The angels murmured at
Chemeron’s news. Symandera turned to her beloved Chemeron and whispered in his
ear. He nodded.
“And further,” he went on, “we fear the cloaked man may
still be alive.”
It had been three days since the incident in the Lapland
mountains. Chemeron was addressing several hundred angels atop a grassy
pine-covered peak in the world of Cittagazze. The world where the subtle knife
had originated opened into many worlds, and had become, in a manner, the angel’s
hub of window-closing activities.
A wizened curmudgeon of an angel named Gard stepped
forward. “Why might you think he is alive? You found no evidence of this
assertion!”
“Precisely,” said Symandera. “We found no evidence
whatsoever. It is impossible for a dead man to conceal the evidence of his
death, unless he had planned very carefully ahead of time.” Several angels
snickered.
Chemeron and Symandera looked at one another, hesitant to
say what they were considering. “We have two theories. We believe that he
either is not human, or that he may have been assisted somehow by non-human
forces.”
The murmur swelled. Before it grew, Symandera spoke up. “If
anyone has any knowledge to either corroborate or disprove these theories, we
will most gladly hear it.”
Gard was not listening,
still consumed by his disappointment at the pair of angels.
“You should not have shown
him the way! Self-sacrifice above divulging the knowledge, at all costs.”
Symandera was struck by Gard’s insensitivity. The angels
had not agreed to a secret-to-the-death protocol, and it was unfair of Gard to
lay guilt on Chemeron for doing what he did. Not to mention that he’d actually
suggested, in Symandera’s presence, that he should have offed himself without a
moments’ thought. But, that’s how Gard was, even while alive: ruled by cold
logic, with little time for the quagmire of emotions.
“If he had done
so,” Symandera countered, “he’d not have been able to tell you everything. I
saw some of the events that transpired, but not all. Chemeron’s knowledge was
crucial. This threat is too great to start sacrificing ourselves without
considering the meaning of the threat.”
An angel named Tymisen who lounged on a robust pine bough
sat up. “So, what do you believe the ‘first step’ to have been that the man
spoke of? You said you didn’t think it was to do with the world that that last
window opened into. What then?”
Chemeron flapped his wings and rose about nine or ten feet
in the air, getting a better look at Tymisen and the rest of the others. “We
first must consider what he had at this disposal. He was high in the Lapland
region at a hunting lodge. It may have been his, but I doubt it sincerely. He
may have paid for its use, or perhaps killed the owner.”
A number of angels consulted one another, seeing if any had
heard of any recent death in the region. Chemeron went on.
“He also had a power over the cliffghasts. Contact with
humans – and this is still assuming that the cloaked figure was a human – is not something that has
been known to occur since the fall of the Authority.”
Symandera joined Chemeron at his side. “And let us not
forget that remnants of the Magisterium linger, and, remnants though they may
be, still pose a threat to us all—“
“And to Lyra
Belacqua,” an angel atop a boulder noted. “Her daughter as well.”
All the angels turned. It was Xaphania who had spoken.
Chemeron stopped abruptly and went silent. He floated back
to the ground. “Of course,” Chemeron said. “And if there is any threat to her
work to build the Republic of Heaven, it is prudent to assume this man has
something to do with it.”
Xaphania rose from the boulder and flew to Chemeron and
Symandera. She turned to the crowd of angels and flashed a sweeping gaze at
them that made every single of them think She’s looking right at me.
“We cannot know all that those with dark hearts and darker
intentions are planning. But I can say that the greatest threat to the Republic
of Heaven, the first great challenge to the freedom we so passionately fought
for, is building momentum. It will be a long time in coming, but it is coming.
Make no mistake about it. We must be vigilant, and we must be ready.”
The angels conferred again with one another, more loudly
this time. Gard piped up.
“How do you know all of this? And can you not say more?’
Xaphania shook her head. “I can not, though I know, as
before, that we angels have a role to play in these developments, though
perhaps not the central role. Our help will be needed, as before, and there
will be sacrifice. But how and when, I can not say.
“Though,” she added, “I can say that I will be among those
that will be lost.”
Stunned silence fell over the angels on the peak.
Xaphania’s statement was so matter-of-fact, so mild, that even Gard arched an
eyebrow.
She went on. “Do not grieve for me, or be shocked by this
knowledge. It is not something to be avoided. On the contrary: it is my fate;
all of our fates. It is not with sadness that I offer this news, but with
assurance that, with this sacrifice, the threat will be positively eliminated.
But, to do this, we will once again require the help of Lyra and Will. And we
must allow them to proceed, unabated in their lives’ work—“
“Unabated?” Tymisen said as he leapt off of the bough and
landed in front of Xaphania. “Was it not you who instructed Will Parry and Mary
Malone to follow a path they would not have thought to follow?” The angel was
referring to Xaphania’s intervening effort to help save Will’s mother Elaine.
Symandera and Chemeron shifted uncomfortably as the question was asked.
Xaphania responded. “It is true that I did such a thing.
But I would argue that Will faced obstacles at that time in his life that Lyra
did not; obstacles that, without assistance, he would never have been able to
scale, not even with the help of Mary Malone. Will now as the tools to
continue, and the ability to overcome future adversity.”
Gard snorted dismissively. “The question remains: how is it
you’ve come to know so much about these things? Is there an oracle you are
privy to that we are not?”
Xaphania simply smiled. “Yes,” she said. “That is precisely
the case.”
* * * * * * * * * *
As a child, Lyra’s mother Marisa Coulter had abhorred
taking the Chthonic Railway for any reason save an emergency, and even that would be a status-lowering experience
she’d rather not have to endure. And, as her mother, she’d never allow her
child to do such a thing; not if she had anything to say about it. But Lyra did
many things as an adult that as a child she was either unable to do or advised
against trying, and taking rides on the railway was one of them.
It was nearly ten o’clock at night now. The railcar was
nearly empty, save a few tossed stragglers from the fair who were too worn out
to make much noise. Bella loved rides in the railcar; loved the scent of the
oil of the wheels and the moist dampness of the surrounding tunnel walls; felt
warmed by the the humming orange glow of the anbaric lights along the walls of
the railcar. She would pretend the railway was a magic portal from one world to
another, and that the railcar was a supreme conveyance built expressly for such
interdimensional travel. Bella had said as much to her mother, who stifled an
ironic laugh upon hearing so.
Bella and Lyra were on
their way home, back to Westingbrook
near St. Mary’s where Lyra and Bella lived. Though Bella did not attend her
mother’s school, she and her mother still lived close by; the short distance
between her job and her home made things easier for Lyra, and Bella always knew
her mother would be close to home.
Though Theo had come to the fair with Lyra and Bella, he
returned home with other friends he’d met up with at the fair. Theo had to
return home earlier than Bella did (his parents were strict when it came to
curfew, and he was a fine boy who always obeyed), and he met up with a family
who was friends with his parents. Theo gave Bella a markedly diplomatic
handshake when they parted for the evening, but he snuck a small kiss on the
back of her hand. Bella blushed furiously, thankful that the dark of the
evening hid her reaction.
Bella had been keeping
tightlipped about her whirlwind escapades that day at the fair. Her mother had
said nary a word, despite knowing full well what it was her daughter had been
up to. She knew her daughter would speak of it soon enough.
Thoughts of Theo played through Bella’s mind as she and her
mother rode in pleasant silence through the underground network of tunnels that
ran beneath Oxford. He didn’t care about
winning the game. He wanted me to win. He did it for me. And she was dead certain
she’d never feel the same thrill she felt as when he kissed her after the other
children had dispersed. If only the day could last a few hours longer…
Lyra had gone back to ‘reading’ her book on horticulture
while Pantalaimon coiled himself around her neck. Pan occasionally whispered a
thought or two into Lyra’s ear, making it difficult for Lyra not to chuckle.
“That hen very nearly pecked my eyes out,” her daemon said
chidingly. “That’s some contest those children have.” Lyra nodded ever so
slightly.
“I know, Pan,” she whispered, “I found no comfort while you
dealt with it. But I thank you.”
Ramses was in Bella’s lap as a squirrel again, laying
pleasantly still as she stroked his velvety head. Abruptly, he changed to a
dormouse and skittered up to Bella’s shoulder and, like Pantalaimon, discreetly
whispered.
“When do you think you’ll see him again?” Bella had been
considering this the whole trip home. “That is, other than when you normally
see him?”
A sharp bend in the tunnel caused the car to jostle a bit,
causing Ramses to grip Bella’s shoulder. Bella contemplated it.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, trying to keep her words
away from her mother’s ears. “I suppose I could ask Mother if I could see him
later in the week, when school is out. But I’m sure she would be suspicious of
me wanting to see him…”
Ramses huffed a little laughing sigh. “You give your mother
too little credit, Bella. If she doesn’t already see how you feel for him by
now, well, she never will.”
And Bella knew that. Of course
she knew it. Bella knew everything she’d said and done gave it away. She
was at that awkward age when it’s one thing to admit to yourself that you have
feelings for someone, but something entirely different when tell someone else –
or rather, one’s parents – that you fancy someone.
“You may as well tell her now,” Ramses went on. “You have
nothing to fear.”
Of course not,
Bella thought, but it was so dreadfully peculiar to talk about such things,
such new emotions with her mother. Her mother, whom she was so very close to;
almost like sisters they were in what they shared with one another. But it was
that very closeness that made it so difficult to openly tell her about Theo. It
was a barrier to cross, and she was still afraid to do it.
Bella nodded, and not so secretly that her mother didn’t
notice. Lyra knew Ramses and her daughter were seriously discussing something,
but kept to herself and her own thoughts.
Lyra reflected on her own day. Seeing Bella in the full
bloom of youthful energy, the young man she obviously had taken a shine to, and
her own memories of Daniel and Will. She was feeling better since talking
things over with Ma Costa, and as the distance between she and the fairgrounds
increased, her sadness began to diminish. Still, the revelations she’d had
stayed with her.
Bella drew a deep breath and looked straight ahead, through
the window on the other side of the car, out at the dark interior of the
tunnel. Occasionally she could make out a few streaking lights as they passed,
some odd brick and stone work and the errant bundle of pipework and anbaric
cables. She marveled at the complexity of the workings of subterranean Oxford.
A whole other world going under just underneath her own, but not really a
separate world; it was a part of the
world she knew, and without it, much of her world would not function. It was as
critical to everyday life as any above-ground goings-on.
Secrets just below
the surface, Bella thought. And all
very important. Yes, she would tell her mother outright.
Bella turned to her mother, swiftly enough that it caught
both her and her mother off guard. Bella stared at Lyra for a few seconds, her
face a blend of fear, determination, and bravery. Ramses returned to his
squirrel form and found his way to her hands, where Bella began stroking him
again, for comfort, without even realizing she was doing it.
“Mother, I have something to tell you.”
Lyra smiled warmly, but restrained herself from being too
broadly.
Her daughter went on. “I…well, I like Theo Balfour quite a
lot. And, I, well, I just thought you ought to know that.”
Lyra had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from
laughing to amusement. The stern seriousness on her daughter’s face was
priceless, and furthermore, it was, Lyra realized, a sizable step in her young
daughter’s life.
Lyra nodded, as if she hadn’t the slightest idea of what
had been going on between her daughter and Theo, and arched an eyebrow in a way
that said, What a surprise…glad to hear
it!
“I see,” said Lyra, as she
closed her horticulture book and held it in both hands. “Well, how does he feel
about you?”
Bella wasn’t sure how her mother was going to act once
she’d told her how she felt, but she certainly didn’t expect her mother to ask
her such a question. It seemed reasonable enough, though Bella felt the strange
need to go on the defensive.
“Oh, he feels the same about me, I suppose,” she said with
a forced bit of nonchalance in her voice.
Lyra’s smile grew. “That is wonderful to hear,” she said.
“He’s a wonderful young man.”
Bella’s apprehension began to melt. She was talking to her
mother very easily about it all. And she knew her mother like Theo well enough,
but in this context it was relieving to hear that her mother’s approval of him
had not waned.
“He is, isn’t he?” Bella said. “He was…well, he was very
clever in today’s game.”
Bella and Lyra stared at one another for a moment. Lyra
knew how sacred the game was to her daughter and the other children, how taboo
it was to talk about it in any way with an adult, particularly one’s own
parent. This boy must be something quite
special, Lyra thought, for her to
talk about the game at all.
“Was he, now?” Lyra replied. She wouldn’t push the point;
if Bella wanted to talk about Authority, she’d let her do so with no prying
from her mother.
“Yes, yes. I haven’t told you much about it—“ Bella stopped
for a moment; she couldn’t believe she was speaking about the game with her
mother, but once she’d finally voiced her affection for Theo, it seemed she
could tell her mother just about anything now.
Ramses whispered into Bella’s ear once more. “Are you daft?
You can’t tell your mother about the game—“
Bella continued on, ignoring her daemon. “There was one
part of the game where Theo fooled all the men on the corn tanker into getting
rid of all their corn.” Bella paused for a moment. “I mean, I hope the men
didn’t lose any more or anything like that, but Theo did that all by himself!”
Lyra knew perfectly well what Theo had done – she and Ma
Costa spoke with the corn tanker’s captain when they retrieved Ma’s hen from
the tanker’s mast, after all – but she did concede the point that Theo was
indeed a young man with a wit and personality beyond his years.
Lyra was moments away from bringing up Bella’s
masterminding of the capture of Ma Costa’s hen (she thought better of it; best
to let that matter wait for another day), when Bella asked her mother something
she was not prepared for.
“Mum, was Father clever?”
The smile on Lyra’s face receded, though her face still
showed warmth.
“Yes,” Lyra said as she placed her book in a large jacket
pocket. “He was clever. And terribly thoughtful.”
Lyra was glad to be talking to Bella about Daniel. Her
daughter had asked questions over the years about her deceased father, and Lyra
gladly answered them. Lyra did not care to overwhelm her young daughter in one
sitting with all the details of her father and how he came into – and left –
Lyra’s life. All Bella really knew was that he was very ill and passed away
when Bella was very young, and that he loved Bella and Lyra very much. There
was more to tell; more that needed to be told. And Lyra felt Bella was nearly
old enough to hear it.
Bella turned sideways in
her seat, crossing her legs and stroking Ramses, who’d now become an orange
tabby. “What was something Father did that was clever?”
Lyra grinned and stared
into space, trying to recall an appropriate instance. Pantalaimon dropped into
Lyra’s lap as she thought.
After a moment, it came to
Lyra. She laughed at the memory.
“Ah, yes. It was a few
years after I met your father. We were at one of the jewelry shops in Banbury.
Your father wanted to buy me a gift, and he said he’d get me whatever my heart
desired. I had seen a bracelet in the shop window on a few occasions, but never
thought to purchase it. I didn’t ordinarily make such extravagant purchases,
but it was such an exquistively crafted piece, and told myself if the
opportunity came, I would make it mine.”
Bella shifted to get more
comfortable. She was enraptured.
Lyra went on. “Offhandedly,
I mentioned the bracelet to your Father. It was very expensive, you see, I
didn’t want him to go to the trouble of buying it for me. Nevertheless, we went
to the shop. I told him I’d be perfectly happy with something else, but he said
he wouldn’t be happy until I was.”
“Father was very good to
you, wasn’t he?” said Bella.
Lyra paused. “Yes. While we
were together, he was. And I made certain that I reciprocated. So, we went to
the shop just before closing time and I noticed the bracelet was no longer in
the window. But something seemed off. The rest of the items in the window had
been scattered a bit; nudged ever so slightly. I could tell something was
wrong.
“Your father peered into
the shop through the window, as I did also. We could see no one inside. No
shopkeeper, no customers. So, he tried the door to see if it was open, and it
was.
“We went inside very
slowly. I no longer cared for the bracelet or any gift. I didn’t feel it was
safe to be there, but your father and I both knew that if someone had been
hurt, or if the shop had been burgled, that we ought to let someone know about
it.
“Your father called out to
see if anyone was there, but no one answered back. We were very cautious, and
took only a few steps inside, when we heard a moaning coming from behind the
shopkeeper’s counter. We ran to see what the noise was, and it was the
shopkeeper and his daemon, lying there on the floor!”
Bella was literally on the
edge of her seat.
“It looked as if he had been struck on the head, and he was
just now waking. Your father went ‘round back of the counter to help him. The
shopkeeper told us a man had come into the shop asking about his wares, but
when his back was turned the thief knocked him out. Your father and I told him
about the missing bracelet, and after a bit of looking, the shopkeeper figured
the thief had made off with several necklaces and pendants, as well as the
bracelet in the window.”
“Wouldn’t the thief have
worried about customers coming into the shop?” asked Bella.
“The shopkeeper figured the
thief must have waited till later in the day, when there would be less chance
for customers to come in and meddle with his scheme. Just then, we heard a
crash from a back storeroom. We all fell silent. Your father figured it was the
thief; he must have seen us approaching through the window just after he
knocked out the shopkeeper and took the jewelry, and needed to hide.
“Your father said to the
shopkeeper, ‘He’s probably trying to escape; do you have a backalley door, or a
hatch in the roof?’ The shopkeeper said there was a hatch that led to the roof
from the storeroom. Your father thought for a moment, and looked at the two of
us. He had a plan, but he didn’t fully tell us what it was. All he asked was if
there was another way to the roof of the shop, and that we make sure to pound loudly on the storeroom door once we
heard screaming. The shopkeeper gave me a puzzled look, but I knew your father
knew what he was doing.
“The shopkeeper told us of
a ladder that ran alongside the backdoor of the store, out in the alley. Your
father went around back, and up onto the roof. The shopkeeper and I waited
quietly by the door. The shopkeeper only shook his head, fearing for the worst.
‘Shouldn’t we call for help?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know what your husband is up
to, but it’s a grave risk he takes! Does he mean to harm the man?’ I told him
that Daniel never would harm anyone, even a criminal, for it was in his nature
to change someone for the better than to injure them beyond repair.
“For I knew something about your father that I haven’t yet told you. He had an artificial leg, below the right knee.”
Bella gasped. She nearly
fell off the railcar seat, and Ramses simultaneously changed to a finch and
leapt to her shoulder.
“Father had a false leg?
How did he lose it? When?”
“Sometime before I met him.
He lost it in a terrible accident when he was a young man. But he moved most
naturally with the artificial leg of his, and no one would know for a moment
that he was any different from anyone else.
“For you see, he never
wanted to feel that his leg was a thing to feel sorrow over, but rather chose
to see it as a gift; something that set him apart of other people. Your
father’s leg was hollow, and he’d managed at one point to make a little hinged
flap on it. This way, he could carry small things with him and keep his hands
free. He felt it was, as he put it, a ‘superpower.’ ”
Bella’s eyes were wide with
wonder. How could her mother have never mentioned this? Could all this really
be true?
“Your father’s daemon was a
redbreasted swallow named Augustina. He had an idea to frighten the thief into
doing his bidding, and he would do it with Augustina’s help.
“He opened the flap on his
leg, and Augustina flew inside.”
Bella simply shook her
head, her mouth agape.
“He had never asked his
daemon to do so before, but he knew this course of action was the only way for
his plan to come off. It was difficult for Augustina in such a small space with
so little air, but your father would only need a minute or so anyhow.
“Your father found the hatch on the roof, and stood there and waited. The thief was pounding on the hatch; it was latched from the outside. When the thief paused for a moment between blows to the hatch, your father undid the latch and stepped back. The thief popped the hatch open.
“And standing before him was your father. The thief recoiled. ‘Stay back or I’ll bash your head in!’ said the thief, who had a piece of pipework in his hand. But your father stood calmly, staring at the man. And all he said was, ‘You can’t scare a man who has no daemon.’
“The thief looked all about. His own daemon – your father said it was a snake; I never saw it, but he got a good look at the scoundrel – was slithering frantically around the man’s neck. The thief looked all about your father, then to the sides and all around the rooftop. Nowhere, in broad daylight, could he see your father’s daemon.
“The thief stood there on the ladder, half in and half out of the hatch, frozen in terror by the sight of your father, while Augustina was safely hidden from view.”
Bella clapped her hands in astonishment. “No daemon! The man must have been scared out of his wits! Father was brilliant!” The sight of a daemonless human in Lyra and Bella’s world was a truly horrific sight, one that would put terror and gloom into the hearts of even the most fearsome people of her world. Including the thief, who, though violent and treacherous, was not immune to the fright of being in the midst of a daemonless man.
“Promptly, the thief dropped the pipe he was carrying and started screaming. The shopkeeper and I heard the man, and we started pounding on the door, just as your father had requested. He screamed even louder.”
“ ‘There are more like me on the other side of that door,’ said your father, who was staring the thief down with a ghostly stare. ‘We have come to punish you for what you have done and the thieving life you lead.’ Your father had no way of knowing if the man was a lifetime criminal, but even he wasn’t, I’m sure the man believed it at that moment.
“I could hear the man holler, ‘Let me live! Don’t hurt me! Let me live!’ At the time, I hadn’t the foggiest idea what your father was doing. Your father then told the man, ‘Hand me all that you have stolen from this shop, and I will let you live. But, if you ever so much as look greedily at a trinket around some beggarwoman’s wrist, I will be there. And the others will be there with me. And we will make you pay.’
“And with that, the man scurried back into the storeroom below, grabbed the sackful of jewelry, and handed it all to your father. He told the man he could leave, but he had to step back several paces until the man felt he was a safe distance from your eerie-looking father.
“The man left, and ran off into the evening. The man never returned to that shop again. And the shopkeeper was so grateful for what your father had done, that he gave me this.”
Lyra pushed back the sleeve of her jacket to reveal the very same bracelet that had been in the store window. It had an ornate silver rope pattern with inlaid jade and topaz. It gleamed softly in the light of the anbaric railcar lamps.
Bella smiled widely. “That’s the bracelet! I didn’t realize that’s how you got it!”
Lyra nodded. “I may have told you once that your father gave it to me. And that was how he went about doing it.” Then Lyra turned from Bella, who was still frozen with amazement, and retrieved the horticulture book from her jacket and casually began to read again. Pantalaimon snickered.
“Giving the girl a moment of quiet to let it all sink in, are we?” Lyra’s daemon said. “That was quite a story to tell all at once.”
How else would I have told it? Lyra thought. And she’d better get accustomed to hearing tales of her father, for they’re all true and they’re even more fantastic than that one.
Bella turned and look at the floor, unblinking. Ramses was hopping about on the seat next to her, his little wings flapping without flying. Bella knew he didn’t like the thought of being stuck in a cramped space as Augustina had been.
Bella turned to her mother. “And Father’s daemon was alright?”
Lyra threw back her head and laughed. “Quite alright, dear. A bit frightened, but she did what she had to do. As did your father.”
The railcar master appeared in the doorway of the railcar’s cabin. “Approaching Westingbrook Station. Approaching Westingbrook Station. Prepare to disembark.” He shut the door and returned to his operator’s seat.
Bella and Lyra began gathering up their things. There was so much she did not know about her father. And her mother, for that matter. She had so many questions to ask, burning questions that made her feel as if she’d explode if she didn’t ask them all at once. But she sensed Mother was not yet ready to answer them even if she asked. Or did she? Perhaps it was the fear of her mother saying no, the prospect of being shut off from her mother, to whom she was so close.
There are things about me which Mother doesn’t know, either, she thought. Private things that children did not wish to discuss with parents. And if her mother said yes to answering her questions, would Bella not be obliged to yield all the answers to whatever questions Lyra had for her?
Bella thought about the word her mother had used, the word that she said her father used to refer to his leg – superpower. She’d never heard the word before, but she liked it. Did Theo have a superpower too, to make those men on that ship give up their corn? Surely he must. Perhaps not a true power, nothing mystical or magical…but he had a power nonetheless. And that excited her.
They
pulled into Westingbrook Station. With questions on both of their minds, Lyra
and Bella took each other’s hands, and wordlessly left the railcar.
* * * * * * * * * *
Later that evening, an unassuming zeppelin arrived in Oxford a few minutes before midnight. The bulk of the vehicle was jetblack in color, and was barely visible to the untrained eye – one would perhaps notice a floating starless mass in the midnight sky, but would shake off the visual aberration, chalk it up to tired eyes, and pay it no further mind.
The zeppelin hovered directly above one of the spires of the abandoned College of St. Jerome, in particular the tower that once housed the Consistorial Court. The pilot of the craft locked the controls in place, keeping the craft at a momentary standstill, while another hooded figure lowered a rope anchor that looped around a large protruding mooring hook attached to the spire. The second hooded figure pulled on the rope, and the loop tightened. The zeppelin was now docked and camouflaged.
A rope ladder was lowered, its length extending past the mooring hook by roughly six feet, stopping at a trapdoor on the side of the spire that, like the hook, had not been part of the structure when it had originally been built.
The second figure climbed down the rope ladder, which was also black, and shimmied into the trapdoor. The first figure waited at the controls, ready to sever the rope at a moment’s notice. Though it had only just arrived, the craft would be departing soon.
Once inside, the second figure removed his mask. He was not an Oxford native; he appeared to be from the Orient of Lyra’s world. His tarantula daemon clung lovingly to the nape of his neck. His brow was tattooed with an ornate feather pattern, and his eyes were solid black.
Inside the trapdoor was a small platform. Once he gained his footing on it, he made an affirmative hand signal to the first figure in the zeppelin and closed the trapdoor behind him.
The interior of the structure was utterly dark, save the moonlight that streamed mercifully in through its old, murky windows. The man had particularly acute vision in the darkness, and had no trouble finding the top of a series of rungs that ran along in the inside wall of the spire and down to the floor below. The rungs, like the hook and the trapdoor, were recent contrivances.
Once on the floor of the old Consistorial Court’s chamber, he crossed to the chamber’s podium, still in its old position and filthy from the lack of upkeep over the years since the dissolving of the Court. He grabbed it by its sides and shifted it off its footing. Beneath was a flat piece of floor tile not unlike the rest of the flooring. He pried it up with his fingers to reveal three pieces of copper wiring – like the zeppelin, unassuming to the untrained eye.
The man tugged on the center bit of wiring three times; the left bit of wiring twice, and the right bit once. One by one, the pieces of wiring disappeared into the floor, drawn in by an unseen force, until there was nothing but three small holes.
Satisfied, the man replaced the tile and the podium and waited. A few moments later, a man with long black-and-grey hair appeared from another secret door that rested beneath a large table near the main entrance of the chamber. The man with the tarantula daemon smiled, as the daemon crept down his shoulder and clung to his right forearm.
The long-haired man had a pale, youthful face despite the noticeable amount of wrinkles that radiated from the corners of his eyes and mouth. He had a weary, determined look in his eyes, and he was barely able to keep his excitement hidden. His praying mantis daemon perched steadily on his shoulder.
“So, was it a success?” The long-haired man took his visitor by the shoulders, staring into him with polite ferocity.
The visitor from the zeppelin, who was simply known as N, nodded stoically. “He learned what he needed to know. What we all needed to know. He is in the zeppelin now. He will take us to the next location.”
The long-haired man burst with joyful laughter, hugging N much to his surprise, and patted him firmly on the back.
“Julius,” said N to the long-haired man, “we should move with haste. Though well-hidden, the craft may be spotted by those with sharp eyes.”
“None are as sharp as yours,” said Julius Kronauer, the last living member of the old Consistorial Court. “No one can see what you can see, nor what I have seen these long years. And it’s coming into clearer focus with every passing day. Tell him we’re ready.”
N closed his eyes, sending a telepathic command to the hooded figure waiting in the zeppelin. Upon receiving the go-ahead from N, the figure moved his hand over a veiny stone sphere embedded in the control console of the zepellin. Within moments, the zeppelin went from all black to standard zeppelin coloration, and the large crest of a fictitious trading company appeared emblazed across the craft’s bulging canvas.
Julius was already dressed for departure. One thing he had learned over the last two decades was that one had to be ready for a complete and expeditious exit when the time called for it and, more importantly, when it did not.
“And that’s Father Julius, if it pleases you, N. At least, it shall be soon again. Let us dawdle no further. Onto the next window. I need to be taught a lesson.”
The men made their way up to the zeppelin, and were gone within minutes.