthere’stheLeagueofSt.Alexander.SomeonecouldtelltheirkidthatLyrawasthereandthekidmightbeamemberandhe’dgiveheraway.”

“Hmm,”saidAlice.SheputthebottledownandliftedLyrauptopatherback.“Well,there’shermother.”

“She’s on the side of the CCD. She started the League of St.Alexander!”

Alice stood andwalked up anddown slowly. Pantalaimonbegan achirrupingconversationasababyswallow,andLyrajoinedin,andsodidAsta.Alice’s dæmon, lyingmastiff-shaped on the hearth, openedone eye to look. Malcolm said nothing and kept still. Finally Aliceturnedandspoke:“Howyougoingtofindhim,then,thisLordAsriel?”

Malcolmpickedup the card. “This ishis address,”he said. “That’swhatmademethinkofit.Anyway,thegyptians’llknow.Ifweseeanygyptians.Besides,he’safamousman.Itwon’tbehardtofindhim.”

Alicesnorted.“You’reamooncalf,”shesaid.

“Idon’tknowwhatoneofthemis.”

“Lookinthebloodymirror,then.”

Hesaidnothingbecauseitseemedsafer.Alicemovedtothewindowandlookedoutbriefly.

“Getmeoneofthemblankets,”shesaid.

Hefoundone,openedit,andputitaroundhershoulders.

“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”shesaid.

“ ’Causeitallhappenedsoquick.”

“Butyou’dbeenplanningit.Thestuffyoualreadyhadinthecanoe.”

“I wasn’t thinking of going away, not yet. I didn’t know the floodwouldcomesosoon.AndifIhad,I’dhaveprob’lytakenSisterFenella,’causeIcouldn’tlookafterababyandpaddlethe—”

“SisterFenella?What did I call you?Amooncalf?You’re a bloodygormlessstaringidiot.”

“Well,someone—”

“Italwayshadtobeme.Thereen’tanyoneelse.”

“Well,why’dyoukickme,then?”

“Whydidn’tyoutellme?Oraskme,better.”

“Ionlyjustthoughtofitinthenight,whenweweretieduptothattree.”

Shewentbacktothefireandputthelastlogon.“Sowhat’stheplan,then?”shesaid.

“Keep going downstream. Keep out of Bonneville’s way. Find ourwaytoLordAsriel.”

Hehadtocleanthebloodoutofhiseyeagain.Hewipedhishandonhistrousers,whichwerenearlydrynow.

“SitdownandtakeLyra,”saidAlice.“I’mgoingtoputabandageonthere—I don’t care what you say. You’re going to drive me mad,blinkingbloodoutofyoureyeallthetime.”

Shediditmoregentlythanbefore.Thensheheldoutthepacketofbandagesandthetubeofantisepticcream.

“Youcanputthemintheboat,tostartwith.Andmoreblanketsandsomepillows, if theygotany.Itwasbloodyfreezinglastnight.Andaloadofthemnappiesthatyoucanthrowaway.Andmatches.Andthatsaucepan.Andallthembiscuits…”

Shewentonwithoutapause, listingsomanythingsthatthecanoewould have sunk under them all. Malcolm nodded earnestly toeverything.

“Well,goon,then,”shesaid.

Sohebegan.Hegathered the things in theorderhe thought themimportant, so pillows and dry blankets came first, and then nappiesandbabymilkandotherthingsforLyra.Alicedidn’tseeminclinedtohelp,andhedarednotask,sowitheacharmfulofcargohehadtoleanoutthewindow,pullthecanoeclose,dropitin,andthenclimbdownand stow it in as shipshape a way as he could.He put a number ofblankets in theprowforAlice tositon, tokeep thecoldof thewaterbelowthehullawayfromher,andacoupleofpillowsthereforhertoleanon.

“She’s very strange,”Astawhisperedwhen theywereoutside. “Shecouldhavewhinedandmoanedallnight,butshesaidnothing.”

“Iwishshehadn’tkickedme,though.”

“Butshelookedafteryourscratches….”

“Shh!”

Malcolmhadseenamovementattheendofthestreet,andthenitbecame clearer: a dinghy, with two men in it, neither of themBonneville.Onewas rowing, so theother could look forward, andassoonashesawMalcolminthecanoe,hesaidsomethingtotherower,whoturnedtolook.

“Hey!”oneofthemshouted.“Whatyoudoing?”

Malcolm didn’t answer. Instead, he called in through thewindow,“Alice,bringLyrahere.”

“Why?”shesaid,buthe’dturnedaway.

Thedinghywasmuchcloser: themanwas rowing fast.When theywerenearenoughforMalcolmnottohavetoshout,hesaid,“Wegotababytolookafter.Wehadtogoinherebecauseshewasfreezing.”

Alice appeared beside him and saw themen, whowere now close

enoughtoreachoutandtakeholdofthecanoe.

“Whatyouwant?”shesaid,holdingLyrainherarms;thechildwasnearlyasleep.

“Justmakingsureeverything’sallrightandnoone’sdoingwhattheyshouldn’t,”saidthemanwhowasn’trowing.

“Yougotababythere?”saidtherower.

“It’smysister,”saidAlice.“Ourhousewasgoingtofalldownwhenthefloodcome,sowegotawayintheboat.Butwebeenoutallnightandshe’seversocoldandwehadtostopandfindsomewheretofeedandchangeher. If therewassomeonehere,we’dhaveasked,but theplacewasempty.”

“Whatyouputtingintheboat?”theothermanaskedMalcolm.

“Blanketsandpillows.We’regoingtotryandgethomebecauseourparents’ll beworried. But in casewe got to stay in the boat anothernight—”

“Whydon’tyoujuststayhere?”

“ ’Cause of our parents,” said Alice. “Didn’t you hear? They’ll beworried.Wegottotryandgetbacksoonaswecan.”

“Whereto?”

“Youapolicemanorsomething?What’sitgottodowithyou?”

“Sandra,they’rejustlookingaftertheplace,”saidMalcolm.“WeliveinWolvercote.LastnightwegotsweptalldownPortMeadow.We’regoing to try and get back through the city, but in case we get stuckagain…”

“What’syourname?”

“RichardParsons.ThisismysisterSandra.Andthebaby’sEllie.”

“Wherewasyourmotherandfatherlastnight?”

“Ourgrandmotherwastookillyesterday.Theywenttoseeher,andwhiletheywasout,thefloodcome.”

The rowerwasmanipulating his oars to keep the boat still on thewater.Hesaidtotheotherman,“Leave’embe.They’reallright.”

“You know it’s theft, what you’re doing?” the other man said.“Looting?”

“It en’t looting,” said Alice, butMalcolm spoke over her and said,“We’reonly takingwhatweneedtostayaliveandkeepthebaby fed.Andassoonasthefloodgoesdown,mydad’llcomedownhereandpayforwhatwetook.”

“Ifyoumakeyourwayintotown,”saidtherower,“andfindthetownhall—youknowwherethatis?St.Aldate’s?”

Malcolmnodded.

“There’sanemergencystationthere.It’sfullofpeoplebeenfloodedout,andplentyofhelpers.You’llfindeverythingyouneedupthere.”

“Thanks,”saidMalcolm.“We’lldothat.Thankyou.”

Themennoddedandbegantorowaway.

“Sandra,” said Alice with deep contempt. “Couldn’t you think ofnothingbetterthanthat?”

“No,”saidMalcolm.

And ten minutes later, they were moving again, Sandra/Alicewrappedupwarminthebow,acleananddryandfedLyra/Elliefastasleep on her chest. La Belle Sauvage was lower in the water thanshe’dbeensinceMalcolmtookSisterBenedictatotheparceldepot,butshemovedwithallherneweagernessandrespondedtothepaddlelikea powerful steed to her master’s touch on the reins. Well, Malcolmthought,itcouldallhavegonefarworse.Theywerestillalive,andtheyweremovingsouth.

At about the same time, George Papadimitriou was standing at thewindowofhisroomsat the topofPilgrims’Tower, thehighestset inJordanCollege,andlookingoutatthewasteofwatersthatsurroundedthe tower and lapped against the windows of the other collegebuildings.Evenintheenclosedquadrangle,thewindwaswhippingitinto spray. The sky was heavy, promising even more rain, and theroomwassocoldthat,inspiteofthefireinthehearth,hewaswearinghisovercoat.

“Whenshouldweexpecthim,doyouthink?”hesaid.

“Inthisflood…,”saidLordNugent,joininghimatthewindow.“Whoknows.Buthe’sresourceful.”

NugenthadarrivedinOxfordthepreviousevening,anhourortwobeforethefloodstruckthecity.OakleyStreethadheardthatLyrawasin danger, and hewanted tomake sure of the arrangements for hersafety. He would have made his way to the priory already thatmorning,despitetheflood,butforthefactthattheywereawaitingthearrivalofatravelerfromthefarnorth,BudSchlesinger,newsofwhomhadbeeninCoramvanTexel’scodedletterfromUppsala.SchlesingerwasaNewDanebybirth,andanagentofOakleyStreetbytrainingandinclination.Hehadgonetothenorthtofindoutasmuchashecouldabout the witches’ knowledge of Lyra, because it seemed that thesourceofmuchthatwassaidabouthercamefromthem.Thewitcheswereagreatpowerinthoselatitudes,andthealliancestheymadewerecostlybutvaluable.Nugentwaseager togain their support,butevenmoreeagertopreventtheothersidefromgainingit.

“Ishouldthinkeveryboatthatexistswillhavebeenrequisitionedbythe authorities,” said Papadimitriou. “They would want to maintain

civilorderaboveeverythingelse.”

“Oh,he’llgethere.Untilhedoes,I’mgoingto—Waitaminute.Isn’tthatHannahRelfdownthere?”

Papadimitriou peered down at the flooded quadrangle, where aslight figure clothed in oilskins was wading waist-deep towards thetower.Shelookedupbriefly,pushingbackheryellowsou’wester,andthe two men recognized her at once. Papadimitriou waved, but shedidn’tseehim,andshemovedonthroughthewater.

“I’llgodownandmeether,”Papadimitriousaid.

He ran down the steep stairs and found her on the first landing,breathing heavily andunfastening the oilskin coat.Her little dæmonwashelpingwiththebuttons.

“Let me give you a hand,” he said. “Good Lord, what are youwearing?”

“Salmon-fishing waders,” she said. “Never thought I’d need themhere.”

“Well,thiscountsasarevelation.Iwouldn’thaveimaginedyouwitha fishing rod in your hands,” he said, taking the coat from her. Thewaderscameuptoherchestandlookedsubstantial.

“Notmine.Theybelongedtomybrother,whogaveupfishingwhenhewasinjured.It’snoteasytowearwaderswithaprostheticleg.IfIsitonthestairs,perhapsyoucould…”

Hewentdownasteportwoandtuggedhard.Shewasfullyclothedunderneath,andmusthavebeenextremelyuncomfortable.

“Well,goodforyou,”hesaid.

“Areyouverybusy?Idon’twanttointerruptanything,but—”

“Youwon’t.Don’tworry.”

“IthoughtIshouldcomeandtellyousomethingimportant.”

“TomNugent’shere.Saveyourbreathtoclimbthestairsandtellusbothwhenyougetthere.”

Their dæmons climbed ahead of them, talking quietly.Papadimitriou was concerned about Hannah: she was breathingheavily,andherfacewasflushed.

“You didn’twalk all thisway?” he said. Then, “Sorry, don’t speak.Takeiteasy.Nohurry.”

When they reached the top floor, she said, “I begged a lift from aneighborwithanengine-boat.I’mnotsureanyonecouldwalkall theway.Haveyouseenhowfastthewater’sflowingdownSt.Giles?”

Nugent opened the door, hearing their voices, and said, “Dr. Relf,thisisvaliant.ComeinandsitbythefireandletmegiveyousomeofGeorge’sbrandy.”

“Thanks,”shesaid.“Icoulddowithit.Iwon’tstayanylongerthanIneedto.”

“You’llstaytillyou’rewarmanddry,”saidPapadimitriou.“ItwouldbegoodforyoutomeetSchlesinger,anyway.”

She took a glass from Lord Nugent and sipped gratefully. “Who’sSchlesinger?”

“AnOakleyStreetagentwithsomethingtotellus,wehope.”

“Icamebecausesomething’shappenedatthepriory,”shesaid.“Latelastnight.Iheardfromaneighbor,themanwhoownstheboat,andhetookmeuptoseewhatwasgoingonandcheckwhetherMalcolmwasall right.But it’s all such a…To startwith, the gatehouse and severalotherpartsof themainbuildinghave fallendown.Sohas thebridgeacross to the inn. Seven of the nuns are dead—drowned—and twoothersaremissing.Andthechild…Well,she’smissingtoo.Buthere’sthepoint:Malcolm,theboy,youremember,he’sdisappearedaswell.But so has his canoeand the girlwhowas helping out at the priorywiththebaby.That’stheonlythingthat’sgivingMalcolm’sparentsanyhope.”

“They think he might have…what? Rescued the child and floatedaway?”

“Inaword,yes.Hewasveryfondofthebaby,veryinterestedinherandeverythingtodowithher.So…well, that’swhatIhadtotellyou,really.”

“Whoisthisgirl?”

“Alice Parslow. Sixteen. She helps out in the inn, and she’d justbegunat thepriorytoo.But there’ssomethingelse thatmighthaveabearingon—”

“Waitaminute.They’resurethechildisgone?Notburiedunderthecollapsedbuilding?”

“Yes, they’resure,becauseshewas inawoodencrib inthekitchenwhenthegatehousefell,inthecareofthegirlAlice.Thecribwasstillthere,butall theblanketshadgone.But there’sanother thing.Therewasamanwho’dshownupattheTroutafewdaysago—MalcolmhadtoldmeabouthimforthefirsttimeonthedayofDr.Al-Kaisy’sdinner.I mentioned him then, but you’d givenme somany other things tothink about that I didn’t ask any further. His name was GerardBonneville.Hehadahyenadæmonwho’dlostaleg,and…”

Nugentsatforward.

Papadimitriousaid,“Howdoeshefitin?Whatwashedoing?”

“I don’t know whether he matters or not,” said Hannah, “butMalcolm was afraid of the man because of the way his dæmonbehaved.On the day ofDr. Al-Kaisy’s dinner,Malcolm toldme thathe’d seen Bonneville trying to break into the priory the nightbefore….Oh,andthegirlAlicehadspokentohim, toBonneville,andshesaidhe’dclaimedtobethefatherofthebaby,ofLyra.Butdoyouknowanythingabouthim?”

“Asamatteroffact,yes,”saidNugent.“We’vebeeninterestedinhimforsometime.He’sascientist—anauthorityonelementaryparticles.Orusedtobe.He ledagroup inParisresearchingtheRusakovfield,that theory about consciousness that has theMagisterium in such aspin.Hewroteapaperarguingthattheremustbeaparticleassociatedwith the field, andmade the extraordinary claim thatDust could bethat particle. The gist of it, as far as I can understand it, was thateverything ismaterial and thatmatter itself is conscious. There’s noneed to bring spirit into the discussion. You can see why theMagisterium is keen to shut himup.Hewas—well, he is—a brilliantmind.Andhe’sinvolvedwiththis,withLyra?”

“But he was in prison,” said Papadimitriou. “Wasn’t there a courtcase?Somesexualoffense?”

“Yes,thatwashisdownfall.Orpartofit.IthinkMarisaCoulterwasinvolvedinsomeway—perhapsshetestifiedagainsthim—we’lllookupthedetails.Andhe’sclaimingtobeLyra’sfather?”

Hannahsaid,“SoIheardfromMalcolm,whohearditfromthegirlAlice.AndMrs.CoulterdoesknowBonneville.”

“Howdoyouknow?”

“Shecametomyhouse.”

“What?When?”saidNugent.

She told them what had happened on that afternoon, and howMalcolmhadspokentoMrs.Coulteranddeflectedherquestions.“SheclearlydidknowthisBonneville,butshewouldn’tadmitit.Shewantedtoknowwherethechildwas.Shedidn’tsayitwasherowndaughter,let alone who the father was. It was a strange conversationaltogether….Isn’tthatsomeoneoutside?”

As she said that, there came a knock on the door. Papadimitriouopeneditandwarmlyshookthehandofthemanwhocamein.

“Bud!Youmadeit,”hesaid.“Welldone!”

Nugentgotup towelcomehim.Schlesingerwasamanof thirtyorso, lean, with fair hair cut very short and a vivid alertness in hisexpression. His dæmon was a small owl. His cold-weather clothingseemedwetthrough.

“Hello,”hesaid,seeingHannah.“AmIinterruptingsomething?”

“No,IthinkIam,”saidHannah.“I’llgonow.”

“No,Dr.Relf,stay,”saidNugent.“Thisisimportant.Bud,Hannahisoneofus.Sheknowswhat this is all about, and she’s givenus somevaluableinformation.Look,you’resoaked.Comenearthefire.”

Schlesinger shook Hannah’s hand and said, “Good to meet you.Whatareyoudiscussing?HaveImissedthebestpart?”

AsSchlesinger tookoffhisouterclothingandsatdownnext to thefire, Nugent explained the situation, and Hannah listened withprofessional admiration. An A-plus for that summary, she thought:everything there and in its right relation with everything else, not aredundantword,claritythroughout.

AsLordNugentspoke,Papadimitrioumadeapotofcoffee.

“Sothat’swhereweare,”saidNugentashefinished.“Now,whatdoyouhaveforus?”

Schlesingersippedhiscoffeeandsaid,“Plenty.First,thechild.Lyra.There’snodoubtshe’sthedaughterofCoulterandAsriel.Nooneelseinvolved.We’dheardrumorsofsomeprophecyconcerning thechild,

andweknewthattheMagisteriumwasstronglyinterestedinher,soIwent north to find out more. The witches of the Enara region hadheard voices in the aurora—that’s how they put it; I gather it’s ametaphor—voicesthatsaidthatthechildwasdestinedtoputanendtodestiny. That’s all. They didn’t knowwhat thatmeant, and I sure ashelldon’t either.Couldbeagood thing, couldbebad.And themainconditionisthatshemustdothiswithoutknowingthatshe’sdoingit.Anyway,theMagisteriumheardaboutthisprophecythroughtheirownwitchcontacts,andimmediatelysetaboutfindingthechild.Thatwaswhenwe realized that something importantwas goingon, andwhenyoubegantolookforsomewheretohideher.”

“That’sright,”saidNugent.“Goon.”

“Now the second thing: Gerard Bonneville. I knew him a little inParis, and Iheardhe’d come to thenorth, so I askedaroundquietlyamongtheuniversitypeopleIknew.He’dbeeninprisonforthissexualcrime, whatever it was, and he was newly released. He’d beendismissed from his academic post, cut off from access to laboratoryfacilities and technical help, to libraries, to everything a scientistneeds. No one would employ him. He was always a difficult guy towork with—demanding, obsessive, and that dæmon was just sogoddamnunpleasant….Threelegs,huh?Well,shehadafullsetoflegswhen I saw Bonneville last. I think Coram van Texel might knowsomethingaboutthat.IsawCoraminSweden—Iguesshetoldyou.”

At the mention of Coram van Texel, Hannah glanced at LordNugent,whoreturnedherlookwithblandimpassivity.

“But Bonneville saw a way back into favor,” Schlesinger went on.“Heknewaboutthewitches’prophecy,andhethoughtifhecouldgetholdofthechild,he’dbeabletobargainwiththeMagisterium:givemea laboratory, givemeall thehelp Ineed, andyoucanhave the childanddowhatyoulikewithher.Sothat’swhathe’safter,andwhy.Anddoweknowwhereheisnow?What’sthelatestyouheard?”

“This is surmise,” said Papadimitriou, “but it’s likely that he’spursuingtheboyandthegirlwhoarelookingafterLyra.Theyhaveaboat—acanoe,Ibelieve—andHannahthinkstheyescapedinthat.But,Hannah,wherewouldtheygo?Whatwouldtheybelookingfor?”

“Well,”saidHannah,“sometimeagonow,Malcolmaskedmeaboutthe idea of sanctuary, because he’d heard about it from one of the

nuns,andheaskedmeifthecollegesstillofferedsanctuarytoscholars,andItoldhimthatJordanusedtohavesomeformofit….”

“We still do,” said Papadimitriou. “Scholastic sanctuary has to beinvokedbyaskingtheMasterhimself.There’saLatinformula….”

“So I’m sureMalcolm would try to bring her here,” Hannah said.“Butwe’veallseenthewaythefloodisracingthroughthecity.Idon’tthinkacanoecouldmakemuchheadwayinthissortoftorrent.They’dhavetogowherethefloodtookthem.”

“Butababyisnotascholar,”saidPapadimitriou.“Itwouldn’twork.”

“Ifsheweregrantedscholasticsanctuary,though,howsafewoulditmakeher?”

“Completely. The law has been tested in the courts, and alwaysfoundtobeimpregnable.But,asIsay—”

“Youknow,”saidSchlesinger,sittingforwardsuddenly,excited,“thismakessenseofsomethingelseIheardinthenorth.Iwasaskingaboutachild—Ididn’tsaygirl,onpurpose,Isaidchild.Wasthereaprophecyabout a child?And therewas onewitch—whatwas she called?TildaVasara…Queen Tilda Vasara—she told me she’d heard a prophecyabout a boy, so I kind of listened politely, but I was really onlyinterestedinwhattheymighthavetosayaboutagirl.Andshesaidthevoices in the aurora had spoken about a boy who had to carry atreasuretoaplaceofsafety.Well,Ihadnointerestinaboy,soIcleanforgot it till you started talking about a place of safety. Sanctuary.Couldthisboyofyoursbedoingthat?”

“Yes!” said Hannah. “It’s just the sort of way he’d think. He’sintenselyromantic.”

“But in any case, he hasn’t brought her here,” said Papadimitriou,“sowehavetoassumethatifhewastryingtocomehere,hefailed,andthey’ve been carried further downstream.What would his next ideabe?”

Hannah found all three men looking at her intently, as if theythoughtsheknew.Well,perhapsshedid.

“Lord Asriel,” she said. “That night when Lord Asriel came to theprioryandsaw thebaby,andMalcolm lenthimhis canoe, itmadeagreatimpressiononhim.MalcolmwouldthinkthatAsrielrepresentedsafetyforLyra.Ithinkhe’dtryandtakehertohim.”

“Wouldheknowwheretofindhim?”saidPapadimitriou.

“Idon’tknow.IsupposeLondon…butno,Ihavenoidea.”

“Anyway,” said Schlesinger, “I saw Asriel briefly last night inChelsea. He’s just about to set off for the north again. Even if yourMalcolmdoesgetthere,Asrielmightbegone.”

“Unless the floodholdshimup,” saidNugent, standing.He lookedsuddenly younger, energized, full of purpose. “Well, everything’sclarified.Weknowwhatwehavetodo:wehavetosetoffonthefloodandfindthembeforeBonnevilledoes.Bud,howdidyoutravelhere?”

“Ihireda fastpowerboat. I guess theowner’s still around;he saidhe’sgoingtotryandpickupsomeworkinOxford.”

“Find him, and set off,” said Nugent. “George, you know thegyptians.Useyourcontacts.Findacoupleofboats,foryourselfandforme. The Magisterium will be looking for them too. The CCD has anumberofriverboats;they’llallbeconcentratingonthis.Hannah,puteverythingelseasideandusethealethiometertosearchforthem.”

“HowwillIkeepintouchwithyou?”saidHannah.

“You won’t,” said Lord Nugent. “Whether we’re successful or not,you’llbewritingthehistoryinduecourse.Gohome,keepdryandsafe,andwatchthealethiometer.I’llfindawayofkeepingincontact.”

Malcolmhadneverthoughtitpossibleforanentireriver,nottosayanentire countryside, to disappear under a flood. Where this colossalamount of water had come fromwas hard to imagine. At one pointlaterinthemorning,heputhishandoverthesideandbroughtsometo hismouth to taste, half expecting to find it salty, as if it was theBristolChannelpouringitswaythroughtoLondon.Buttherewasnosalt;itdidn’ttasteverygood,butitwasn’tseawater.

“If you was paddling to London,” said Alice, “and the river wasnormalandtherewasn’tnoflood,howlongwouldittake?”

Itwasthefirsttimeshe’dspokensincethey’dleftthepharmacytwohoursbefore.

“Dunno. It’s about sixtymiles,maybemore, ’cause the river twistsandturns.Butyou’dbegoingwiththecurrent,so…”

“Well,howlong,then?”

“Afewdays?”

Alice’sexpressionindicateddisgust.

“But this’ll be quicker,” Malcolm went on, “ ’cause the current’sstronger.Lookhowfastwe’regoingpastthosetrees.”

The summit of a hill stood out above the water, crowned with aclump of trees, mostly oaks, whose bare branches looked mournfulagainst the gray sky. But La Belle Sauvage was moving fast; in aminuteshehadspedpast,andthehillwasbehindthem.

“Soitshouldn’ttakethatlong,”hesaid.“Maybejustaday.”

Alice said nothing, but reached down to adjust Lyra’s covers. The

child was lying between her feet, wrapped up so thickly that allMalcolm could make out was the top of her head and the brilliantbutterflyPantalaimonperchingonherhair.

“Issheallright?”hesaid.

“Seemstobe.”

Asta was very curious about Pan. She had noticed before that hecouldchangeinLyra’ssleep,althoughhewasasleephimself.ShehadatheorythatwhenhewasabutterflyitmeantthatLyrawasdreaming,butMalcolmwasskeptical.Ofcourse,neitherofthemhadthefaintestidea what happened when they themselves were asleep; they knewAsta could go to sleep as one creature andwake up as another, butneither of them remembered anything about the change. It was thesort of thinghe’dhave liked tomention toAlice, but theprospect ofherbottomlessscornputhimoff.

“Ibetitisadream,”Astasaid.

“Who’sthat?”saidAlicesharply.

She was pointing past Malcolm’s shoulder, looking some distanceback.Heturnedtolookandsaw,onlyjustvisiblethroughthewetgrayair,amaninadinghyrowinghardtowardsthem.

“Can’tseeforsure,”Malcolmsaid.“Itmightbe…”

“Itis,”shesaid.“Thatdæmon’sinthefront.Gofaster.”

Malcolm could see that the dinghy was an unhandy vessel, by nomeansasswiftandeasythroughthewaterasLaBelleSauvage.Still,the man had adult muscles and was plying the oars withdetermination.

SoMalcolmdugthepaddleinandurgedthecanoeforward.Buthecouldn’tdoitforlong,becausehisshouldersandarms,hiswholetorsoandwaist,wereaching.

“What’shedoing?Whereishe?”hesaid.

“He’s dropping back. Can’t see him—he’s behind that hill—keepgoing!”

“I’mgoingasfastasIcan.ButI’llhavetostopsoon.Besides…”

ThechangeinmotionhadwokenLyra,andshebegantocryquietly.They’dhavetofeedherbeforelong,andthatmeanttyingupthecanoe,

building a fire, heating the saucepan. And before that, findingsomewheretohide.

Malcolm looked all aroundwhile paddling as steadily as he could.Theywere in a broad valley, probably far above the riverbed,with awoodedsloperisingoutofthewatertotheleft,andtotherightalargehouse, classical in shapeandwhite in color,on thebreastof agreenhillonwhichweremoretrees.Eachsidewassomewayoff;itwaslikelythatthemaninthedinghywouldseethemlongbeforetheyreachedahidingplace.

“Makeforthehouse,”saidAlice.

Malcolmthought thatwas thebetteroption too, sohepaddled thecanoeasfastashecouldinthatdirection.Astheygotcloser,hecouldsee a thin column of smoke rising from one of themany chimneys,beforebeingblownaway.

“There’speoplethere,”hesaid.

“Good”wasallshesaid.

“Ifthere’speoplearound,”saidAsta,“he’slesslikelyto…”

“Supposehe’salreadyhere,andhe’soneofthem?”saidMalcolm.

“Butthatwashimbackthereintheboat,”shesaid.“Wasn’tit?”

“Maybe.Toofarawaytosee.”

Malcolmwasrealizinghowtiredhewas.Hehadno ideahow longhe’dbeenpaddling,butashesloweddown,nearingthehouse,hefeltmoreandmorehungryandwearyandcold.Hecouldbarelyholdhisheadup.

Aheadofthemaslopinglawnrosedirectlyoutofthefloodwaterandledsmoothlyuptothewhitefacadeofthehouse,thecolumnsandthepediment. Someone wasmoving there, behind the columns, but thelightwas too gloomy to see anythingmore than themovement. Thesmokewasrisingfromachimneysomewhereattheback.

Malcolmbroughtthecanoetorestagainstthegrassofthelawn.

“Well,whatarewes’posedtodonow?”saidAlice.

Theslopewasagentleone,andtheedgeofthewaterwassomefeetfurtherthanthecanoecouldreach.

“Takeyourshoesandsocksoff,”saidMalcolm,haulingoffhisboots.

“We’llpullthecanoeupoutofthewater.It’llslideoverthegrasseasyenough.”

Therewasa shout from thehouse.Amancameout frombetweenthecolumnsandgesturedtothemtogoaway.Heshoutedagain,buttheycouldn’thearwhathesaid.

“Youbettergoupandtellhimwegottofeedababyandrest forawhile,”saidMalcolm.

“Whyme?”

“ ’Causehe’lltakemorenoticeofyou.”

Theygotthecanoeoutofthewater,andthenAlicesulkilypickedherwayupthelawntowardstheman,whowasshoutingagain.

Malcolm pulled the canoe away from the water and into raggedshrubberyat theedgeof the lawn,and thenslumpeddownbeside it.HesaidtoLyra,“Isupposeyou’rejustwakingup,areyou?It’sallrightforsome.It’sanicelifebeingababy.”

Shewasn’thappy.Malcolm tookherout of the canoeand cuddledher on his lap, ignoring the smell that meant she needed changing,ignoringtheheavygrayskyandthecoldwindandthedistantmaninthe dinghy, who had come into sight again. He held the little childagainsthischestandself-consciouslykissedherforehead.

“We’ll keepyou safe,”he said. “See,Alice is talking to themanupthere.Soonwe’lltakeyouthereandmakeafireandwarmsomemilk.Course,ifyourmummywashere…Youneverhadamummy,didyou?Youwerejustfoundsomewhere.Thelordchancellorfoundyouunderabush.Andhethought,Blimey,Ican’tlookafterababy,IbettertakehertothesistersatGodstow.SothenitwasSisterFenellawholookedafteryou.Ibetyourememberher.She’saniceoldlady,isn’tshe?AndthenthefloodcameandwehadtotakeyouawayinLaBelleSauvagetokeepyousafe.Iwonderifyou’llrememberanyofthis.Prob’lynot.Ican’t rememberanything fromwhen Iwasababy.Look,here comesAlice.Let’sseewhatshesays.”

“Hesayswecan’tstaylong,”shetoldhim.“Isayswegottomakeafireandfeedthebabyandwedon’twanttostaylonganyway.Ithinksummingfunny’sgoingon.Hehadastrangelookabouthim.”

“Wasthereanyoneelsethere?”saidMalcolm,gettingtohisfeet.

“No.AtleastIdidn’tseenoone.”

“Take Lyra, then, and I’ll hide the canoe a bit more,” he said,handingoverthechild.Hisarmsweretremblingwithfatigue.

Once he had the canoe concealed, he gathered the things theyneededforLyraandmadehiswayuptothehouse.Thegreatdoorwasopenbehindthecolumns,andlingeringbesideitwastheman:asour-facedindividualinroughclothes,whosemastiffdæmonstoodcloseby,watchingwithoutmoving.

“Youen’tstayinglong,”themansaid.

“Notverylong,no,”Malcolmagreed.Andherecognizedsomething:themanwasalittledrunk.Malcolmknewhowtodealwithdrunks.

“Lovelyhouse,”hesaid.

“Soitmaybe.Iten’tyours.”

“Isityours?”

“ ’Tisnow.”

“Didyoubuyit,ordidyoufightforit?”

“Youbeingcheeky?”

Themastiffdæmongrowled.

“No,”saidMalcolmeasily.“It’sjustwitheverythingchangedbytheflood, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had to fight for it. Everything’sdifferentnow.Andifyoufoughtforit,thenitbelongstoyou,nodoubtaboutit.”

He looked down the lawn towards the turbid flood. In the heavytwilighthecouldn’tseetherowingboatatall.

“It’s like a castle,” hewent on. “You could defend this easy, if youwereattacked.”

“Who’sgoingtoattackit?”

“Noone.I’mjustsaying.Youmadeagoodchoice.”

Themanturnedandfollowedhisgazeoutoverthewater.

“Hasitgotaname,thishouse?”saidMalcolm.

“Why?”

“Itlooksimportant.Itlookslikeamanororapalaceorsomething.

Youcouldcallitafteryourself.”

Themansnorted.Itmighthavebeenwithlaughter.

“Youcouldputanoticeupattheedgeofthewater,”Malcolmsaid.“Sayingkeepout,or trespasserswillbeprosecuted.You’dhaveeveryrightto.Likethatmanoverthereinthedinghy,”hesaid,becausenowhecouldseetheboat,stillsomewayoff,stillmovingsteadilytowardsthem.

“What’sthematterwithhim?”

“Nothing,tillhetriestolandandtakethishouseawayfromyou.”

“D’youknowhim?”

“IthinkIknowwhoheis.Andheprob’lywouldtryanddothat.”

“Igotashotgun.”

“Well,hewouldn’tdarelandifyouthreatenedhimwiththat.”

Themanseemedtobethinkingaboutit.

“Igottodefendmyproperty,”hesaid.

“Courseyouhave.Yougoteveryrightto.”

“Whoishe,anyway?”

“Ifit’swhoIthinkit is,hisname’sBonneville.He’snotlongoutofprison.”

Themastiffdæmon,followingtheman’slineofsight,growledagain.

“Isheafteryou?”

“Yeah.He’sbeenfollowingusfromOxford.”

“What’shewant?”

“Hewantsthebaby.”

“Isithiskid,then?”

Theman’sblurredeyesswamtowardsfocusonMalcolm’sface.

“No.She’soursister.Hejustwantsher.”

“Getaway!”

“I’mafraidso,”Malcolmsaid.

“Bastard.”

Themanintheboatwasgettingcloser,makingquiteclearlyforthelawn,andnowMalcolmhadnodoubtwhohewas.

“Ibettergetinside,incaseheseesme,”hesaid.“Wewon’tmakeanytroubleforyou.We’llgetawayassoonaswecan.”

“Don’tyouworry,son,”themansaid.“What’syourname?”

Malcolmhadtothink.

“Richard,”hesaid.“Andmysister’sSandra,andthebaby’sEllie.”

“Getinside.Keepouttheway.Leavehimtome.”

“Thankyou,”saidMalcolm,andheslippedinside.

Theman came inside too, and took a shotgun from a cabinet in aroomjustoffthehall.

“Becareful,”saidMalcolm.“Hemightbedangerous.”

“I’mdangerous.”

Themanwentunsteadilyoutside.Malcolm lookedaroundquickly.Thehallwasdecoratedwithornateplasterwork, cabinets inpreciouswoods and tortoiseshell and gold, statues of marble. The hugechimneypiecewas cracked, though, and the hearthwas empty. Alicemusthavefoundthefireinanotherroom.

Afraid to call out forher,hehurried fromroom to room, listeninghardforthesoundofagunshot;buttherewasnosoundfromoutsideexceptthewindandtherushofthewater.

HefoundAliceinthekitchen.Therewasafireinanironrange,andLyrasatfreshlychangedinthecenterofalargepinetable.

“What’dhesay?”Alicedemanded.

“Hesaidwecanstayhereanddowhatweneed to.Andhe’sgotashotgunandhe’sgoingtodefendthehouseagainstBonneville.”

“Ishecoming?Itwashimintheboat,wannit?”

“Yeah.”

ThewaterinthesaucepanhadbeenboilingwhenMalcolmcamein.Alicetookitofftocool.Malcolmpickedupthebiscuitthathadfallenfrom Lyra’s hand and gave it to her again. She gurgled herappreciation.

“If shedropsherbiscuit, youought to tellherwhere it’s gone,”hesaid toPantalaimon,who instantlybecameabushbabyandgazedathimwithenormouseyes,unmovingandsilent.

“LookatPan,”MalcolmsaidtoAlice.

Shecastaquickglance,notinterested.

“How does he know how to be one of them?” Malcolm went on.“Theycan’teverhaveseenawhatever-it-is.Sohowdoesheknow—”

“WhatwegonnadoifBonnevillegetspasttheman?”saidAlice,hervoicesharpandhigh.

“Hide.Thenrunoutandgetaway.”

Herfaceshowedwhatshethoughtofthat.

“Goandfindoutwhat’sgoingon,”shetoldhim.“Anddon’tlethimseeyou.”

Malcolmwentout and tiptoedalong the corridor to themainhall.Pressing himself into the shadows beside the door, he listenedhard,andhearingnothing,helookedaroundcarefully.Thehallwasempty.Whatnow?

Therewasnosoundbutthewindandthewater,novoices,certainlyno gunshots. Theymight be talking at the water’s edge, he thought,and keeping to the wall, he moved silently across the marble floortowardsthegreatwindows.

ButAsta,moth-formed,got there first,andMalcolmfeltahorribleshock as she saw something outside and fell off the curtain into hishand.

Themanfromthehousewas lyingonthegrass,withhisheadandarms in thewaterbesideBonneville’sdinghy,notmoving.TherewasnosignofBonneville,andnosignofthegun.

Inhisalarm,Malcolmrecklesslywentclosetothewindow,peeringout to left and right. The only movements were the bobbing of thedinghy,whichwas tied to a stickBonneville haddriven into the softlawn,and the swaying thiswayand thatof the tophalfof theman’sbody.Thelightwastoograyanddimforhimtobesure,butMalcolmthoughthecouldseeacurrentofscarlettrailingawayfromtheman’sthroat.

Hepressedhimselfagainsttheglass,tryingtoseewherehe’dhidden

LaBelleSauvage.Asfarashecouldtell,thebusheswereundisturbed.

Whichwasthecabinetthemanhadopenedtogetthegun?Inthatroomattheotherendofthegreathall…

ButMalcolmdidn’tknowhowtoloadandfireone,evenif…

He ran back to the kitchen. Alice was just pouring the milk intoLyra’sbottle.

“Whatisit?”

“Shh.Bonneville’skilledthemanandtakenhisgun,andIcan’tseehimanywhere.”

“Whatgun?”shesaid,alarmed.

“Hehadashotgun.Itoldyou.Hewasgoingtodefendtheplace.AndnowBonneville’sgotitandkilledhim.He’slyinginthewater….”

Malcolmwas lookingaround,almostpantingwith fear.Hesawaniron ring in awooden trapdoor, and his panic-strengthenedmuscleslifteditatonce.Aflightofstepsleddownintoprofounddarkness.

“Candles—ontheshelfoverthere,”saidAlice,scoopingupLyraandthebottleandlookingaroundforanythingthatwouldgivethemaway,buttherewastoomuchtopickup.

Malcolmrantotheshelfandfoundaboxofmatchesthereaswell.

“Yougodownfirst.I’llpullthetrapdoorafterme,”hesaid.

Alice moved cautiously into the dark. Lyra was twisting andstruggling,andPantalaimonwaschirrupinglikeafrightenedbird.Astaflewtohim,perchingonLyra’sblanket,andmadesoftcooingnoises.

Malcolmwasstrugglingwiththetrapdoor.Therewasaropehandleontheinside,butthehingeswerestiffanditwasveryheavy.Finallyhemanagedtohaulitoverandletitdownasquietlyashecould.

Thestrainofbeingatadistancefromhisdæmonwasbeginningtotell.Hishandsweretremblingandhisheartwaslurchingpainfully.

“Don’tmoveanyfurtheraway,”hewhisperedtoAlice.

“Why—”

“Dæmon.”

Sheunderstoodandmovedbackastep,crowdinghimslightlyashe

triedtostrikeamatch.Hegotacandlelit,andAstaflewbacktohim,forthelittleflameitselfwasenoughtodistractLyra.Initslight,Alicetrodcarefullydowntothecellarfloor.

“All right, Lyra, hush, gal,” shewhispered, and settled on the coldearth floorwith her back against thewall. A noisy sound of suckingcamealmostatonce,andAlice’sdæmonsettlednearthechick-shapedPanasacrow.Thelittledæmon’sanxiouschirrupingstopped.

Malcolm sat on the bottom step, looking around. This was astoreroomforvegetablesandsacksofriceandothersuchthings:dryenough, but bitterly cold. A low archway led through into a furthercellar.

“Allhe’sgottodo,”saidAliceshakily,“ismovesummingheavyontothetrapdoorand—”

“Don’t think about it. There’s no point in thinking like that. In aminute I’ll go through that archway and see where it leads. There’sboundtobeanotherentrance.”

“Why?”

“Becauseacellar iswheretheykeepwine.Andwhentheysendthebutler down to fetch up some bottles of claret or whatever, he en’tgoing to strugglewith the trapdoorandstumbledown the steps, likewedid.There’llbeaproperstaircasesomewhere—”

“Shh!”

He sat still, tense and fearful, trying not to let his fear show.Leisurelyfootstepsmovedacrossthefloorabove.Theystoppedattheendof thekitchenandpaused,andthencrossedthe flooragain.Thestepspausedoncemore,closetothetrapdoor.

Nothing happened for a minute. Then there was a sound, as of awooden chair being pulled out from the table, just that; but theycouldn’t tell whether Bonneville had put it over the trapdoor, orwhetherhe’dsimplymoveditandgoneout.

Anotherminutewentpast,andthenanother.

Withthegreatestofcare,Malcolmstoodupandsteppeddowntotheearthfloor.HesetthelitcandleonthegroundnearAlice,screwingitintothesoilsoastostandsecurely,andtiptoedunderthelowarchwayinto the next part of the cellar. Once he was there, he lit another

candle. This was a second storeroom, but for unwanted furnitureratherthanfood,sohelookedaroundquicklyandmovedonthroughthenextarchway.

Attheotherendofthisroom,therewasaheavywoodendoorwithgreat ironhingesanda lockasbigasa largebook.Therewasnokeyhangingnearby,andhecouldn’ttellwhetherthedoorwaslocked,evenbylookingclosely.

And then a quiet voice spoke on the other side. ItwasBonneville.Asta,onhisshoulderasalemur,nearlyfainted;hecaughtherandheldherclose.

“Well,Malcolm,”saidBonneville,hisvoicelowandconfiding.“Hereweareoneithersideofalockeddoor,andneitherofushasthekey.Atleast I haven’t, and I assume you haven’t either, because you’d haveunlocked it and come through,wouldn’t you? Thatwould have beenunfortunateforyou.”

Malcolmhadnearlydroppedthecandle.Hisheartwasbeatinglikethewingsofacapturedbird,andAstachangedrapidlyfromlemurtobutterfly to crow before becoming a lemur again, crouching onMalcolm’sshoulder,herenormouseyesfixedonthelock.

“Don’tsayaword,”shemurmuredintohisear.

“Oh, I know you’re there,” said Bonneville. “I can see the light ofyourcandle.Isawyouontheterracetalkingtoourlatehost—didyouknowthisisanisland,bytheway?Ifyourcanoeshouldmeetwithanaccident,you’dbemarooned.Howwouldyoulikethat?”

AgainMalcolmheldhistongue.

“Iknowit’syoubecauseitmustbeyou,”Bonnevillewenton.Hewasspeaking confidentially, his voice just loud enough to penetrate thedoor. “It couldn’t be anyone else. That girl is feeding the baby—shewouldn’t be prowling around with a candle. And I know you’relistening. Itwon’tbe longbeforewe’re face to face.Youwon’tescapemenow.Canyouseethem,bytheway?”

“Seewho?”Malcolmcursedhimselfassoonashespoke.“There’snooneherebutme,”hewenton.

“Oh,don’teverthinkthat,Malcolm.You’reneveralone.”

“Well,there’smydæmon—”

“Idon’tmeanher.Youandshearethesamebeing,naturally.Imeansomeonebesidesyou.”

“Whod’youmean,then?”

“I hardly knowwhere to start. There are spirits of the air and theearth,tobeginwith.Onceyoulearntoseethem,you’llrealizethattheworldisthrongedwiththem.Andtheninwickedplaceslikethis,therearenight-ghastsofmanykinds.Doyouknowwhatusedtogoonhere,Malcolm?”

“No,”saidMalcolm,whodidn’twanttoknowintheleast.

“This is where Lord Murdstone used to bring his victims,” saidBonneville. “Have you heard his name? They used to call him LordMurderer.Notallthatlongagoeither.”

Malcolm’sheartwasbeatingpainfully.“Didhe—”Hecouldn’tspeakclearly.“Didheownthishouse?”

“He could do what he liked here,” the slow, dark voice went onthroughthedoor.“Therewasnoonetostophim.Soheusedtobringchildrendownhereanddismemberthem.”

“Did—what?”Malcolmcouldonlywhisper.

“Cut themapart bit bybitwhile theywere still alive.Thatwashisspecial pleasure. And naturally the horrible agony of those childrenwastoogreattodisappearforeverwhentheyeventuallydied.Itsoakedinto the stonework. It lingered in the air. There’s no clean windblowingthroughthesecellars,Malcolm.Theairyou’rebreathingnowwaslastinthelungsofthosetorturedchildren.”

“Idon’twanttohearanymore,”saidMalcolm.

“Idon’tblameyou.Iwouldn’twanttoheariteither.I’dwanttostopmy ears up and wish it would go away. But there’s no escaping it,Malcolm.They’reallaroundyounow,thespiritsofthatagony.They’resensingyour fear,and they’re flocking towardsyou to lap itup.Nextthingyou’llstarthearingthem—asortofdesperatelittlewhisper—andthenyou’llbegintoseethem.”

Malcolm was nearly fainting by this time. He believed everythingBonneville was saying; it all sounded so likely that he believed ithelplesslyandimmediately.

Thenalittlecurrentofairfoundhiscandleflameandmadeit lean

sidewaysforamoment,andhelookedatit,andinstantlythereinhisvisionwasthe little floatinggrainof lightandmovement, theseedofhisaurora.Atinyspringofreliefandhopebegantoflowinhismind.

“You’rewrongaboutthebaby,”hesaid,andwassurprisedtofindhisvoicesteady.

“Wrong?Inwhatway?”

“Youthinkshe’syourchild,butshe’snot.”

“Well,you’rewrongabouthertoo.”

“Ien’twrongaboutthat.She’sLordAsrielandMrs.Coulter’schild.”

“You’rewrongtothinkI’minterestedinher.ImightbeinterestedinAlice.”

Astawhispered,“Don’tlethimmakeustalkaboutwhathewants.”

Malcolmnodded.Shewasright.Hisheartwaspounding.

Then he remembered themessage in the wooden acorn and said,“Mr.Bonneville,what’stheRusakovfield?”

“Whatdoyouknowaboutthat?”

“Nothing.That’swhyI’masking.”

“Whydon’tyouaskDr.HannahRelf?”

Thatwasasurprise.Hehadtoanswerquickly.

“I have,” he said, “but it’s not what she knows about. She knowsaboutstufflikethehistoryofideas.”

“Rightupherstreet,Iwouldhavethought.WhyareyouinterestedintheRusakovfield?”

Thespangledringwasgrowing larger,as italwaysdid.Nowitwaslike a small jeweled serpent twisting and twining for him alone. Hewent on steadily. “ ’Cause youknowhow the gravitational fielddealswiththeforceofgravity,right,andthemagneticfielddealswiththatforce,sowhatforceisitthattheRusakovfielddealswith?”

“Nobodyknows.”

“Isitsomethingtodowiththeuncertaintyprinciple?”

Bonnevillewassilentforafewmoments.Thenhesaid,“My,my,youare a persistent child. If I were in your position, I’d want to know

somethingquitedifferent.”

“Well,Iwanttoknowallsortsofthings,butintherightorder.TheRusakov field is the most important one, ’cause it’s connected withDust….”

Malcolm heard a quiet noise behind him and turned to see Alicecomingthroughthearchway,holdingthecandle.Heputhisfingertohislipsandmouthedinanexaggeratedway,“Bonneville,”pointingtothedoor.Hegestured:Go,go!

Hereyeswidenedandshestoodstill.

Malcolm turned back. Bonneville was speaking. He was saying:“Because there are some things you can explain to an elementaryschoolpupilandothersthatmovequicklyoutofhisrange.Thisisoneof them. You need at least an undergraduate grasp of experimentaltheologybefore theRusakov fieldwillhave the slightestmeaning foryou.There’snopointinevenbeginning.”

MalcolmlookedroundsilentlyandsawthatAlicehadgone.“Butallthesame—”hesaid,turningback.

“Whywereyouturninground?”

“IthoughtIheardsomething.”

“Thatgirl?Alice?Wasither?”

“No,itwasn’t.It’sjustmehere.”

“I thought we’d disposed of that notion, Malcolm. Those deadchildren—didItellyouwhathedidtotheirdæmons?Itwasthemostingenious…”

Malcolmturnedawaywiththecandleheldinbothhandsandwentback across the cellar, which, despite his success in distracting theman,anddespitehis aurora,nowglitteringat theedgeofhis vision,wasstillthrongedwithalmost-visiblehorrors.Hefeltforwardwithhisfeet,tryingtoholdhisbalanceandkeepthecandlealight,andallthetime Bonneville’s voice spoke on behind the door, and Malcolmmouthedtohimself,“Nottrue!Nottrue!”

Finally he reached the other room. Alice and Lyra had gone. Healmost stumbled up to the flight of steps, held himself steady, andbegantoclimb,silent,careful,slow.

He got to the trapdoor and stopped:Could he hear anything?The

urge to fling it open and rush out into the clear air was almostoverpowering, but he made himself listen. Nothing. No voice, nofootsteps,nothingbutthethuddingofhisownheart.

So he put his back against the trapdoor and pushed up, and up itwent,quitesmoothandeasy,andthenagustofairblewhiscandleout—but itwas all right—therewas light coming in through the kitchenwindow—hecouldseethetable, thewalls—andtherewastheglowofthefirestill.Heclimbedoutinamoment,loweredthetrapdoorswiftlyandsilently,andthen,beforeracingtothedoorandtheworldoutside,stopped.

This was a kitchen, and if the cooks here were anything like hismotherorSisterFenella,therewouldbeadrawerwithknivesinit.Hefelt around the table, found a knob, pulled it open, and there theywere:anassortmentofwooden-handledcooks’knives,all lyingreadytohand.Hefeltthroughthehandlestillhecametoonethatwasn’ttoolongtoconceal,whosebladecametoapointandnotaroundedend.

Heputitinhisbeltbehindhisbackandmadeforthedoorandtheclear,coldairoutside.

Intheverylastgrayoftheday,hecouldseeAlicestumblingacrossthegrassingreathaste,carryingLyra.Bonneville’sboatwasstilltiedup,butthebodyoftheothermanhadfloatedaway,andtherewasnosignofBonnevillehimself.

Herantothedinghy,pulledthestickitwastiedtooutoftheground,andbegantoshovetheboatoutintothecurrent.

But he stopped: therewas a rucksack in it, under the thwart. Thethoughtcameatonce:Ifwehavethis,wecanbargainwithhim.Sohereachedinandswungitup—itwasheavy—andoutontothegrass,andthenpushedtheboatawayfromtheland.

He grabbed the rucksack and ranback towardsAlice. ShehadputLyradownonthegrassandwastuggingLaBelleSauvageoutof thebushes,soMalcolmdroppedtherucksackinthecanoeandjoinedher.

But theyhadn’tmoved ita footbeforetheyheardbehindthemthe“Haa! Haa! Haa!” of that abominable dæmon, and turned to seeBonneville saunteringdown from theentranceof thehouse, shotgununderhisarm,thedæmonlimpingandlurchingbesidehim,asifonaninvisibleleash.

Malcolmletgoof thecanoeandquicklypickedupLyra,andAlice,turningtoseewhatwashappening,said,“Oh,God,no.”

Therewouldn’tbetimetogetthecanoeintothewater,andeveniftheydid,themanstillhadthatgun.Althoughhisfacewasindistinctinthegatheringgloom,every lineofhisbody lookedas ifheknewhe’dwon.

He stopped a fewpaces away andmoved the gun tohis left hand.Was he left-handed? Malcolm couldn’t remember, and cursed hiscarelessnessinnotnoticing.

“Well,youmightaswellgivehertome,”Bonnevillesaid.“You’vegotnohopeofgettingawaynow.”

“But why d’you want her?” said Malcolm, holding the child eventightertohischest.

“ ’Causehe’sabloodypervert,”saidAlice.

Bonnevillelaughedgently.

Malcolm’sheartwashammeringsomuchithurt.HefeltAlicetensebeside him. He was desperate to keep Bonneville looking their way,becausethemanhadn’tyetnoticedthathisownboatwasgone.“Whatyouweresayinginthere,throughthedoor,itwasn’ttrue,”hesaid.

Malcolmhad Lyra in his left arm, tight against his chest. Shewasquiet;Asta,asamouse,waswhisperingtoherandPan.Malcolmfeltbehind himwith his right hand, trying to feel for the knife. But themuscles of his armwere trembling somuch that he was afraid he’ddroptheknifebeforehecoulduseit;anddidhereallyintendtostabtheman,anyway?Hehadneverdeliberatelyharmedsomuchasafly,and theonly fightshehadhadwereplayground scuffles.Evenwhenhe’d knocked the boy into the river for painting an S over the V ofSAUVAGE,he’dpulledhimoutstraightaway.

“Howwouldyoueverknowwhatthetruthwas?”saidBonneville.

Malcolm said, “Your voice changes when you say something nottrue.” He was still feeling for the knife, and hoping that Bonnevilledidn’tseehimmoving.

“Oh, youbelieve that sort of thing? I suppose youbelieve that thelastthingsomeoneseesisimprintedontheirretina?”

Malcolmfoundthehandleoftheknifeandsaid,“No,Idon’tbelieve

that.ButwhydoyouwantLyra?Whatareyougoingtodowithher?”

“She’smydaughter.Iwanttogiveheradecenteducation.”

“No,she’snot.You’llhavetogiveusabetterreasonthanthat.”

“Allright,then.I’mgoingtoroastherandeather.Haveyouanyideahowdelicious—”

Alicespatathim.

“Oh, Alice,” he said. “You and I could have been such friends.Perhapsevenmorethanfriends.Howclosewenearlycame,youandI!Wereallyshouldn’tletsuchalittlethingspoilabeautifulpossibility.”

Malcolmhad got the knife out of his belt.Alice could seewhathewasdoing, dark though itwas, and getting darker, and shemoved alittlecloser.

“You still haven’t told the truth,” said Malcolm, shifting Lyra’sweight.

Bonnevillesteppednearer.MalcolmheldLyraawayfromhischest,asiftogivehertotheman,andBonnevilleheldouthisrightarm,asiftotakeher.

The second hewas close enough,Malcolm brought his right handround and stabbed the knife as hard as he could into Bonneville’sthigh. Itwas the closest part of him. Theman roaredwith pain andstaggered sideways, dropping the gun to grab at his leg.His dæmonhowledandlurchedforward,slippingandfallingflat.MalcolmturnedaroundswiftlyandputLyradown—

—andthentherewasanexplosionsolouditknockedhimflat.

Hisheadringing,hepulledhimselfuptoseeAliceholdingthegun.Bonneville was groaning and rocking back and forth on the grass,clutching his thigh, which was bleeding heavily, but his dæmon laythrashing,howling,screaming,utterlyunabletogetup:heroneforelegwassmashedbeyondrepair.

“TakeLyra!”MalcolmshoutedtoAlice,andscrambledovertoseizethepainterofthecanoeanddragitdownoverthegrasstothewater’sedge.

BehindhimBonnevillewasshoutingincoherentlyandtryingtohaulhimselfoverthegroundtowardsthechild.Alicethrewthegunintothedarkness of the trees and snatchedLyra up.Bonneville tried to grab

her as she came near, but she easily evaded him and leapt over thehowling dæmon,who twisted and squirmed and fell again, trying tostanduponalegthatwashardlythere.

Itwashorribletowatch:Malcolmhadtoclosehiseyes.ThenAlicewas climbing into the canoe with Lyra secure in her arms, and hepushedofffromthegrass,andthesweet-naturedcanoedidhisbiddingatonceandcarriedthemawayandontothebreastoftheflood.

Heavy clouds loomed above, but behind the clouds the moon wasnearlyfullandlentafaintradiancetothewholesky.

Lyralayawake,happyenoughtogurglewiththeswayingoftheboat.Malcolm’s stiff arms and shoulders began to loosen, and the canoemade good speed on the darkwater. Alice was looking intently pastMalcolm’sheadtowardsthehouseasitvanishedbehindthem.Eveninthedimness,Malcolmcouldseeherface,sharpandanxiousandangry,andhesawherbendforwardtoadjustLyra’sblanketsandstrokeherface.

“D’youwannabiscuit?”shesaidsoftly.

HethoughtshewasspeakingtoLyra.Thenshelookedupathim.

“What’sthematter?Wakeup,”shesaid.

“Oh.Me.Yes,please,I’dlikeabiscuit.Actually,I’dlikeawholeplateofsteakandkidneypudding.Andsomelemonade.And—”

“Shutup,” she said. “Stupid, talking like that.Allwegot’sbiscuits.D’youwantoneornot?”

“Yes.”

Sheleanedforwardandgavehimahandfuloffigrolls.Heatetheminsmallmouthfuls,takingaslongashecouldtocheweachbite.

“Canyouseehim?”Malcolmsaidafterfiveminutes.

“Can’tevenseethehouse.Ireckonwelosthimnow.”

“Buthe’smad.Madpeople,theydon’tknowwhentogiveup.”

“Youmustbemad,then.”

Hedidn’tknowwhattosaytothat.Hepaddledon,thoughtheforceofthefloodwassuchthatallhehadtodowassteerandkeeptheboat’sheadforward.

“He’sprob’lydeadbynow,”Alicesaid.

“Iwasthinkingthat.Hewasbleedingalot.”

“Ithinkthere’sanarterythere,inhisleg.Andthatdæmon…”

“Shecan’tlive,surely.Won’tbeabletomove,neitherof’em.”

“Webetterhopetheyaredead.”

The cloudsoverheadparted from time to timeand let thebrilliantmoonlight through—so bright thatMalcolm almost had to shade hiseyes.Alice satup andpeered evenmore fiercely at thewaterbehindthem, and Malcolm scanned ahead left and right, looking forsomewheretolandandrest;butonlyisolatedclumpsofbaretreesroseabovetheracingwater.Hefeltasifhehadpassedbeyondexhaustionintoastateoftrance,andthatminuteswentbyinwhichhissleepingbodypaddledandwatchedandsteeredwithoutanyinfluencefromhisdreamingmind.

Theonlysoundwasthewindovertheflood,exceptforatinyinsectbuzzthatcameandwent.Thefloodwatermustbebreedingpestilence,Malcolmthought.“BetterbecarefultokeepmosquitoesandthatawayfromLyra,”hesaid.

“Whatmosquitoes?It’sfartoocold.”

“Icanhearone.”

“Thaten’tamosquito,”shesaid,soundingscornful,andshenoddedatsomethingbehindhim.

Heturned.Thebulkycloudshadshoulderedoneanotheraside,andthemoon shonedownover thewholewasteofwater; and inall thatwideemptinesstherewasonlyonethingthatmovedwithpurpose,andthatwasanengine-boatalongwaybehindthem.Hecouldonlyseeitbecauseithadasearchlightonthebow,anditwasgettingveryslightlyclosereveryminute.

“Isthathim?”Malcolmsaid.

“Can’tbe.It’stoobig.Heneverhadaboatwithanengine.”

“Theyhaven’tseenusyet.”

“Howd’youknowthat?”

“ ’Causethey’removingthesearchlightallovertheplace.Andthey’dbe going a lot faster if they wanted to catch us.We’ll have to hide,though,’causethey’llseeusiftheygetanycloser.”

He bent his back to paddling harder, even though every bone andmuscleinhisbodyachedandhelongedtocrywithfatigue.HewouldhatetocryinfrontofLyra,becausetoherhewasbigandstrong,andshewouldhavebeen frightened to seehim frightened, or at least hethoughtso.

Sohegrittedhis teethandplunged thepaddle into thewaterwithhis trembling muscles and tried to ignore the whine of the motor,whichwasnotintermittentanymore,butconstantandgettinglouder.

Thefloodwastakingthemintoanareaofhillsandwoodlands,hillsthatcrowdedcloser thanbeforeandwoodlandsthatwerepartlybareand partly evergreen. The clouds drifted over the moon again anddarkenedeverything.

“I can’t see ’em,” saidAlice. “They’vegonebehind thatwood….No,theretheyare.”

“Howfarbackarethey,d’youthink?”

“They’llcatchusinaboutfiveminutes.”

“I’llpullin,then.”

“Why?”

“Onthewatertheycouldjusttipusover.Onlandwegotachance.”

“Chancetowhat?”

“Chancetonotdie,maybe.”

In fact,hewas terrified,somuchso thathecouldbarelymove thecanoe forward anymore in case he dropped the paddle. Therewas awoodedslopetotheir left—darktrees—andwhat lookedinthegloomlike a stone embankment, though it was probably the roof of a bighouse—anyway,hemadeforthat,andthenthemooncameoutagain.

Itwasno rooftop, simply a flatpieceof land in front of thewood.MalcolmdroveLaBelleSauvageupontothesoftsoil,andAliceseizedLyraandsteppedoutalmostinonemovement.Malcolmleaptoutandturnedtolookforthelaunch.

Alice,holdingLyra,hadretreatedfurtheruptheslope,buttheopenspacewasnotverylarge:close-branchedholmoakswithspikedleavescrowdedinonallsides.Sheclungtothebabyandwatchedfearfullyforthe launch, moving her weight unconsciously from one foot to theother, shivering, breathing quickly,making a littlemoaning noise inherthroat.

Malcolm had never found it so difficult to move; every musclequivered.Helookedupattheclose-leafedtrees,darkevergreensthatwere darker than the sky. Themoon shone downwithwhat felt likemercilessforce,butitwasunabletopenetratethecanopyoftheleaves.HehauledandhauledLaBelleSauvageupoverthestonygroundandinto the shadow of the trees just as the searchlight appeared frombehind a thick wood a couple of hundred yards away and swungtowardsthem.

“Don’tmove,”saidMalcolm.“Justkeepabsolutelystill.”

“ThinkI’mstupid?”saidAlice,butsottovoce.

Then the light was directly shining at them, dazzling, blinding.Malcolm shut his eyes and stood like a statue. He could hear Alicewhispering, desperate for Lyra to stay quiet. Then the light movedaway,andthelaunchmovedpast.

Whenithadgone,thefearMalcolmhadbeenholdingdownsincehestabbedBonnevillecameback,andhehadtoleanforwardandbesick.

“Don’tworry,”saidAlice.“You’llfeelbetterinaminute.”

“WillI?”

“Yeah.You’llsee.”

Hehadneverheardthattoneinhervoicebefore,oreverexpectedit.Lyrawasgrizzling.Hewipedhismouthand felt in the canoe for thetorch. He switched it on and waved it about to distract Lyra. Shestoppedcryingandheldoutherhandsforit.

“No,youcan’thave it,”he said. “I’mgoing to findsomewoodandmakeafire.You’lllikethat.Whenwe’rewarm,wecan…”

He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. He had never felt sofrightened.Butwhy?Thedangerwasgone.

“Alice,”hesaid,“areyouscared?”

“Yeah.Butnotmuch.Ifitwasjustme,Iwouldbe.Butnotsomuch

withusboth….”

Hesetoffupthelittleslopetowardsthewood.Thetreesclusteredsocloseandthickthathecouldhardlyforcehiswaybetweenthem,andwhenhedid,theleavesscratchedhishandsandhishead;butthiswasarelief.Anyactivitywasarelief.Andthereweredrybranchesenoughontheground,anddrysticks,andsoonhe’dgatheredanarmful.

But when he came out of the trees, he found Alice on her feet,desperate.

“Whatisit?”

“They’recomingback—”

Shepointed.Inthedirectionthey’dcomefrom,therewasalightonthewater—thesearchlight—andalthoughitwasstillsomewayoff,theboat had the air of something official, the police, the CCD; it wassearching for something or someone. It was coming, not fast butinexorably,anditwouldseethemverysoon.

Andatthattherewasarustlingamongtheleaves,andthebranchesparted,andamansteppedout.

“Malcolm,”saidtheman,“getyourboatfurtherinthetrees,quick.Bringthebabyinhereouttheway.That’stheCCDdownthere.Comeon!”

“Mr.Boatwright?”saidMalcolm,utterlyastonished.

“Yes,that’sme.Nowhurryup.”

While Alice ran with Lyra up to the shelter of the trees,MalcolmuntiedLaBelleSauvageand,withGeorgeBoatwright’shelp,pulleditup the slope and under the low branches before taking Bonneville’srucksackandturningthecanoeupsidedownincaseitrainedagain.

Meanwhile,theboatwiththesearchlightwasgettingcloser.

“Howd’youknowit’stheCCD?”hewhispered.

“Theybeenpatrolling.Don’tworry. Ifwekeep still andquiet, theywon’tstop.”

“Thebaby—”

“Dropo’wine’llkeepherquiet,”saidBoatwright,handingsomethingtoAlice.

Malcolmlookedaround.TherewasnoonetoseebutBoatwrightandascoreofshadows,butthenthemoonwentinagainandtheshadowsdissolved in a deeper darkness. The boat with its searchlightmovedcloser.

“Where’sAlice?”MalcolmwhisperedtoAsta.

Almostinaudiblyhisdæmonmurmured,“Furtherin.GivingLyraadrink.”

Themenintheboathadseensomethingthat interestedthem.Thesearchlightwas turning towards the shore, and then shining straightupintothetrees.Malcolmfeltasifeveryinchofhimwasvisible.

“Keepstillandtheywon’tseeathing,”mutteredGeorgeBoatwrightfromthedarkness.

Avoicefromtheboatsaid,“Isthatfootprints?”

“Where?”saidanother.

“Onthegrass.Downthere—look.”

Thesearchlightswungdown.Thevoicesspokeagainmorequietly.

“Will they—” Malcolm began to whisper, but Boatwright’s hardsmoky-smellinghandshuthismouth.

“Don’tbotherwithit,”oneofthevoicessaid.“Comeon.”

Thenthelightswungawayandtheenginenoiserose,andtheboatsteadilymovedaway.Aminutelaterithadvanishedontheflood.

Boatwrighttookhishandaway.Malcolmcouldhardlyspeak.Hewasshakingineverylimb.Hestumbled,andBoatwrightcaughthim.

“When’dyoulasteatorsleep,eh?”hesaid.

“Can’tremember.”

“Well,thassit,then.Comealonghereandhaveabitofstew.Eh,yourmum’dbeproudofa stew likewegot in the cave.Wantme to carrythat?”

Therucksackwasheavy,butMalcolmshookhishead,andthensaid,“No,”realizingthatsubtlegestureswerelostinthedark.Hestruggledtoputhisarmsthroughthestraps,andBoatwrighthelpedhim.Afewpacesfurtherontherewasalittleclearing,whereAlicewassittingonafallentreetrunkwithLyra,whowasfastasleeponherlap.She’dbeen

feedingherwithateaspoonfromabottleofwine.

WhenAlicesawMalcolm,shegottoherfeetatonceandcametohisside,Lyratightinherarms.

“Here,takeLyra.Igottopee….”

She thrust the child at him and darted into the undergrowth.Tremblingornot,Malcolmheldonto thechildas firmlyashecouldand listened to her contented breathing. “We ought to’ve given youwinebefore,”hesaidtoher.“You’resleepinglikeababy.”

Boatwright said, “Five minutes’ walk, lad. You want to bringanythingelsefromthecanoe?”

“Willitbesafe?”

“It’sinvisible,son.Can’tgetsafer’nthat.”

“Good.Well…there’sthingsforthebaby.Aliceknowswhattheyare.”

Shecamebackatthatmoment,brushingherskirtdown,andhavingheard what they said, she gathered an armful of things: a pillow,blankets,thesaucepan,apacketofnappies,aboxofmilkpowder….ButshewastremblingasmuchasMalcolm.

“Spreadthatblanketoutontheground,”saidBoatwright,andwhenshe did, he packed everything in the center, gathered in the fourcorners,andswungthebundleoverhisshoulder.“Nowfollowme.”

“Youallrightcarryingher?”Alicewhispered.

“Forabit,yeah.She’sfastasleep.”

“Weoughtertriedwinebefore….”

“That’swhatIthought.”

“Idunnowhateffectit’llhaveonherinsides.Here,letmetakeher.Yougotthatrucksack.Where’dyougetitanyway?Isithis?”

“Yeah,”saidMalcolm.“Fromhisboat.”

Hewasgladtohandthechildover,becausetherucksackwasheavy.Hehadnoideawhyhe’dtakenit,exceptassomethingtobargainwith.Perhaps they wouldn’t need it now.Maybe Bonneville was a spy, inwhichcaseDr.Relfwouldbeinterestedinit.

But that made his throat catch. Just the thought of those cozyafternoonsinthatwarmhouse,talkingaboutbooks,hearingaboutthe

historyofideas!Andhemighthavetobeafugitivefortherestofhislife, an outlaw, likeMr.Boatwright. Itwas all verywell in the flood,wheneverythingwasupsidedown,butwhenthewaterretreatedandnormallifeemerged…Well,actually,nothingwouldbenormalandsafeeveragain.

Aftersomeminutes’walking,theycametoalargerclearinginfrontof a rock that rose sheer from the ground. Themoon had come outagain,andinitssilverlighttheysawtheentrancetoacavehalfhiddenbehindtheundergrowth.Thesmokeofafirewasdriftingthroughtheair,withvariousgoodsmellsofmeatandgravy,andthesoundofquietvoices.

Mr.Boatwright lifted a heavy sheet of canvas andheld it open forMalcolmandAlice.Theywentin,andallconversationstopped.Inthelightofa lantern,theysawhalfadozenpeople,menandwomenandtwochildren,sittingonthefloororonwoodenboxes,eatingfromtinplates.BesidethefirewasalargewomanwhomMalcolmrecognized:Mrs.Boatwright.

She sawAlice first and said, “AliceParslow?That en’t you, is it? Iknowyourmam.Andyou’reMalcolmPolstead fromtheTrout—well,Godblessme.What’sgoingon,George?”

GeorgeBoatwrightsaid,“Survivorsontheflood,theyare.”

“YoucancallmeAudrey,”saidthewoman,gettingtoherfeet.“Andwho’sthis?He?She?”

“She,”saidMalcolm.“Lyra.”

“Well,sheneedsacleannappy.Wegotwarmwateroverhere.Yougotfoodforher?It’llhavetobemilkpowder—oh,yougotsome.That’lldo.I’llputasaucepanontoboilwhileyouchangeherandcleanher.Thenyoucanbothhaveabitetoeatyourselves.YoufloatedallthewayfromOxford?Youmustbewornout.Eat,thensleep.”

“Wherearewe?”saidMalcolm.

“Somewhere in the Chilterns. That’s all I know. Safe for the timebeing.Theseotherfolk,they’realllikeus,inthesamepositionkindofthing,butyoudon’tinquiretooclose—iten’tpolite.”

“Allright,”saidAlice.

“Thankyou,” saidMalcolm,andwentwithAlice toa cornerof the

caveawayfromthepeoplewhowereeating.

Audrey Boatwright brought a lantern and hung it up. In its warmlight,AlicesetaboutundoingLyra’ssoppingclothesandhandingthestinkingbundletoMalcolm.

“Herdressandeverything’sall…,”hesaid.

“I’llwrapherintheblanketfornowanddressherproperlywhenit’sairedoutabitorwashedifwecan.”

Malcolmtookthesoggybundleandcarefullyseparatedwhatwastobe thrown away and what was to be washed. He looked around,wonderingwhat theydidwith rubbish, and foundaboyof abouthisownagelookingathim.

“Youwanttoknowwheretothrowit?”theboysaid.“Comewithme.I’llshowyou.What’syourname?”

“Malcolm.What’syours?”

“Andrew.Thatyoursister?”

“What,Alice?No…”

“Imeanthebaby.”

“Oh.We’rejustlookingafterherintheflood.”

“Whereyoufrom?”

“Oxford.You?”

“Wallingford.Look,youcanthrowthatinthepitthere.”

Theboyseemedtowanttobehelpful,butMalcolmwasn’tinclinedto talk. All he wanted to do was sleep. Still, on the principle of notmaking enemies, he let the boy guide him back to the cave andexchangedaquestionortwo.

“Areyouherewithyourparents?”Malcolmasked.

“No.Justmyauntie.”

“Didyougetfloodedout?”

“Yeah.Lotsofpeopleinourstreetgotdrowned.There’sneverbeensuchafloodsinceNoah’stime,prob’ly.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised. It won’t last long, though, I don’tsuppose.”

“Fortydaysandfortynights.”

“You reckon? Oh—yeah,” said Malcolm, remembering his Biblelessons.

“What’sthebaby’sname?”

“Lyra.”

“Lyra…Andwho’sthebiggirl?DidyousayhernamewasAlice?”

“She’sjustafriend.Thanksforshowingmethepit.G’night.”

“Oh,g’night,”saidAndrew,soundingalittleputout.

Alice was feeding Lyra, sitting under the lantern light, lookingexhausted. Audrey Boatwright came overwith two tin plates heapedwithstewandpotatoes,steaminghot.

“Givehertome,”shesaid.“I’llfinishheroff.Youneedtoeat.”

Alice handed the child overwithout aword, and started to eat, asMalcolmhadalreadydone.Hehadneverfeltsohungry,neverfelthishungersogratified,noteveninhismother’skitchen.

He finished the stew and almost immediately felt his eyes closing.But he managed to force himself awake enough to take Lyra fromAudrey,whowaspattingher back, and carryher towhereAlicewasalreadycurlinguponthefloor.

“Here,”saidMr.Boatwright,handinghimabundleofblanketsandcanvasbagsroughly filledwithhay.With the lastofhiswakefulness,Malcolmpushedthemintoshapeandlaidthemsidebyside,andthen,puttingLyrabetweenthem,laydownnexttoAliceandfellatonceintothedeepestsleepofhislife.

—

And it was Lyra whowoke themwhen the gray light of a wet dawncrept into the cave.Asta sleepilynippedMalcolm’s ear, andhe cameawake like someone struggling to swim to the surface of a lake oflaudanum, where the strongest delights were the deepest and therewasnothingabovebutcoldandfearandduty.

Lyrawas crying, andAstawas trying to comfortPan,but the littleferretwouldn’tbecomfortedandburrowedcloseraroundLyra’sneck,onlyirritatingherfurther.Malcolm,heavy-eyed,forcedhimselfupandrockedthechildgentlytoandfro.Thatdidn’thelpeither,sohepicked

herup.

“You been productive in the night,” he whispered. “I never knewsuchafountainofmanure.I’llhavetoseeifIcandothechangingoftheguardmyself.Aliceisstillasleep,see.”

Shewasa littlehappier inhisarms,butnotmuch.Shewhimperedinsteadofcryingfully,andPanlookedoutandletAstalickhisnose.

“What you doing?”mumbled Alice, and instantly her dæmon wasawakeandgrowlingsoftly.

“ ’Sallright,”saidMalcolm.“I’mgoingtochangeher,that’sall.”

“Youcan’t,”saidAlice,sittingup.“You’lldoitallwrong.”

“Yeah,Iprob’lywould,”saidMalcolmwithsomerelief.

“What’sthetime?”

“Aboutdawn.”

Theyspokeinthequietestofwhispers;neitherwantedtowaketheother sleepers. Gathering a blanket around her shoulders, Alicecrawled to the fire and put another log on the ashy heap, stirring ituntil she found a few red embers, and put the saucepan on to heat.Therewasacaskof freshwaternearby;Audreyhadsaidthatanyonewhoused somehad to refill it from the spring outside, so shemadesuretodothatwhilewaitingforthesaucepantoheatup.

Meanwhile,MalcolmwalkedupanddownwithLyra.Theywent tothe mouth of the cave and looked out at the rain, heavy, incessant,fallingstraightdownthroughthesoddenair.Theylookedbackintothecave,wheresleeperslayonbothsides,somealone,somesnuggleduptogether.Thereweremoreofthemthanhe’dbeenawareofthenightbefore; perhaps they’d already been there, fast asleep, or perhapsthey’dcome in lateron.Theymighthavebeenpoaching. If the floodhad forceddeer andpheasants aswell aspeoplehighupabove theirusualdensandnests,thereshouldbeplentyofthemaroundtocatch.

Hewhispered all this to Lyra, rocking her from side to side as hewalked about. At one point, Asta whispered, “Look at Pan,” andMalcolmnoticedthatthelittledæmon,kitten-shaped,wasunwittinglykneadingthefleshofMalcolm’shandwithhistinyclaws.Malcolmfeltastonished,shy,privileged.Thegreattabooagainsttouchinganother’sdæmonwasnotinstinctualbutlearned,then.Hefeltawaveoflovefor

the child and her dæmon, but that made no difference to them,because Lyra was still grizzling and Pantalaimon soon let go ofMalcolm’shandandbecameatoad.

Andthenthefearcameback.Whatthey’ddonetoBonneville…WhentheCCDmenintheirboatfoundthedæmonwiththeshatteredlegandthemanwith awound in his thigh, they’d have onemore reason tohuntMalcolmandAlicedown.Wastheknifestillinthewound?WasBonneville actually dead? He couldn’t remember. Everything hadpassedwithsuchnightmarishspeed.

“Ready,”saidAliceveryquietlybehindhim,andhenearly leapt intheairwithshock.Butshedidn’tlaugh.Sheseemedtoknowjustwhathewas thinking, and to be thinking the same herself. The look theyexchangedinthemouthof thecavebeforegoingbacktothefirewassomethingMalcolmneverforgot: itwasdeepandcomplexandclose,andittouchedeverypartofhim,bodyanddæmonandghost.

Hekneltbesideher,andheandAstaoccupiedLyra’sattentionwhileAlicewashedanddriedher.

“Youcanseeherthinking,eventhoughshehasn’tgotanywords,”hesaid.

“Notthisend,”saidAliceshortly.

Oneortwosleeperswerebeginningtostirasthelightgrewstronger.Malcolm took the bundle to be thrown away and tried tomove veryquietlyashecarrieditouttothepittheboyhadshownhim.

“Ididn’tseehiminthecave,”Astawhispered.

“Perhapshesleepssomewhereelse.”

They found the rubbishpit andhurriedbackbecause the rainwasdrenching. When they got there, Audrey was holding Lyra, whoseemed comfortable enough, even if a little doubtful, while Alicepreparedthemilk.

“Who’shermother?”Audreysaid,settlingherselfnexttothefire.

“Wedon’tknow,”saidMalcolm.“ShewasbeinglookedafterbythenunsatGodstow,soshemustbesomeoneimportant.”

“Oh,Iknowtheonesyoumean,”saidAudrey.“SisterBenedicta.”

“Yes,she’sincharge.ButitwasSisterFenellawholookedafterhermostly.”

“Whathappened?”

“Thepriorycollapsedintheflood.Wejustgotheroutintime.Thenwegotsweptaway.”

“Soyoudon’tknowwhoherfamilyis?”

“No,”saidMalcolm.Hewasgettingbetteratlying.

AudreyhandedthechildovertoAlice,whohadthebottleready.Alittlewayoff,Mr.Boatwrightstoodupandstretchedandwentoutofthecave,andotherswerestirring.

“Whoiseveryone?”saidMalcolm.“Isitallyourfamily?”

“There’smyson,Simon,andhiswifeandtwolittlekids.Theothersare…justothers.”

“There’saboycalledAndrew.Ispoketohimlastnight.”

“Yes,he’sDorisWhicher’snephew.That’sDorisovertherebythebigrock. They come fromWallingfordway.My, she’s hungry, en’t she?”shesaidadmiringly,watchingLyra’slustyguzzling.

DorisWhicherwasstillasleep.TherewasnosignofAndrew.

“Idon’t supposewe’ll stay long,” saidMalcolm. “Just till the rain’sstopped.”

“Youstayaslongasyouneedto.You’llbesafehere.Nooneknowsaboutthisplace.There’safewofusgotreasontobecarefulwhoknowswheretheyare,andween’tlostanyoneyet.”

Mr.Boatwrightcameoutoftheraincarryingadeadchicken.

“Knowhowtopluckachicken,Malcolm?”hesaid.

Actually,Malcolmdid,becauseofwatchingSisterFenelladoingitinthepriorykitchen.He’ddoneitonceortwiceinhismother’skitchentoo. He took the bird, a scrawny item, and set to work while Mr.Boatwrightsatdownandstirredthefireupbeforelightingapipe.

“What’dtheysayafterIvanished,eh?”hesaid.“AnyoneguesswhereI’dgone?”

“No,”saidMalcolm.“TheyallsaidyouweretheonlypersonthathadevergotawayfromtheCCD.Andtheofficerscamebackthenextdayandaskeda lotofquestions,butnoonesaidanything,exceptoneortwosaidyouhadevildarkpowers,likemakingyourselfinvisible,and

theCCDhadnohopeoffindingyou,ever.”

Mr.Boatwrightlaughedsomuchhehadtoputhispipedown.

“Hearthat,Audrey?”hewheezed.“Invisible!”

“Iwishyouwasinaudiblesometimes,”shesaid.

“No,”hewenton,“Ibeenpreparingforsummatlikethat.Yougottohaveanescaperoute,nomatterwhereyouare.Alwayshaveanescaperoute. Andwhen the time comes, don’t hesitate a single second. Eh,Audrey?Wehadourescaperouteandwetookit thatsamenightthebastardscometotheTrout.”

“Didyoucomestraighthere?”

“In a manner of speaking. There’s hidden pathways and hiddenrefuges, all across the woods, all across Oxfordshire andGloucestershireandBerkshireandbeyond.YoucouldgofromBristoltoLondonbythemhiddenpathwaysandnoone’deverknowyouweredoingit.”

“Whathappenedwhenthefloodcame?”

“Ah,allwedonewasgouphigher.Thisspotwherewearenowisthehighestpieceof landinBerkshire.Weknowall theshortcutsandtheshallowwaysandthedeepways.Wecanalwaysslipawayandthey’llnevercatchus.Andthewater’sonourside,nottheirs.”

“Idon’tunderstand,”saidMalcolm,turningthechickenover.

“Thecreaturesinthewater,Malcolm.Idon’tmeanfishneither,norwatervoles;Imeantheoldgods.OldFatherThames,Iseenhimafewtimes,withhiscrownandhisweedsandhistrident.He’sonourside.ThebloodyCCD,theywon’tneverwinagainstOldFatherThames.Andotherbeingsaswell.Therewasamanwithus,hesawamermaidnearHenley.Theseawassofullshecomerightuptheriver,eventhatfarfrom the coast, and this chap, he swore to me that if he saw thatmermaid again, he’d go off with her. Well, two days later hedisappeared,andchancesarehedidjustthat.Ibelieveit,anyway.”

“If that was Tom Simms,” said Audrey, “I’d say he was probablydrunkandhismermaidwasaporpoise.”

“Sheweren’taporpoise.Hespoketoher,didn’the?Andshespokeback.Shehadavoicesweeterthanachimeofbells,hesaid.Tentoonehe’slivingwithhernow,outintheGermanOcean.”

“He’ll be bloody cold if he is,” said Audrey. “Here, give me thatchicken.I’llfinishitoff.”

Malcolm hadmade a reasonable job of it, he thought, but he wasglad to let her take over. His hands were numb with cold and hecouldn’tgripthesmallerfeathers.

“Getyourselfsomebreadfromthebinoverthere,”Audreytoldhim.“There’scheeseinthebinnexttoit.”

Thebinsweregalvanizedsteeldustbins.Inthefirstone,therewerethreeandahalfheavyloaves,hardandstale,andaknifetocutthemwith.Malcolmcuta thickslice forhimselfandanother forAlice,andcarvedsomecheesetogowiththemasthewomanDorisWhicherwokeupnearbyandlookedaroundblearily.

“Andrew?”shesaid.“Where’sAndrew?”

“Ihaven’tseenhimthismorning,”Malcolmsaid.

She rolledoverandsatup ina thick smellof alcohol. “Where’shegone?”

“Isawhimlastnight.”

“Whoareyou,then?”

“Malcolm Polstead,” he told her. There was no point in givinghimselfafalsename,sinceMr.Boatwrightknewexactlywhohewas.

DorisWhichergroanedand laydownagain,andMalcolmtook thebreadandcheeseovertoAlice.AudreyBoatwrightwasholdingLyraupandpattingherback,andLyraobligedwithafineexpressionofwind.Malcolmsatdowntognawatthebreadandcheeseandfoundithardgoing,buthisstomachwasgladoftheefforthisteethweremaking.

And then, once he was able to sit and relax, the realization cameback:hehadkilledBonneville.HeandAlice,theyweremurderers.Thedreadfulwordwasstampedonhismindasifbyaprintingpressonasheetofpaper,andtheinkwasred.Astabecameamothandflewfromhis shoulder to Alice’s dæmon, and Ben tilted his head as Astawhisperedtohim.Mrs.Boatwrightwaswalkingupanddown,showingLyra to the people who were just waking, and someone else wasattending to the chicken, gutting it and jointing it and sprinkling itwith flour. If that was going to feed everyone in the cave, Malcolmthought,tryingtodistracthimself,therewouldn’tbemuchonanyone’s

plate.

But Alice had moved closer, and she was leaning in to whispersomething.

“Mr.Boatwright…D’youtrusthim?”

“I…thinkso.Yes.”

“ ’Causewedidn’toughttostayheremuchlonger.”

“Ithinksotoo.Andthere’saboy…”

HetoldheraboutAndrew.Shefrowned.

“Andheen’therenow?”

“No.I’mabitworried.”

Atthatmoment,Andrew’sauntstumbleduptothefireandsatdownheavily.Aliceglaredather.DorisWhicherdidn’tnotice;shewasinthethroes of a hangover, and the smell of liquor was so strong thatMalcolmthoughtsheoughttobreathemorecarefullynearthefire.Hercrowdæmonkeptfallingdownandscrabblingupagain.

Then she looked atMalcolmand said, “Whowas askingme aboutAndrew?Wasityou?”

“Yes.Ididn’tknowwherehewas.”

“Whyd’youwanttoknow?”

“ ’CauseweweretalkinglastnightandhesaidsomethinginterestingandIwasgoingtoaskhimaboutit.”

“Isitthatbloodyleague?”

EverynerveinMalcolm’sbodysprangawake.

“TheLeagueofSt.Alexander?Isheamember?”

“Yeah,littlebastard.IfIsaystohimonce—”

Malcolmgotupatonce,andAlice,seeinghisurgency,followed.

“Wegottogo,”hesaid.“Rightnow.”

AlicerantoAudreyBoatwright,whowastalkingtoanotherwomannear the cave entrance, jogging Lyra comfortably on her bosom.Malcolm looked around and saw George Boatwright bending somestickstogethertomakeatrap.

“Mr. Boatwright—sorry to disturb you—but we’ve got to go rightaway.Canyoushowusthepathdown—”

“Don’t worry about that CCD boat,” said Boatwright confidently.“Chancesare,they—”

“No,it’snotthem.WegottogetLyraawaybefore—”

Buttherewereloudvoicesbehindhim.HeturnedswiftlytoseeAlicetrying togetbetweenMrs.Boatwrightandaman inadarkuniform,andthreeothermenbehindhimspreadouttopreventanyoneleavingthe cave. And lurking behind them, half ashamed, half proud, wasAndrew.

MalcolmrantohelpAlice,whowastryingtopullLyrafromAudreyBoatwright’sarms.ButthenoneofthemengrabbedAlicebytheneck,and he was shouting, andMalcolm was shouting too, and he didn’tknowwhathewassaying.Audreywas trying toshelterLyra, turningaway,tryingtomovebackintothecave,andMr.Boatwrightwastryingtohelpher,andLyrawasscreaminginfear.Atonemoment,MalcolmreachedMrs.BoatwrightandhadhishandsonLyraandbegantoliftheraway,andthenextmomentcameashockingblowonhisheadandhefellsprawlinghalfconscioustotheground;andAlicewasbitingthearmsthatheldher,andlashingoutwithbothfeet,andscreaming.

Malcolmdraggedhimself to his knees, dizzy andweak and almosttotallyconfused.Throughthetumultofvoices,onevoicecriedout tohimwithperfectclarity,thatofLyra,andhecalledback,“Lyra!Lyra!I’mcoming!”

Butaheavyweightcrashedintohimandknockedhimflatagain.ItwasAudreyBoatwright,whohad lostholdofLyraandbeenknockedoffherfeetbyoneofthemen.Malcolmstruggledtogetoutfromunderherbody,butitwassohard,becauseshewasstrugglingtoo,andthenhe foundhimself onhis knees again, andAlicewas lying still on theground, and so was George Boatwright. Someone was wailing andcrying,butitwasn’tLyra;someoneelsealongwayoffwasshouting,awoman’s voice, incoherent with rage and helplessness. AudreyBoatwrightbegantosobasshefoundherhusbandunconsciousbesideher.

But the dark-uniformed men were gone, and Lyra was gonewiththem.

Malcolmtriedtostepforward,butthecavewasrevolvinginhisvision.Hemissed his footing, found it again, and then fell over completelyand nearly vomited. Astawaswhispering hoarsely, “It’s the blow onthehead—youcan’tstandupyet—liedownandkeepstill.”Buthewaspossessedbya frenzyof fearandrage,andhestruggled toget tohisfeet.

There was Andrew, smiling nervously, but with a righteoussmugness in his expression too. He put up his hands in defense.Malcolmknockedthemasideandhithimhardintheface,sothathefellover,crying,“Auntie!Auntie!”

“Whatyoudone?”saidhisaunt,butMalcolmdidn’tknowwhethershewasspeakingtohimortoAndrew.Perhapsshedidn’tknoweither.

Malcolmkickedtheboy,andherolledaway,curleduplikeawoodlouse.

“Who were those men?” Malcolm shouted. “Where were theygoing?”

“Noneofyour—Argh!”criedAndrewasMalcolmkickedhimagain.

Finally Doris Whicher realized what was happening and hauledMalcolmaway.

“Whowere they?”Malcolm roared, struggling against the fat armsandthereekofalcohol.“WherearetheytakingLyra?”

Andrewhad rolled out of reach and tried to stand up,making themostoftheblowsMalcolmhadlanded,wincing,limping,touchinghisfacewithdelicatefingers.

“Ithinkyoubrokemyjaw—”

Malcolm stamped on Doris’s foot, and then Alice was there too,slappingandscratchingat theboy, then turning tohaulathisaunt’sshaking arms as they tried to hold on toMalcolm,who tore himselffreeand rushed tocornerAndrewagainst the rockywallof thecave.Theboy’smousedæmonwassquealingandscreamingasshecoweredbehindhisfeet.

“No!Don’thitme!”

“Justtellmewhotheywere.”

“CCD!”

“Liar.Itwasthewronguniform.Whowerethey?”

“Idon’tknow!IthoughttheywereCCD—”

“Wheredidyougotofindthem?”

By this time the other adults had come round to watch andencourage one side or the other. Some of them had not been awakewhen the men came and needed to have it explained, and GeorgeBoatwrightwasstillunconscious,andAudreywasanxiouslycryinghisnameasshekneltbesidehim,sothecavewasfullofhubbub.

Andrewwas sobbing.Malcolm turnedaway indisgust and sank tohisknees,butAsta,cat-shaped, leaptatAndrew’smousedæmonandborehertotheground.AndtherewasBen,hairbristling,growlingattheboywithabulldogferocity.

ButAlicewastuggingatMalcolm’sarmandmakinghimstandup,soheturnedawayfromthedæmonsforamoment.

“Listen,”shesaid,“listentothisman.”

Themanwassmallandwiryanddark-haired,andhisdæmonwasavixen.

“I seen them uniforms before,” he said. “They en’t CCD. They’recalledsummingliketheSecurityoftheHolySpirit,summinglikethat.Theyguardreligiousplaces—seminaries,nunneries,schools,thatsortofplace.Theyprob’lycomefromWallingford,fromthepriorythere.”

“Apriory?”saidMalcolm.“Withmonksornuns?”

“Nuns,” said someone else, awomanwhomMalcolm couldn’t see.“TheSistersofHolyObedience.”

“Howd’youknow?”saidtheman.

“Iused towork for ’em,” she said, comingoutof the shadowsandintothegraylightneartheentranceofthecave.“Forthesisters.Iusedtocleanandlookafterthechickensandthegoats.”

“Wherearethey?Whereisthisplace?”saidMalcolm.

“DownWallingford,”shesaid.“Youwouldn’tmissit.Bigwhitestonebuildings.”

“Andwhoare thesesisters?Whatdo theydo?” saidAlice,her facepale,hereyesblazing.

“They pray. They teach. They look after kids. I dunno…they’refierce.”

“Fierce?How?”saidMalcolm.

“Stern.Verysternandcruel.Icouldn’tbearit,soIleft,”thewomansaid.

“I seen themguards catching a kidwhat runaway,” said theman.“Theybeathimrightthereinthestreettillhefainted.Nousetryingtointerfere—theygotallthepowertheyneed.”

“Isthatwhatyoudid,then?”saidMalcolm,turningtoAndrew.“Youwentandtoldthemaboutusandthebaby?”

Andrewwhimperedandwipedhisnoseonhissleeve.

“Tell’em,boy,”saidhisaunt.“Stopsniveling.”

“Idon’twanthimtohitmeagain,”saidAndrew.

“Iwon’thityou.Justtelluswhatyoudid.”

“I’mintheleague.Ihadtodowhat’sright.”

“Nevermindtheleague.Whatdidyoudo?”

“Iknewyouneveroughterbeen lookingafterakidthaten’tyours.You prob’ly stole her or summing. So I told the Office of ChildProtection.Theycameinourschoolandexplainedwhyitwasrighttotell’emthingslikethat.Idon’tknownothingaboutthisSecurityoftheHoly Spirit; I never heard of them. It was the Office of ChildProtection.”

“Wherearethey?”

“Inthepriory.”

“Isn’ttheprioryfloodedlikeeverywhereelse?”

“No,’causeit’sonahill.”

“Who’sinchargethere?”

“TheMotherSuperior.”

“Soyouwentandtoldher,didyou?”

“The Child Protection people tookme to see her. It was the rightthingtodo,”hesaidquaveringly,beginningtowail.

His aunt hit him, and he choked back his wail with a snivelingcough.

“Whatdidshesay,theMotherSuperior?”Malcolmdemanded.

“Shewanted to knowwho the kidwas andwherewewere and allthat.ItoldhereverythingIknew.Ihadto.”

“Andthenwhat?”

“Wesaidaprayerandthenshegivemeabedtosleeponforabit,andthenIguided’embackhere.”

In the faceof thehostilityandcontemptofalmosteveryone in thecave, Andrew crumpled and fell to the floor, curled up and sobbing.Almost everyone, because George Boatwright was still unconscious,and Audrey was now increasingly frightened. She knelt beside him,rubbing his hand, stroking his head, calling his name, and lookingaroundtoeveryonethereforhelp.

Alice saw her and knelt to see if she could do anything, whileMalcolmcontinuedtoquestionAndrew.

“Whereisthispriory?Howfaraway?”

“Dunno…”

“Didyouwalkthereandback,orgoinaboat?”

“Inaboat.Theirboat.”

“It’snot far,”saidthewomanwho’dworkedthere.“It’s thehighestplace.Youcan’tmissit.”

“Havetheygotlotsofkidsthere?”Malcolmaskedher.

“Yeah,allages.Frombabiesrightuptosixteen,Isuppose.”

“Whatdotheydo?Teachthem,ormakethemwork,orwhat?”

“Teach’em,yeah….Theypreparethemforlivesasservants,thatkindofthing.”

“Boysandgirls?”

“Yeah,boysandgirls,butaftertenyearsoldtheykeep’emapart.”

“Andthebabies,dotheykeepthemapartfromtherest?”

“There’sanurseryjustfortheyoungones,yes.”

“Howmanybabieshavetheygotthere?”

“Oh, Lord, I don’t know….In my time, there was about fifteen orsixteen….”

“Aretheyallorphans?”

“No.Sometimesifachildisreallybadlybehaved,theytakethemin.They never get out till they’re sixteen. They never see their parentsagain.”

“Howmanykidsaltogether,then?Babiesandolderones?”

“Ahundred,maybe…”

“Don’ttheyevertrytoescape?”

“Theymightescapeonce,butthey’realwayscaught,andtheyneverdaretodoitagain.”

“Sothey’recruel,thesenuns?”

“Youwouldn’tbelievehowcruel they canbe.Youwouldn’t believeit.”

“You—Andrew,”saidMalcolm.“Haveyoutoldonanyotherkidsandgotthemtakeninthere?”

“Ien’tsaying,”theboymumbled.

“Tellthetruth,youlittleshit,”hisauntsaid.

“No,Ien’t,then!”

“Never?”saidMalcolm.

“Iten’tyourbusi—”

Hisauntslappedhim.Hisvoiceroseinahighwail.

“Allright,maybeIhave!”hecried.

“Littlesneakingshit,”shesaid.

“Who do you speak to when you go to report someone?” saidMalcolm,desperatelytryingtokeephisfocus.Hisheadwasthrobbing,andwaves of nausea came andwent. “Where did you go last night?Whodidyouspeakto?”

“BrotherPeter.Ien’ts’posedtotellyouthis.”

“I don’t carewhat you’re s’posed to tell.Who’sBrother Peter, andwheredidyougotofindhim?”

“He’s thedirectorof theOfficeofChildProtectionforWallingford.Theygotanofficeatthepriory.”

“Andheknewyoubecauseyou’dbeentohimbefore?”

Atthat,Andrewjustburiedhisheadinhisarmsandhowled.

There were voices behind Malcolm, excited and relieved, and heturnedtosee,butfeltaboutofpainandnauseainhisheadashedid,so brutal it was like being hit again.He kept still, knowing that theslightestmovementofhisheadwouldmeanbeingviolentlysick.

Alicewasbesidehim,holdinghisarm.

“Leanonme,”shesaid.“Andcomeoverthisway.”

Hedidasshetoldhim.

“Lyra,”hemuttered.

“Weknowwheresheis,andsheen’tgoinganywhereelse.Youcan’tmovenow,elseyou’llbesick.Justsitdownhere.”

Hervoicewasquietandgentle,andthatwassosurprisingthathelethimselfbeledandtendedto.

“Mr.Boatwright’swokenup,”shesaid.“Hehadacrackonthenut,likeyoudid,onlyworse.Audreythoughthewasdead,butheen’t.Justkeepstillnow.”

“Here,”saidawoman’svoice,andthen,“Lethimsipthis.”

“Thank you,” said Alice. “Here,Mal, sit up a bit and sip this. Butmind,it’shot.”

Mal! She had never called himMal. No one had. He wouldn’t letanyone but Alice call him that now. The drinkwas scalding, and hecouldonly take thesmallestsip. It tasted like lemon, thesortofcold

remedyhismothersometimesgavehim,buttherewassomethingelseinit.

“I put a bit of gingerwith it,” thewoman said. “Stops you feelingsick.Otherwise,it’sapainkiller.”

“Thankyou,”hemurmured.Hehadnoideahowhe’dhadtheenergytointerrogateAndrewonlyaminutebefore.

Hesippedalittlemoreofthedrinkandfellasleep.

—

It was dark again when he woke up. He was warm, and covered insomethingheavywithadoggishanimalsmell.Hemoveda little,andhisheaddidn’tpunishhimforit,sohemovedalittlemoreandsatup.

“Mal,”Alicesaidatoncefrombesidehim.“Youallrightnow?”

“Yeah,Ithinkso,”hesaid.

“Staythere.I’llgetyousomebreadandcheese.”

She scrambledup,which showedhim that she’dbeen lyingbesidehim.Shewasmoreandmoresurprising.He lay there,slowlywakingup, letting thememoryof the lastdayandnight slowlywakeup too.Thenhe rememberedwhathadhappened toLyra, and satupwithaconvulsiveshock.Alicewasholdingoutsomethingforhim.

“Here y’are,” she said, putting a hunk of bread in his hand. “It’shard,butiten’tmoldy.D’youwantanegg?Icanfryyouaneggifyoulike.”

“No,thanks.Alice,didwereally…,”hewhispered,unabletosayanymore.

“Bonneville?” she whispered back. “Yeah, we did. But hush aboutthat.Don’tsaynothing.It’sover.”

Malcolmtriedtobiteapieceoff thehunkofbreadandfounditsohardthatitwasaseriouschallengetohisteeth,andthustothepaininhis head. Still, he persevered. Alice appeared again with a mug ofsomethingstrongandsalty.

“What’sthis?”

“Somesortofstockcube.Idunno.It’lldoyougood.”

“Thankyou,”hesaid,and tooka sip. “Has itbeennight fora long

time?”

“No. There’s people out there poaching or summing. It en’t beendarklong.”

“Where’sAndrew?”

“Hisauntie’sguardinghim.Hewon’tgetoutagain.”

“We got to—” He tried to swallow a lump of bread, and thenretrieved it and chewed it a bit more before trying again andcontinuinghoarsely,“We’vegottorescueLyra.”

“Yeah.Ibeenthinkingaboutthat.”

“Firstwegottolookatthepriory.”

“And,”shesaid,“wegottoknowexactlywhatAndrewtold’emaboutus.”

“D’youthinkhe’devertellusthetruth?”

“Icouldgetitoutofhim.”

“He’snotreliable.He’dsayanythingtoavoidgettinghit.”

“I’llhithimanyway.”

Hechewedanothermouthfulofbread.

“I’d liketoaskthat ladywhoworkedthere,”hesaid.“Aboutwhereeverythingis,wherethenurseryis,howtogetthere,allthat.”

“I’llgoandgether.”

She leapt to her feet and hurried to the fire, where a number ofpeopleweresittinganddrinkingandtalkingandoccasionallystirringabigpotofstew.

Malcolmstruggledtositupabithigher,andfoundthatalthoughhisheadachehadreceded,anumberofotheraches,alloverhisbody,hadcomeouttoclaimhisattention.Hechewedoffanotherpieceofcheeseandconcentratedonthat.

SoonAlicecamebackwiththewomanwho’dspokenupbefore.Herdæmonwasaferret,whosatnibblingconstantlyonhershoulder.

“ThisisMrs.Simkin,”saidAlice.

“Hello,Mrs. Simkin,” saidMalcolm, trying to swallow the cheese,andhavingtosoftenitwithasipofthestock-cubedrink.“Wewantto

knowallaboutthispriory.”

“You en’t thinking of trying to get in and rescue her?” she said,sitting down nearby. Her hand kept going up to stroke her dæmon,whowasverynervous.

“Well,yes,”saidMalcolm.“Wegotto.There’snoquestionaboutit.”

“Youcan’t,”shesaid.“It’slikeafortress.You’llnevergetin.”

“Well,all right.Butwhat’s it likewhenyouare in?Wheredo theykeepthekids?”

“There’s the nursery—that’s where the little ones sleep and getlookedafter.That’supstairsnearwherethenunshavetheircells.”

“Cells?”saidAlice.

“That’swhattheycalltheirbedrooms,”explainedMalcolm.“Canyoudrawaplan?”hesaidtothewoman.

But she was so doubtful and uneasy that he realized she couldn’treadorwrite,andhadnoideaoftheprinciplesofmapsorplansofanysort.Hefeltembarrassedforasking,andwentonquickly:“Howmanyflightsofstairsisthere?”

“There’soneatthefront,abigone,andasmalloneatthebackforthe cleaners and servants, people likeme.And there’s another, but Ineverseenit.Sometimestheyhaveguests—mentoo—anditwouldn’tberightforthemtominglewiththenuns,ortheservantsneither,sotheyhavetheirownstaircase.Butthatonlygoesuptotheguestrooms,andthey’reshutofffromtherestoftheplace.”

“Right.Now,when you go up the servants’ staircase, what do youcometoatthetop?”

Thewoman’sdæmonwhisperedtoher.Shelistenedandthensaid,“He’sjustremindingme.Onthefirstfloorthere’sasmalllandingandadoorthatopensonacorridorwherethenurseryis.”

“Anythingelseinthatcorridor?”

“There’stwocellsontheoppositesidefromthenursery.Whichevernunsareondutywiththelittlekids,theysleepinthere.”

“What’sthenurserylike?”

“It’sabigroom,withabout…Idunno,maybetwentyorsobedsandcribs.”

“Aretherethatmanylittlekids?”

“Not always. There’s usually a bed or two empty, in case any newkidsarrive.”

“Howoldarethekidsinthere?”

“Up to four, I think. Then they’re moved to the main block. Thenursery’s in the kitchen block, like, right over the kitchen on thegroundfloor.”

“Isthereanythingelsebesidesthenurseryonthatcorridor?”

“There’stwobathroomsontheright,beforeyougettothenursery.Oh,andanairingcupboardforblanketsandthat.”

“Andthecellsareontheleft?”

“That’sright.”

“Sothere’sonlytwonunslookingafterthekids?”

“There’sanotheronesleepinginthenurseryitself.”

Themousedæmonwhisperedagain.

“Don’t forget,” the woman said, “they get up ever so early for theservices.”

“Oh,yeah.Iremember.TheydidthatatGodstow.”

He thought therewouldn’t bemuch time to find Lyra and get outagain,evenifhecouldgetin.Andallitwouldtaketogivethemawaywouldbeanervouschildcryingoutatthepresenceofstrangersinthenursery….

Heaskedthewomanaboutthearrangementofdoorsandwindowsinthekitchen,andanythingelsehecouldthinkof.Themoreheheard,themoredifficultitseemed,andthemoredespondenthebecame.

“Well,thankyou,”hesaid.“That’sallveryuseful.”

Thewomannoddedandwentbacktothefire.

“Whatwegonnado?”saidAlicequietly.

“Getinandrescueher.Butsupposethere’stwentykidsthesameagealllyingasleep—howcouldwetellwhichwasher?”

“Well,I’drecognizeher.She’sunmistakable.”

“When she’s awake, yeah. Panwould recognizeAsta, andBen too.

Butifshe’sasleep…Wecan’twake’emallup.”

“Iwon’tmistakeher.Norwillyou,actually.”

“Let’sgonow,then.”

“Youallrighttodothat?”

“Yes.I’mfeelingmuchbetter.”

Infact,Malcolmwasstillachingandalittledizzy,butthethoughtoflounging in thecavewhileLyrawascaptivewas toohorrible tobear.Hestoodupslowlyandtookasteportwotowardstheentrance,goingcarefully, making no fuss, saying nothing. Alice was gathering theirpossessionsandwrappingthemintheblanketasBoatwrighthad.

Once theywereoutside,hesaidsoftly toAlice, “Thosebiscuits shelikes—aretheystillinthecanoe?”

“Well,wedidn’tbring’emuphere.Theymustbe.”

“Wecangiveheroneofthemtokeepherquiet.”

“Yeah,if…”

“KeepawatchoutforAndrew.”

“Canyourememberthewaytothecanoe?”

“Ifwekeepgoingdown,we’llgetthereeventually.”

That was what he hoped anyway. Even if George Boatwright hadfullyrecovered,whichheprobablyhadn’tyet,itwouldn’thavebeenagoodideatoaskhimtoguidethemdown.He’dhavewantedtoknowwheretheyweregoingandwhattheyplannedtodo,andhe’dhavetoldthemnotto.

Malcolm stopped thinking about that. He was discovering a newpowerinhimself:hewasabletostopthinkingthingshedidn’twanttothink. Quite often, he realized as he led the way down the moonlitpath,hehadpushedasidethoughtsofhismotherandfatherandhowtheymustbesuffering,wonderingwherehewas,whetherhewasstillalive,howhe’deverfindhiswaybackagainsttheflood.Hediditagainnow.Itwasdarkundertheholmoaks,soitdidn’tmatterifhemadeafaceofanguish.Hecouldstopthattooafterafewseconds.

“There’sthewater,”saidAlice.

“Let’sgocarefully.Theremightbeanotherboatsnoopingaround….”

They stood still just inside thedarknessof the trees,watchingandlistening.Theexpanseofwaterwasclearaheadofthem,andtheonlysoundwasitsrushagainstthegrassandthebushes.

Malcolmwastryingtorememberwhetherthey’dlefttheboatontheleftorrightofthepath.

“D’yourememberwhere…”

“Thereitisnow—look,”shesaid.

Shewaspointingto the left,andassoonashe followedher lineofsight,hesawit.Thecanoewasbarelyconcealedatall,andyet ithadbeen invisible a moment before. The moon was so bright thateverythingunderthetreeswascaughtinanetofconfusingshadows.

“Youcanseebetter’nIcan,”hesaid,andpulledtheboatoutontothegrass, checking all aroundand turningher the rightwayup.Hewastenderwithher, feelingall alongherhull, checking thatall thehoopbracketswere firm, counting thehoops themselvesas they lay insidethe canoe, making sure the tarpaulin was folded and stowed awayneatly.Itwasallshipshape,andtheskinof thehullwasundamaged,thoughtheneatgyptianpaintworkwasabitscratched.

Hepushedherdown to thewater,andonceagainhe feltas if thisinanimate thing was joyously coming alive as she met her ownelement.

He held the gunwale as Alice got in, and then handed her therucksackhe’dtakenfromthedeadBonneville.

“Blimey,thisisheavy,”shesaid.“What’sinhere?”

“Haven’t had time to look. As soon as we’ve got Lyra and foundsomewheresafetostop,we’llopenitupandsee.Ready?”

“Yeah,goon.”

Shewrapped a blanket around her thin shoulders and kept watchbehindashebegan topaddle.Themoonwasbrilliant, thewateronesheet of fast-flowing glass. Malcolm felt good to be paddling again,despitehisbruises,andheworkedtheirwaysteadily to thecenteroftheflood.Theonlysenseofspeedhehadwasthecoldairagainsthisface and the occasional tremor of the hull as some obstruction farbelowraisedaslightwaveinthewater.

Hehadathousandmisgivings.Iftheyweretomissthepriory,they

wouldneverbeable towork theirwaybackagainst thepowerof thewater.Andiftheygotthereandfounditguarded?Orimpossibletogetinside? And suppose…And so on. But he thrust all those thoughtsaside.

On they sped, and themoon continued to shine. Alice continuallyscanned the stream behind, on both sides, and as far back as thehorizon; but she sawno other boats, no sign of life at all. They saidlittle.SincetheirfightwithBonneville,somethinglargehadchangedinthe relationship between them, and it wasn’t just that she’d startedcallinghimMal.Awallofhostilityhadfallendownandvanished.Theywerefriendsnow.Itwaseasytosittogether.

Somethingaheadwasgleaming,onthehorizon,nowherenearyet.

“Isthatalight,d’youreckon?”hesaid,pointing.

Sheturnedandlooked.

“Could be. But it looks more like summing’s just white, with themoonshiningonit.”

Andthereitwasagain:thespangledring,hispersonalaurora.Itwassofamiliarnowthathealmostwelcomedit,inspiteofthedifficultyitcausedinseeingthingsbehindit.Andright insidethelovelycelestialcurve as it grew was the thing Alice mentioned, the great buildinggleamingwhiteunderthemoon.

Theyweregoingsofastthatitsoonbecameclearthatshewasright:alargebuilding,somethinglikeacastle,risingoutofthewater;butitwasn’tacastlebecauseinsteadofagreatkeepattheheartofit,thererosethespireofanoratory.

“That’sit!”Malcolmsaid.

“It’sbloodyimmense,”shesaid.

It layon the leftas they floatedswiftly towards it. Itwasbuiltofalightstonethatshonealmostlikesnowintheglareofthemoon,avastspreadingcomplexofwallsandroofsandbuttresses,all surroundingtheslenderspire.Blackwindowspiercedtheflatblankcliffsofwhite,occasionallyflashingareflectionofthemoonasthecanoefloatedby.Itwasjustasbrightandjustasblackasthescintillationsonthespangledring, which was now close enough to be almost out of sight behindhim.Thebuildinghadnowindowslowenoughtoclimbinto,nodoorsatall,no flightsofsteps; just immenseverticalsheetsofwhitestone,

with any break in the smoothness high above anything they couldreachfromthelevelofthewater.Likeafortress,itseemeddesignedtorepelanyattempttogetinside.

Malcolmwasholdingthecanoebacknow,tryingtoresistthepowerof the flood, and La Belle Sauvage responded sweetly. She couldalmost dance on the water, Malcolm thought, and he stroked thegunwalewithlove.

“Canyouseeawayin?”Alicesaidquietly.

“Notyet.Butwewon’tbegoinginthroughthefrontdooranyway.”

“S’posenot….It’sbloodyhuge.Itgoesonandon.”

Malcolmwasturningthecanoetoporttogoaroundandseehowfarthebuildingextended.As they left themoonbehindandpassed intothe great shadow of the walls, he felt a chill, though he’d been coldenoughalready,andtobesure,themoongavenowarmth.Theywereoutofthemaincurrenthere,andhecouldbringthecanoecloserandlookupatthetoweringwalls,toseeiftherewasanywayinatall,butitseemedtobeimpossible.

“What’sthat?”saidAlice.

“What?”

“Listen.”

Hekeptstillandheardasoft,continualsplashingalittlewayahead.Therewaswhat lookedlikeabroadstonebuttressthere,runningthefull height of the wall, and at the top it continued into a stack ofchimneys,withthemoonshiningbrightlyonthem.Hethought,Theymusthaveakitchensomewhere,somaybeit’shere….Andthenhesawwhat was splashing. A square opening near the foot of the wall, inwhichanirongratinghungloosely,waslettingastreamofwaterspilloutandfallinasteadyarc.

“Toilets,”saidAlice.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s quite clean, look, and it doesn’tsmell….Mustbeanoverfloworsumming.”

Hepaddledontothenextcorner,slowlyandsilently.Theywerestillin the shadow of the moon, but he knew that anythingmoving attracted the eye, and therewerenobushesor reeds tohideamong: just the bare water and the bare stone. They would be very

easytosee.Withinfinitecautionheedgedthecanoepastthecornerofthegreatbuildingandlookedalongwhatmusthavebeenthefront.

Alicewasgrippingthegunwalesandpeeringashardasshecouldinthedeceptivelight.Malcolmturnedtheboatsidewayssothatanyonelookingfromthatdirectionwouldhavehadamuchsmallersilhouettetosee.Roughlyhalfwayalongthefronttherewasawiderowofsteps,surmounted by a portico where classical columns supported apediment….Wasthatafigureamongthecolumns?

Alice was twisting right round to look at it. Then she whispered,“There’saman—twomen—look,theygotaboat….”

Therewasapowerboattiedupatthebaseofthesteps,andAlicewasright:thereweretwomen.AsMalcolmlooked,theysteppedidlyoutofthe lineofcolumnsand talked together.Theyweresmokingandhadriflesovertheirshoulders.

With evenmore care than before,Malcolmmaneuvered the canoearoundthecornerandoutofsight.

“What did the man in the cave call them?” he whispered. “TheSecurityoftheHolySpirit—theyguardnunneriesandmonasteriesandthat….Sowecan’tgointhatway.”

Helookedupatthechimneysagain,andanideacametohim.

“If this is the kitchen, right, just inside this wall, ’cause of thechimneys—well, you know in the priory? In Godstow?” He wassuddenlyexcited.“Intheoldroomtheycalledthescullery?”

“Ineverwentinthere.”

“It’s ever soold,and theygot thisancientdrain—it comesoutofaspring,anditrunsinasortofstonechannelrightacrossthefloorandout the other side, into the river. Sister Fenella sometimes used tothrowherwashing-upwaterinit—”

“Youthinkthisissumminglikethat?”

“Itcouldbe.Thiswater’sclean.”

“It’sgotabloodygreatirongratingacrossit.”

“Here,takethepaddleandholdtheboatupclosetoit….”

Whenshehaditsteady,hestoodupandgrippedtheirongrille,andatonce it came loose, ina showerof stonedustandmortar, and fell

withaloudsplashbetweenthecanoeandthewall.

“Blimey!”hesaid,steadyinghimself.

“Wecan’tgointhere!”

“Whynot?”

“Well, for one thing,wewouldn’t be able to get out again. There’snothingtotietheboatupto.Ands’posethere’sanothergratingatthetop,where it comesout thekitchenor the sculleryorwherever it is?Anyway,we’dgetsoaked.It’sfreezing.”

“I’mgoingtotry.You’llhavetostayherewiththecanoe.Justholditsteadyandkeepwarmandwait.”

“Youcan’t—”shebegan,andthenbitherlip.“You’lldrown,Mal.”

“If it gets toodifficult, I’ll comeback andwe’ll thinkof somethingelse.Stayclosetothewall.Tuckitinclosetothechimneystack.I’llbeasquickasIcan.”

He gripped the gunwale of the canoe and thought, Look after her,BelleSauvage.

Thenhestoodupagainandreacheduptotheopeningandtookholdofthestonerim.Thestreamofwaterwasn’tgreatinvolume,butitwascold and it was continuous, and by the time he’d managed to pullhimself up, he was soaked to the skin. Asta was already inside thedrainasanotter,withherteethinhissleeve,pullingandpulling,andfinallythetwoofthemlaypantingonthefloorofthedrain,tryingtokeeptooneside,outoftheflowofwater.

“Getup,”shesaid.“Youcancrawl.It’shighenoughforthat….”

Hisshinswerescraped,hisfingernailsbroken.Hekneltgingerlyandfound, as she said, that therewas room to crawl. Asta became somekindofnight-dwellingbeastandclungtohisback,herwideeyestakingineverytinyflickeroflight.Beforelong,though,therewasnolightleft,andtheywerecrawlingupwardsintotaldarkness,andMalcolmfoundhimself beginning to get badly frightened. He thought of the greatweightofstoneabovethem;hewantedtostandup;hewantedtoraisehis arms above his head; he wanted much more space than therewas….

Hewasnear panic, butAstawhispered, “Not far now—honestly—Icanseethelightofthekitchen—justalittlefurther—”

“Butsuppose—”

“Don’tsupposeanything.Justbreathedeeply.”

“Can’thelpshivering—”

“No, but keep going. There’s bound to be a range in the kitchenburning all night.Bigplace like this.You can getwarm in aminute.Justpushthethoughtsaside,likewelearnedhowtodo.Keepgoing—thassit….”

Hishandsand legswerenumbwithcold,butnotsonumbthathecouldn’tfeelalotofpaininthemunderthenumbness.

“HowarewegoingtogetLyradownhere—”

“We’ll findaway.There is away.We justdon’tknow it yet.Don’tstop….”

Andafteranotherdesperateminute,hiseyesbegantoseewhathe’ddisbelievedthatherscould:aglimmeroflightonthewetsidesofthetunnel.

“Thereyouare,”shesaid.

“Yeah—justhopethereisn’t—”

Agratingatthetoplikethereisatthebottom,hewasgoingtosay.But of course therewas: if something fell into thedrain, the kitchenworkers wouldn’t want it to disappear. He nearly despaired at thatpoint. Dark bars of iron stood heavy and still between him and thedimlylitscullerybeyond.Therewasnowaythrough.Hechokedbackasob.

“No,wait,”saidAsta.Shewasaratnow,andshescamperedupthegrating and examined it closely. “They’ll need to clean the drainsometimes—they’llneedtogetbrushesandthingsdownhere….”

Malcolmpulledhimselftogether.Onemoresob,ofcoldasmuchasofdespair, shookhischest,butafter thathesaid, “Yeah, that’s right.Maybe…”

Hegrippedthebars,shookthem,feltthemmove.Theyswungbackandforthatinyway.

“Istherea—atthetop—”

“Ahinge—yes!”

“Sodownatthebottom…”

Malcolm put his arm through the grating and felt around and, assimplyasthat,foundaheavyironboltlyingacrossthebarsjustabovethewater,theenddeepinaholeinthestone.Itwaswellgreased,andit slid outwithno effort. The grating swungup towards the kitchen,andMalcolm’s numb and trembling hands found a catch above thathelditfirmly.

Amoment later he had scrambled underneath and into the room,which was, as he’d guessed, a scullery, with sinks for washing andracks for drying crockery. After the darkness of the drain, his eyeswelcomedthedimlightthat lethimseeeverythingthere.Thestreamranacross the floor, just like the one atGodstow, in a channel linedwithbricks.And,mercyofallmercies,therewasarange,slumberingbutalight,andaboveitarackofwarmingtowels,hangingtheretodryafterhavingbeenwashed.Hetuggedoffhissweaterandhisshirtandwrappedalargetowelaroundhisshoulders,huddlingneartherange,rockingbackandforthasthecoldgraduallylefthisbody.

“I’llneverbewarmagain,”saidMalcolm.“AndifI’mshiveringlikethis,I’llneverkeepquietinthatnurserylookingforLyra.Areyousurewe’llrecognizeher?Babiesareallprettymuchthesame,en’tthey?”

“I’llrecognizePan,andhe’llrecognizeme.”

“Ifyousayso…Wecan’tstayhereforlong.”

HewasthinkingofAlice.Itmustbenerve-rackingforheroutsideonthewater,withnowheretohide.Hedraggedhisshirtandsweaterbackon,wetastheywere,andshiveredagainviolently.

“Comeon,then,”saidAsta.“Oh,look!Thatbox…”

Shewas a catnow.Thebox shemeantwas awooden thingof thesortthatmighthavecontainedapples.

“Whatabout…Oh,yeah!Right!”

ItwasbigenoughforLyra.Ifhelineditwithtowels,shemightstaydryashepulledherdownthedrain.Hedraggedsometowelsoff therackandlaidtheminsideit,readyforher.

“Let’sgo,then,”hesaid.

Heopenedthescullerydoorandlistened.Silence.Then, fromhighaboveandsomewayoff,adeepbellrangthreetimes.Hetiptoedalong

the stone corridor, making, he hoped, for the back staircase. Thereweredimanbariclampsalongthewall,whichwasotherwisebareandwhitewashed,withdoorstotheleftandright.

Thenthebellrangagain,muchlouderthanbefore,andheheardachoirsinging,asifthedoortoachapeloranoratoryhadopened.Helooked around—there was nowhere to hide. The singing got louderstill,andthentohishorroralineofnuns,handspressedtogetherandeyes lowered, came around a corner and straight towards him.Evidently,liketheGodstownuns,theygotupatalltimesofthenightto singandpray.Hewas caught.Therewasnothinghe coulddobutstandandshiverandlowerhishead.

Someone stopped in front of him.He kept his head low, so all hecouldseewerehersandaledfeetandthehemofherhabit.

“Whoareyou,boy?Whatareyoudoing?”

“Iwetmebed,miss.Sister.ThenIgotlost.”

Hetriedtosoundsorryforhimself,andintruthitwasn’thard.Hesniffedandwipedhisnoseonhissleeve,and thenextmoment therecamearesoundingslaponthesideofhisheadthatsenthimstaggeringtothewall.

“Filthybrat.Goupstairs to thebathroomandwash yourself. Thentakeanoilclothanda freshblanket fromtheairingcupboardandgobacktobed.We’lldiscussyourpunishmentinthemorning.”

“Sorry,Sister…”

“Stopwhining.DoasItellyou,anddon’tmakeanoise.”

“Idunnowherethebathroom—”

“Of course youdo.Up theback stairs andalong the corridor. Justkeepquiet.”

“Yes,Sister.”

He dragged his feet in the direction she pointed and tried to lookcontrite.

“Good!Good!”whisperedAstaonhisshoulder.Shehadsubduedhernatural wish to change into something that could bite and threaten,andremainedarobin.

“ ’Sallrightforyou.Itwasn’tyourheadshesmacked.Theoilcloth’ll

beuseful,though.Forthebox.”

“Andtheblankets…”

Hefoundthestaircaseeasilyenough.Itwaslit,likeeverythingelsehe’dseensofar,withadimanbaricbulb,whichmadehimwonderhowtheystillhadpower.

“Surelyinafloodthatwouldbethefirstthingtogo,”hesaid.

“Theymusthaveagenerator.”

They were barely whispering. At the top of the staircase, a drabcorridorstretchedoutahead,withroughcoconutmattingonthefloor.Thelightherewasevendimmer.Rememberingwhatthewomaninthecavehad told them,Malcolmcounted thedoors: theoneson the leftwere cells for the nuns, and those on the right were first the twobathroomsandthenthenursery.

“Where’stheairingcupboard?”hewhispered.

“There,betweenthebathrooms.”

Heopened the littledoorandwasmetwithawaveofmustyheat.Shelvesofthinfoldedblanketsroseaboveahot-watertank.

“There’stheoilcloths,”saidAsta.

Theylayinrollsonthetopshelf.Malcolmtookonedown,togetherwithacoupleofblankets.

“Can’tcarryanymore,notwithheraswell.This’llbehardasitis.”

He closed the cupboard silently, and then, with Asta as a mouse,listenedashardashecouldoutsidethenursery.Alightsnore,whichmighthavebeenthenunonduty,alittlesnufflingandwhimpering—nomorethanthat.

“Nopointinwaiting,”Malcolmwhispered.

Heturnedthehandle,tryingtodoitsilently,butthelittlenoisehemadesoundedtohimlikeastickbangingabucket.Nothingtobedoneaboutit:heslippedinsideandshutthedoor,andthenstoodabsolutelystill,assessingtheplace.

A long room,with a dim anbaric light at each end.A line of cribsalongonewall,andsmallbedsalongtheother,withanadult’sbedatthe nearer end, where a nun was sleeping and, as he’d heard fromoutside,gentlysnoring.

Thefloorwasdrablinoleum,andthewallswerebare.Hethoughtofthepretty littlenursery thenunshadmade forLyraatGodstowandclenchedhisfists.

“Concentrate,”whisperedAsta.“She’sinoneofthesecribs.”

ThereweresomanythingsthatcouldgowrongthatMalcolmcouldscarcelymanagetopushthemallasideinhismind.Hetiptoedtothefirstcribandpeeredin.Astawasanightbirdofsomekind,perchingonthesideandlookingdown.Alargeheavychildwithblackhair.No.Theyshooktheirheads.

Thenext:toosmall.

Thenext:theheadwastooround.

Thenext:toofair.

Thenext:toobig.

Thenext—Thenuninthebedbehindthemgroanedandmurmuredin her sleep. Malcolm stood stock-still and held his breath. After amomentthewomansighedheavilyandfellsilentagain.

“Comeon,”saidAsta.

Thenextchildwastherightsizeandcoloring,butshewasn’tLyra.Hewassurprised:itwaseasytotell,afterall.

Theymovedontothenext,andthenthedoorhandleturned.

Without thinking, Malcolm darted to the nearest bed against theopposite wall and pulled himself underneath, clutching the blanketsandtheoilcloth.

Twovoiceswerespeakingquietlyattheotherendoftheroom,andonewasaman’s.

Malcolmwas already freezing cold, but a shiver took hold of him.Help me stop shivering! he thought desperately, and Asta instantlybecameaferretandlayclosearoundhisneck.

Footsteps came slowly towards them. The voices continued in amurmur.

“Areyousureaboutthis?”thewomansaid.

“AssureasIcanbe.ThatchildisthedaughterofLordAsriel.”

“But how did she come to be in a cave in thewoodswith a lot of

poachersandcommonthieves?Itdoesn’tmakesense.”

“I don’t knowhow, Sister.We’ll never know.By the timewe sendsomeoneback to interrogate them, they’ll have gone. Imust say thishasbeenacomplete—”

“Keepyourvoicedown,Father.”

Theybothsoundedtesty.

“Whichoneisshe?”saidthepriest.

Malcolm lifted his head and watched as the nun led him to theseventhcribfromtheend.

Thepriest stoodgazingdownat the child in the crib. “I’ll takeherwithmeinthemorning,”hesaid.

“Ibegyourpardon,Father,but youwon’t.She is inour carenow,andthereshewillremain.Thatistheruleofourorder.”

“Myauthorityoutweighstheruleofyourorder.Inanycase,IshouldhavethoughtthattheonethingaSisterofHolyObedienceoughttodowasobey.Iwilltakethischildinthemorning,andthatistheendofit.”

Heturnedandwalkedtotheendoftheroomandoutthedoor.Oneortwoofthesleepingchildrenmutteredorwhimperedintheirsleepashepassed, and thenun in thebedat the endgavea soft shudderingsnoreandturnedover.

Thenunwhohadcomeinremainedbythecribforafewmoments,and thenmadeherwaymore slowly to the door.Malcolm could seealongthelengthoftheroomunderthebeds,andinthedimlightfromthe corridor he saw her sandaled feet under her long habit as shestoppedandturnedto lookback.Shestoodthere forsometime,andhethought,Hassheseenme?What’sshegoingtodo?

Butfinallysheturnedandleftandshutthedoor.

MalcolmthoughtofAlice, faithfullywaitingoutsideinthecold,cutoff from any knowledge of what was happening. How lucky he andLyra were to have her to rely on! But how long could he stay lyinghere?Notmuchlonger.Hewasachingwithcold.

Slowly,carefully,hepulledhimselfoutfromunderthebed.Astawaswatchingallaround,cat-formed,earspricked.Whenhestoodup,sheflewtohisshoulderasawren.

“She’sgonedownthecorridor,”shewhispered.“Comeon!”

Malcolm,shiveringhard, tiptoedtotheseventhcrib.HewasabouttoreachdownwhenAstasaid,“Stop—”

Hestoodbackandlookedaround,butshesaid,“No—lookather!”

Thesleepingchildhadthickblackcurls.

“That’snotLyra,”hesaidstupidly.“Butshesaid—”

“Lookintheothercribs!”

Thenextonewasempty,buttheoneafterthat—

“Isthisher?”

Hewassobewilderednowthathecouldn’tevenguess.ItlookedlikeLyra,butthenunhadbeensosure….

Asta, silent-winged, flewdown to the pillow. She bent her head tothe littledæmon fastasleeparound thechild’sneckandnudgedhimgently.Thechildstirredandsighed.

“Isit?”saidMalcolm,moreurgently.

“Yes.This isPan.But there’s something—Idon’tknow—somethingnotright….”

Sheliftedthelittleferretdæmon’shead,anditfloppedbackassoonassheletgo.

“Theyshouldhavewoken,”saidMalcolm.

“They’redrugged.Icansmellsomethingsweetonherlips.”

Thatwouldmakeiteasier,atleast,hethought.

“Areyouabsolutelysureit’sher?”

“Well,look.Aren’tyou?”

Thelightwasverydim,butwhenhepeereddowncloseandlookedatthechild’sface,heknewbeyondanydoubtthatthiswastheLyraheloved.

“Yes,it’sher.Courseitis.Well,let’sgo.”

Hespreadtheblanketshewascarryingonthefloor,andwhileAstacarefullyliftedthesleepingPanaway,hebentandpickedupthechild,feeling a little surprised at her solidity. She neither stirred normurmured,buthunginhisarmsprofoundlyasleep.

He laid her on the blankets and rolled them around her. Asta,badger-formed now, carried Pan in hermouth, and theymade theirway silently between the row of cribs and the row of beds, past thesleepingnunat theendof theroom,stillgentlysnoring,andopenedthedoor.

Silence. Without waiting a second, Malcolm stepped through andAsta followed,and then theyshut thedoorand tiptoedback towardsthestairs.

As theywere about to take the first stepdown, the great bell rangandstartledhimso,henearlydroppedtheclumsybundle;but itwasonlytellingthetime.Nothinghappened.Theywentondownthroughthe kitchen and into the scullery, and found the wooden box wherethey’dleftit.

Malcolm laidLyraon the table, lined theboxwith theoilskin,andputthechildandblanketsinside.ThenAstasettledthelimpdæmoninhisplacearoundLyra’sneck,andMalcolmsaid,“Ready?”

“I’llgofirst,”saidAsta.

Malcolmwasshiveringsohardhethoughthe’dneverbeabletoholdthebox,buthemanagedtostepintothedrain,hisbacktothewayout,and pull the box after him. Once they were under the grating, hereachedupandsetitfreefromthecatch.Hecouldn’tpreventitfromfallingwithaloudclangandwishedhe’dleftit,buttherewasnothingtobedone.

He clambered backwards down the drain, moaning with cold,bashing his head, scraping his knees, slipping, falling on his face,pushinghimselfupagain,intothedarkness,untilAstasaid,“Thereitis!We’renearlythere!”

Hecouldseeafaintlightgleamingonthewetwalls;hecouldsmellfreshair;hecouldhearthelappingofwater.

“Careful—don’tgotoofast—”

“Isshethere?”

“Courseshe’sthere.Alice—Alice—comecloser….”

“Took your bloody time, didn’t you?” came her voice from below.“Here—gimmeyourfoot—thassit—nowtheother—”

Hefelttherockandswingofthecanoeunderfootandlethiswhole

weightdownintoit.Thenhedidn’tknowwhattodowiththebox.Hewasnearlystupidwithexhaustionandfearandcold.

“I got it steady—don’thurry,” she said. “Justbring it out slowandcareful. No hurry. Got the weight? Take your time. Turn round thisway. Igot it—Igot it—andsheslept throughall this?Lazy little cow.Come here, sweetheart, come to Alice. Here, Mal, sit down and putthem blankets round you. For God’s sake, get warm. And eat this—here. I kept it from the cave. If you got summing in your belly, it’llwarmyouupquicker.”

Sheshovedalumpofbreadandapieceofcheeseintohishands,andhegobbleddownabitatonce.

“Gimmethepaddle,”hemumbled,andwithanotherbitofbreadandcheeseinhismouth,theblanketsaroundhisshoulders,andthepaddleinhishand,hepushedaway fromthewallsof thegreatwhiteprioryandbroughtthefaithfulcanoeoutoncemoreontotheflood.

Between bites of the bread and cheese and strokes of the paddle,MalcolmtoldAliceeverythingthathadhappened.

“So the priest wanted to take her away,” she said, “and the nunshowedhimthewrongchild?D’youthinkshejustdidn’tknowherselfwhichwastherightone?”

“No,I thinksheknew,allright.Shewastryingto trickhim,and itwouldhaveworked.Well,itmightstillwork—forawhile,anyway.Tillhefindsoutitwasn’tLyra.AndthenunsfindoutthattherealLyra’smissing.”

“ButhowcouldheknowitwasLordAsriel’skidwhowasthereinthefirstplace?”

“ItmusthavebeenAndrew.Ihadtouseourrealnames’causeMr.Boatwrightknowswhoweare,butIshouldhavecalledLyrasomethingelse.Therecan’tbemanyLyrasintheworld.”

“Youcan’thelpthat.Itrusted’emtoo.Littletoerag.”

“ButIcan’tunderstandwhatthenunsweregoingtodowithLyraifthepriesthad taken thewrongkid. Imean, theywouldn’thavebeenabletokeepherhiddenforever.Maybewhatshewasgoingtodowouldhavebeenevenworse’nwhathewasgoingtodo.”

“I’d liketoseewhathappens inthemorning, though.Pitywecan’tget’emallout.Poorlittlebuggers.”

Hefinishedthebreadandcheese.Allhewantedtodowasliedownand sleep. He felt on the edge of death with the desire for it, andpresently,withouthisbeingabletopreventit,hiseyesclosed.

“Want me to paddle for a bit?” said Alice, waking him up with a

start.Henearlydroppedthepaddle.“Youbeenasleepforalongtime.”

“No,”hesaid.“I’mallright.Butassoonaswefindsomewhere…”

“Yeah.Whataboutthathilloverthere?”

Shepointed,turningaround.Awoodedhilltoproseoutofthewater,alittleislandallonitsown,brightlylitbythelow-lyingmoon.Theairwaswarm,andtherewasasoftnessaboutit,almostafragrance.

Malcolmsteered for it, stillmore thanhalf asleep,andbroughtLaBelleSauvagegentlyalongsidethehill,outofthemaincurrent,wherelittleswirlsandwhirlpoolsmadethecanoedanceandlurchandbob,untilAlicefoundabranchtoholdonto.

“Just a bit further along—look—there’s a sort of little beach,” shesaid,andhepushedthepaddleintothewaterandbroughtthebowofthecanoefirmlyupontoapatchofgrass.Themoonshonedirectlyinatitandhelpedhimseeafirmbranchtotiethepainterto,andthenheslumpeddowninthecanoewherehewasandclosedhiseyesandfellasleep.

—

Hemust have slept for hours.Whenhewokeup, it felt like awholeseason later because he was warm, and the light through the leavesabovewasbrightandsparkling.Leaves!Therecouldn’tbeleavesout,notyet!Heblinkedandrubbedhiseyes,but there theywere: leaves,andblossomstoo.Hehadtoputhishandupagainstthebrilliance.Butthebrilliancedefeatedhim: there itwas insidehiseyes, twistingandscintillatinglikea…

Itwas likeanold friendnow.Certainly itwasasignofsomething.He lay stiff and aching where he’d dropped, and slowly let his witscomebacktohimasthespangledringexpandedanddriftedcloserandcloser,untilitvanishedpastthecornerofhiseye.

Someone was talking nearby. It was Alice, and a woman wasresponding. The woman’s voice was low and sweet. They werediscussing babies. Could he hear Lyra’s voice as well, burbling hernonsense?Itmighthavebeenthat,oritmighthavebeenthelappingofthe water, which sounded like a little stream now, not like a greatflood.Andbirdsong!Hecouldhearablackbird,andsparrows,andalark,foralltheworldasthoughitwasalreadyspring.

Therewasawarmsmell—wasthatcoffee?Ortoast?Orboth?Either

was impossible. Both were inconceivable. But there it was, thatfragrance,strongerbytheminute.

“Ithinkhe’swokenup,”saidthewoman’svoice.

“Richard?”calledAlicequickly.

Andhewasonhisguardatonce.

Heheardher light footsteps,andthenfeltherhandonhis,andhehadtoopenhiseyesproperly.

“Richard, come andhave some coffee,” she said. “Coffee!Think ofthat!”

“Wherearewe?”hemumbled.

“Idunno,butthislady,she…Comeon.Wakeup!”

Heyawnedandstretchedandmadehimselfsitup.

“HowlonghaveIbeenasleep?”

“Hoursandhours.”

“Andhow’s—”

“Ellie?”shecutin.“She’sfine.Everything’sallright.”

“Andwho—”hewhispered.

“Thislady,it’sherplace,that’sall,”shewhisperedback.“She’sreallynice.But…”

He rubbed his eyes and reluctantly pushed himself up out of thecanoe.He’dbeensodeeplyasleepthathecouldremembernodreams,unless theepisodeat thewhiteprioryhadbeenadreamitself,whichseemednotunlikely,nowthatscrapsofitcamebacktohim.

Stillheavyandgroggywithsleep,he followedAlice(No!Whatwashername?Whatwasit?Sandra!Sandra!)upthegrassyslopetowhereLyra/Ellielayonthegrass,withPanlaughingattheflightofadozen,ascore,oflargebluebutterfliesthatflickeredandflutteredaroundhim.Oneofthemmighthavebeenthewoman’sdæmon.

Thewoman…

She was young, as far as Malcolm could judge, maybe in hertwenties,andverypretty,withthesunlightglowinginhergoldenhairand her light green dress. Shewas kneeling on the grass in front of

Lyra,ticklingher,orlettingthepetalsofsomesortofblossomfalloverherface,orleaningdowntoletthechildplaywithalongnecklaceshewore, but Lyra never managed to grasp it. Her hands went rightthroughit,asifitwasn’tthere.

“Miss,”saidAlice,“thisisRichard.”

Thewomanstoodupinoneswift,elegantmovement.

“Hello,Richard,”shesaid.“Didyousleepwell?”

“Verywell,thankyou,miss.Isitmorningorafternoon?”

“Latemorning. If Sandra has finishedwith the cup, you can havesomecoffee.Wouldyoulikesome?”

“Yes,please.”

Alice filled it for him froma copper pot that hung over a fire thatcrackledinaringofstones.

“Thanks.Doyoulivehere?”hesaid.

“Notallthetime.Idowhenitsuitsme.Wheredoyoulive?”

“InOxford.Uptheriver…”

Sheseemedtobelisteningintently,butnotnecessarilytohiswords.Everythingaboutherwasprettyandgentleandkind, andyethe feltuneasy.

“AndwhatareyougoingtodowithlittleEllie?”shesaid.

“We’retakinghertoherfather.InLondon.”

“That’s a long way,” she said, sitting back down and stroking thechild’s hair. Pan had become a butterfly himself by now and wasstrugglingtoflywiththecloudofbigblueones,whoflutteredaroundhim, encouraging, helping, lifting, but he couldn’t fly very far fromLyra and soon fell back on the grass beside her, as lightly as a leaf.Thenhebecameamouseandscuttledtoherneck.

“Well,yeah,itis,”saidMalcolm.

“Youcanresthereaslongasyoulike.”

“Thankyou….”

Alicewasdoingsomethingatthefire.

“Herey’are,”shesaid,andheldoutaplatewithaforkandtwofried

eggsonit.

“Oh, thanks!” he said, and suddenly realized how hungry he was,andatethemupinamoment.

Lyrawaslaughing.Thewomanhadpickedherupandwasholdingher high and laughing up at her. Pan was a butterfly again, a purewhite one, and was dancing in the air with the cloud of blue ones,successfully this time, and Malcolm suddenly thought: Suppose herdæmonisthewholecloudofbutterflies,notjustoneofthem?

Thatmadehimshiver.

Alice gave him a slice of bread. It was fresh and soft, unlike thebrick-hard bread from the cave, and he thought he’d never tastedanythingbetter.

“Miss,”hesaidwhenhe’dfinishedthebread,“what’syourname?”

“Diania,”shesaid.

“Diana?”

“No,Diania.”

“Oh.Well,um…HowfararewefromLondon?”

“Oh,milesandmiles.”

“IsLondoncloserthanOxford?”

“Itdependshowyougo.Byroad,yes,it’sprobablycloser.ButalltheroadsinAlbionaredrownednow.Bywater,everythingischanged.Byair,Ithinkwe’reexactlyhalfway.”

MalcolmlookedatAlice.Herexpressionwasneutral.

“Byair?”he said toDiania. “Youen’t got a zeppelinor a gyropter,haveyou?”

“Zeppelins!Gyropters!”shesaid, laughingandtossingLyraupandmakingherlaughtoo.“Whoneedsazeppelin?Greatnoisythings.”

“Butyoucan’t…Imean…”

“Youknow,Richard,I’veonlyknownyouforhalfanhour,sinceyouwoke up, but I can already tell that you’re an uncommonly earth-mindedboy.”

“Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.”

“Literal-minded.How’sthat?”

He didn’twant to contradict her, because after all shemight havebeen right.Hewas still a longway fromunderstandinghimself, andshewasgrownup.

“Isthatabadthingtobe?”hesaidcautiously.

“Not for amechanic, for instance. Itwouldbeagood thing, if youwereamechanic.”

“Well,Iwouldn’tmindbeingamechanic.”

“Thereyouare,then.”

Alicewaswatchingthisexchangeclosely.Alittlefrownoccupiedherforehead,andhereyeswerenarrowed.

“I’mgoingtocheckthecanoe,”Malcolmsaid.

LaBelleSauvagewasbobbingcomfortablyonthewater,whichhadlost the racing fury of the past days and was now flowing steadily,fasterthantheThamesinPortMeadow,butnotmuch.Itlookedasifithadsettledlikethisforever.

Malcolmchecked the canoeover fromend to end, takinghis time,lettinghishandsrestonitforlongerthanheneededto;itcalmedhisunease.Everythingwas inorder, everything insidewasdry and safe,andBonneville’srucksackwasstilltuckedundertheseat.

Therucksack…

Helifteditout.

“Yougoingtoopenit?”saidAsta.

“Whatdoyouthink?”

“Ithoughtitmightbelikeevidence,orsomething,iftheyfoundhisbody,”shesaid.

“Evidencethatwe’d…”

“Yes.ButthenIthoughtwecouldhavepickeditupanywhere.Justfounditonthebank—summinglikethat.”

“Yeah.It’sprettyheavy.”

“Mightbegoldbarsinthere.Goon.”

Itwasabatteredoldthingofgreencanvas,withleatherpatcheson

the corners and edges. The buckles were made of tarnished brass.Malcolmunfastenedthemandpulledbackthetop.Thefirst thinghefoundwasasweaterofnavy-bluewool,whichsmelledof fueloilandsmokeleaf.

“Wecouldhavedonewiththat,”hesaid.

“Well,nowweknow….Goon.”

He laid thesweateronthegrassand lookedagain.Therewere fivefoldersoffadedcardboard,bentortornatthecorners,eachonefullofpaper.

“Nowonderitwasheavy,”hesaid.

Hetookoutthefirstfolderandopenedit.Thepaperswerecoveredinswift,spideryhandwriting, inblackink,whichwashardtoread;itseemedtobeasortoflongargumentaboutmathematics,allinFrench.

“There’samap,”saidAsta.

Onesheetofpaperdidhavewhatlookedlikeaplanofabuildingonit.Rooms,corridors,doorways…TheexplanatorywordswereinFrenchtoo, and in different writing.He could understand none of it. Thereweremoreplansbesidethefirstone,whichlookedasiftheymightbefurtherfloorsofthesamebuilding.

Heputthemallbackandtookoutthenextfolder.

“ThisisinEnglish,”hesaid.

“HewasEnglish,wasn’the?”

“Bonneville?IsupposehemighthavebeenFrench.Hey,look!”

Thefirstpagewastypewritten,atitlepage,anditsaid:AnAnalysisof SomePhilosophical Implicationsof theRusakovField, byGerardBonneville,Ph.D.

“The Rusakov field!” saidMalcolm. “We were right! He did knowaboutit!”

“Andhe’sgotaPh.D.,look.LikeDr.Relf.Weoughttotakeallthistoher.”

“Yeah,”hesaid.“Ifweever…”

“Whatelseisinthefolder?”

He flipped through it. Densely typed pages, the text broken by

equationsfullofsignshehadneverseenbefore; therewasnowayofunderstandingit.Helookedattheopeningparagraph.

Since the discovery of the Rusakov field and the shocking butincontestable revelation that consciousness can no longer beregarded exclusively as a functionof thehumanbrain, the searchfor a particle associated with the field has been energeticallypursued by a number of researchers and institutions, without, sofar, any indication of success. In this paper I propose amethodology…

“Save that for later,” Malcolm said. “It’ll be interesting, though, Ibet.”

“What’snext?”

Thethird, fourth,andfifthfolderscontainedonlypapersthatwereunreadable.Themixtureofletters,numbers,andsymbolswaslikenolanguageMalcolmhadeverseen.

“Itmustbe code,”he said. “I betDr.Relf andOakleyStreet couldunderstandit.”

Therewasstillsomethingelseatthebottomoftherucksack,anditwasheavytoo.Apackagewrappedinoilskin,andinsidethatinthicksoftleather,andfinallyinblackvelvet,openeduptodiscloseasquarewoodenbox,asbigasthepalmofalargeman’shand,muchdecoratedwithmarquetryinexoticpatterns.

“Look at that!” Malcolm said, admiring the workmanship. “Thatmusthavetakenyears!”

“Howd’youopenit?”saidAsta,mouse-formed.

He lookedallrounditandsawnohinges,noclasp,nokeyhole,nowayinatall.

“Hmm,”hesaid.“Well,ifthere’snohinges…”

“Doesthelidjustliftoff?”

Hetriedandfounditdidn’t.

“If youwere amechanic—” she said, and got no further before heflickedheroffthegunwale.Butbeforeshehitthewater,shebecameabutterflyandflewuptoperchonhishair.

Heturnedtheboxroundslowly.Hepressedeverypartofitssurface,lookingforasecretcatch.

“Thatedge,there,”saidhisdæmon’sbutterflyvoice.“Whereit’ssortofgreen.”

“Whataboutit?”

“Pressitsideways.”

He did, quite gently, and then a little more forcefully, and feltsomethingmove.Anarrowpanelthatranthelengthoftheendoftheboxslidsidewaysforaboutthelengthofhisthumbnail.

“Ah,”hesaid.“That’sastart.”

He pushed it back, and then out again, feeling for some tinyloosenessanywherethatmightrevealwherethenextmovementcame.After a few moments he found it: the opposite side of the box sliddownwardsforthesamedistance.

“Gettingthere,”hesaid.

The firstpanel slid a little further, and then theother sidedid thesame, and then it happened a third time.But thatwas all.He couldpush them inback to the startingpointand thenoutagain,but theywouldonlymovethosethreesteps,andstilltheboxwasn’topen.

Helookedallround,felthereandthere,andthen…“Ah,”hesaid,“Igotit.”

When the sidewas as far downas itwould go, the top could slideout.Itwasassimpleasthat.

“Oh!”saidAsta.“Isthata…”

Inabedofblackvelvetlayagoldeninstrumentlikealargewatchora compass. Itwas themost beautiful thingMalcolm and his dæmonhadeverseen.ItwasjustasDr.Relfhaddescribedittohim,butfinerthanhecouldeverhave imagined.The thirty-sixpicturesaround thedialwereminuteandclear, the threehandsand theoneneedlewereexquisitely shaped out of some silver-gray metal, and a goldensunburstsurroundedthecenterofthedial.

“That’swhatitis,”hesaid,andhefoundhewaswhispering.

“Hideit.Putitbackstraightaway,”shesaid.“Lookatit later,whenwe’resomewhereelse.”

“Yeah.Yeah.You’reright.”

Hewas bewitched by its beauty, but he did as she said and put it

straightbackintothebox,wrappeditup,andthrustitintothebottomoftherucksack.

“Wherecanhehavegotthatfrom?”shewhispered.

“Stoleit.That’swhatIreckon.”

He fastened the rucksackagain and stowed itwhere itwasbefore,underthethwart.

“Dr.Relfsaidtherewassixoriginally,remember?”hesaid.“Andonewasmissing,because theyknewwhere fiveof themwerebutnot thesixth….Ibetthisisit.”

Therewassilencefromfurtherupinthegrassygladewherethefirewas,andwhenMalcolmgotbackthere,hesawwhy:Lyrawasasleeponthegrass,wrappedinasilkenblanketthecolorofsunshine,andthewomanwasbusydoingsomethingtoAlice’shair.Alicewaskneelinginfront of her, facing away, as thewomanbent over her andwith deftfingerswoveherhair into complexbraids, twisting flowers into it asshedid.Thebutterflieswerestillthere.Oneortwowererestingonthesleeping Pan, some on the woman’s shoulders and neck, and sometried to settle on Ben, who lay head on paws close to Alice; butwhenevertheydid,hegrowledverysoftlyanddeeply,andtheytookoffagain.

Alice’s expression was strange. She was embarrassed, but at thesametimeshewasshyanddelightedanddeterminedtobeasprettyasthewomanwantedher tobe.The lookshegaveMalcolmwasalmostfierce, as if daring him to laugh or roll his eyes, and there was apleadinginittoo.SincetheyhadkilledBonneville,theyhadbeenclosetoeachother,probablycloser thanMalcolmhad felt toanyone.Nowshe was being made to look different from the ratty, thin-faced girlwiththepermanentsneerandtheswiftfrown,hisclosestfriend.Nowshe was becoming almost pretty. He felt strange about that, and hecouldtellthatshedidtoo.

Helookedaway.

Thewomanwasmurmuringtoher,andMalcolmtriednottolisten.Hemovedfurtherawayandlaydownonthegrass.Thedaywaswarm,andhewassleepy.Heclosedhiseyes.

—

Someonewasshakinghisshoulder.ItwasAlice.

“Wakeup!Mal,wecan’tstayhere.Wakeup!”

Shewaswhispering,butheheardeveryword.

“Whycan’twestayhere?”hewhisperedback.

“Comeandseewhatshe’sdoing.”

Herolledoverandrubbedhiseyes.Thenhesatup.

“What?Whereisshe?”

“Bythefire.Justcomequietly.Don’tmakeanoise.”

Malcolm stood up and found himself still dazed with sleep. Shecaughthimbeforehefell.

“Youallright?”shesaid.

“Justdizzy.What’sshedoing?”

“Ican’t…Butyougottacomeandlook.”

Shetookhishandastheywalkedthelittlewayuptothefire.Itwaslate afternoon, nearly evening, and for the first time for months, itseemed toMalcolm, he could see a sunset. The skywas clear in thesouthwestandtheraysofthesunstruckthroughthetrees,red,warm,anddazzling.Ashissensesreturned,helookedbackatthecanoe,anditwasstillthere,andtherucksackwasstillundertheseat.Alicetuggedhishand:shedidn’twanttostop.

The little grassy glade was clearly illuminated, and right in themiddle of it sat Diania, bare-shouldered, bare-breasted, with Lyrasuckingvigorouslyatherrightnipple.Thewomanlookedupandgavethemasmilesostrangeshemighthavebeeninhuman.

“Whatareyoudoing?”saidMalcolm.

“Why,feedingthechild,ofcourse!Givinghergoodmilk.Lookathersuck!”

She lookeddownproudly.Thenipple slippedoutofLyra’smouth,andthewomanliftedheruptohershoulderandpattedherback.Lyraobliginglybelched,andthewomanpromptlybroughtherdownontheother side, and the child’s littlemouthbegan toworkopenand shutevenbeforeshe foundthenipple.Thensheclosedhereyesandwentonsuckingvigorously.

Malcolm thought that she never sucked the bottle like that. Asta

whispered,“Thiswomanistryingtostealher.”

MalcolmtuggedatAlice’shand,andtogethertheyleftthelittlegladeandwentbacktothecanoe.

“She’snotgood!”saidAstapassionately.

“No,sheen’t,”saidAlice’sdæmon.

“She’snotdoingheranyharm,”saidMalcolm,butheknewitwasn’ttrueassoonashesaidit.

“She’s doing that tomake her belong to her,” saidAlice. “She en’tnormal,Mal.Sheen’tproperhuman.Seethembutterflies?Well,whichone’sherdæmon?”

“Ithinktheyallare.”

“Well,whereweretheyjustnow?”

“I…Theyweren’tthere.”

“They were. They were all over Pan. You couldn’t hardly see him.She’sdoingsomemagicorsumming,Iswear.Youknowthefairies,instories?Well,theytakehumanchildren.”

“Butnotreally,”saidMalcolm.“Onlyinstories.”

“Butstoryafterstory,andsongstoo,theyallsaythathappens.Theystealkidsandthey’reneverseenagain.It’strue,”shesaid.

“Well,normally…,”saidMalcolm.

“It’s not normal!” said Asta. “Nothing’s normal. Everything’schangedaftertheflood.”

Asta was right—nothing was normal anymore. Malcolm tried torememberthefairytalesheknew.Couldyoubargainwithfairies?Didtheykeeptheirpromises?Therewassomethingaboutnames….

“We’vegottogetherback,”hesaid.

“Let’s just go and ask her,” said Alice. “Then we’ll know rightenough.”

“We’vegottogetreadytogostraightaway.Ifwestayhere,she’lljuststealLyrawhenwe’reasleep.”

“Yeah,” said Alice. “But we can’t pack all our stuff without herseeing.It’simpossible.”

“Igotanidea,”saidMalcolm.

Astaflewoffhisshoulderandbegantosearchforastoneoftherightsize,whilehetooktherucksackoutofthecanoe.

“Whatyoudoing?”saidAlice.“What’sthat?”

He opened the box and showed her the alethiometer. Her eyeswidened.

“Here’sone,”saidAstafromalittlewayoff,“butIcan’t…”

Alicehelpedherpull the stoneoutof thegroundandwashed it inthewater.Meanwhile,Malcolmwrappedthealethiometerinthevelvetandtheleatherandoilskinandstuffeditbackintotherucksack.Alice’seyesgleamedwithapprovalasheputthestoneintheboxandcloseditagain.

“I’lltellyoumorelater,”hesaid.

Then, alethiometer and box separately in the rucksack over hisshoulder, they went back to the glade. The woman was still feedingLyra,butwhentheyarrived,shetookthechildawayfromherbreast.Lyrawasnearlyasleepandutterlyreplete.

“Shewon’thavehadmilklikethatbefore,”saidthewoman.

“No,andthankyouforfeedingher,”saidMalcolm,“butwe’regoingtogonow.”

“Won’tyoustayanothernight?”

“No.Weneedtogo.It’sbeenkindofyoutoletusstayhere,butit’stimewewenton.”

“Well,ifyoumust,thenyoumust.”

“Andwe’lltakeEllienow.”

“No,youwon’t.She’smine.”

Malcolm’s heart was beating so hard he could hardly stand up.Alice’shandfoundhis.

“We’re taking her,” she said, “because she’s ours. We know whatwe’redoingwithher.”

“She’smine.She’sdrunkmymilk.Lookathowhappysheis inmyarms!She’sgoingtostaywithme.”

“Whyd’youthinkyoucandothis?”saidMalcolm.

“BecauseIwantto,andIhavethepower.Ifshecouldspeak,she’dsayshewantedtostayheretoo.”

“Whatareyougoingtodowithher?”

“Bringheruptobeoneofmypeople,ofcourse.”

“Butsheisn’toneofyourpeople.”

“Sheisnowshe’sdrunkmymilk.Youcan’talterthat.”

“Anyway,whatpeopled’youmean?”

“Theoldestpeople thereare.The first inhabitantsofAlbion.She’llbeaprincess.She’llbeoneofus.”

“Look,” saidMalcolm, swinging the rucksack down to the ground,“I’llgiveyouatreasuretohaveinstead.”

“Whatsortoftreasure?”

“Atreasurefitforaqueen.Youareaqueen,en’tyou?”

“Ofcourse.”

“Areyouafairyperson?”

“Whereisthistreasure?”

Malcolmbroughtoutthebox.

“Letmesee,”shesaid.

“LetmeholdEllie,andthenyoucanlookproperly,”saidAlice.

ButDianiaheldthechildcloserandgaveAlicealookthatfrightenedher.

“YouthinkI’mstupid?Everytrickyoucanthinkof,I’veseenitandhearditathousandtimesbefore.Howwouldapairofchildrenlikeyoube inchargeofa treasure?Itdoesn’tmakesense.Noonewouldgiveyouatreasuretolookafter.”

“Thenwhyarewelookingafterababy?”saidAlice.

“That’smucheasiertoexplain,”shesaid.

AndthatwasthemomentMalcolmhadbeenwaitingfor.

“If you can explain it,” he said, “then you can keep her, and thetreasureaswell.”

ThewomanlookedathimandcuddledLyracloser,rockingherbackandforth.

“IfIcanexplain…”

“If you can explain howme and Sandra came to be looking afterEllie,thenshecanstaywithyou.”

Thewomanwasthinking.

“Howmanychances?”shesaid.“Iwantmorethanone.”

“Youcanhavethree.”

“Three. All right. First: she is your sister, and your parents havedied.Theylefthertoyoutolookafter.”

“Wrong,”saidMalcolm.“Twomorechances.”

“Allright…Two:youstoleherfromhercribandyou’retakinghertoLondontosell.”

“That’swrongtoo.Onlyonechanceleft.”

“Onlyone…onlyone…Verywell.Letmesee.Iknow!Shewasinthecareof thenuns, and then the flood came, andyouandSandra tookherfromhercribandputherinyourboat,andyouweresweptawaybythefloodandtherewasamanchasingyou,andthenyoukilledhim,and then she was taken by the Sisters of Holy Obedience, and yourescuedherandbroughtherhere.”

“Whodid?”

“Youdid.RichardandSandra.”

“Broughtwhohere?”

“Ellie,ofcourse!”

“Well,you’rewrongforthethirdtime,”saidMalcolm,“becausethisisAlice,notSandra,andI’mMalcolm,notRichard,andthebaby’snotEllie,she’sLyra.Youlost.”

Andthenthewomanopenedhermouthandutteredawailso loudandterriblethatMalcolmhadtocoverhisears.Sheopenedherarms,andLyrafelloutandwouldhavehitthegroundifAlicehadn’tdartedinandcaughther.Thewomanputherhandstoherhead,tearsfloodedfromhereyes,andsheflungherself full-lengthonthegrass,weepingwithapassionthattouchedMalcolm’sheartwithfear.

Buthegathereduptheirblanketsandtheirtinofbiscuitsandheldoutthewoodenbox.

“Ipromisedyouatreasure,”hesaid,“andhereitis.”

Thewomanwassobbingbitterly;herwholebodywasheavingwiththegulpsthatrackedher.

“Here,”hesaidagain,andputitdownonthegrass.

Thewomanrolledoverontoherbackandflungherheadfromsidetoside.

“Mybaby!”shecried.“You’retakingmybabyaway!”

“No,she’snotyourbaby,”saidMalcolm.

“Iwaitedforathousandyearstoholdababytomybreast!Andshe’sdrunkmymilk!She’smine!”

“We’regoingawaynow.Look,Iputthetreasuredownhere.”

Shesatup,sobbingsomuchthatshecouldhardlyholdherbalance.Onehandwipedawaythetearsthatfloodedherface,andtheotherfeltalongthegroundtillitfoundthebox.

“Whatisthis?”

“Itoldyou.Treasure.We’regoingnow.Thankyouforlettingusstayforabit.”

Thewomangot toherknees,and then flungherselfatAlice’s feet,clinging to her legs. Alice looked alarmed and held Lyra out of herreach.

“He doesn’t understand—he never would—how could a manunderstand?Butyou—”

“No,”saidAlice.

“DidyoulookintheglassafterIarrangedyourhair?”

“Yes…”

“Anddidyoulikeit?”

“Yes.But…”

“I couldmake youbeautiful. I couldmake your face so lovely thateverymanwouldbeyourslave.Icoulddothat!Ihavethatpower!”

Alice’s lips were set tight. Malcolm just looked at her helplessly.

SomethinghadtoldhimalreadythatAlicewasdiscontentedwithherlooks. He could read her face now, and he saw a succession ofemotions pass over it, some too hard for him to name or to know.Finallyitsettledintotheusualhalf-sneeringcontempt.

“You’realiar,”shesaid.“Letgoofmylegs.”

Thewomandid,sobbingagain,butwithouthopethistime.Malcolmfelttrulysorryforher.Butwhatcouldtheydo?

Hequietlywalkedaway.Alicewentwithhim,Lyrasilentandasleepinherarms.

Heturnedaroundoncemoreandsawthewomansittingup,turningtheboxoverandoverinherhands.

“What’sshegoingtodowhensheopensit?”Alicewhispered.

“Sheneverwill.”

“Howd’youknow?”

“ ’Causeshe’snotamechanic.”

The canoe was safe; he had been anxious about that. He held itsteadyforAlice,andwhensheandthechildweresettledintheprowandtherucksackwasstowedunderthethwart,hegot inhimselfandtook the paddle and propelled La Belle Sauvage away from theenchantedisland.

Inthefloodofnewsthatfollowedthefloodofwater,newsthatwasfullof collapsing buildings, daring rescues, drownings, anddisappearances, the information that a religious community nearOxford had been devastated by the deaths of several nuns and thedestruction of a medieval gatehouse was a minor item. Many otherplaces and communities had fared even worse. Trying to locate therelevantfactsamongtheimmensevolumeofinformationwasnoeasytask for theConsistorialCourtofDisciplineor forOakleyStreet;butOakleyStreethadaslightadvantage,thankstoHannahRelf,andwasabletostartsearchingforaboyandgirlinacanoe,withababy,beforetheoppositiondid.

However, the CCD was better resourced. Oakley Street had threevessels—the boat Bud Schlesinger had hired from Tilbury, and twogyptian narrowboats, with Nugent in one and Papadimitriou in theother—whereastheCCDhadseven,includingfourfastpowerboats.Onthe other hand, in the gyptians the Oakley Street boats had well-informed and greatly experienced guides to all the waterways. TheCCD had little to rely on but the fear they caused when they askedquestionswiththeircustomaryforce.

SothetwosidessetoutinsearchofLaBelleSauvageandhercrewand passengers, the Oakley Street boats from Oxford and the CCDfromvariouspointsdownriver.

But the weather was unhelpful, the flood all-consuming, and theconfusion universal. Besides, Lord Nugent soon found himselfwondering whether this deluge was altogether natural. It seemed tohim and his gyptian companions that the inundation had a strangersource than the weather because it had begun to cause curious

illusions and to behave in unexpected ways. At one point, they lostsightofall landaltogetherandmighthavebeenoutontheocean.Atanother,Nugentwascertainthathecouldseeabeastlikeacrocodileatleastaslongastheboatshadowingthemwithouteverquiterevealingitself; and thenonenight thereweremysterious lightsmovingbelowthesurface,andthesoundofanorchestraplayingmusicsuchasnoneofthemhadheardbefore.

It wasn’t long before Nugent overheard his gyptian companionsusingaphrasetodescribethephenomena,aphrasethatwasunknownto him. They called the flood and all its effects part of the secretcommonwealth.Heasked themwhat thatmeant,but theywouldsaynomoreaboutit.

Sotheymovedon,andstillLaBelleSauvageevadedthem.

—

Thefloodwasrunningsmoothly,likeagreatriver,suchastheAmazonortheNile,whichMalcolmhadreadabout—anunimaginablevolumeofwater carriedonwardswithno snags,no rocks,no shoals, andnoharshwindortempesttoflingthesurfaceintowaves.

Thesunwentdownandgaveway to themoon.MalcolmandAlicesaidnothing,andLyraslepton.MalcolmthoughtAlicewasasleeptoo,untilsometimehadgoneby.

Thenshesaid,“Areyouhungry?”

“No.”

“Norme.I’d’vethoughtwewouldbe,beingasween’teatenanythingforhours….”

“Lyratoo.”

“Fairymilk,” she said. “Iwonderwhat it’ll do….It’llmakeher partfairy.”

“Weatefairyfoodtoo.”

“Themeggs.Yeah,Is’posewedid.”

They floated on over the moonlight-scintillating water, as if theyweresharingthesamedream.

“Mal,”shesaid.

“What?”

“How’dyouknowhowtofoolherlikethat?Iwasthinkingit’dneverwork,butassoonassherealizedshe’dgotthenameswrong…”

“I remembered Rumpelstiltskin, and I thought names must beimportanttofairies,somaybeit’dwork.But ifyouhadn’tusedthosefake names in the first place, we wouldn’t have been able to try it,even.”

They said nothing for another minute, and then Malcolm said,“Alice,arewemurderers?”

She thought, and finally said, “Hemight not be dead.We can’t besure.Wedidn’twanttokillhim.Thatwasn’ttheplanatall.WewerejustdefendingLyra.En’tthatright?”

“That’swhatItryandthink.Butwe’rethieves,certainly.”

“ ’Causeoftherucksack?Nosenseinleavingitthere.Someoneelsewould’vetookit.Andifwehadn’thadthatbox…Mal,thatwasbrilliant.Icouldn’tnever’vethoughtofthat.Yousavedusthen.AndgettingLyraoutofthatbigwhitepriory…”

“Istillfeelbad.”

“AboutBonneville?”

“Yeah.”

“Is’pose…Theonlythingtodois—”

“Doyoufeelbadabouthim?”

“Yeah. But then I think what he done to Sister Katarina. And…Inevertoldyouwhathesaidtome,didI?”

“When?”

“ThatfirstnightIsawhim.InJericho.”

“No…”

“Norwhathedid.”

“Whatdidhedo?”

“Afterheboughtmefishandchips,hesaid, ‘Let’sgoforawalkonthemeadow.’AndIthought,Well,heseemsnice….”

“Itwasnighttime,wasn’tit?Whydidhewanttogoforawalk?”

“Well,he—hewanted…”

Malcolmsuddenlyfeltfoolish.“Oh,right,”hesaid.“I—Sorry.Yeah.”

“Don’tworryaboutit.Thereen’tbeenmanyboyswantedthatwithme.SeemsIscare’emofforsumming.Buthewasaproperman,andIcouldn’tresist.WewentdownWaltonWellRoadandoverthebridge,andthenhekissedmeandtoldmeIwasbeautiful.That’sallhedid.Ifeltsomanythings,Ican’ttellyou,Mal.”

Something glittered on her cheek, and he saw to his immensesurprise that tearswere flowing fromhereyes.Hervoicewasa littleunsteady.Shewenton.

“But I’d always thought that if it ever happened, right, if it everhappened to me, then the other person’s dæmon would kind of…benice tomy dæmon too. That’s what happens in stories. That’s whatpeopletellyou.ButBen,he…”

Herdæmon,greyhound-formed,puthisheadunderherhand.Sheplayedwithhisears.Malcolmwatchedandsaidnothing.

“Thatbloodyhyena,”shewenton,andshewassobbingnow.“Thatbloody violent…It was horrible….It was impossible. She was nevergoingtobenice.Hewas,Bonnevillewas,hewanted togoonkissingme,butIcouldn’t,notwithhergrowlingandbitingand…andpissing.Shepissedlikeitwasaweapon….”

“Isawherdothat,”saidMalcolm.

“So I had to say to him, ‘No, I can’t, no more,’ and then he justlaughedandpushedmeaway.Anditcouldhavebeen…Ithoughtitwasgoingtobethebestthing….Andintheenditwasjustscornandhate.ButIwassotornaboutit,Mal,’causefirstofallhewassogentleandsosweettome….Hesaidittwice,thatIwasbeautiful.NooneeversaidthattomeandIthoughtnooneeverwould.”

She dragged a torn handkerchief from a pocket and mopped hereyes.

“Andwhenthat fairywomandonemyhairwithall themblossomsandthatandshowedmeinthemirror,Ithought…Well,maybe.Ijustthoughtthat.”

“Youarepretty,”saidMalcolm.“Well,Ithinkso.”

He tried tosound loyal.He felt loyal.ButAlicegaveashort,bitterlaughandwipedhereyesagain,sayingnothing.

“When I first saw him in the priory garden,” he said, “I was deadafraid. He just stepped out of the dark and said nothing, and thathyenajuststoodandpissedonthepath.Butlaterthatsameevening,hecameintheTroutandmydadhadtoservehim.He’ddonenothingwrong, Bonneville, nothing that anyone knew about, but the othercustomersallmovedaway.Theyjustdidn’tlikehim.Asiftheyknewallabouthimalready.ButthenIcamein,andhewassofriendlyIthoughtImustbewrong,I’dmistakenwhatIsaw,andhewasreallynice.AndallthetimehewasafterLyra….”

“SisterKatarinadidn’thaveachance,”saidAlice.“Shehadnohopeatall.Hecouldhavegotanythinghewanted.”

“Henearlydid.Ifthefloodhadn’tbegun…”

“D’youthinkhereallywantedtokillLyra?”shesaid.

“It seemed like it. I can’t imaginewhat elsehe couldhavewanted.Maybetokidnapher.”

“Maybe…”

“Wehadtodefendher.”

“Course.”

Andheknewthattheyhadto—theyhadnochoice.Hewasperfectlysureaboutthat.

“Whatwas that thingyou tookoutof thebox?”Aliceaskedafteraminuteortwo.

“An alethiometer. I think so, anyway—I never seen one. But therewasonlysixevermade,andtheyknowwherefiveofthemare,butonewasmissingforyears.Ithinkmaybethisisthemissingone.”

“Whatwouldhehavedonewithit?”

“Maybehecouldreadit.Butyouneedyearsoftraining….Hemighthavetriedtosortofuseitforbargaining.Hewasaspy.”

“Howd’youknow?”

“Thepapersintherucksack.Loadsof’emareincode.I’lltakethemtoDr.Relf,ifweevergetback….”

“Youthinkwemightnot?”

“No. I thinkof coursewe’ll get back.This—what’s happeningnow,

onthefloodandall—it’sakindof…Idon’tknowhowtomakeitclear.It’sakindofbetween-time.Likeadreamorsomething.”

“It’sallinourheads?It’snotreal?”

“No,notthat.It’sasrealasanythingcouldbe.ButitjustseemskindofbiggerthanIthought.There’smorethingsinit.”

Hewanted to tell her about the spangled ring,butknew that if hedid,themeaningofitwouldcomeapartandbelost.Thatwouldhavetowaittillhewasmorecertainofithimself.

“But we’re getting closer to London and to Lord Asriel,” he said,“andthenwe’llgobacktoOxford’causethefloodwillhavegonedownbythen.AndI’llseemy…”

Hewasgoing tosaymumanddad, buthe couldn’t say thewords,becausehe found a sob chokinghis throat, and then another, as theimagescamepouringintohismemory:hismother’skitchen,hercalm,sardonicpresence,shepherd’spiesandapplecrumblesandsteamandwarmth, and his father laughing and telling stories and reading thefootballresultsandlisteningasMalcolmtoldhimaboutthistheoryorthatdiscoveryandbeingproudofhim;andbeforehecouldhelpit,hewassobbingasifhishearthadbeenbroken,anditwashisfatetodriftforeveronaworldwideflood,furtherandfurtherawayfromeverythingthatwashome,andtheywouldneverknowwherehewas.

Only a day or two before, hewould rather have had his right armtornoffthancryinfrontofAlice.Thiswaslikebeingnakedinfrontofher, but strangely it didn’tmatter, because shewasweeping herself.The length of the boat and the sleeping Lyra lay between them, orotherwise,hefelt,theywouldhaveembracedandwepttogether.

Asitwas,theyeachsobbedforawhile,andthenquietly,gently,thelittle stormsdieddown.Andstill the canoe floatedon, and stillLyraslept,andstilltheyfeltnohunger.

—

Andstilltheysawnowheretolandandrest.Malcolmthoughtthefloodmusthavebeenat itshighestnow,becausealthoughtherewere littlegroupsoftreesabovethewaterhereandthere,therewasnolandtobeseen—no islands of the sort they’d rested on before, no hills, nohousetops,norocks.TheymighthavebeenontheAmazon,whichwassowide,Malcolmhadread,thatfromthemiddleyoucouldseeneither

ofthebanks.

For the first timea littlequestion came intoMalcolm’smind:JustsupposetheydidmanagetogettoLondon,andthatLondonwasstillstanding after this flood…Would it be hard to find Lord Asriel?MalcolmhadsaidgliblytoAlicethatitwouldbeeasytofindhim,butwoulditreally?

Hedarednotclosehiseyes,tiredashewas, forfearofrunningLaBelle Sauvage over some dangerous obstacle, and yet he didn’t feelinclinedtosleepeither,becausehehadpassedintoastatebeyondthat,ashewasbeyondhunger.Maybesleepingonthefairy’s islandmeantyouneverneededtosleepagain.

AndLyraslepton,calmandsilentandstill.

—

Whentheyhadbeenquietforanhour,Malcolmbegantonoticeanewkind ofmovement in the water. There was a definite current in thegreatwideflood,notallofit,butastreamwithinitmovingwithwhatfeltlikepurpose.Andtheywerecaughtinit.

To beginwith, itwas very little faster than the vast body ofwateraroundthem,and itmighthavebeenmoving like that forsometimewithout their noticing.WhenMalcolmwoke up to it, though, it hadalready become like a separate river inside the larger one. Hewonderedwhetherheshouldtrytopaddleoutofitandbackontothevastslowmirrorof themainflood,butwhenhetried it,hefoundLaBelleSauvagemovedherheadalmostintentionallytofollowthefasterstream,andwhenhe’dnoticedthat,hefoundthatitwastoostrongforhimtopaddleagainstanyway.Iftheyhadtwopaddles,andifAlicewasawake— But they didn’t. He rested the paddle across his knees andtriedtoseewheretheyweregoing.

ButAlicewasawake.

“What’sgoingon?”shesaid.

“There’sacurrentinthewater.It’sallright.It’stakingusintherightdirection.”

Shesatup,notquitealarmedbutcurious.

“Yousure?”shesaid.

“Ithinkso.”

Themoon had almost set; itwas the darkest hour of night. A fewstars shone, and their reflections shook and broke up, silverscintillatingintheblackwater.Malcolmlookedallaroundthehorizonandsawnothingasclearasanislandoratreeoracliff;butwasn’tthatsomethingahead—athickerblacknessatonepoint?

“Whatyoulookingat?”saidAlice.

“Deadahead…something…”

Sheturnedaround,peeringbackoverhershoulder.

“Yeah,thereis.Arewegoingstraightforit?Can’tyoupaddleusoutofthiscurrent?”

“I’vetried.It’stoostrong.”

“It’sanisland.”

“Yeah…Couldbe…Itmustbedeserted.There’snolightsatall.”

“We’regoingtocrashintoit!”

“Thecurrent’lltakeusroundonesideortheother,”hesaid,buthewasfarfromcertain.Itlookedexactlyasiftheywereheadingdirectlyfor the island,andas theygot closer,Malcolmcouldhear somethingthathedidn’tlikeatall.SocouldAlice.

“That’sawaterfall,”shesaid.“Canyouhearit?”

“Yeah.We’llhavetohangontight.Butit’safairwayoffyet….”

Anditwas,butitwasgettingcloser.Hetriedagaintopaddlehardtotheright,whichhismuscleslikedbetterthantheleft;butashardashedugandasfastasheworked,itmadenodifferenceatall.

Therewasanotherthingaboutthesoundofthewaterfall:itseemedtobecomingfromwithinthebodyoftheisland,deepundertheearth.He cursed himself for not noticing the current sooner, and notpaddlingoutwhileithadstillbeenweakenoughtolethim.

“Keep your head down!” he shouted, because they were makingstraightforthedarkflankoftheisland,heavywithvegetation—andthestreamwasgoingevenfaster—

Andthentherewasacrashingandasweepingoflowbranchesandsharptwigs,andheonlyjustthrewhisarmupacrosshisfaceintime,and they were in a tunnel, in the utter dark, and all the clamor ofrushing water and booming was resounding from the walls close

aroundtheirheads.

Henearlyshouted,“HoldtighttoLyra!”butheknewhedidn’tneedto tell Alice that. He hooked his left arm through one strap of therucksack, jammedthepaddle tightunderhis feet,andheldonto thegunwaleswithallhisstrength—

Andthesoundofcrashingwaterwasalmostuponthem,andthenitwas there,and thecanoepitched forwardviolentlyandMalcolmwasdrenched with icy water and shaken hard—Alice cried out in fear—Malcolmyelled,“Holdon!Holdon!”

But then, of all things, came a burst of happy laughter from thechild.Lyrawasbesideherselfwithglee.Nothingintheworld,nothingshe had ever seen or heard, had pleased her more than this crazyplungedownawaterfallinthetotaldarkness.

ShewasinAlice’sarms—butwasAlicesafe?

Malcolm called again, his boy’s voice high and frightened over theroarofthewater:“Alice—Alice—Alice—”

Andthen,assuddenlyasifalighthadbeenswitchedon,thecanoeshot out of the cavern, out of the cataract, out of the dark, and theywerebobbingcalmlyonagentlestreamflowingbetweengreenbanksbythelightofathousandglowinglanterns.

“Alice!”

She was lying unconscious with her arms around Lyra. Ben laybesideher,completelystill.

Malcolm took up the paddle with shaking hands and moved thecanoeswiftlytowardsthe left-handbank,whereasmoothlawncamedowntoalittlelanding.Inamomenthe’dmadetheboatfast,AstahadcarriedPanupontothebank,andhehadliftedLyrafromAlice’sgraspandsatherdownonthegrass,whereshechatteredwithpleasure.

Then he leaned down into the canoe and moved Alice’s head asgentlyashecould.Shehadbeenshakenaboutsomuchthatherheadhadcrashedintothegunwale,butshewasalreadymoving,andtherewasnoblood.

“Oh,Alice!Canyouhearme?”

Heclumsilyembracedher,andthenpulledbackasshestruggledtositup.

“Where’sLyra?”shesaid.

“Onthegrass.She’sfine.”

“Littlebugger.Shethoughtitwasfun.”

“Shestilldoes.”

Withhishelp,Alicestumbledoutofthecanoeandontothelanding,Benfollowingcautiously.AstawasimpatienttogoandseetoPan,sotheymoveduptositonthegrassbesideLyra,exhausted,shaking,andlookedaround.

They found themselves inagreatgarden,wherepathsandbedsofflowers were set in immense lawns of soft grass, which glowed abrilliantgreeninthelightofthelanterns.Orweretheylanterns?Thereseemed to be large blossoms on every branch of every tree, glowingwith soft, warm light; and there were so many trees that light waseverywhere on the ground, though above there was nothing but avelvet black thatmight have been amillionmiles away, or nomorethansixfeet.

Thelawnsslopeduptoaterracethatranalongthefrontofagrandhouse where every window was brightly lit, and where people (toosmalltoseeindetailatthatdistance)movedabout,asifataballorareceptionforimportantguests.Theydancedbehindthewindows;theystoodtalkingontheterrace;theywanderedhereandthereamongthefountainsandtheflowersinthegarden.Scrapsofawaltzplayedbyalargeorchestradrifteddowntothetravelersonthegrass,andscrapsofconversationtoo,fromthepeoplewhowerewalkingtoandfro.

Ontheotherbankofthelittlerivertherewas…nothingtoseeatall.A thick fog covered everything beyond the edge of the water. Fromtime to time somethingwouldmake the fog swirl and seemabout topart,but itneverdid.Whether theoppositebankwas like thisone—cultivated,beautiful,wealthy—oranemptydesert,theycouldn’ttell.

SoMalcolm andAlice sat amazed on the garden side of the river,pointingtothismarvelandthat:aglowingfountain,atreeladenwithgoldenpears,aschoolofrainbow-coloredfishthatsprangupoutofthestream,allmovingasone,andturnedtheirheadstolookatthemwiththeirgoggleeyes.

Malcolmstoodup, feelingstiffandpainful,andAlicesaid, “Whereyougoing?”

“I’mjustgoingtobailthecanoeout.Putthingsouttodry.”

The fact was that he was dizzy with all this strangeness, and hehoped that by attending to something dull and workmanlike he’dregainalittlebalance.

He tookoutall thewet things, theblanketsandpillowsandLyra’ssodden clothes, and laid them flat on the planks of the landing. Heinspectedthetinandfoundthebiscuitsshakentopiecesbutnotdamp,and the matches were safe as well. Then he unrolled the coal-silktarpaulinand laid thatout todryon thegrass.Therucksackwith itspreciouscargo,whichhe’dhadoverhisshoulder,waswetonlyontheoutside; the canvas had been stout enough to protect the folders ofpaper,andthealethiometerwassnuginitsoilskin.

Helaideverythingcarefullyonthelittlewoodenjettyandmadehiswaybacktotheothers.AlicewasplayingwithLyra,holdingherupsoher feet touched theground,pretending tomakeherwalk.Thechildwasstillinhighspirits,andblackbirdBenwashelpingPantalaimonflyas high as he could, which was not quite high enough to reach thelowestbranchesofalight-bearingtree.

“Whatd’youwanttodo?”saidAlicewhenMalcolmcameback.

“Goandsee thathouse.See ifanyonetherecantelluswhereLordAsriellives.Youneverknow.Theyalllooklikelordsandladies.”

“Comeon,then.Youcarryherforabit.”

“We might find something to eat too. And somewhere to changeher.”

Lyra was lighter than the rucksack but awkwarder, because therucksack’sweightwastakenontheshoulders,whereascarryingLyra,Malcolm soon remembered, involved both arms. Nor was she veryfragrant. Alice happily took the rucksack, and Malcolm went alongbesideher,withLyrasquirmingandcomplaininginhisarms.

“No,youcan’tgowithAliceallthetime,”hetoldher.“Yougottoputupwithme.Assoonaswegetuptothatprettyhouseonthehill,see,with all those lights, we’ll change your nappy and give you a feed.That’sallyouwant.Won’tbelongnow….”

But itwasgoing to take longer than they thought.Thepath to thepalaceledthroughthegardens,amongthelittletreeswithlights,pastthebedsofrosesandliliesandotherflowers,pastafountainwithblue

water and then another with water that sparkled and a third thatsprayedupnotwaterbutsomethinglikeeaudecologne—andafterallthat,thetravelersseemednotayardclosertothebuildingonthehill.They could see every window, every column, every one of the stepsleading to the great opendoor and thebrightly lit space inside; theycould see people moving about behind the tall windows; they couldeven hear the sound ofmusic, as if a ball was in progress; but theywerejustasfarfromthepalaceastheywerewhentheystarted.

“Thispathmustbelaidoutlikeasoddingmaze,”saidAlice.

“Let’sgostraightacrossthegrass,”saidMalcolm.“Ifwekeepitrightinfrontofus,wecan’tgowrong.”

So they tried that. If they came to a path, they crossed it. If theycametoafountain,theywentrounditandcarriedstraighton.Iftheycametoaflowerbed,theywentrightthroughit.Andstilltheywerenocloser.

“Oh,bollocks,”saidAlice,droppingtherucksackonthegrass.“Thisisdrivingmemad.”

“It’snotreal,”saidMalcolm.“Notnormal,anyway.”

“There’ssomeonecoming.Let’saskthem.”

Wandering towards them was a little group of two men and twowomen.Malcolm put Lyra down on the grass; she began towail, soAlicewearilypickedherup.Malcolmwaitedonthepathforthepeopleto come closer. Theywere young and elegant, dressed for a ball, thewomeninlonggownsthatlefttheirarmsandshouldersbare,themeninblack-and-whiteeveningdress,andtheyeachcarriedaglass.Theywere laughingand talking in that light,happyway thatMalcolmhadseen loversdoing, and theirbirddæmons flutteredaroundor settledontheirshoulders.

“Excuseme,”hesaidastheyapproached,“but…”

Theyignoredhimandwalkedcloser.Malcolmsteppedrightinfrontofthem.

“Sorrytobotheryou,butd’youknowhowwecan—”

Theytooknonoticewhatsoever.Itwasasifhedidn’texist,exceptasan obstacle in the path. Twowent on one side of him, laughing andchatting, and twowent on the other, hand in hand,murmuring into

each other’s ears. Asta became a bird and flew up to talk with theirdæmons.

“Theywon’tlisten!Theydon’tseemasiftheycanseeusatall!”shesaid.

“Excuseme!Hello!”Malcolmsaidmore loudly, and ranaround infront of them again. “We need to know how to get to the house upthere,whateveritis.Canyou…”

Andagaintheywalkedaroundhim,takingnonotice.Itwasexactlyasifhewasinvisible,inaudible,impalpable.Hepickedupalittlestonefromthepathandthrewit,andithitoneofthemenonthebackofthehead,butitmightaswellhavebeenamoleculeofair,forallthenoticehetook.

Malcolm looked back at Alice and spread his hands. She wasscowling.

“Rudesods,”shesaid.

Lyrawascryingproperlynow.Malcolmsaid, “I’ll lighta fire.Thenwecanwarmsomewaterforher,atleast.”

“Where’sthecanoe?Canwefindourwaybacktoit,oristhatgoingtoplaytrickswithusaswell?”

“It’s just there—look,” he said, pointing back fifty yards or so. “Allthatwalking,andwehardlygotanywhere.Maybeit’smagic.Itdoesn’tmakeanybloodysenseanyway.”

He found that he could return to the canoe in just a few steps.Somehowthatwasn’tsurprising.HegatheredeverythingtheyneededforthechildandmadehiswaybacktoAlice.Hepluckedsometwigsfromthenearesttreeandbrokeoffafewshortbranches,shreddingthetwigsandplacingthemaswellashecouldbeforestrikingamatch.Thefirecaughtatonce.Hesnappedthebranchesintoshorterpieces,anditwas easy, as if they had been designed to break to exactly the rightlength,andtobedryenoughtoburntoo,justoffthetree.

“It doesn’t seem to mind us making a fire. It’s only going to thehouseitdoesn’twantusdoing.I’llgetsomewater.”

The fountain he walked to was closer than he thought, the waterfreshandcleanashefilledthesaucepan.They’dtakensomebottlesofwater from the pharmacy—it seemed very long ago now—and he

refilledthoseaswell.

“Everything’s infavorofus,exceptthehouseandthepeople,”saidAsta.

Severalpeoplehadwalkedpastthefire,andnotonehadstoppedtoaskabout itortell themoff.Malcolmhadbuilt itonthegrassonlyafew feet from one of themain paths, but, like him, it seemed to beinvisible.More young lovers, oldermen andwomen too, grave gray-haired statesman-looking figures, grandmotherly women in old-fashionedgowns,middle-agedpeoplefullofpowerandresponsibility—all kindsof guests, andnot only guests:waiterswith trays of freshglasses of wine or plates of canapés moved here and there amongthem.Malcolm lifted one of the plates away as thewaiterwent pastandtookittoAlice.

“I’mgoingtochangeherfirst,”shesaid,hermouthfullofasmoked-salmonsandwich.“She’llbemorecomfortablethen.I’llfeedherafter.”

“D’youneedmorewater?That’llbetoohot,what’sinthepannow.”

But it was exactly right to wash her with. Alice opened Lyra’sgarments,mopped her clean, dried her easily in thewarm air. ThenshewenttolookforsomewheretoputthedirtynappywhileMalcolmplayed with the child and fed her bits of smoked salmon. Lyra spatthemout,andwhenMalcolmlaughedather,shefrownedandclampedhermouthshut.

WhenAlice cameback, she said, “Have you seen any rubbishbinshere?”

“No.”

“Nor’veI.ButwhenIwantedone,thereitwas.”

Itwasjustonemorepuzzle.ThesaucepanhadboiledandthewaterhadcooledenoughforLyra’sbottle,soAlicefilleditandstartedtofeedher.Malcolmwanderedaboutthegrass,lookingatthelittletreeswithglowingblossomsandlisteningtothebirdsthat flewandsanginthebranchesasprettilyasnightingales.

Astaflewuptojointhem,andsooncameback.

“Just like you and the people on the path!” she said. “They didn’tseemtoseeme!”

“Weretheyyoungbirdsorgrown-upones?”

“Grown-upones,Ithink.Why?”

“Well,everyonewe’veseenisgrownup.”

“Butit’sasortofgrandeveningcocktailpartykindofthing,oraball,somethinglikethat.Therewouldn’tbeanykidsaroundanyway.”

“Still,”saidMalcolm.

TheywentbacktoAlice.

“Here,youdoit,”shesaid.

He tookLyra,whohadno time to complainbeforeheplugged thebottle in again. Alice stretched out full-length on the grass. Ben andAstalaydowntoo,bothsnakes,eachonetryingtobelonger.

“He never used to fool around,” said Alice quietly, meaning herdæmon.

“Astafoolsaroundallthetime.”

“Yeah.Iwish…”Hervoicefaltered.

“What?”hesaidafterafewmoments.

She looked at Ben and, seeing him fully occupied with Asta, saidquietly,“IwishIknewwhenhe’dstopchangingandsettle.”

“Whatd’youthinkhappenswhentheystopchanging?”

“Whatd’youmean?”

“Imean,willtheystopbeingabletodoitsuddenlyoneday,orwilltheyjustdoitlessandless?”

“Dunno. My mum always said, ‘Don’t worry about it, it’ll justhappen.’ ”

“Whatwouldyoulikehimtosettleas?”

“Summingpoisonous,”shesaiddecisively.

Henodded.Morepeoplecamepast,allkindsofpeople,andamongthemwerefaceshethoughtheremembered,buttheymighthavebeencustomers at the Trout, or people he’d seen in dreams. They mighteven have been friends from school who’d grown up and were nowmiddle-aged, which would account for the fact that they lookedfamiliarbutstrange.Andtherewasayoungmanwholookedsomuchlike Mr. Taphouse, only fifty years younger, that Malcolm almost

jumpedupandgreetedhim.

Alicewaslyingonhersidewatchingthemallgoby.

“Canyouseepeopleyouknow?”hesaid.

“Yeah.IthoughtIwasasleep.”

“Aretheyoungonesolderandtheoldonesyounger?”

“Yeah.Andsomeofthemaredead.”

“Dead?”

“Ijustseenmygran.”

“D’youthinkwe’redead?”

Alicewassilentforafewmoments,andthenshesaid,“Ihopenot.”

“Me too. Iwonderwhat they’re all doing here.Andwho the otherpeopleare,theoneswedon’tknow.”

“Maybethey’repeoplewewillknow.”

“Or else…maybe it’s the world where that fairy lady came from.Maybethesepeoplearealllikeher.Itfeelsabitlikethat.”

“Yeah,”shesaid.“Itdoes.That’swhatitis.Excepttheycan’tseeus,likeshecould….”

“Butwewereabovethegroundthen,inourworld,sowe’d’vebeenmoresolid,like.Downherewe’reprobablyinvisibletothem.”

“Yeah.That’sprobablyit.Butwebetterbecarefulallthesame.”

Sheyawnedandrolledoverontoherback.

Not to be left out, Lyra yawned aswell. Pantalaimon tried to be asnakeliketheothertwo,butgaveupafterhalfaminuteandbecameamouseinstead,andcuddledcloseagainstLyra’sneck.Shewasasleepin a moment, and once Ben had taken his greyhound shape andstretchedoutagainstAlice’sside,Alicewastoo.

Withoutknowingwhyhewasdoing it,Malcolmkneltdownbesidethe sleeping Alice and looked at her face. He knew it well, but he’dneverlookedathercloselybeforebecauseshewouldhaveshovedhimaway;hefeltalittleguiltydoingitnow,whileshewasunconscious.

But he was so curious. The little frown that lived between hereyebrowshadvanished;itwasasofterfacealtogether.Hermouthwas

relaxed,andherwholeexpressionwascomplexandsubtle.Therewasasortofkindness in it,andasortof lazyenjoyment—thosewere thewordshefoundtodescribeit.Ahintofamockingsmilelayintheflesharound her eyes. Her lips, narrow and compressed when she wasawake, were looser and fuller in sleep, and almost smiling, like hersleepingeyes.Herskintoo—orwhatdidladiescallit?hercomplexion?—wasfineandsilky,andinhercheekswasafaintflush,asifshewashot,orasifshewasblushingatadream.

Itwastooclose.Hefelthewasdoingwrong.Hesatupandlookedaway. Lyra stirred andmurmured, and he stroked her forehead andfoundithot,likeAlice’sface.HewishedhecouldstrokeAlice’scheeks,but that imagewastootroublingaltogether.Hestoodupandwalkedthe little way down to the landing, whereLa Belle Sauvage bobbedgentlyonthewater.

Hedidn’tfeelintheleastbitsleepy,andhismindwasstilldwellinghelplesslyon the thoughtofAlice’s face,andwhat itmightbe like tostroke it or kiss it. He pushed that idea aside and tried to think ofsomethingelse.

So he knelt down to look at the canoe, and there he had a shockbecausetherewasaninchofwaterinthebottom,andheknewhehadbaileditout.

He untied the painter and hauled La Belle Sauvage up onto thegrass and then tippedherover to let thewater out.And just ashe’dfeared,therewasacrackinthehull.

“Whenwecamethroughthatcataract,”saidAsta.

“Must’vehitarock.Bugger.”

He knelt on the grass and looked at it closely. One of the cedarplanks that formed the skin of the canoe had split, and the paintarounditwasscraped.Thesplitdidn’tlookveryserious,butMalcolmknewthattheskinofthecanoeflexedalittlewhenitwasmoving,andnodoubtitwouldgoonlettinginwatertillhemendedit.

“Whatdoweneed?”saidAsta,cat-shaped.

“Anotherplank,bestofall.Orsomecanvasandglue.Butwehaven’tgotanyofthemeither.”

“Therucksack’smadeofcanvas.”

“Yeah.Itis.IsupposeIcouldcutabitofftheflap….”

“Andlookoverthere,”shesaid.

Shewas pointing to a great cedar, one of the few coniferous treesamongtherest.Partwayupthetrunk,abranchhadbrokenoff,andthewoundwasleakinggoldenresin.

“That’lldo,”hesaid.“Let’scutabitofcanvas.”

The flap of the rucksack was quite long and could easily spare apatch of the right size. Malcolm wondered whether the canvas wasreally necessary, because the actualwaterproofingwould be done bythe resin, but then he thought of Alice and Lyra as thewater slowlycame in, and of himself trying more and more desperately to findsomewheretoland….Heshouldrepairitaswellashecould,aswellasMr. Taphouse would. He opened his knife and began to saw at thethick,stiff fabric,cuttingoutapieceabit longerthanthesplit inthehull.Itwashardwork.

“I never thought canvas was so tough,” he said. “I should havesharpenedtheknife.”

Asta,nowbird-formed,hadbeensittingonabranchashighasshecouldgetandkeepingwatchallaround.Sheflewdowntohisshoulder.

“Let’snotbetoolong,”shesaidquietly.

“Issomethingwrong?”

“There’ssomethingIcan’tsee.Notwrong,exactly,but…Justgettheresinandwe’llgo.”

Malcolmcutthroughthelaststrandsofthecanvasandsetoff.Astadartedaheadalittleway,becomingahawkandgettingtothetreejustbefore he did. The resin was too high for him to reach withoutclimbing, but he was happy to do that; the massive wide branches,sweepinglowoverthegrass,madeitfeeltotallysecure.

Hepressedthelittlepieceofcanvasintotheresinandletitsoakupasmuchasitcould.Thenhelookedoutofthetreeandacrossthegreatlawnsand flowerbedsas far as the terraceand thehousebeyond it:graciousandcomfortable,splendidandgenerous.Hethoughtthatonedayhe’dcomeherebyright,andbemadewelcome,andstrollamongthese gardenswith happy companions and feel at ease with life anddeath.

Thenhelookedtheotherway,acrossthelittleriver.Andhewashighenough in the tree to see over the top of the fog bank, which onlyextendedupwardsforafewfeet,ashenowdiscovered;andbeyondithesawadesolation,awildernessofbrokenbuildings,burnedhouses,heaps of rubble, crude shanties made of shattered plywood and tarpaper, coils of rusty barbed wire, puddles of filthy water whosesurfaces gleamed with the toxic shimmer of chemical waste, wherechildrenwithsoreson theirarmsand legswere throwingstonesatadogtiedtoapost.

Hecriedoutbeforehecouldhelpit.ButsodidAsta,andsheglidedtohisshoulderandsaid,“Bonneville!It’shim!Ontheterrace—”

He turned to look. Itwas too far to see distinctly, but therewas astir,andpeoplewererunningtowardssomeoneinachair—acarriageofsomekind—awheelchair—

“Whataretheydoing?”hesaid.

Hewasawareofherattention,ofthestraightnessandspeedofitlikea lance fromher brilliant eyes.He tugged the canvas away from theresinwithtremblingfingers.

“They’re lookingthisway—they’repointingatwhereAliceis,atthecanoe—they’removingtowardsthesteps—”

Now he could see clearly, and at the center of this activity wasGerardBonneville.Hewasdirectingeveryone.Theybegantocarryhiswheelchairdownthestepsoftheterrace.

“Take this,” Malcolm said, and held out the canvas. It wasabominablysticky.Astapulleditawayinherbeakandhoveredclosetothe treeasMalcolmclambereddown.Onceon theground,he ran tothe canoe as fast as he could, and Asta swooped down and laid theresin-soakedcanvaswherehedirectedher.

“Willthisdobyitself?”shesaid.

“I’llputsometacksinit.Itwon’tbeeasy—myfingersaretoosticky.”

Alicehadheardthemandopenedhereyessleepily.

“Whatyoudoing?”shesaid.

“Mending a hole. Then we got to get away quick. Bonneville’s uptherebythehouse.Here,canyouopenthetoolboxforme?Andhandmeatackoutofthesmokeleaftininthere?”

Shescrambleduptodoit.Hetookitstickilyandtouchedthepointofthelittlenailtoacornerofthecanvas.Onetapofthehammeranditstayedinplacewhilehehitithome,andsodidtheotherfiveheputin.

“Right, let’s turn her over,” he said, and while he did that, Alicestoodontiptoetolookupattheactivityontheterrace,andMalcolmfound himself gazing at her slim, tense legs, her slender waist, theslightswellofherhips.Helookedawaywithasilentgroaninhischest.Whathadhappenedtohim?Buttherewasnotimetothinkaboutthat.Hetorehismindawayandslidtheboatdownandintothewater.Astawasstill inherhawkshape,hoveringashighabovehimasshecouldgetandstaringfixedlyattheterrace.

“What are they doing now?” Malcolm said as Alice threw theblankets intothecanoe.Lyrawasawakeandinterested,andPanwasbuzzingaroundherheadasabee.

“They’removinghimtowardsthesteps,”saidAstaintheairabove.“I can’t seeexactly….There’sabig crowdaroundhimnow,andmorepeoplejoiningthem….”

“Whatwegoingtodo?”saidAlice,settlingherselfintothebowwithLyraonherlap.

“Onlythingwecan,”saidMalcolm.“Can’tgoupawaterfall.Havetoseewhathappensattheotherend….”

He pushed away from the landing and watched the resin-mendedpatchwithfeverishcuriosity.

LaBelleSauvagewasmoving swiftlyover thewater, andMalcolmdugthepaddleindeepandhardasAstaglidedtothegunwale.Alice’sBen was a bird as well, and he too flew down to the safety of hershoulder.

“Shush, honey,”Alice said, becauseLyrawas starting to complain.“Soonbeaway.Shushnow.”

Theyweregoingpastapatchoflawnwheretherewerenotrees,andMalcolm felthorriblyexposed.Therewasnothingbetween themandthe house, and as he glanced up, he could see the crowd of peoplemoving towards them,withsomething in thecenterof them,a smallcarriage,andpeoplepointingatthem,andadistantlaugh:“Haa!Haa!Haaa!Haa-haaa!”

“Oh,God,”Alicemurmured.

“Nearly there,”saidMalcolm,becausetheyhadcometoagroupoftrees that cutoff theirviewof thehouse,and thegardenwasbehindthem. Vegetation clustered thickly on both banks, and the light thatcamefromthetree lanternswasfadingquicklythefurtherawaytheygot,sothatalmosteverythingaheadwasdark.

Almost everything. But there was enough light still in the air forMalcolmtoseeaheadofthemagreatpairofiron-bounddoors,heavywithageanddrapedinmossandweeds,emergingfromthestreamlikethegatesofalock,completelyshuttingofftheirescape.Therewasnowayoutbywater.

Alicecouldn’tseewhythey’dstopped,andtwistedroundtolook.

“Ah,”shesighedhelplessly.

“Maybe we can open them. There must be a way,” saidMalcolm,peeringascloselyashecouldtorightandleft.Buttherewasnothingtobe seen but clustering bushes and water weeds and low-hangingboughsofyew.Theyhadleft the light fromthetreesbehind,andthedarknesshereseemedtobenotjusttheabsenceoflightbutapositivepresence,somethingexudedfromthevegetationandthemoisture.

Malcolm listened. The only sounds were those of water dripping,lapping,trickling,andperhapsitwastherivermakingitswaythroughthe gaps in the ancient gates, where the wood had rotted away, orperhaps it was the endless drops falling from the leaves all around.Therewasnosoundfrombehindthem.

Hebrought thecanoetightagainst thegatesandstoodcarefully tofeel how high theywere. Too high anyway: he could neither see norreachanytoptothem.Norcouldheseewhethertheyrolledapart toopen, or swung slowly round against the resistance of the water, orevenliftedupoutofitaltogether.Buttheriverwasstillflowingagainstthem, so it must be going underneath, and if there was anymechanism,itmustbecontrolledfromthebank.

Stillstandingup,withhishandsonthecoldandslimywoodofthedoors,Malcolmlookedtowardstheright-handbank—

—and had such a shock that he started back, swaying the canoe,almostlosinghisbalance,makingAlicecryoutinalarm.

“What?What?”shesaid.

ShewasclutchingLyra tight, trying topeer throughthemurk,andMalcolmwasshakilysittingdown.

“There,”hesaid,andpointedatthethinghe’dseen.

Thing?Itwastheheadofaman,buthuge,emergingfromthewateramongthereeds.Hemusthavebeenagiant.Hishairwastangledwithweedsandseemedtobegrowingthrougharustycrown;hisskinwasgreenish,andhislongbeardtrailedoverhisthroatanddownintothewater.Hewaslookingatthemwithmildandpeaceful interest.Ashestooduphigher,theysawthathislefthandwasclaspingtheshaftofa—What was it? A spear? No, a trident, asMalcolm saw by lookingupwardsintothedarkness,wherethreepointsofreflectedlightshonedimly.

Helookedatthegiant’sfaceandthoughthecouldseeaglimmerofbenevolencethere.

“Sir,” he said, “we’d like to go through these gates, if you please,becauseweneedtoescapefromsomeonewho’sfollowingus.Canyouopenthemforus?”

“Oh,no,Ican’tdothat,”saidthegiant.

“Butthey’remadetobeopened,andweneedtogothrough!”

“Well,Ican’tdothat.Themgatesen’tbinopenedforthousandsofyears.They’reforuseonlyinthecaseofdroughtinthedailyworld.”

“But if we could just get through—it would only take a couple ofseconds!”

“You don’t know how deep them gates go, boy. Itmight be just acoupleof seconds toyou,but thereen’tenoughnumbers tocalculatehowmuchwater’dgetthroughtheminacoupleofseconds.”

“Thefloodcan’tgetanyworsethanitisalready.Please,mister—”

“Whatyougotinthere?Isthatababby?”

“Yeah, it’s the Princess Lyra,” said Alice. “We’re taking her to herfather,theking,andthereareenemiesafterus.”

“Kingofwhere?Whatking?”

“KingofEngland.”

“England?”

“Albion,” said Malcolm desperately, remembering something thefairywomanhadsaid.

“Oh,Albion,”saidthegiant.“Well,whydidn’tyousay?”

“Canyouopenthem,then?”

“No.Igotmeinstructions,andthat’sthat.”

“Whogaveyouthoseinstructions?”

“OldFatherThameshisself.”

Malcolmthoughthecouldhearthehyena’slaugh,andfromthewayAlice’seyesopenedwide,heknewshecouldtoo.

“Anyway,” he said, “I shouldn’t have asked you, because youprobablyen’tstrongenough.”

“Whatd’yemeanbythat?”saidthegiant.“Icanopenthemgates,allright.Idoneitthousandsoftimes.”

“Whatwouldmakeyouopenthemagain?”

“Orders,that’swhat.”

“Well,asithappens,”saidMalcolm,fumblingwithtremblinghandsintherucksack,“we’vegottheseordersfromtheking’sambassadorinOxford,kindofapassport,so’swecanhavesafepassage.Look.”

Hepulledasheetofpaperoutofoneof thecardboard foldersandheld it up for the giant to see. It was covered in mathematicalformulae.Thegiantpeereddownatit.

“Holdituphigher,”hesaid.“Andit’sthewrongwayup.Turnittheotherway.”

Itwasn’t,butMalcolmdidashesaid.HewassoclosethatMalcolmcould smell his skin, which was redolent of mud, and fishes, andweeds.Thegiantpeeredcloserstill,mouthingsomething,asifhewasreadingit,andthennodded.

“Yes,Isee,”hesaid.“That’sundeniable.Ican’targuewiththat.Letmeseethebabby.”

MalcolmstuffedthepaperbackintherucksackandtookLyrafromAlice,holdingherhighso thegiantcouldsee.Lyra lookedupathimsolemnly.

“Ah,”saidthegiant.“Icanseeshe’saprincess,all right,blessher.

CanIholdher?”

Heheldouthisgreatlefthand.

“Mal,”saidAlicequietly,“careful.”

ButMalcolmtrustedhim.HelaidLyraontheenormouspalm,andshe gazed up at the giant with perfect confidence, and Pantalaimonsanglikeanightingale.

The giant kissed his right forefinger and touched it to Lyra’s headbeforehandingherback,verydelicately,toMalcolm.

“Canwegothrough,then?”saidMalcolm,whocouldhearthehyenaagain,evencloser.

“Allright,sinceyouletmeholdtheprincess,I’llopenthegatesforyou.”

“Andthenclosethemagainandnotletanyoneelsethrough?”

“Unlesstheygotorderslikewhatyouhave.”

“Beforeyoudo,”saidMalcolm,“whatisthatplacebackthere?Thatgarden?”

“That’stheplacewherepeoplegowhentheyforget.Youseenthefogontheotherside?”

“Yes.AndIsawwhatwasbehindit.”

“That fog’s hiding everything they ought to remember. If it evercleared away, they’d have to take stock of theirselves, and theywouldn’tbeabletostayinthegardennomore.Backoffabitandgivemeroom.”

MalcolmgaveLyratoAliceandbackedthecanoeafewfeet,andthegiant stuck his trident in the muddy bank and took a deep breathbeforesinkingunderthewater.Amomentlaterthegatesbegantostir,creaking, dripping, and slowly, slowly opening against the current,making the water seethe and churn. As soon as the gap was wideenough,MalcolmdroveLaBelle Sauvage forward and through, andinto thedarknessbeyond.The last thing theyheard from thegardenunder thegroundwas thehyena’sdistant laughterdyingawayas thegatesclosedbehindthem.

—

The tunnel to the outside world took about five minutes to paddle

through,butitwaspitch-dark,soMalcolmhadtogoslowly,feelinghisway from bump to bump. Finally they came to a mass of hangingvegetation,andthe freshsmellof theworldoutside,andafterabriefstruggletheywerethroughintotheopenairofthenight.

“Idon’tgetit,”saidAlice.

“What?”

“We went down into that tunnel with the rapids, what led us inthere,soweshouldhavehadtocomeuptogetoutofit.Butthisisthesamelevel.”

“Still,”saidMalcolm.“We’reout.”

“Yeah.Supposeso.Andwhowashe?”

“Dunno. Maybe he’s the god of a little tributary, like Old FatherThamesisthegodofthemainriver,perhaps.Thatwouldmakesense.GeorgeBoatwrightsaidhe’dseenOldFatherThames.”

“WhatwasityousaidLyra’sfatherwasthekingof?”

“Albion.Itwassomethingthefairywomansaid.”

“Goodthingyourememberedit,then.”

Hepaddledonunder themoon.Thenightwasquietandthe floodwasaswideasthehorizon.LittlebylittleAlicesubsidedintosleep,andMalcolm wondered about pulling the blanket higher around hershoulders,butitwasn’tcold.

Afterhalfanhourorsohesawanislandahead,justalow,flatpieceof landwithno treesorbuildings,nocliffs,nobushes—notevenanygrass, by the look of things. He stopped paddling and let the canoefloatgentlytowardsit.Perhapshecouldtieuphereandliedownandrest, though it did seem horribly exposed. The canopy was ideal forconcealingthecanoeamongvegetation,butagainstbarerocksitwouldbevisibleformiles.

But there was nothing he could do about that. He was aching forsleep. He moved La Belle Sauvage towards the shore and found aplacewherea littlebeachofbareearth laybetween therocks.He letthebowslideuponthesoil,andthecanoecametorest.AliceandLyralayfastasleep.

Malcolmlaidthepaddledownandclamberedoutstiffly.Itwasonlythenthatherememberedtheholeinthehull,theresinpatch,andwith

aheartbeatofanxietyhebent to look,but itwasasdry insideas therestofthehull.Thepatchhadheld.

“It’ssafe,”saidavoicefrombehindhim.

Henearlyfelloverfromfear.Hespunroundatonce,readytofight,and then found Asta, cat-formed, springing into his arms, deadlyafraid.Lookingatthemwasthestrangestwomantheyhadeverseen.ShewasaboutthesameageasLyra’smother,tojudgebythelookofher in themoonlight,andsheworea littlecoronetof flowersaroundherhead.Herhairwas longandblack,andshewasdressed inblacktoo,orpartiallydressed,becausesheseemedtobewearingclusteredribbonsofblacksilkandvery littleelse.Shewas lookingathimas ifshe’d expected him, and then he realized that there was somethingmissing:shehadnodæmon.Onthegroundbesideherlayabranchofpine. Could her dæmonhave that form?He felt a shiver of cold rundownhisspine.

“Whoareyou?”hesaid.

“My name is Tilda Vasara. I am the queen of the witches in theOnegaregion.”

“Idon’tknowwherethatis.”

“It’sinthenorth.”

“Youweren’thereasecondago.Where’dyoucomefrom?”

“Fromthesky.”

Hecaughtaslightmovementinthecornerofhiseyeandturnedtothecanoe,wherehesawawhitebirdwhisperingintotheearofAlice’sdæmon,Ben.Itwasthewitch’sdæmon,thereafterall.

“They will sleep for the rest of the night now,” said Tilda Vasara.“Andthepeopleonthatboatwillnotseeyou.”

She pointed past his shoulder, just as he saw a different lightcatchinghereyes.Malcolmturnedtolookandsawthesearchlightonaboat that was either the same CCD vessel that nearly caught thembeforeorasimilarone.Itwasmovingsteadilytowardstheisland,andMalcolmhadtoholdhimselfstillbecausehelongedtoflinghimselftothegroundandhidebehindanything:arock,thecanoe,thewitch.Theboatcamenearer,thesearchlightsweepingtoleftandright,almostoncourse to hit the island, but at the last minute it turned a little to

starboard andmoved past. In theminute or sowhen it was comingcloser, the light became fiercer and brighter, and he saw thewitch’sface,quitecalm,almostamused,andutterlyfearless.

“Whydidn’ttheyseeus?”hesaidwhenithadgone.

“We canmake ourselves invisible. Their vision slides over us andover anything nearby. You were quite safe. They can’t even see theisland.”

“Youknowwhotheywere?”

“No.”

“Theywanttocatchthatbabyand…Idon’tknowwhat.Probablykillher.”

She looked downwhere he was pointing at the sleeping Lyra, thesleepingAlice.

“Isshethebaby’smother?”

“No,no,”saidMalcolm.“Just…we’rejust…lookingafterher.Butwhydidthepeopleintheboatturnawaywhentheygotclose,iftheycan’tseetheisland?”

“Theydon’tknowwhy.Itdoesn’tmatter.They’regonenow.Whereareyougoing?”

“Tofindthebaby’sfather.”

“Howwillyoudothat?”

“Iknowhisaddress,atleast.Idon’tknowhowwe’llfindit.Butwe’llhaveto.”

Thewhitebird flewup toher shoulder.HewasofakindMalcolmdidn’tknow,withawhitebodyandwingsandablackhead.

“Whatkindofbirdisyourdæmon?”Astaasked.

“Arctictern,”sheanswered.“Allourdæmonsarebirds.”

Malcolmsaid,“Whyareyouhere,sofaroutofthenorth?”

“I was looking for something. Now that I’ve found it, I shall gohome.”

“Oh.Well,thankyouforhidingme.”

Themoonlightshonefullontoherface.He’dthoughtshewasyoung,

ornoolderthanMrs.Coulter,whohesupposedwasaboutthirty;herbodywas slim and lithe, and therewere no lines orwrinkles on herface,andherhairwasthickandblack,withnogray;butsomehowthewitch’sexpressionmadehimthinkshemustbeindescribablyancient,perhapsasoldasthegiantunderthewater.Shelookedcalmandevenfriendly, but at the same time she looked merciless. And she wascurious about him, as he was about her. For a few moments theylookedintoeachother’seyeswithcompletefrankness.

Thewitchturnedawayandbenttopickupthepinebranchthatlayonthegroundbesideher.Shelookedbackathimonce,andagainhehadthatsenseofperfectopenness,asiftheykneweachotherverywellandtherewerenosecretsbetweenthem.Thenshesprangintotheair,holdingthebranchinherlefthand,asherdæmonskimmeddownlowoverMalcolmandAstainfarewell;andthentheyweregone.Foralongtimehelookedupasherdarkshapegrewsmallerandsmalleragainstthestars.Thentherewasnothingtoshowshehadeverbeenthere.

HecrouchedbythecanoeandpulledtheblankethigheroverAlice’sshoulders, tucking it around Lyra’s head, making sure she couldbreathe.Panwascurledup likeadormousebetweencatBen’spaws,bothfastasleep.

“Areyoutired?”hesaidtoAsta.

“Sortof.Morethantired.Outtheothersideoftired.”

“Metoo.”

Theislandwasaboutthesizeoftwotenniscourtssidebyside,andnopartofitrosehigherthantheheightofMalcolm’swaistabovetheflood.Itwasutterlybare:aplatformoftumbledrockswithnotabladeofgrasstobeseen,notree,nobush,noranymossorlichen.Itmighthavebeenapartofthemoon.MalcolmandAstawalkedallrounditinlittlemorethanaminute,andthatwasgoingslowly.

“Ican’tseeanyotherlandeither,”hesaid.“It’slikethemiddleofthesea.”

“Exceptthatthewater’sflowing.Thisisstilltheflood.”

Theysatonarockandwatcheditgopast,agreatblacksheetofglassfullofstars,withthemoonshiningbothaboveandbelow.

“I liked that witch,”Malcolm said. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever seeanotherone.Shehadabowandarrows.”

“Whenshesaidshe’dfoundwhatshewaslookingfor,d’youreckonthatwasus?”

“What,shecameallthiswayjusttolookforus?No.Shemust’vehadbiggerthingsthanthattodo.Shewasaqueen.Iwishshe’dstoppedalittlelonger.Wecould’veaskedherallkindsofthings.”

Theysatforawhile,andgraduallyMalcolmfoundhiseyesclosing.The night was quiet and the world was calm, and he realized thatwhateverheandAstahadsaid toeachotheraminutebefore,he feltmoretiredthaneverbeforeinhislife,andwhathewantedtodomostofallwasloseconsciousness.

“Bettergetinthecanoe,”saidAsta.

Theysettled themselves in theboat,havingchecked thatAliceandLyraweresafeandcomfortable,andtheyfellasleepinamoment.

Thatnight,hedreamedofthewilddogsagain,hissavagedogs,withbloodstainedmuzzlesand tornearsandbroken teeth,withwildeyesand slavering jaws and scarred flanks, howling and barking as theyracedaroundhim,surginguptolickhisface,thrustingthemselvesathishands,rubbingthemselvesagainsthislegs,atumultofcaninefury,with him at its heart and center, humbling themselves before cat-formedAsta;andasbefore,hefeltnofear,hefeltnothingbutsavageexhilarationandboundlessdelight.

They were tired, they were hungry, they were cold, they were filthy,and theywere followedeverywherebya shadow.Heavy clouds filledthe sky again.Over the graywaste ofwaterMalcolmpaddled all thenext day while Lyra cried fretfully and Alice lay indifferently in thebow.Whenever they saw a hilltop or a roof rising above the water,Malcolm stopped, tied up, built a fire, and one or the other of themattendedtoLyra.SometimesMalcolmdidn’tknowwhetheritwashimdoingitoritwasAlice.

Andeverywheretheywent,somethingwentwiththem,behind,justbeyond the edge of eyesight, something that flickered and vanishedand then appeared again when they looked at something else. Theybothsawit.Itwastheonlythingtheytalkedabout,andneithercouldseeitfully.

“Ifitwasnight,”saidMalcolm,“it’dbeanight-ghast.”

“Well,iten’t.Night,Imean.”

“Ihopeit’sgonebythetimeitgetsdark.”

“Shutup.Ididn’twanttothinkaboutthat.Thanksfornothing.”

She sounded like the old Alice, the first Alice, scornful and bitter.Malcolmhadhoped that thatAlicehad gone for good, but there shewasagain,sprawlingandscowlingandsneering;andhecouldn’tlookathernowanywaywithoutanelectrictensioninhisbodythatheonlypart understood, and part delighted in, and part feared. And hecouldn’ttalktoAstaaboutitbecausetheywereallsoclosetogetherinthecanoe;and inanycase,he felt thathisdæmonwas in thrall to ittoo,whateveritwas,thisbewitchment.

ThelandscapewaschangingastheygotfurtherdownthegreatfloodtowardsLondon.Scenesofdevastationbegantoemerge:theshellsofhouses,theirroofstornoff,furnitureandclothingstrewnallaroundorcaughtinbushesandtrees;andthetreesthemselves,strippedoftheirbranchesandsometimesoftheirbark,standingstarkanddeadunderthe gray sky; an oratory, its tower lying full-length on the soddenground,withenormousbronzebellsscatteredbeside it, theirmouthsfullofmudandleaves.

Andallthetime,neverquiteforgotten,neverfullyseen,theshadow.

Malcolm tried to catch it by turning suddenly to the left or to theright,butallhesawwastheswiftmovementthatshowedwhereithadbeenamomentbefore.Astawatchedbehind,butshehadjustthesameexperience:whenevershelooked,ithadjustmovedaway.

“Wouldn’tmatterifitfeltfriendly,”Malcolmmutteredtoher.

Butitdidn’t.Itfeltasifitwashuntingthem.

Seated as they were, with Alice in the bow looking back over thestern,shewasmoreawareof thingsbehindthemthanMalcolmwas,and two or three times during the day she’d seen something else toworryabout.

“Isthatthem?”shesaid.“TheCCD?Isthattheirboat?”

Malcolm tried to turn and look, but hewas so stiff from paddlingthatithurttotwisthisbody,andbesides,theheavygrayoftheskyandthedarkgrayofthewind-whippedwatermadeithardtoseeanything.OncehethoughthecoulddistinguishtheCCDcolorsofnavyblueandocher, and Asta became a wolf cub and uttered an involuntary littlehowl,buttheboat,ifthatwaswhatitwas,soonfadedintothemurkyhaze.

Lateintheafternoonthecloudsdarkened,andtheyheardarumbleofthunder.Itwasgoingtorain.

“We’dbetter stopnextplacewe see,” saidMalcolm. “We’ll put thetarpaulinup.”

“Yeah,” said Alice wearily. And then, alarmed: “Look. It’s themagain.”

This time when Malcolm turned round, he saw the beam of asearchlight, brilliant against the gloomy sky, sweeping from left to

right.

“They just switched it on,” Alice said. “They’ll see us any minutenow.They’recomingfast.”

Malcolm dug the paddle into the water with limbs that weretrembling with fatigue. There was no point in trying to outpace theCCDboat;they’dhavetohide,andtheonlyhidingplaceinsightwasawoodedhillwithanovergrowngrassyspace justabovethewaterline.Malcolm made for it as quickly as he could. It was getting darkerrapidly, and the first big drops of rain splashed onto his head andhands.

“Nothere,”saidAlice.“Ihatethisplace.Idunnowhatit is,butit’shorrible.”

“There’snowhereelse!”

“No.Iknow.Butit’shorrible.”

Malcolmbroughtthecanoeupontothelankandsoddengrassundera yew tree, tied the painter urgently to the nearest branch, andhastenedtofixthehoopsintotheirbrackets.Lyra,feelingraindropsonherface,wokeupandprotested,butAliceignoredher,pullingthecoalsilk over the hoops and fastening it asMalcolm instructed her. Thesoundoftheenginegrewlouderandcloser.

Theygotthecanopyfixedandsatstill,AliceholdingLyratightandwhispering tokeepherquiet,Malcolmhardlydaring tobreathe.Thesearchlightshonethroughthethincoalsilk,illuminatingeverycornerof their little enclosedworld, andMalcolm imagined the canoe fromtheoutside,hopingpassionatelythattheregulargreenshapewouldn’tshow up in the mass of irregular shadows. Lyra looked aroundsolemnly, and their threedæmons clung togetheron the thwart.Thesearchlight shone directly at them for seconds that felt likeminutes,butthenitswungawayandtheenginenoisechangedasthesteersmanopened the throttle and moved off along the flood. Malcolm couldhardlyhearitovertherainhammeringonthecanopy.

Aliceopenedhereyesandbreathedout.

“Iwishwe’dstoppedsomewhereelse,”shesaid.“Youknowwhatthisplaceis?”

“What?”

“It’sagraveyard.It’sgotoneof themlittlehouseswheretheyburypeople.”

“A mausoleum,” said Malcolm, who had seen the word but neverheardit,andpronouncedittorhymewithlinoleum.

“Isthatwhatitis?Well,Idon’tlikeit.”

“Meneither.Buttherewasn’tanywhereelse.We’lljusthavetokeeptightinthecanoeandgoassoonaswecan.”

“Howarewegoingtofeedher,then?”saidAlice.“Orwashher?Yougonnabuildafireintheboat?”

“We’llhavetowashherincoldwaterand—”

“Don’t be stupid.We can’t do that. She’s got to have a hot bottleanyway.”

“What’sthematter?Whyareyouangry?”

“Everything.Whatd’youthink?”

Heshrugged.Therewasnothinghecoulddoabouteverything.Hedidn’twanttoargue.Hewantedthesearchlighttogoawayandnevercomeback.Hewantedtotalkaboutthegardenundertheground,andwonderwithherwhat itmeant;hewanted to tellherwhathe’dseenbeyond the fog bank.Hewanted to tell her about thewitch and thewilddogs,andwonderwhattheymeant.Hewantedtotalkabouttheshadowtheyfeltwasfollowingthem,andagreethatitwasnothingandlaughaboutit.Hewantedhertoadmirehimformendingthecrackinthehull.HewantedhertocallhimMal.HewantedLyratofeelwarmand clean and happy and well fed. But none of that was going tohappen.

Therainbeatonthecoalsilkwithmoreforceeveryminute.Itwassoloudthathedidn’tevennoticeLyracryinguntilAlice leanedforwardandpickedherup.Evenwhenshewascrosswithhim,shewasalwayspatientwithLyra,hethought.

Maybe there’d be some dry wood under the trees. If he went outnow,he could get it inside theboatbefore it got toowet.Maybe therainwouldstopsoon.

Presently there came another crack of thunder, but further away,andshortlyafterthattheraindidstopcomingdownsohard;andthenit eased off until the only drops falling on the tarpaulin were what

drippeddownfromthebranchesabove.

Malcolm lifted theedgeof the canopy.Everythingaroundwas stilldripping,andtheairwasaswetasasoddensponge,fullofthesmellsofdankvegetation,ofrot,ofearthcrawlingwithworms.Nothingbutearthandwaterandair,andallhewantedwasfire.

“I’mgoingtolookforsomewood,”hesaid.

“Don’tgotoofar!”shesaid,alarmedatonce.

“No.Butwe’vegottohavesomeifwewantafire.”

“Justdon’tgooutofsight,allright?Yougotthetorch?”

“Yes. The battery’s nearly dead, though. I can’t keep it on all thetime.”

Themoonwasstilllargeandthecloudsthinastheyracedawayafterthe storm, so therewas some light from the sky; but under the yewtrees it was horribly dark. Malcolm stumbled more than once ongravestonesthathadhalfsunk intothesoilorweresimplyhidden inthe long grass, and all the time kept an eye on that little building ofstone,wherebodieswerelaidtorotwithoutbeingburied.

And everything was saturated, whether with rain or dew or theremainsoftheflood;everythinghetouchedwasheavyandsoakedandrotten.His heartwas just like that.Hewould nevermanage to lightanyofit.

Butbehindthemausoleum,inthedimlightofthetorch,hefoundastackofoldfenceposts.Theyweresoakingwet,butwhenhebrokeoneoverhisknee—withgreateffort—hefoundthat, inside, itwasdry.Hecould shave some tinder off it, and there were always Bonneville’snotes,fivevolumesofthem.

“Don’t think of doing that,” whispered Asta. She was a lemurperchingonhisshoulder,hereyeswide.

“They’dburnwell.”

Butheknewhewouldn’tdothat,noteveniftheyweredesperate.

He gathered up half a dozen of the fence posts and brought themaroundtothefrontofthemausoleum,whereathoughtstruckhim.Heshonethetorchatthedoor;itwasclosedwithapadlock.

“Whatd’youthink?”hewhisperedtoAsta.“Drywood…”

“Theycan’thurtusifthey’redead,”shewhisperedback.

Thepadlockdidn’tlookverystrong,anditwaseasytothrusttheendofafencepostbehinditandpulldownhard.Thelocksnappedandfellaway.Onepush,andthedoorwasopen.

Malcolmlookedincautiously.Theairsmelledofageanddryrotanddamp, but of nothing worse than that. In the dimly flickering light,theysawrowsofshelves,withcoffinsneatlyplacedonthem,andthewood of the coffins was perfectly dry, as he foundwhen he touchedone.

“I’m sorry,” hewhispered to the occupant of the first, “but I needyourcoffin.They’llgiveyouanotherone,don’tworry.”

Thelidwasscreweddown,butthescrewswerebrass,sotheyhadn’trustedtight,andhehadhisknifewithhim.Onlyafewminuteslaterhehad the lid off and split into long pieces. The skeleton inside didn’tworryhim,he found,partlybecausehewasexpecting it,andanywayhe’d seenworse than that. Itmust have been a woman, he thought,becausearoundtheneck—orwherethefleshoftheneckhadbeenlongago—wasa goldennecklace, and thereweregold ringson twoof thebonyfingers.

Malcolmthoughtaboutit,andthenliftedthemallgentlyawayandtuckedthemdownbeneaththefrailvelvettheskeletonwaslyingon.

“To keep ’em safe,” he whispered. “Sorry about your lid, ma’am,trulysorry,butweneeditbad.”

He set the pieces of the lid against the stone shelf and splinteredthem with a series of kicks. The coffin’s wood was as dry as itsoccupant,andperfectforburning.

Heclosedthemausoleumandhungthebrokenpadlockinplacesothatitlooked,ataquickglance,asifnothinghadhappened.Heturnedbacktowardsthecanoe,signalingoncewiththetorchtoletAliceknowhewasthere,andthenhesawtheshadow.

Itwas formed like aman—heonly saw it for a second and then itdartedaway—butheknewitatonce: itwasn’tashadowatall.ItwasBonneville. Ithadbeencrouchingbeside theboat.Therewasnooneelse it couldhavebeen.Theshockwashorrible, andhe instantly feltevenmorevulnerable,notknowingwhereithadgone.

“Didyousee—”hewhispered.

“Yes!”

Hehurriedacrossthegravestone-strewngrass,fallingtwice,bashinghis knee, with Asta darting beside him as a cat, stopping to help,encouraging,watchingallaround.

Alice had been singing a nursery rhyme. She heard his panting,stumblingapproachandstopped,andcalled,“Mal?”

“Yeah—it’sme—”

Heplayedthefeebletorchbeamonthecanopyandthenshoneitallaroundonthedarkyews,thedrippingbranches,thesoddenground.

Andofcoursesawnoshadow,noBonneville.

“Didyoufindsomewood?”saidAlicefromthecanoe.

“Yeah.Abit.Maybeenough.”

Hisvoicewasshaking,buthecoulddonothingaboutit.

“What’s the matter?” she said, lifting the canopy. “You seesumming?”

Shewasinstantlyterrified.Sheknewquitewellwhathe’dseen,andheknewit.

“No.Itwasjustamistake,”hesaid.

He looked around again, but it took courage: the shadow—Bonneville—couldhavebeenhidingamongthedarknessunderanyofthe trees, behind any of the four columns at the entrance to themausoleum, or, in the form of something small, behind any of thegravestones. Andwherewas the hyena dæmon? But no, hemust beimaginingit.Theycouldn’tjustpaddleaway,becausethiswastheonlylandthey’dseen,anditwasdark,andoutthereonthewaterwastheCCDboat,andLyraneededfoodandwarmthnow.Malcolmbreatheddeeplyandtriedtostophimselfshaking.

“I’llmakeafirehere,”hesaid.

With the knife, he split some tinder from one of the splinteredplanks and set a fire on the grass. His hands were only just strongenoughtodothework.Butitcaughtatonce,andsoononeoftheirlastbottlesofwaterwasheatinginthelittlesaucepan.

Hetriednottolookupfromtheflames.Thelittleflickerofthefiremadethesurroundingdarknessevendeeper,andmadeeveryshadow

move.

Lyrawascryingsteadily,aquietlamentofunhappiness.WhenAliceundressedher,shejustlaytherewithouteventryingtomove.AstaandBentriedtocomfortPantalaimon,buthewriggledfree;hewantedtobewiththelittlepaleformthatcouldonlyweepandweep.

Thecoffinlidburnedwell,andtherewasenoughofittowarmLyra’smilk,butonlyjust.AssoonasAlicehadherdressedandfeeding,thelastof thewoodflaredup inasingleyellowflameandwentout,andMalcolmkickedtheashesawayandgladlygotinthecanoe.Hisarmsached,hisbackached,hisheartached;thethoughtofsettingoffagainover theunforgivingwaterwashorrible,even if there’dbeennoCCDboat searching for them. Body, mind, and dæmon longed for theoblivionofsleep.

“Isthereanyofthatcandleleft?”saidAlice.

“Abit,Ithink.”

He rummaged among the jumble of stuff they’d taken from thepharmacysolongago,andfoundapieceofcandleaboutaslongashisthumb.He lit it, let a littlemoltenwax gather around thewick, andtilteditoutontothethwartandsetthecandleuprightinit.

He could still do simple, everyday things, then.He hadn’t lost thepowertolivefromsecondtosecondandtotakepleasure,even,inthewarmyellowlightthatfilledthecanoe.

Lyra twisted in Alice’s arms and looked at the candle.Her thumbfoundhermouthandshegazedsolemnlyatthelittleyellowflame.

“Whatdidyousee?”Alicewhispered.

“Nothing.”

“Itwashim,wasn’tit?”

“Itmighthave…No.Itjustlookedlikehimforasecond.”

“Thenwhat?”

“Thennothing.Itwasn’tthere.Therewasnothingthere.”

“Weshould’vemadesureofhim.Backthere,whenhenearlygotus.Weshould’vedonehiminproper.”

“Whensomeonedies…,”hesaid.

“What?”

“Whathappenstotheirdæmon?”

“Theyjustvanish.”

“Don’t talk about this!” saidAsta, andAlice’s terrier dæmon, Ben,said,“Yeah,don’tsaythosethings.”

“Then when there’s a ghost, or a night-ghast,” Malcolm said,ignoringthem,“isthatthedeadperson’sdæmon?”

“Idunno.Andcouldsomeone’sbodymovearound,anddothings,iftheirdæmonwasdead?”

“Younevergetapersonwithoutadæmon.It’simpossiblebecause—”

“Shutup!”saidBen.

“—becauseithurtstoomuchwhenyoutryandpullapart.”

“But I’ve heard that in some places there can be people withoutdæmons.Maybe they’re justdeadbodieswalkingaround.Butmaybe—”

“Don’t!Stoptalkingaboutthat!”saidAsta,andbecameaterrier,likeBen,andtheygrowledtogether.Buthervoicehadbeenterrified.

ThenLyracomplained.Aliceturnedbacktoher.

“Listen,darling,yourmilk’sallgone.Special treatnow,all right? Igotabagfullofcanopies.”

Shereachedintothebagandpulledoutabitoftoastthathadoncehadaquail’seggonit.

“YoueatthetoastandI’llfindthelittleegg.Littletinyegg.You’lllikethat.”

Lyratookthetoastwillinglyenoughandbroughtittohermouth.

“Yougetthemfromthegarden?”saidMalcolmstupidly.

“Inickedawhole lotofstuff fromthewaitersthatwentpast.Theynevernoticed.There’senoughforusan’all.Herey’are.”

She leanedforward,holdingoutsomethingthesizeofLyra’spalm,brownandsquashed.Itturnedouttobeaminiaturespicyfishcake.

“I suppose,” he saidwith hismouth full, “if she eats enough toastandstuff,itwon’tmattersomuchifwerunoutof—”

He heard something from outside. But it wasn’t “something”; itwasn’t just an abstract noise, a sound with no meaning. It was thewordAlice,anditwasspokensoftlyinthevoiceofBonneville.

She froze. He couldn’t help looking at her, just as children in aclassroomcan’thelp lookingat thepupilwhosename is spokenbyateacherinthetonethatmeanstroubleandpunishment.Helookedforareaction,instinctively,andatonceregrettedit.Shewasterrified.Herface lost all its color, her eyes widened, she bit her lip. And he hadstaredatherlikethechildwhowassafe.Hehatedhimself.

“Youdon’thaveto—”hewhispered.

“Shutup!Keepquiet!”

Theybothlistened,sittinglikestatues,strainingtohear.Lyrawentonsuckingandmunchingathertoast,unawareofanythingwrong.

Andtherewasnovoice,justthewindpassingthroughtheyewtrees,justtheoccasionallappingofwateragainstthehull.

Something strange was happening to the candle. Its flame wasburning, itwasgivingout light,but ithadashadow.Thesearchlightwasback.

Alice gasped and put her hand over hermouth, then immediatelytook it away and held it close to Lyra to stifle any cry from her.Malcolmsawitallclearlyinthecoldglarethroughthecanopy,andhecould hear the engine noise too. After a fewmoments the full beamswung away from them, but there was still light nearby, as if thesearcherswere lookingmore slowly along the edge,where thewatermetthegraveyard.

“Here,”whisperedAlice,“takeLyra,becauseI’mgoingtofaint.”

Verycarefully,avoidingthecandle,shepassedthechildtohim.Lyracame placidly enough, happywith her toast. Alice was pale, but shedidn’tlooklikefainting;hethoughtifshereallyfeltfaint,shewouldn’tbeabletosayso;she’djustsinkdownintooblivion.

Malcolm watched her closely. It wasn’t only the light that hadfrightenedher; there’dbeenthatwhisperofhernameinBonneville’svoice.Shelookedattheveryedgeofterror.Shesatbackandsuddenlyturned to her left, the side closer to the bank. She was listening.Malcolm could hear a whisper. Her eyes grew wider, more full ofhorror,orloathing,andshedidn’tseemtobeawareofhimorofLyra

anymore,justofthatinsistentwhisperthroughthecoalsilkatherside.

“Alice—”hebeganagain,desperatetohelp.

“Shutup!”

Sheputherhandsoverherears.Ben,terrier-formed,wasstandingwithhisbacklegsonherlap,hisforepawsonthegunwale,intentlikeheronthewhisper,whichMalcolmcouldhearnow,thoughhecouldn’tdistinguishthewords.

ExpressionsflittedoverAlice’sfaceliketheshadowsofswiftcloudsonanAprilmorning;buttheseexpressionswereallfear,ordisgust,orhorror,andlookingather,Malcolmfelthewouldneverseesunlightonaspringmorningagain,sodeepwastheanguishandloathingthegirlwasfeeling.

Then the tarpaulin ripplednext toher, andBen jumpedback, andthen a slit appeared in the coal-silk canopy as a knifepoint moveddown it,and thenaman’shandreached throughandseizedAlicebythethroat.

Alice tried to scream,but the grip onher throat chokedher voice,and then the handmoved down her front, to her lap, searching forsomething else, feeling left and right—trying to find Lyra. Alice wasmoaning, struggling toget away from the loathsome touch, andBen,terrier-formed,seizedtheman’swristinhisteeth,despitethedisgustitmusthavecausedhim;andthen,findingnoLyra,Bonneville’shandgrabbedthelittledæmonandsnatchedhimoutthroughtheslitinthecanopy,outintothedark,awayfromAlice.

“Ben!BEN!”Alicecried,andstumbledupandfellacrossthethwartandhalfoutof the canoeand then scrambledupandwasgoneafterthem.Malcolmreachedforher,meaningtoholdherback,butshewasgone before he could touch her. The hyena dæmon laughed, just acoupleof feet fromMalcolm’sears,splittingthenightwithher“Haa!Haaaa!Haaa!”Andtherewasanadditionalnoteinthelaughter,likeascreamofagony.

Lyra, terrifiedby thesound,begantocry,andMalcolmrockedhercloselywhilehecalled,“Alice!Alice!”

Asta,cat-formed,putherpawsonthegunwaleandtriedtolookoutfrom under the canopy, but Malcolm knew she could see nothing.Pantalaimonwasflutteringhereandthere,amoth, landingonLyra’s

hand for a moment and flying away again, blundering close to thecandle flame and fleeing in fear, and finally settling on the child’sdamphair.

From the direction of themausoleum there came a high, hopelesscry, not a scream, just a desperate wail of protest. Malcolm’s heartclenched.

Thentherewasjustthesoundofthebabycryinginhisarms,andthewater lapping, and a soft, keening sob fromAsta, a puppy, pressingherselfagainsthisside.

I’mnotoldenoughforthis!Malcolmthought,almostaloud.

He cuddled the child close and pulled the blanket up around herbeforesettingherdownamongthecushions.Guiltandrageand fearfought one another in his mind. He thought he’d never been moreawakeinallhislife;hethoughthe’dneversleepagain;hethoughtthiswastheworstnighthe’deverknown.

Hisheadwasfullofthunder.Hethoughthisskullwouldcrackopen.

“Asta—”hegasped.“I’vegottogotoAlice—butLyra—can’tleaveher—”

“Go!”shesaid.“Yes,go!I’llstay—Iwon’tleaveher—”

“It’llhurtsomuch—”

“Butwehaveto—I’llguardLyra—Iwon’tmove—promise….”

Hiseyeswerestreamingwithhottears.HekissedLyraoverandoveragain,andthenheldpuppyAstatohisheart,tohisface,tohislips.Heset her down next to the child, and she became a leopard cub, sobeautifulhesobbedwithlove.

Andhestoodupsocarefully,sogently,thatthecanoedidn’trockormoveaninch,andhetookthepaddleandclimbedout.

Immediately the deep pain of separation began, and he heard astifledmoanfromthecanoebehindhim.Itwaslikestrugglingtoclimbup a steep slope with his lungs clamoring for air and his hearthammeringathisribs,but itwasworse:because inside thepainandcoloring it, deepening it, poisoning it, therewas the horrible guilt ofhurtinghisdearestAstasomuch.Shewasshakingwithloveandpain,andshewassobrave—hereyeswerewatchinghimwithsuchdevotionasheslowly,unforgivablywrenchedhisbodyaway fromher,as ifhe

was leaving her behind forever. But he had to. He forced himselfthrough the pain, which he knew was tearing at her leopard formwithoutmercy;hedraggedhimselfawayfromthelittleboatanduptheslopetothedarkmausoleum,becausesomethingwasdoingsomethingtoAliceandshewascryinginwildprotest.

Andthehyenadæmon,bothherfrontlegsgone,washalfstanding,half lying on the grass, with Ben, the terrier, in her foul jaws. Benwrithedandkickedandbitandhowled,and themonstrous jawsandteeth of Bonneville’s dæmon were closing, slowly, voluptuously,ecstatically,onhislittleform.

Then themoon came out. Therewas Bonneville in clear sight, hishandsgrippingAlice’swrists,holdingherdownonthesteps.Thecoldlight was reflected in the hyena’s eyes, and in Bonneville’s too, andfromthe tearsonAlice’scheeks. Itwas theworst thingMalcolmhadever seen, and he tore himself through the pain and lurched andstumbled up the slippery grass and raised the paddle and brought itdownontheman’sback,butfeebly,toofeebly.

Bonnevilletwisted,sawMalcolm,andlaughedout loud.Alicecriedandtriedtoforcethemanaway,butheslammedherdownhard,andshe screamed. Malcolm tried to hit him again. The moon shonebrilliantlyonthesoddengrass, themossygravestones, thecrumblingmausoleum, the figures in their hideous embrace between thecolumns.

Malcolmfeltsomethinggrowinsidehimthathecouldn’targuewithor control, and itwas like a herd ofwilddogs, snarling andhowlingandsnapping,racingtowardshimwiththeirtornearsandblindeyesandbloodiedmuzzles.

Andthentheywereallaroundhimandthroughhimandhewhirledthepaddleagainandcaughtthehyenadæmonontheshoulder.

“Ah,”saidBonneville,andfellclumsily.

Thehyenagrowled.Malcolmhitheragain,fullonthehead,andshelurched and slid away, her back legs slipping on the grass, her chestandthroatbearingalltheweightofherasshecrushedlittleBen.Onemoreblowfromthepaddle,andBenfelloutofherjawsandscrambledup towards Alice, but Bonneville saw him and kicked out at him,sendinghimtumblingawayoverthegrass.

Alice cried out in pain. The dogs howled and snarled, and what

happened was that Malcolm whirled the paddle again and caughtBonnevillehardonthebackofthehead.

“Tellme—”Malcolmraged,thoughhecouldn’tfinishthecommand,and he tried to hold the dogs backwith the paddle, but they surgedforwardagain,andMalcolmstruckoncemore,andthefigurefellfull-lengthwithalong,expiringmoan.

Malcolmturnedtotheimaginarydogs.Hefelthiseyesthrowingfire.Buthealsoknewinthatfractionofasecondthatwithoutthedogshewouldfindhimselfgivingwaytopity,andonlywiththeirhelpcouldhepunish the figurewhohadhurtAlice.But if hedidn’thold themoff,he’d never know what Bonneville could tell him—and yet he didn’tknow what to ask, and if he held them off for a moment too long,they’dgoawayandtakeallthatpowerwiththem.Hethoughtallthatinlessthanasecond.

Malcolm turned back to the dying figure. The dogs howled, andMalcolmwhirledthepaddleagainandstruckthearmthatcameupindefense.Hehadneverhitanythingsohard.Thefigurecriedout,“Goon,killme,youlittleshit!Peaceatlast.”

Thedogssurgedagain,and theman flinchedevenbeforeMalcolmhadmoved.Ifhehithimagain,Malcolmknew,he’dkillhim,andallthetimetheterrible,drainingseparationpainexhaustedhim,andtheknowledge of his brave abandoned dæmon guarding the little childdrenchedhimwithmisery.

“What’s the Rusakov field?” he managed to say. “Why’s itimportant?”

“Dust…” It was the last word Bonneville said, hardlymore than awhisper.

Thedogsweremillingaround,leaderless.MalcolmthoughtofAlice,ofthefairyarrangingherhair,ofhersleep-warmedcheeks,andofhowitfelttoholdbabyLyrainhisarms,andthedogsfelthisemotionandturnedaroundandleaptforwardoncemore,throughMalcolm,andheraisedthepaddleandstruckagainandagaintilltheBonnevillefigurefell still, the groaning stopped, all was silent, the hyena dæmon hadvanished,andMalcolmwasleftstandingoverthebodyofthemanwhohadpursuedthemsomadlyandforsolong.

Malcolm’sarms,strengthenedbydaysofpaddling,nowachedwithexhaustion.Theweightofthepaddleitselfwastoomuchforhim.He

dropped it. The dogs had gone. He sat down suddenly and leanedagainstoneofthecolumns.Bonneville’sbodylayhalfinandhalfoutofthedazzlingmoonlight.Atrickleofbloodranslowlydown,joiningtherainpuddlesstilllyingonthesteps.

Alice’s eyes were closed. There was blood on her cheek, blooddrippingdownherleg,bloodinherfingernails.Shewasshaking.Shewipedhermouthandlaybackonthewetstone,lookinglikeabrokenbird.Benwasamouse,tremblingatherneck.

“Alice,”hewhispered.

“Where’sAsta?”shemumbledthroughbruisedlips.“How…”

“She’sguardingLyra.Wehadtosep-separate….”

“Oh,Mal,”shesaid,justthat,andhefeltthatallthepainhadbeenworthit.

Hewipedhisface.

“Weoughttodraghimdowntothewater,”hesaidshakily.

“Yeah.Allright.Goslowly….”

Malcolmpulledhispainfulbodyuprightandbenttograsptheman’sfeet.Hebegantopull.Aliceforcedherselfupandhelped,haulingatasleeve. The body was heavy, but it camewithout resistance, withoutevensnaggingonthehalf-buriedgravestones.

Theycametothewater’sedge,wherethefloodwasflowingstrongly.TheCCDboatanditssearchlighthadgone.Theyrolledthedeadmanclumsilyoveruntilthecurrenttookhimaway,andthenstoodclingingtoeachotherandwatchingthedarkshape,darkeronthedarkwater,driftoffwiththefloodtillithadvanished.

The candle was still burning in the canoe. They found Lyra fastasleepandAsta,attheendofherstrength,lyingbesideher.Malcolmlifteduphisdæmonandhuggedherclose,andtheybothwept.

Alice climbed into the canoe and lay trembling as Ben, terrier-formed, lickedand lickedather, cleaning theblood fromeverypart.Thenshepulledablanketoverthembothandturnedawayandclosedhereyes.

Malcolmpickedupthechildandlaydownwithherinhisarmsandtheirdæmonsbetween themand theblanketswrappedaround themboth.Thelastthinghedidwastopinchoutthecandle.

The floodwasat itsheightby this time.All across southernEnglandhousesandvillagesweredevastated,largebuildingsweresweptaway,farmanimalsweredrowned,andasforpeople,thenumberofmissingor dead was, for the time being, uncountable. The authorities bothlocal and national had to spend every penny in their treasuries andeverysecondoftimeinthesoletaskofdealingwiththechaos.

Amongalltheotheractivities,desperateandurgentastheyallwere,the two sides that were searching forMalcolm and Lyramade theirway steadily downstream towards the capital city. They followedrumors, of which there were many; they ignored every cry for helpfromthebeleagueredpeopleonallsides;theyhadeyesandmindsonlyforaboyandagirlinacanoe,withababy,andforamanwithathree-leggedhyenadæmon.

LikeLordNugent,GeorgePapadimitriouhadexperiencedthesenseof strangeness and unreality that the flood produced. The gyptianowner of the boat hewas traveling on told him that in gyptian lore,extremeweatherhaditsownstatesofmind,justascalmweatherdid.

“Howcantheweatherhaveastateofmind?”saidPapadimitriou.

The gyptian said, “You think theweather is onlyout there? It’s inheretoo,”andtappedhishead.

“Sodoyoumeanthattheweather’sstateofmindisjustourstateofmind?”

“Nothing is just anything,” the gyptian replied, and would say nomore.

Theymovedonwiththeflood,speakingtoanyonetheycouldfind,

askingaboutthecanoeandtheboyandthegirl.Yes,they’dbeenseenthe day before, but no, it wasn’t a canoe, it was a dinghy with anoutboardengine.Yes,somepeoplehadseenthem,buttheyweredeadintheirboat,ortheywerewater-ghasts,ortheywerearmedwithguns.Andoverandoveragain: theywerespirits, itwasbad luck to talk tothem,theycamefromthefairyworld.Papadimitriouacceptedallthisnonsense with serious attention. The CCD in their search would behearing the same rumors: the problem was not to judge theirtruthfulness,buttoassessthelikelyreactionoftheotherside.NugentandSchlesingerwouldbefacedwithjustthesameproblem.

AndeveryhourtheycameclosertoLondon.

—

Themorninglight,ascoldandmercilessasitcouldbe,wokeMalcolmupfarearlierthanheliked.Achingineverymuscle,andachinginhismindwhenimagesof thenightcamebacktohim,hestruggledtositupandassemblehissenses.

Alicewasasleep,andsowasthechild,stillandwarminhisarms.Hewished he hadn’t woken; he knew he’d have to wake them, and hewishedhecouldletthemsleep.Helookedoutfromunderthecanopy.Thegraveyard lookedevenworse than ithadduring thenight,whenthemoonlight had at least given it a silvery coherence. In the cruellightofthemorning,itlookedsqualid,neglected,overgrown,andtherewassomethingworse: the stepsof the littlemausoleumwere stainedwithblood,agreatdealofit.

For a moment Malcolm felt sick, and closed his eyes and heldhimselfsteady.Thenthefeelingpassed.MovingveryslowlysoasnottowakenLyra,helaidherdownamongtheblanketsandclimbedoutofthecanoe,tostandshiveringonthesoddengrass,takingAstainhisarms.Withhernowsoclose,hefeltmoreshaken,sadder,moreguilty,mucholder.Shepressedhercatfaceintohisneck.Shehadbeenhurttoowhen they pulled apart; one day, perhaps, they’d be able to talkaboutit;butfornowhefeltfullofsorrowandregretthathe’dhurther.Ifitwaslikehis,thepainshewasfeelingwassodeepthatitseemedtoinhabiteveryatomofher.

“Wecouldn’tdoanythingelse,”shewhispered.

“Wehadto.”

“It’strue.Wedid.”

Couldhewashthebloodaway?Wouldthestepseverbecleanagain?Hisbodyquailed.

“Mal?Whereareyou?”

Alice’svoicewasfaint.Heliftedthecanopyandsawherfaceblurredwith sleep and still bloody from the night.He reached into the boatandtookoneofthecrumpledtowelsanddraggeditthroughthegrasstomoistenit.Shetookitsilentlyanddabbedhereyesandcheeks.

Then she climbed out too, very painfully, shivering and teethchattering,andreachedinforLyra.

Thechildbadlyneededachangeofnappy.Shewasdrowsy;insteadofherusuallivelychatter,shegrizzledunhappily,andPantalaimonlaylimplyasamouseagainstherneck.

“Hercheeksarered,”Malcolmsaid.

“Prob’lycaughtacold.Andweonlygotonenappyleft.Idon’tthinkwecangoonmuchlonger.”

“Well…”

“Wegottohaveafire,Mal.Wegottocleanher,andwegottofeedher.”

“I’llgetsomemorewood.”

Hereachedinforthepaddle,intendingfirsttowashthebloodoffit,andfoundacatastrophe.

“Oh,God!”

“Whatisit?”

Thepaddlewasbroken.Whathe’ddone in thenighthad snappedthe shaft.Thebladeand thehandle stillheld together,butonly just;any strain, the slightest push against the water, would break it offentirely. Malcolm turned it over in his hands, dismayed beyondexpression.

“Mal?What’sthematter?”andthen:“Oh,God,what’shappened?”

“Thepaddle’sbroken.IfIuseit,it’lljustsnap.IwishI…IwishI’d…IfonlyI’d…”

Hewasnearlyintears.

“Canyoumendit?”

“Icouldmendit,ifIhadaworkshopandtools.”

She was looking around. “First things first,” she said. “We got tohaveafire.”

“Icouldburnthis,”hesaidbitterly.

“No.Don’tdothat.Getsomewood.Trytolightafire,Mal.It’sreallyimportant.”

Helookedatthelistlesslittlechildinherarms,theunhappydæmonpressedsocloseagainstherneck,hereyeshalf closed; she looked illandweak.

Heputthepaddlecarefullyinthecanoe.

“Don’t touch that,” he said. “If it comes apart altogether, it’ll behardertomend.I’llfindsummingtoburn.”

Hewentwithslow,reluctantstepsuptheslopeto themausoleum,avoiding the still-damp blood, and opened the door. He lookedrespectfullyatthecoffinhe’dopenedthenightbeforeandmurmured,“Goodmorning,andsorryagain,ladiesandgentlemen.I’monlydoingthisbecausewereallyneedto.”

Anotherfencepost,anothercoffinlid,anotherskeletontoapologizeto,anotherfiretobuild.Afewminuteslaterthesaucepanwasheatingalmostthelastoftheircleanwater,andhewenttosearchamongtheheapoffencepostsforsomethingtomendthepaddlewith.

Theproblemwasnotfindingsomethingtobinditto;itwasfindingsomething to bind itwith—twine, string, any kind of cord.But therewasnothingofthatsortanywhere.Thebestthinghecouldfindwasalengthofrustywire.

Hedraggeditoutoftheheapoffenceposts,haulingitloosefromtheonesitwasstapledto,andbegantoworkonthepaddle.Thewirewasstiff and stubborn, and he couldn’t wrap it very tightly, but there itwas:itwasallhehad.Andtherewasenoughofittogoaroundseveraltimes,soevenifthebladebrokeawaycompletely,itwouldstillbeheldinacageofwire.

Hishandswerecutandscrapedandcovered inblood-redrust.Herinsed them in the floodwater and noticed that the canoe wasn’tfloatinganymore,butrestingonthegrassbeneath.

“Thewater’sgoingdown,”hesaid.

“Aboutbloodytime,”saidAlice.

Hewasimpatienttobegoing,andsowasshe;theygotbackinthecanoe, settled Alice and the child as comfortably as they could, andpushedoffoncemoreontotheflood.

—

The rest of that daywas dull going, under a cold gray sky, but theymadeafairdistance,byMalcolm’sreckoning.Andthewaterwasgoingdown, and the land they were passing through was more andmoreurban;therewerehousestoleftandright,roadsandshops,andevensomepeoplemovingabout,wadingalongthestreets.

Thepaddle felt looseandweak,buthedidn’thave topushagainstthecurrent,afterall.Heuseditmainlytosteer,andhekeptascloseintothebankashecouldwithoutdanger.HeandAlicelookedintentlyattheplacestheypassed,becausetheywerebothaware,withoutsayinganythingaboutit,ofthestateLyrawasin.

“Go down there!” said Alice suddenly, pointing to a street of littleshopsatrightanglestothecurrent.Itwasastruggletogetthecanoetoturnandgoback,witheverynerveinMalcolm’sarmsawareofexactlyhowmuchstrainitwasputtingonthepaddle;butfinallyhehadthemsafelyinthebackwaterthathadbeenastreet,andmovinglaboriouslyupalongtheshopfronts.

“There,”saidAlice,pointingtoapharmacy.

It was closed and dark, of course, but there was someonemovingaboutinside.Malcolmhopeditwasn’talooter.Hebroughtthecanoeupnexttothedoorandtappedontheglass.

“Holdherupsohecansee,”hesaidtoAlice.

Themaninsidecametothedoorandlookedout.Notanunfriendlyface,Malcolmthought,butanxiousandpreoccupied.

“Weneedsomemedicine!”heshouted,pointingatLyra,whololledpaleinAlice’sarms.

Themanpeeredatherandnodded.Hegestured:Comeroundtotheback.Analleywaybetweenhisshopandthenextledtoanopendoor,andthewaterinsidetheshopwasjustashighasitwasoutside,uptoMalcolm’sthighs,infact,ashefoundwhenhesteppedoutandtiedthecanoetoadrainpipe.Itwassocolditshookhisheart.

“Youbettercome,”hesaidtoAlice.“Youcanexplainwhatweneed.”

HetookLyrawhileAlicegotout,gaspingattheshockofthecold.Heheldontothechildastheymadetheirwayintotheshop.

“Ihopethestuffweneeden’tonthelowshelves,”hesaid.

Themanmettheminsidealittlekitchenette.

“Whatisit?”hesaid,notunkindly.

“It’sourlittlesister,”Malcolmsaid.“She’sill.Wegotsweptdowninthefloodandwebeentryingtolookafterher.But…”

ThemanpulledbackLyra’sblankettolookatherface,andputthebackofhisfingersagainstherforehead.

“Howoldisshe?”hesaid.

“Eightmonths,”saidAlice.“Wejustrunoutofmilkpowder,andwegotnothingelsetogiveher.Andweneedmorenappies,thethrowawayones.Anythingbabiesneed,really.Andmedicine.”

“Whereareyougoing?”

“Sincewegotsweptawayintheflood,ween’tbeenabletogobackhome,whichisOxford,”Malcolmexplained,“sowe’retryingtogettoChelsea,whereherfatherlives.”

“She’syoursister?”

“Yes.She’sEllie,andI’mRichard,andthisisSandra.”

“WhereaboutsinChelsea?”

Themanseemedtwitchy,asifhewastryingtolistenforsomethingelseaswellasMalcolm’sanswer.

“MarchRoad,”AlicesaidbeforeMalcolmcouldspeak.“Butcanyougiveussomeof the thingssheneeds?Ween’tgotanymoneytopay.Please.We’reeversoworriedabouther.”

ThemanwasabouttheageofMalcolm’sfather.Helookedas ifhemightbeafatherhimself.

“Let’s go and see what we can find,” he said loudly, with a falsecheerfulness.

They splashed theirway through into the front of the shop,wherethey founda chaosof floatingbottles, tubes, cardboardpacketsgone

soggy.

“Idon’tknowifwe’lleverrecoverfromthis,”hesaid.“Theamountofstockthat’sruined…Now,firstofall,giveheraspoonfulofthis.”

Hereacheduptoatopshelfandtookdownaboxcontainingalittlebottleofmedicineandaspoon.

“Whatisit?”saidMalcolm.

“It’llmakeher feelbetter.Aspoonfuleverycoupleofhours.How’sherteeth?Shestartedteethingyet?”

“She’s got a couple,” said Alice. “And I think her gums are sore.Maybethere’smorecoming.”

“Let her chew one of these,” said the pharmacist, taking a box ofhard biscuits from a shelf just above where the water had reached.“Whatelsewasit?”

“Milkpowder.”

“Oh,yes.Luckyaboutthattoo.Herey’are.”

“Thisisadifferentsortfromtheonewehad.Aretheymadeupthesame?”

“They’reallmadeupthesame.Howd’youheatthewater?”

“Wemakeafire.Wegotasaucepan.That’showweheatherwashingwatertoo.”

“Veryresourceful.I’mimpressed.Anythingelse?”

“Nappies?”

“Oh,yes.They’reonthebottomshelf,sononeofthese’lldo.I’llseeifthere’sanyouttheback.”

Malcolmwaspouringsomeofthemedicineintothespoon.

“Can you hold her up?” he said, and then whispered, “There’ssomeoneelsehere.He’sgoneouttotalkto’em.”

“I hope it’s nice, else she’ll spit it out,” said Alice, and thenwhispered,“Iseenher.She’skeepingoutofsight.”

“Comeon,Lyra,” saidMalcolm. “Situpnow.Comeon, love.Openyourmouth.”

Heputadropofthepinkliquidonherlips.Lyrawokeupandbegan

tocomplain,andthentastedsomethingstrangeandsmackedherlips.

“Tastenice?Here’sanotherdrop,”saidMalcolm.

Alicewaslookingintentlyatthereflectionsintheglassofamedicinecabinet.

“I can see ’em. He’s whispering to her…and she’s going out,” shemuttered.“Bastards.Webettermoveoffquick.”

Theshopkeepercameback.“Hereyouare,”hesaid.“IthoughtIhadafewpacketsleft.Anythingelseyouneed?”

“CanItakeoneoftheserollsofadhesivetape?”Malcolmasked.

“You’dbebetteroffwithindividualbandages,wouldn’tyou?”

“Ineedittomendsomething.”

“Goon,then.”

“That’sverykindofyou,sir.Thankyouverymuch.”

“Whatareyougoingtoeat?”

“Wegotsomebiscuitsandthings,”Malcolmsaid,asimpatienttobeawayasAlicewas.

“Let me go next door—see if I can find you something from thegrocer’s—I’m sure he won’t mind. You wait here a minute. Tell youwhat.Goupstairs—getoutofthewater,warmupabit.”

“Thankyouverymuch,butwegottomoveon,”saidAlice.

“Oh,no,keepthelittleoneoutofthecoldforawhile.Youalllookasifyoucoulddowitharest.”

“No,thankyou,”saidMalcolm.“We’llgo.Thankyouverymuchforthesethings.Wedon’twanttowait.”

Theshopkeeperkeptinsisting,buttheymovedoutandgotbackintothecanoe,coldandwetastheywere,andpushedoffstraightaway.

“Hewastryingtokeepustherewhilehiswifewentforthepolice,”said Alice quietly, watching him over Malcolm’s shoulder as hepaddledthemdowntothemainstream.“OrtheCCD.”

As soon as theywere clear,Malcolmpulled off the rustywire andwrapped the roll of adhesive tape as tightly as he could around thepaddle. It felt better than the wire, but it had little strength, and it

wouldn’t lastverylong;butperhapstheydidn’thavemuchfurthertogo.HesaidsotoAlice.

“We’llsee,”shesaid.

—

Over the centuries, the engineers and builders of the Corporation ofLondon had learned to make the outward flow of the river and theinwardsurgeofthetidecometogethermoreorlesssmoothly.Allthewayupriver as far asTeddington, thewater level rosewhen the tidecame in and fell when it went out again, and only the skippers andbargeownerswhosevesselscrowdedthewaterandusedthecitydockstookmuchnotice.

Butthefloodhadchangedeverything.Twiceaday,asthetidecameinuptheestuary, thegreatweightof the floodwater leaned itsmightagainsttheseaandtriedtoforceitback;anduntilthetideturnedandwent out again, the two vastmasses of contending water roiled andseethedinawildconfusion.

Allkindsofboatingexceptthemosturgenthadceasedforthetimebeing.Somebargesandlightersheldhardtotheirmoorings,thoughinmany cases theywere torn loose and swept up or down the river toslamintotheembankments,intothewharvesandquaysorthepiersofthegreatbridges,ortocapsizeinthesurge,ortobecarriedouttoseaandlost.

A number of bridges were shaken badly. Only Castle Bridge andWestminster Bridge held fast entirely. Black Friars, Battersea, andSouthwark collapsed, their debris adding to the churning turmoil asthe watersmet. In the small powerboat he’d hired, Bud Schlesingerrodethewildwater,scouring thechaosallaroundwithhiseyes,andtryingtocalmthefearsoftheowner.

“There’s too much debris in the water!” the man shouted. “It’sdangerous!Itcouldsmashopenthehull!”

“Where’sChelsea?”Schlesingercalledbackfromthebow,wherehewasleaningoutandtryingtokeeptherainoutofhiseyes.

“Furtheron,”theownershouted.“Wegottopullinandtieup!Thisiscrazy.”

“Notyet.IsChelseaontheleftbankortheright?”

Theownershoutedback,“Left!”followedbyastringofcurses.Theboat plunged on. The embankments on both sides, as far asSchlesinger could see, were under several feet of water, and on theright a large submerged park spread out beyond a line of great baretrees,whereasontheleftasuccessionofimposinghousesandstatelyapartmentbuildingsstoodsilentanddeserted.

“Slowdownalittle,”Budcalled,andmadehiswaytothecockpitatthestern.“YoueverheardofOctoberHouse?”

“Bigwhiteplacefurtherdown—Whatthehell’sthatfooldoing?”

A powerful boat with a navy-blue-and-ocher hull had surged upclose, crowding themon the starboard side.A deckhandwith a boathookleanedoutandtriedtohitSchlesinger,butheswayedbackandletitpassinfrontofhim.Themannearlyoverbalanced,butheldontothe rail and swung the boat hook round in another attempt.Schlesingerdrewhispistolandfiredabovetheboat,andbysheerluckhittheboathook,knockingitoutoftheman’shand.

“Youcan’tdothat!”wailedtheownerofBud’sboat,throttlingbackhard.Thebiggerboatlungedahead,butthenmetsomeobstructioninthe water and reared up suddenly. Bud could see the helmsmanwrestlingwiththewheel,tryingtogetthevesseltoturntostarboard,but clearly there was something impeding the propeller. The enginescreamedand theboat lostway,and ina fewsecondswaswallowinghelplesslybehindthem.

“What the bloody hell!” Bud’s helmsman was almost incoherent.“Didn’tyouseethecolors?Youknowwhattheywere?”

“CCD,”saidBud.“WegottagettoOctoberHousebeforetheydo.”

“Insane!”

Theman’sdogdæmonwascrouchingbesidehislegs,shivering.Theowner shook his head but pushed the throttle forward a notch. Budwipedtherain fromhiseyesand lookedallaround: in thesprayandthe confusion there were many shapes on the water, and it wasimpossibletotellwhichofthemmightbeacanoewithaboyandagirlandababy.

—

Halfamiledownstream,LordNugent’sboatslammedintothelandingatthefootofagreatlawnleadinguptoawhitebuildingintheclassical

style. The landing stagewasunder the surface, of course, and itwasonly the hull of the boat that made contact with it, and there wasnowheretotieup;butNugentwasovertheside inamoment,waist-deep in the freezingwater, andwading, trying toholdhisbalance inthestrongcurrent,uptowardswhatlookedlikeamassiveboathouseattheleftofthelawn,whosefront,opentothesurgingriver,glowedwithanbaric light. Therewere sounds from inside that came clearly evenover the storm and the rage of the water: hammering, drilling, aturbinelikewhine.

Nugentmadeit,stillknee-deep,andgraspedthehandleofadooronthelandwardside.Hehauleditopenandwentin.Undertheglareoffloodlights,nodoubtpoweredbythegeneratorthatwasthuddingjustoutside the door, half a dozenmenwereworking on a long, slenderboat.Nugentcouldn’tseewhattheyweredoing:hehadeyesonlyforthemanwhowascrouchingontheforedeck,usingaweldingtorch.

“Asriel!”hecalled,andhurriedforwardalongthetemporarydeckingtowardstheboat.

Lord Asriel pushed up the mask that covered his face and stood,astonished.

“Nugent?Isthatyou?Whatareyoudoinghere?”

“Isthisboatreadytogooutonthewater?”

“Yes,but—”

“Ifyouwant tosaveyourdaughter, take itout rightnow. I’ll comewithyouandexplain.Don’twasteasecond.”

—

AsLaBelleSauvagefloatedmoreandmoreswiftlydownintoLondon,the tide was nearing its height, and the consequences for the littlecanoewereserious.Slammedthiswayandthat,batteredby lurchingwavesandcrosscurrents,shekepthercourseaswellasMalcolmcouldmanage, but every time she twisted on the rough water, he heard acreak, as if part ofher frameworkwas givingway. If only they couldstop…

But they couldn’t stop.They couldn’t stopanywhere.As if the tidewasn’tenough,awindhadbeguntoblow,andwas lashing thewaterinto white-topped waves and whipping off the spray; and the skyabove,grayandcoldanddullallday,hadbeeninvadedbyheftyrain-

bearingthunderclouds.Malcolmkeptturningthiswayandthattolookforaplacetoputashore,soastoattendtothathorriblecreakthathecould hear now even above the wind, and he could feel it too, asickening twist that began as the merest suspicion of structuralloosenessbutsoonbecamebiggerwitheverylurch,everysidewaysriseandfall.

“Mal—”Alicecalled.

“Iknow.Holdon.”

Theywere sweptonwardspast a greatpalace set so farback in itsgarden that he could hardly see it through the rain, past streets ofelegantbrickhouses,pastaprettyoratory;andwheneverhe thoughthecouldseeshelter,hedugthepaddledeepandtriedtoturntowardsit,but itwashopeless;andnowthebladewascominglooseagain,tomakeeverythingworse.

Through themurkahead,hecould just see fourhugechimneysonthesouthernbank,risingfromeachcornerofagreatclifflikebuilding.WeretheynearChelsea?Andiftheywere,howcouldhestop?

AlicewasholdingLyratight.Hefeltasurgeofloveforthemboth,oflove and of infinite regret that he’d brought them into this; but hecouldn’t dwell on that because therewas a new soundnow, piercingthe noise of the wind and the battering rain: a siren—an alarm—shriekingbehindthem,itscrylikeaseabirdtossedandflungthiswayand that in the buffeting air. Alice was straining to see over hisshoulder,clutchingLyratoherchest,handuptokeeptherainoutofhereyes—andatthesametimeMalcolmheardaclangorofbellsfromdirectlyahead.

And other sounds came to them on the pummeling wind—theroaringbeatofanengine,thecreakandhowlofgreatmassesofwoodbeingcrushedtogether,humancries.Malcolmcouldfocusonnoneofthem. La Belle Sauvage was worrying him to madness—was shebreakingapart?

Suddenly there came a massive blow from something behind: apowerboat—Malcolmcouldheartheenginescreamingasthepropellerroseoutofthewater,andhearAlicescreamoverthat,andthenfeelthethrustandshudderasthepropellerplungedintothewateragainandforced theboat against the little canoe.Whatwere theydoing?Alicewas shouting—herwordswere snatched away like a piece of paper—

another crash as the navy-blue-and-ocher hull of the powerboatshouldered the canoe sideways in the water, and La Belle Sauvageleanedoverandshippedaheavywavebeforeswinginguprightagain.Malcolm was fighting now with every little fraction of his strength,digging the paddle deep, leaning into the stroke, heaving hard—andnursingthebrokenthing,whichwasfinallycomingapart.Hesnatchedofftheuselessbladeandflungitbackwardsspinningthroughtheair.Wasthereacrashofbrokenglass?Ashoutofanger?

Impossibletohearbecausenowanotherpowerboat,thehighernoteofadifferentengine,screamedinfromtherightandsmashedintothefirst—Malcolm could see nothing: the lashing rain drenched hiseyeballs,andthewildconfusionofsoundandthelurching,smashing,pitching,plungingmovementsofthecanoewerehisonlyguide.

Andthenagunshot—twomore—fourmorefromadifferentgun—asudden immenseshock,and immediately the freezingwaterbegantogushin,andnothingwouldeverstopitnow.

Anothersmashagainstthewoundedcanoe,thistimefromtheright.Apowerfuldeepvoiceroaring,“Passheruptome!”

LordAsriel…

MalcolmwipedhisrighthandacrosshiseyesandsawAlicetryingtoholdLyraawayfromthehandsthatreacheddown,andhescreamed,“Alice!It’sallright!Passherup!”

Onewild lookfromher,andhenoddedashardashecould—“Passherup!”againinthatharsh,deepshout—andAlicethrustthechildup,and Lyra was screaming, and those hands snatched her, thrust herbackwards,andthen,beforeAlicecouldmove,seizedoneofherwristsandhoistedher instantlyup too,as if sheweighednomore than thebaby.Ben,asalittlemonkey,wasclingingtoherwaist.

Thefirstboathadswungback.Nowitsmashedintothecanoeagain,a deathblow, and the brave little boat was broken open like an egg.BothMalcolmandAstacriedoutwithlove.

“Nowyou,boy!”Thathugevoiceagain.

Balancing knee-deep in the surging water, Malcolm swung therucksackup.Itwashardto liftwithonehand,andthosehandsfromabovepusheditaside.“You—youfool!”

“Take this first!” Malcolm screamed, and Alice was shouting too:

“Takeit,takeit!”

Outofhisgraspitsprangupwardsandvanished,andthenhestoodinthesinkingcanoewithAstaasasnakecoiledtightlyaroundhisleg,andaniron-hardhandclosedaroundhisrightarmandswunghimup,and then he fell on a wooden deck with a crash that knocked everyscrapofairoutofhislungs,andhestareddownwithrain-lashed,tear-filledeyesasthelittleBelleSauvage,smashedtomatchwood,diedandwasborneawayforever.

Nothingthenbutnoiseandtheplunging,thumping,swingingofthepowerboat on the wild water. Malcolm scrambled across to Alice,dragging the rucksack, and they sat clinging together with the childbetweenthem,alltheirdæmonsclingingtogethertoo,assuddenlythemovement stilled, the engine fell silent, and theywere inside a greatshedwithanbariclightsblazingdownatthem.

Malcolm felt awave of exhaustionmove slowly through him fromfeettohead.

Asrielwas shouting, “What thehelldoyou thinkyouwereplayingat?”

Malcolmgatheredhisstrengthtositupandanswer,buthehadnoneleft.Aliceleapttoherfeetinstead,andstoodwithfistsclenched,facingLord Asriel, and Ben, her dæmon, bristling with defiance as a wolf,baredhisteethbesideher.Hervoicewaslikeawhip.

“Playing?Youthinkwewereplaying?ThiswasMal’sidea.Hesaidwe’d bring Lyra to you to keep her safe, because by God there wasnowhere else she’d be safe. Iwas against it because I thought itwasimpossible, but he was stronger than me, and if he says he’ll dosomething,he’llbloodydoit.Youdon’tknownothingabouthimtoaskastupidquestionlikethat.Playing!Youdareeventhinkthat.IfItoldyouhalfofwhathe’sdonetokeepusaliveandsafe,well,youwouldn’timagineitcouldbetrue.Youcouldn’tdreamofit.WhateverMalsays,Ibelieve.Sotakethatfuckingsmileoffyourface,you.”

Malcolmwas barely conscious now.He thought hewas dreaming.But the expressiononLordAsriel’s face,warmwith amusement andadmirationforAlice,wastoorealtobeimagined.Hedraggedhimselftohisfeetandsaidhoarsely,“Scholasticsanctuary.Wetriedtogetherto JordanCollege, but the floodwas too strong, and anyway, I don’tknowthewords.TheLatinwords.Sowethoughtyoumight…”

Andheheldoutwithtremblingfingersthelittlewhitecardthathe’dfoundinthecanoe.

Lyra was crying passionately. Once again Malcolm tried to holdhimselfsteady,but itwastoohardaltogether.Justbeforehe fainted,heheardsomeonesay,“Theboy’sbleeding—he’sbeenshot….”

—

Whenhecame to, itwas inadifferent space, small,hot, close to thedrummingofagyropterengine,litbytheglowofaninstrumentpanel.Hisleftarmwasablazewithpain.Wherehadthatcomefrom?

Someonesqueezedhisrighthand.ItwasAlice.

“Where’sLyra?”hemanagedtosay.

Shepointedtothefloor.Lyralaywrappedupastightlyasamummy,fastasleep,andPanlaycoiledaroundherneckasalittlegreensnake.

Astawaslying,cat-shaped,onMalcolm’slap.Hetriedtostrokeherwithhis lefthand,butthatmadehisarmthrobwithevenmorepain.Shestoodupandrubbedherfaceagainsthis.

“Wherearewe?”hewhispered.

“Inagyropter.He’sflyingit.”

“Wherearewegoing?”

“Hedidn’tsay.”

“Where’stherucksack?”

“Behindyourlegs.”

He felt for itwithhis righthand: there itwas, safe.He felthis leftarmdelicately,andfoundaroughbandagecoveringtheforearm.

“Whathappened?”hesaid.

“Yougotshot,”saidAlice.

Thegyropterwasshakingandswaying,butAlicewascalmenough,soMalcolmdecidednottobeanxious.Theenginewassoloudandsoclosethatitwasdifficulttoheareachotheranyway.Heleanedbackinthehardseatandfellasleep.

Aliceadjustedthewayhewas lyingsohewouldn’twakeupwithastiff neck. Over the thudding of the engine, she heard Asriel shout

somethingand thoughtsheheardhername.She leaned forwardandshoutedback,“What?Ican’thearyou.”

Therewasanothermaninthecopilot’sseat,somesortofservant.Hetwistedaroundandhandedherearphones,andshowedherhowtoputthem on and bring the microphone round in front of her mouth.SuddenlyLordAsriel’svoicewasloudandclear.

“Listencarefully,anddon’tinterrupt.I’mgoingaway,andIwon’tbebackforsometime.IwanttofindthechildsafewhenIcomeback,andthebestwaytoensurethatistokeepyourselfandMalcolmquietandinconspicuous.YouunderstandwhatImean?”

“YouthinkI’mstupid?”

“No, I think you’re young.Goback to theTrout. I knowyouworkthere;Isawyou.Gobackthereandtakeupyourlifeagain.Tellnooneabout any of this.Oh, you can talk toMalcolm, of course, but not awordtoanyoneelseexcepttheMasterofJordanCollege.He’sagoodman; you can trust him. But there are all kinds of dangers ready topouncewhenthefloodgoesdown.”

“What,theCCD,youmean?Whydotheywanther?”

“Ihaven’tgottimetoexplain.Butthey’llbewatchingyou,andthey’llbewatchingMalcolm,sostayaway fromher forawhile. I’d takeherwithme into the farnorth,where thedangersareopenandobvious,exceptforonething.”

“What?”

“Sheseemstohavefoundsomegoodguardiansalready.Shemustbelucky.”

He said nomore. Alice took off the earphones. She bent down totouch Lyra’s forehead, but the child was fast asleep, with no fever.GreyhoundBenlickedPantalaimon’semeraldserpenthead,andAlicetookMalcolm’srighthandandclosedhereyes.

—

Andalmostatonce, it seemed, theyweredescending.Malcolm felt alurch inhis stomach and clenchedhismuscles against it; but it onlylastedafewmoments,andthentheaircraftsettledontheground.Theenginenoisechanged,becomingquieter,andthenstoppedaltogether.Malcolm’s earswere ringing, but he did hear the hammering of rain

againstthebodyofthegyropter,andheardLordAsriel’svoiceaboveit:“Thorold,stayhereandguardthemachine.I’llbetenminutes.”

Thenheturnedandsaidoverhisshoulder,“Getoutandfollowme.Bringthechild,andbringyourbloodyrucksack.”

Alice found a door on her side and scooped up Lyra beforescrambling out.Malcolm hauled the rucksack along and got out thesameside,intothebitterwindandtheteemingrain.

“Thisway,”saidLordAsriel,andhurriedoff.

A flashof lightningshowedMalcolmagreatdomedbuilding,wallsofstone,towers,andtreetops.

“Isthis…,”saidAlice.

“Oxford,yes.ThisisRadcliffeSquare,Ithink—”

Lord Asriel was waiting at the entrance to a narrow lane lit by aflickeringgaslamp.Therainmadeeverysurfaceshiny.Hisblackhairglintedlikestone.

Hesetoffdownthelane,andafterahundredyardsorso,hetookakeyfromhispocketandopenedadoorinthewallontheright.

They followedhim intoa largegarden,overlookedbybuildingsontwo sides. In one of them, large Gothic windows were lit, showingshelvesofancientbooks.LordAsrielmadestraightforacornerofthegardenunderahighstonewallandwentalonganarrowpassagethatwaslit,likethelaneoutside,byaflickeringyellowlightonthewall.

“Letmetakethechild,”hesaid.

Alicehandedherovercarefully.LordAsriel’sdæmon,thepowerfulsnowleopard,wantedtoseeher,andLordAsrielcroucheddowntolether put her face next to the sleeping child. Malcolm shifted therucksackawkwardly,andanideacametohim.He’dnevermanagedtogiveLyrathelittletoyhe’dmade,butperhaps…

“IsthisJordanCollege?”hesaid.

“Asyousuggested.Comeon.Wemustbehereandgoneforthistowork.”

He stoppedby a large door set between two elegant baywindows,andknockedloudly.Malcolm,ignoringtheawfulpaininhisleftarm,rummaged at the bottom of the rucksack for the alethiometer in its

blackvelvetcloth.Theclothfellopenashebroughtitout,andthegoldglitteredinthedimlight.

“What’sthat?”saidLordAsriel.

“It’sapresentforher,”saidMalcolm,andthrustitinamongLyra’sblankets.

Theyheardthesoundofakeyturningandboltsslidingback,andasthunder crashedoverhead, thedooropened to showadistinguished-lookingmanholdingalamp.Hepeeredoutattheminastonishment.

“Asriel?Canthatbeyou?”hesaid.“Comeinside,quickly.”

“Putyourlampdown,Master.Onthetable—that’lldo.”

“Whatintheworld—”

WhentheMasterturnedback,LordAsrielputthechildinhisarmsbeforehecouldprotest.

“Secundum legem de refugio scholasticorum, protectionemtegimentumque huius collegii pro filia mea Lyra nomine reposco,”Asrielsaid.“Lookafterher.”

“Scholasticsanctuary?Forthischild?”

“Formydaughter,Lyra,asIsaid.”

“She’snotascholar!”

“You’llhavetomakeherintoone,then,won’tyou?”

“Andwhataboutthesetwo?”

AsrielturnedtolookatMalcolmandAlice,sodden,shivering,filthy,exhausted,bloody.

“Treasurethem,”hesaid.

Thenheleft.

Itwasnogood;Malcolmcouldn’tstandupanylonger.AlicecaughthimandlaidhimontheTurkishcarpet.TheMastershutthedoor.Inthesuddensilence,Lyrabegantocry.

NowstrikeyoursailsyeejollyMariners,

Forwebecomeintoaquietrode,

Wherewemustlandsomeofourpassengers,

Andlightthiswearyvesselofherlode.

Heresheawhilemaymakehersafeabode,

Tillsherepairedhavehertacklesspent,

Andwantssupplied.Andthenagaineabroad

Onthelongvoyagewheretosheisbent:

Wellmayshespeedeandfairelyfinishherintent.

EDMUNDSPENSER,THEFAERIEQUEENE,1XII42

Tobecontinued…

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