It was a picturesque spring day in Port Meadow, and Bella Jeffries was feeling rather giddy. It was not uncommon for girls of her age to be giddy, and she could, on some level, attribute some the giddiness to her own plans for the day: she was on her way to the spring Horse Fair in Jericho, Oxford, an event she looked forward to every year. There she would be meeting with several of local and gyptian children friends. There was, though, another reason for her giddiness, and it was in fact the main reason -- one of those reasons that you know is the cause of the something, but aren’t yet ready to admit to yourself as the reason.
His name was Theo Balfour.
“My parents liked Banbury well enough,” Theo said, “but my father decided his business would be a bit more secure down in Oxford, so that was that.” Bella hung on his every word with wide-eyed fascination, as if he were recounting some adventurous tale in which he’d slain a three-headed giant. He may as well have said so at that particular moment.
“That sounds wonderful,” Bella said absently, smiling and not completely registering what he had just said. She was just shy of thirteen years old, nearly a young woman but still a girl, and did not yet know what was to fall in love…but she certainly was in the throes of being smitten.
Trailing behind her and Theo was Bella’s mother Lyra, who accompanied her daughter to the fair at Jericho each year. Lyra been to the fair as a child many times, fighting several battles with her childhood friends and foes along the banks of Jericho. Bella didn’t know too much about Lyra’s days as an urchin of Jordan College, but told Bella what she wanted to know whenever she asked. Lyra, too, was planning on meeting with old gyptian friends that day, as well as a chance to reacquaint herself with memories of days gone by.
“Perhaps we should let them alone for a short while?” whispered Lyra’s daemon Pantalaimon, who was curled around her neck in the fixed form of a pine marten. “We may be making her a bit uncomfortable.”
Lyra had stayed several paces behind the two children, reading a book on amateur gardening technique as she walked. She felt it proper to act as a chaperone for the two children, but did what she could to make her presence as unobtrusive as possible.
“I haven’t said a word,” Lyra whispered back to Pantalaimon. “I’m making sure not to interfere. And I do have my book, of course.”
“Are you actually reading it?” her daemon asked.
Lyra paused. “This one passage on hydrangeas is terribly fascinating.” Pantalaimon rolled his tiny eyes. “Though,” she quietly went on, “I may have accidentally eavesdropped on them, but only a little. Mothers are allowed that much, or didn’t you know? Don’t worry, Pan. I’m a paragon of discretion.”
Bella was too transfixed by Theo to notice her mother’s whispering. She thought of something to ask Theo, to keep the conversation flowing.
“Have you ever been to Horseford for the Ox Fair before?”
As she said this, the tip of her shoe caught on a small root protruding from the dirt path, causing her to trip – not enough to make her to fall, but just enough to flush her face with a radiant shade of red humiliation. Her daemon Ramses had been quietly darting along beside her as a squirrel for some time, but had changed into a madly flitting hummingbird. Theo chuckled politely.
“No, I’d be lying if I said I’d ever been to that,” he chided. There was an awkward pause. Bella couldn’t think of how to recover, and Theo was struggling to let her know she needn’t be embarrassed. Ramses hovered apprehensively at Bella’s side.
“Though,” Theo finally said, “I have been to the Henry Loyal Regatta.”
Bella burst with laughter at his play on the phrase Henley Royal Regatta, and the redness of her face receded as swiftly as it had appeared. He was clever, wasn’t he? Theo felt it was a weak play on words that he’d made, but was glad to have eased the tension.
“Have you really?” Bella said. “I’ve never been, but Mother has told me about it.” She was nearly ready to ask Theo more about the event, but again faltered for words.
Why is it so difficult to talk to him? Bella wondered, silently half-answering her own question simply by looking at the young man. His eyes are brightest shade of blue…
Realizing her ability to speak was at least momentarily impaired, she opted for a different means of interaction.
“I think we need a bit of racing practice before we arrive at the fair,” Bella ventured. “There’ll be a lot of running and such, you know. We ought to be prepared.” Theo smiled warily.
She began pointing at various landmarks.
“We’ll start here, then around the curve in the path up ahead, and finish near those
old fence posts, past that stable.” She desperately hoped he’d accept her
invitation. He’d already come this far…
Theo’s grin broadened, but stopped himself short of agreeing to her challenge. He was a bit unsure. He thought that such a race might seem improper in the presence of Lyra. She was, after all, an adult, and children should show exhibit some hint of reserve around them, even on such a day as this. Further, Lyra was also the headmistress of the school he attended, and it felt odd doing anything childish around her.
Theo and Bella had met through each other parents, when Mr. and Mrs. Balfour were seeking to enroll Theo in Lyra’s boarding school. Bella tagged along with her mother when she went to meet with Theo’s parents, and it was then that she first met him. She’d never thought much of boys before that moment as anything other than just as friends…but there was something about Theo that made her like him more than other boys she’d met before. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew she wanted to see him again.
“Bella,” Theo first said when he met Bella. “That means beauty, right?”
He was the first person other than her mother to ever say that. “It was the name of a girl my mother met once,” Bella answered, referring to one of the children Lyra had encountered at the station at Svalbard. Her mother had always liked the name, and its meaning suited Bella’s looks perfectly.
“Mother?” Bella was now approaching Lyra. “Theo and I should like to have a short race between ourselves before we arrive at the Fair.”
Lyra knew the children were planning something with the urchins and the gyptian children, and that it had something to do with a kind of race or contest they’d devised, but felt she ought not ask for more information on the matter. After all, she’d had plenty of adventures herself when she was Bella’s age, and she had no problem with Bella having the same sort of fun – as long as she found her again by nightfall.
Lyra turned to Theo. “I oughtn’t send you home to your parents covered in grass stains,” she said with a wink. “Are you sure you’ll be mindful?”
Theo looked away sheepishly. Lyra could barely contain the amusement she had from watching her daughter interact with the young man.
“Could you hold our coats for us, Mother?” proposed Bella. “This shan’t take long.”
Theo composed himself. “I don’t think my parents will mind if I dirty up the rest of what I’ve got on,” he added. “These are my sporting clothes, anyhow.” Bella thrilled at his acceptance.
“Don’t go too fast,” Lyra said to them with a smile. “The ground is rather slick. I wouldn’t want to you to fall and harm yourselves.”
Lyra took the coats and bundled them in her arms. Bella dragged a line in the dirt with the heel of her shoe.
“We’ll go from here,” she said to Theo. The two of them crowded at the makeshift starting point, ready to launch themselves down the path.
“Mother, will you give us the start?”
Theo was fascinated by the relationship between the girl and her mother. He was close to his own parents certainly, but her mother seemed free-spirited, young at heart…and fun. They were unexpected attributes, but ones that he welcomed.
Lyra produced a scarlet kerchief from the breast pocket of her coat and held it above her head. Pantalaimon watched silently, charmed by the scene.
“Runners! On your mark, now!”
The children hunched over with their hands touching the ground.
“Set…”
Lyra waved the kerchief.
“Go!”
And off the children went in a flash of youthful exuberance, around the corner and out of sight.
“She certainly is her mother’s daughter,” Pantalaimon mused. “And just as forward, it would seem.”
Lyra laughed. “Well, I have always taught her to pursue the things that are important to her.”
“True,” Pantalaimon said, “though one can’t rule out the possibility of the trait being an inherited one.”
“No, Pan, I suppose one can’t. You could say the same about inherited traits for me as well.” Lyra thought of her relationship with her own late mother, Marisa Coulter. She remembered how her mother hadn’t been there for her for many years while growing up at Jordan College, how her mother came to her sporadically and with her own horribly misguided motives, how she’d been terrified of her at the station in Svalbard where the children’s daemons had been cut away, how she’d kidnapped her and kept her in a drug-induced sleep in a cave for several days. She also thought of how Ma Costa, the kindly woman of gyptian royalty, who had taken care of her even when she was too small to remember. But there were other sides to those coins; just as she’d at one time known Ma Costa as nothing by an imposing, domineering figure, she knew her own mother had a better side of herself than she was accustomed to seeing. She recalled that her mother took her into hiding and kept her asleep in an effort to keep her safe from those who wished to harm her, and that she’d ultimately found redemption by sacrificing her own life so that Lyra could have her own. Lyra had promised to give Bella the childhood—and the life—she’d wished she’d had herself.
“I remember finding out about my mother’s death, Pan,” she went on, “talking with the ghosts who had seen she and father fall into the Abyss with that angel Metatron. I wasn’t sure what to make of it for the longest time. I’d only ever known her to be this great monstrous force in my life, but…”
“I know,” Pantalaimon said. “She really did care for you, deep down. And you miss her.”
“Funny, isn’t it? Oh Pan, you know how I wish I could go back to that cave…even as just a fly on the wall, or to at least be awake, and to see her face, see her when she was at her kindest. In my dreams, I see that face sometimes.”
Pantalaimon nodded. “The best things she’d ever done for you, you never saw her doing them. You could also say the same for your father.”
Lyra considered her father, the late Lord Asriel, whose own ambitions and actions contributed to the full of the Authority and the Kingdom of Heaven. “Yes, that’s true. I have them to thank for my life.”
She turned and looked at the river, watching the various barges and tankers hauling their brimming wares to the festival, the ships’ goods ready to change hands as was done every year. She took a deep breath, drawing the fragrant scent of snakeshead fritillaries into her nostrils, feeling them conjure up thoughts of her late husband, Daniel Jeffries.
“It’s good that she never really knew him, isn’t it, Pan? Sad to think so.”
Pantalaimon knew who she was referring to. “In a way, perhaps,” he said. “Bella will always feel she’s missing that part of her life, but the pain won’t be as bad as if she’d be attached to him.”
Lyra bent down and plucked a fritillary from the green earth. When she and Daniel took walks along the riverbanks, he would always give her a flower. He made a game out of it, trying to find a different kind of flower each time. The first flower he’d ever given her, though, was a snakeshead fritillary. Their abundance in springtime made visits to Port Meadow bittersweet and made her more emotional than usual.
Pantalaimon nuzzled Lyra’s neck. She began to weep softly in spite of herself. She felt an odd blend of emotions; she missed Daniel, certainly, but it was the deeper scar of losing any loved one that pained her more greatly. Once had already been enough with Will, but to lose Daniel…
She remembered her final, saddening encounter with Will, in the Botanical Garden in the Oxford in his world, both knowing they could never see one another again, each of them pledging their undying love to one another, despite whatever happened in their lives. She still held a very special place for him in her heart, and even having married years later, she still thought of him often, still visited their special bench in her Oxford Botanical Garden every year on Midsummer Day. But Lyra was young when she’d made that promise, and could not possibly have imagined what time would demand of her heart and mind. She loved Daniel dearly, but knew, felt, that Will was and would always be her soul mate.
“Yes, Pan. It’s for the best,” she said, her voice trembling but carrying on. “I know it.”
She stroked her daemon, who was quiet with sad reassurance.
“We should get going,” Pantalaimon gently reminded her. “The Costas are expecting us.”
Lyra nodded hastily and wiped the fresh tears from her face with the kerchief. She placed the fritillary gently on the ground, delicately nestling it between its companions, in some small way paying her respects to Daniel. In the distance, she could hear the laughter of Bella and Theo. A smiled returned to her face.
“One thing is for certain, Pan,” Lyra said with building cheer. “Her future will be a good one.”
“Thanks to you,” Pantalaimon said.
Tears streaked Bella’s own face. She’d never laughed so hard. She and Theo had made it to the fence posts when she tripped (again), this time on an odd stone that breeched the path’s surface. Her misstep sent her sprawling into Theo, who had the slight lead. This time, though, she hadn’t tripped by accident. The two of them tumbled off of the path and into a patch of high, wet grass a meter or so from the edge of the river.
“Bella! Are you alright?” said Ramses. He was back in the form of a squirrel, sitting on his haunches at Bella’s side.
“I’m just fine, Ram!” Bella’s shoulders shook as she tried to speak. “Accidents happen!” She looked over at Theo, who was pulling a handful of marshweeds from his mouth. She laughed even harder. Theo’s daemon, Hera, was presently a pinkish-gray bullfinch. Using her beak, she set about picking twigs and clumps of soil from his hair.
“I know these are your sporting clothes, Theo,” Hera said, “but you oughtn’t ruin them before we even get to where we’re going.”
Ramses changed to a falcon. He circled high above the children, looking out for Lyra, who would soon catch up to them.
“I may not know too much about this game of yours, but you’ll have to do better than that if you want to win today,” taunted Theo. “I’m sure there’ll be more to deal with than slippery grass.”
Bella pulled herself up from the soggy ground, smiling. The nervousness she had felt was now gone. She and Theo had shared a moment together, something she secretly swore she would never forget.
“You oughtn’t say such things, Mr. Balfour. I’ve won the last three years in a row, and I don’t plan on losing now.”
“This is the first year you’ve had to deal
with me,” Theo countered playfully.
She helped him up. “After this year,” she added, “you won’t think twice about playing Authority again.”
The repercussions of the fall of the Kingdom of Heaven were still visible to that day, particularly in Lyra’s world. The fall had come to be regarded, paradoxically, as both a series of factual occurrences and a source of great myth and legend. Only a scant few (Lyra included) knew the full details of the events she had witnessed, but many of the events were unavoidable to notice – the varying shifts in the world’s climate patterns, for example.
Shortly after the Authority’s fall, several of the larger religious ruling bodies were thrown into chaos. The Magisterium, the largest such body, began to weaken, as were its constituent parts; the General Oblation Board had vanished, and the Consistorial Court of Discipline had drastically lost its way. Now, many years later, the Magisterium had very nearly faded into obscurity in the wake of freer-thinking leadership at the helm. The Consistorial Court had been dissolved years ago due to lack of support. With the Magisterium no longer the iron-fisted juggernaut it had once been, people were able to make choices that simply hadn’t existed before. It was as if a mighty yoke had been lifted from the backs of the people of Lyra and Bella’s world, and the joy of freedom – of thought, of religion, of choice – drove many to abandon the faiths they for so long had followed. Still, even now, many prayed to the Authority, or any Authority, disbelieving the stories they’d heard, if only to adhere to the ideas they were used to thinking for familiarity’s sake. There were still many who believed in the good that a higher power could offer, but with the notion that such a higher power no longer existed becoming more ever-present with each passing year, only a devout few remained.
Every facet of Oxford culture had been affected in some way, and the magnitude of the changes reached across the full spectrum of everyday life – from the decisive changes in religion and economy to subtler, more pervasive shifts in points of view. The conversations, the expressions of mothers and businessmen and scholars, all reflected the knowledge of the events, as does any culture that bears witness to revolution. Several lesson plans in the colleges had been altered (where appropriate) to incorporate the idea of self-determination versus destiny. Merchants who had often prayed to God for clement weather or a plentiful harvest now placed their hopes in the hands of Fate or Chance or other manifestations of fortune. The gyptians – some of whom had witnessed the events firsthand – incorporated the knowledge into their longstanding ways and rituals.
The ideas and information trickled down to the children of Lyra and Bella’s world, of Anglia, of Oxford, of the children of the servants of Jordan College, of the urchins who played in the streets and on the college rooftops, of the children of the gyptians in the Fens and on the rivers and the canals. The sons and daughters of those who had once played such Magisterium-inspired games as Kids and Gobblers (named for the slang term for the General Oblation Board) now played games based on more recent events. Games like Specters (a diversion frowned upon by several parents involving a cloaked child, three or more other children, and any unclosed window), and Authority, an elaborate game of complexity and clever thinking that rivaled the battles Lyra had once waged in her younger days.
It was the latest round of Authority that Bella and Theo were to engage in that day at the Horse Fair. Rumors of Lyra and Will’s encounter with the Authority had surfaced long ago, but those closest to Lyra in positions of power guarded this secret closely to keep any zealous hangers-on from approaching her with unthinkable intentions. If anyone were to discover she had somehow been involved in the Authority’s demise – even if it were accidental – who knows what they might try? Nevertheless, the versions of the story of Lyra and Will’s incident with the Authority were as numerous as the children who told it, with no one ever really knowing what the Authority’s true form was or how he ceased to exist.
“Me mum told me they stabbed Him in the back, they did!”
“I ‘eard the ‘thority jumped at the girl and the boy, and they had to fight ‘im off with just their bare ‘ands!”
“They played a game of Questions, and the old angel croaked because he lost!”
“The boys at school say it ain’t an angel, or a God, but a night-ghast of some sort that was pretendin’ all along!”
So it had been for many years, and so it would be for many more.
The identity of whomever conceived of Authority was as mysterious as its inspiration, and how and why it had replaced simpler, less organized forms of battle was also a point of contention. But there was no question whom its perennial contestants were: the urchins and townies of Jordan and Oxford, and the gyptian children at the Horse Fairs. The game was a turf war, as any good battle between such children had been, fought on an annual basis with the stakes always high. The winners had home rights for the following year’s contest, and the losers, grudgingly, would submit to whatever unpleasant fate the winners chose for them. This usually involved being tossed into a nearby pit of mud or drainage pond, and that usually became a skirmish unto itself. But to win the initial challenge was the main goal, and it alone was the deciding accomplishment that set the stage for the following year. The exact form of the contest would change yearly, not only to prevent any one side from developing a strategy, but, certainly the most important aspect of all, to prevent any meddling adults from learning of their business.
Lyra finally met up with the two children. She laughed a little, but not enough for them to notice.
“You two seem ready for whatever it is you have planned,” she said. “Care to let me in on what your secret game’s all about?”
“Lyra!” whispered Pantalaimon admonishingly.
She caught herself a moment too late. She’d been doing her best to not ask her daughter too many questions that day, but she couldn’t help it; the memories of her own childhood exploits were fresh in her mind: the raid of the Costa’s narrowboat, the old battles at the claybeds with the brick burners’ children… she’d forgotten that she was in fact a thirty-seven-year-old mother, not privy to all the secrets and goings-on of children.
Bella stood frozen. Her mother was usually very respectful of her privacy, and knew what she should and shouldn’t ask about. There was also the matter of the sacred nature of the game. Bella knew vaguely that her mother had something to do with the fall of the Kingdom of Heaven and the Authority, and perhaps even the Authority’s death, but had never asked, and as Lyra hadn’t yet told her, she felt it wasn’t yet her place to do so. She assumed her mother would tell her more about it when the time was right. Further, it was of the utmost importance that the nature of the game never be revealed to an adult, let alone one’s own parent, and certainly not someone who may have actually been involved in the original event, for fear of any number of reactions. Lyra fit all three descriptions.
Bella looked at Theo, who was equally speechless. Before they formed a response, Lyra jumped in to smooth things over.
“No, no, that’s alright,” she added quickly. “I won’t pry, dear. So sorry. I’ll be with the Costas today, if you need to find me. Be sure to meet me there no later than sundown.”
The two children let out twin gasps of relief. Their daemons, who had been resting rigidly on each of their shoulders, now hopped nimbly at their feet. Bella’s thoughts turned back to the business at hand.
“What time is it now, mother?” She didn’t want to be late. She couldn’t be late; she had a title to uphold.
Lyra pulled a pocketwatch from her coat’s other breast pocket and checked the time.
“Nearly four o’clock, dear. When do you need to--”
“Nearly four? How soon till its four?” Bella realized the children were already beginning to gather. Four o’ clock was the set start time; it always had been, and failure to arrive promptly meant immediate disqualification and forfeit from that year’s round.
“It’s ten of, Bella, but before you--”
“Let’s hurry, Theo!” Bella grabbed him by the wrist, and the two took off again, even faster than they had for their warm-up race.
Lyra let out a contented sigh. “By sundown,” she said to the two out-of-earshot children.
Five minutes later, Bella and Theo had reached the festivities. They were also out of breath, but that didn’t hinder their enthusiasm.
“A little further this way,” panted Bella.
Theo took in all that he could. The fair hadn’t changed much over the years, as there wasn’t much reason for it to change. The air was laden with a robust mixture of the scent of horses, burning oil, spices for trade, and the flowers of spring that hugged the edges of the river. The amount of goods the traders had to offer was affected by the weather, but other commodities increased in volume to balance things out. The river was brimming with narrowboats, asphalt boats, a few smaller barges here and there. As usual, the river could be crossed by stepping from vessel to vessel if one were ambitious enough, though the right spot would have to be carefully chosen, as some of the ships were not stationary. Carts were piled high with all manner of items – corn, smokeleaf, assorted textiles from the dye-works, dried meats and bottles containing exotic scented oils. And there were the horses. Theo had never seen so many in one place before. They stood assembled in small groups near various horsedealers’ docked vessels, many stayed patiently in the stables, and some were on the boats themselves. Vendors of sweets made their way up and down the length of the river, winding forcefully through the thronging masses, selling toffee-covered apples and chocolatl and flaky cinnamon confections to whichever children had managed to scrape together enough coins for a purchase. Gyptian women deftly carried dry goods and caged hens in their overfilled arms, often with their older children assisting in the work, moving between their narrowboats and the trading tents on the riverbank, while gyptian men haggled over the quality of the wares and the fairest trade options. Other children bustled about (in groups of no fewer than three, by Theo’s estimate), some singing, many laughing, and all very interested in their own secret plans.
Bella tapped Theo’s shoulder. “Across the river, over there,” she directed. Through the bodies she could just make out a burgundy-and-olive checked banner signifying the tent of the gyptian Festé family. Lyra and Bella had befriended the Festés some years ago, and Bella was friends with the two Festé children, Janetta and Marco, who were on her team the previous year and had secured turf rights for this year’s affair.
Theo followed Bella to the end of a wharf where several dinghies were tied to mooring posts. “We’ll take the white one,” Bella said, as if she’d used it before. “We shan’t try hopping across the boats…best not to rouse suspicion, you know?”
Theo knew he was definitely in for a treat today.
He and Bella climbed into the boat. They still had four minutes or so. It would be close. She realized she had no watch to tell time by; all she and Theo could do was move as quickly as possible. Fortunately they were located at the far end of the fair, and there were fewer boats at that point of the river, making for a straight shot to the other side.
“I’ll take the left oar,” she ordered, as if carrying out a well-conceived military operation. In some respects, it was: if they weren’t able to negotiate the terrain of the playing field to even get to the start of the contest, what business did they have taking part in it?”
“Here we go,” Theo said, intrigued by the way the day was unfolding. The two children paddled the boat’s oars vigorously, in perfect sync with the other, moving them swiftly across the river. There was no wharf or dock for them to moor the boat at on the other side, but Bella knew of a partially hidden sapling where they could tie up the boat.
Once on the opposite shore, the children pressed through the crowds until they reached the Festé’s tent. Janetta was waiting at the front flap, her daemon Riki flapping expectantly as a sand piper.
“Bella!” Janetta cried. “You’re here at last!”
Bella was pleased to see Janetta too, but there was little time for pleasantries. A proper greeting would have to wait.
“How soon till they—“
“It’s just about to start. Wait here.”
Janetta poked her head into the tent and said something to someone with an adult female voice. She got a satisfactory response and emerged from the tent.
“Let’s hurry,” she said.
The two children followed Janetta Festé along an otherwise imperceptible path known only to a select number of gyptian children. They scrambled through old pine shipping crates, between high shrubs that bordered the edge of the tents, through covered wagons emptied of their wares. Finally, and without a moment to spare, they arrived.
They found themselves behind an old livery stable that had been converted into a reserve coal shed for use in the winter. No one manned the shed in the spring, and its large eaves made for a perfect hiding spot.
Beneath the far end of the shed’s overhang stood a group of nearly twenty children, separated into two smaller groups – one side gyptian, the other side urchins and townies from and around Jordan College. Between them, standing authoritatively on a wide tree stump, was Janetta’s older brother Marco Festé. He too was on Bella’s team last year. Calliope, Marco’s daemon, sat perched on the stump’s edge, regally eyeing the other children in the form of a large calico cat.
One of Authority’s other spoils of victory is that the captain of the previous year’s winning team (that would be Marco) comes up with the structure of the game for the next year. This usually meant that they would not compete themselves, but would officiate the game and see that the rules were followed as they’d designed them. It did make for an inherent advantage over any challengers, but that only made the need to win all the more important.
Marco smiled briefly at Bella, but recovered immediately. He had to maintain his air of dominance.
“I nearly had to count you out, Bella Jeffries,” decried Marco, putting on a show of bravura for the gathered children. “Who is that with you?”
“This is Theo Balfour, Marco. He just moved to Oxford.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Oxford?”
Bella wished she hadn’t said anything. Where one lived automatically determined who was on what side, though Bella was the exception to the rule; she and her mother did not live with the gyptians, but they had known gyptian families for so long that many of the gyptian children accepted her as one of them. She was always on the gyptian team. It was fortunate for the other team, though, since adding Theo to their team now made it ten against ten.
“A townie, is he? You know what that means. Theo?”
Theo stepped forward. He wasn’t sure if something good or bad was about to happen.
“You’ll be on the Oxford team, with them.” He pointed to the assemblage of urchins and children of college servants, many of them grubby and mussed, a few with sticky chocolatl stains around their mouths. But they all had a look of dire seriousness, belying their naïfish appearances. Winning was on their minds.
Bella took a quick glance at the team that Theo was to join. She recognized a few of them: there was Lionel Parslow, whose father Simon was childhood friends with her mother; a girl named Alsacia, who was the daughter of cooks at Gabriel College; and Max Goddard, a boy who claimed he was descended from a long line of Scholars of Oxford but could never prove it.
“If that’s what I’m to do,” accepted Theo. He gave a sharp little nod to Bella, as if to say he relished the fact that they would go head to head in competition. Bella nodded back, reciprocating the feeling. Theo stood with the other children and quietly introduced himself.
Bella stood with her gyptian teammates, all of whom she’d known for some time. There was of course Janetta and Marco, and Victor Torrino – he was usually the team captain, whenever Marco wasn’t – as well as Richie Costa, the son of Lyra’s friend Tony Costa. Her mother had told her about Richie’s uncle Billy, and how he’d been taken by the Gobblers when they were children. Bella had always admired her mother for trying to find him and the others who’d been taken.
Janetta noticed how Bella was looking at Theo. She gave her a playful nudge.
“Wish he were on our team?” The subtext of the question was not lost on Bella.
“Um…well…he is a good friend…and…no, no, it’s fine.” Bella blushed again. Marco stamped his foot a few times to get the children’s attention.
“Is everyone here?” he asked. He surveyed the crowd. He secretly wished he could move Theo over to his own team now, since the odds were now evened up. But rules were rules, and not even he could reverse them.
“Good then,” he went on. “I’ll start with the main rules, so no one forgets them.” No one ever did forget them, but it was part of the ritual.
“Rule one: winner gets turf rights next year. Rule two: If you’re caught by an adult, your team loses. Rule three: Can’t stop playing once you’ve started, or your team loses. Rule four: You got to follow the rules in order, or your team loses. We all clear?”
The two teams showed they understood.
Now came the good part – how the game would be played. Its basic structure always involved retrieving an object (representing the Authority) from a predetermined location, and it was the job of each team to “free” it. Once the object was in their possession, they would have to return to the starting point with it, and perform an additional task. It wasn’t enough that you simply retrieved the object; that would be far too easy.
“Here are the instructions.” The children crowded closer, making sure not to miss anything. “First, each team will—“
“Each team will what?”
The voice that spoke came from behind the shed. The children and their daemons were all on their guard. Who’d found them? It didn’t sound like an adult, though…
The source of the voice made himself visible. “Go on, gyptian, what’s the game this year?”
Marco and the other children bristled in unison. They recognized him all right. He was Robert Kovacs, the eldest of the Brick Burners’ children.
Marco glared. “No one can play unless they’re asked to.”
Even when Lyra was a child, the Brick Burners’ children were the common foe of the urchins and the gyptian children. The battle of the claybeds had been epic and legendary, but it was only just a battle, and the war continued on with their own children. Some things hadn’t changed.
“But I know the rules,” Robert coyly countered, showing a smarmily toothy grin. “You don’t have to say them twice. Unless they need to hear them again.” Robert pointed at the two teams. His daemon, Berta, growled antagonistically as a black pit bull.
The children’s daemons were howling and screeching now. Marco’s Calliope hissed mightily, batting a paw in Robert’s direction. The children stood fast, though, knowing that a fight with against a single brick burner would be too easy and simply unfair, not to mention a serious delay of the game.
Bella stepped forward, with Ramses sweeping overhead as a menacing raven. “We know the rules by heart, Robert Kovacs!” She’d been in a battle or two with Robert, who rarely went anywhere without his younger siblings in tow. Where were they, she wondered?
She didn’t have to wonder long. From behind the shed stepped the rest of his party, and it was more than just his brothers and sister. All the Kovacs children were there – Freddie, Alastair, Thom, and Lucia – and so were the Straussen boys, who were all very large and strong for their ages; there was Josef Straussen, the oldest, and the twins Arte and Piter. They all seemed surprisingly clean, but their faces carried expressions of grim intent.
Marco stood firm. “No good, Robert. You only got eight. You wouldn’t have a chance. And, you came late. Go home.”
The enemies laughed. “We’re not leaving, unless you make us leave. And I don’t think you’ll be able to do that.” He may have been right; even though the brick burner children were outnumbered nearly three to one, they were all very strong and far more ruthless than the other children. Marco knew this. They’d have no choice.
“No matter,” he carried on. “I don’t see you winning this year anyway.” Calliope stood down and rested at Marco’s side.
“We’ll see to that,” Bella chimed in. She caught a glance at Theo, who seemed more than a little apprehensive about what was happening. Would his parents approve of this, he wondered? He saw her looking at him, and their eyes met. She smiled at him confidently, letting him know that no matter who won that day, things would be all right. He replied with a smile of his own.
Marco resumed his speech, not looking at the brick burner children but keeping his attention on them all the same. “Has each team chosen a captain?” Captains had to be pre-chosen and then declared before they could proceed. Marco could either declare himself the captain, or choose a new one on the spot.
“We have,” said Lionel Parslow. “I’ve been chosen for our team.” Marco nodded.
“Me,” interjected Robert Kovacs. He said nothing else.
“And as for our team,” Marco went on, “I choose Bella Jeffries.”
Bella’s head snapped in Marco’s direction. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She looked at Victor, who appeared a little surprised himself. If he was disappointed, though, he didn’t show it.
“M-me? I’m…I’m the captain?” She was both flattered and terrified. It was a great honor to be chosen as captain, but a tremendous responsibility. She was certainly old enough to lead a team, and she’d been on winning teams before, but she didn’t feel comfortable enough with her experience to take charge.
The other children looked to her, seemingly pleased by the surprise decision. Why hadn’t Marco chosen Victor? He didn’t have to justify his decision, however; what was done was done. All Bella could think of was that if his team lost to the brick burners, Victor wouldn’t want to be held responsible for the loss. That wasn’t in Marco’s character at all, though. What was he thinking?
“As I was saying before,” Marco continued, “Here’s how it will go. First, you have to make your way to the other end of the fairgrounds, about a half-mile downriver. On the other side are the Costa’s tents.”
Bella’s heart nearly stopped beating. Costa’s tents? She and Richie Costa exchanged glances. That was a bit too close for comfort. There was the fact that her mother would be with the Costas, not to mention the fact that doing anything to upset the adults in the Costa family, particularly the old but fearsome Ma Costa, was like wearing a suit of metal outdoors during an anbaric storm. You were simply asking for trouble. Was Marco meaning to sabotage their chances? Surely not. Perhaps he knew that Bella and Richie could turn a seeming obstacle into an advantage…but nothing could be said until Marco was finished with his instructions.
“Get there any way you can, as fast as you can. There are hen cages around the back of the main tent. Inside is one of their biggest hens. It’s white all over with a few black feathers on the tail. That’s the Authority. There are a few that look a bit like it, but not exactly.”
The children murmured some more. They knew that hens weren’t the quietest of animals when threatened, nor the stillest of animals when one tries to take them.
Bella looked over to Theo in desperation. Now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go through with this. He glanced at her again, smiling. She didn’t want to show how concerned she was, so she smiled back once more and pretended that everything was fine.
Marco went on. “Be sure to get the right hen. I’ll know which one it is. You can hide the hen once you’ve got it, but you can’t get caught. Not by the Costas, not by anyone. After that is done, you’ll come back here. That’s the first part.”
He pulled a red-and-blue-dyed scarf from his back pocket and showed it to the competitors. He jumped off the stump and stepped toward a large metal door in the back wall of the shed. He tied the scarf to the handle of the door, securing it with an impossibly difficult knot. The handle was attached to the door at two ends, so the scarf could not be removed by simply sliding it off.
“Bring the Authority back here to the shed. When you do, you will have to take the scarf off the handle, and tie it to one of its legs. But you have to untie it from the handle. Cut it, or tear it, or anything else…your team loses.”
The children began to fidget. This was shaping up to be one of the more challenging contests in quite a while.
“That’s the end of part two,” he informed them. He leapt back up onto the stump, savoring the moment. Now, the finale.
“Once you’ve done that, you’ll have to take the Authority with you and climb to the top of the observation mast on the corn tanker that’s closest to the shed.” The children didn’t have to guess at which tanker he meant. It was the only one with an observation mast could be seen over the top of the shed from where they stood. It was docked on their side of the river, easy to access from the shore…but would be bustling with activity well into the late evening.
Marco was nearly finished. “When you’re at the top of the mast, tie the other end to the scarf to anything you can find up there. Pluck a feather from the Authority. After that, grab an ear of corn off the tanker. Come back here and wait by the stump. Whoever’s got both the feather and ear of corn, wins. I’ll be here to call the winner.
“And that’s all there is to it,” he concluded. “Now you can speak.”
The children were buzzing with anticipation. They were already devising various strategies, but knew they had to subdue their excitement for a few minutes more. Now was the time when they could see what strategies they could and could not execute, and clear up anything that didn’t make sense to them.
Arte Straussen spoke up. “Anyone could just get the feather, and grab some corn and come right back here. That doesn’t sound fair.”
The girl Alsacia had an answer for that. “Don’t be a dunce, brick burner! We could check to see if there was a hen on top of the mast.”
“Exactly,” Marco said.
Then Theo had a question. “What happens to the losing team?”
All the children giggled knowingly, even the brick burners. He decided their ominous laughter was enough of an answer.
“You won’t know that until you lose,” one of his teammates added.
“Hold on, then!” Thom Kovacs stepped forward. “I know what happens. Loser gets thrown the mud or covered in something dreadful. How’s the one team that wins expect to do that to the other two that don’t?”
No one had thought of that. No one ever had to before, since there’d never been more than two teams playing at a time. If the Kovacs’ and the Straussens lost, for example, the rest of the children would instinctively band together to exact their penalty, but the rules would not allow it. There was a long, tense silence as the young minds worked feverishly to come up with an adequate solution.
Bella fought to contain her frustration. You made it a problem by showing up, you dirty fools!
“I have a thought of what to do,” she offered. If she was to be an effective team captain, this was as good a time as any to show some leadership.
“Whichever of the two last teams that makes it back here, the very last will be the loser, and the second place team help the first place team out. But the second placers can only have five on their team next year.”
Most of the children found this an amenable solution, even the brick burner children. Victory would be all the sweeter, now that there were not one but two unsavory fates to avoid.
A gyptian boy named Carlo spoke up. “But if there’s only one Authority, and one scarf, how can there be a second and third place team?” Another consideration no one had thought of. Marco had an answer for that.
“New rule. Your team must be the first back with the corn and the feather. However, even if your team wasn’t the one to tie the Authority to the mast.” Everyone knew what that meant: not only did you have to be quick enough to complete a task, but you had to keep the other children from taking advantage of what your team had already accomplished. There could be some fighting involved, but hopefully nothing too serious.
“Here.” Marco tore off a piece of the scarf, still very long, and tied it to the handle as well. Now there were two scarves. “A team only needs untying one of them. This way, whomever doesn’t get a scarf will most likely be in last place.” He look visibly exasperated. “Anything else?” No one spoke.
Marco addressed the crowd. “All in favor of these rules?” Nearly all the children cheered their approval, and the scant dissenters did their best not to be noticed.
“It’s set, then. Meet with your teams. You have ‘til six o’clock.”
The children and their daemons moved away from the shed and staked out even more secluded locations where they could formulate their plans. Marco approached Bella and took her aside from the other gyptian children. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered.
“Victor was going to be the captain again until Robert showed up.”
Bella was still puzzled. He went on.
“I picked you for two reasons,” he whispered. “One, I know you can lead us to another victory.”
Bella was flattered, but still nervous. “And the other reason?” she asked.
“Robert Kovacs hates it when he’s beaten by girls. Thought you could show him up something good.” With that, Marco returned to the stump, keeping an eye out for anyone who shouldn’t be there. Six o’clock would be upon them soon.
* * * * * * * * * *
“I do hope Ma Costa is well enough to see me,” Lyra said to Pantalaimon. “It’s been only a few months since I last saw her, but I’ve heard she’s been worsening.”
“If there’s anyone who can be strong, it’s her,” Pan reassured.
Lyra arrived at the Costa’s narrowboat. It was docked at the far end of the fairgrounds, near their trading tents. It was the same boat she’d raided and “threatened” to sink many years ago. Ma Costa’s children and grandchildren had taken good care of the magnificent vessel over the years, as their father Tony Costa had taught them the necessary maintenance techniques. Its wood still gleamed with the same expertly-applied lacquer finish it had since it first took to water.
Lyra rapped on the door. One of Ma Costa’s grandsons, Sammy, greeted her.
“Hello, Sammy,” Lyra said warmly. “How have you been?”
“Miss Jeffries! Welcome, welcome. You’ve come to see my grandmother, have you?”
“Yes. Is she in?”
“She ain’t on the boat today, Miss Jeffries. I’ll take you to her.”
The young man led the way back up the dock and to the riverbank. Lyra felt he looked rather like Billy Costa would have if he’d reached his early twenties. Lyra always given pause whenever she came across him.
They reached the family tent, which was double the size of any other tent at the fair. He unfastened the flap and showed them inside.
“Paula’ll be with you, Miss Jeffries.” Paula was Ma’s granddaughter and Sammy’s sister. He returned to the narrowboat where a few traders were already waiting to discuss a prospective deal.
Lyra scanned the interior. Most of the other tents had two separate chambers at most; the Costa’s tent had four, including an auxiliary tent for small livestock in the rear connected by an elongated canvas awning. There was the entry chamber where Lyra was presently, and this entered into the others through three more flaps. The flaps to the right and left opened into storage areas, while the center flap led to the barter room. This was where some of the more complex transactions took place and where most of the transaction records were stored. It also doubled as a day room and resting area for Ma Costa, who was waiting inside for Lyra.
“Is that Lyra Belacqua I hear?” she half-hollered, cheerfully. Lyra was pleased to hear Ma use her old last name. She could hear the age in Ma Costa’s voice, but her unflagging spirit remained. “Don’t dawdle, Paula, let her in!”
Paula appeared from behind the middle flap. “Welcome, Mrs. Jeffries. So good to see you again. Please, enter.”
Lyra and Paula held each other’s hands as they greeted one another. “Paula! What a beauty you’ve become!” She turned to Ma Costa. “Am I daydreaming, or has she grown since last I saw her?” Paula turned away with polite bashfulness as her fox daemon sat quietly in the corner.
“Like river weeds, they are,” Ma Costa said. “But good children, all of them. Come sit, Lyra.”
Lyra got a full look at Ma Costa, and she felt a little shock. She’d only just seen the woman earlier that year, and had been as hale and feisty as ever…but now she seemed somehow smaller, and less powerful than she’d ever seen her in all her life. Inevitable, perhaps, but affecting nonetheless. Lyra wasn’t sure for a moment what to say, but knew the best thing to do was treat her no differently than she had before.
Paula brought forth a small plush seat for Lyra. She thanked Paula and settled at the old woman’s side. Ma Costa reclined on an elaborately crafted settee made of stiff woven wicker and upholstered with ornately-patterned felt covering. Her old hawk daemon perched comfortably on the back of an adjacent chair. It hopped down to the dirt floor to greet Pantalaimon, as the two daemons nuzzled one another, beak to snout.
She looked around Ma’s chamber. Small window flaps in the tent’s roof and high up along the sides allowed for views of the evening sky, as well as a healthy breeze to blow through freely.
“I hope the young ones aren’t keeping you in here against your will,” Lyra said.
“Rubbish! Tony had a wish I’d stay back home, but I’d have none of it. Paula takes me on a short walk here an’ again, just to keep the body a little sharper for a little longer. It ain’t ideal, child, but it’ll do.”
Paula reentered and handed Lyra and Ma Costa two glasses of cool mint tea. After a sip, Ma touched Lyra’s face with a sturdy wrinkled hand. “Has it only been months, child? Seems only the other day you was visitin’ us in the Fens. O’course, it seems like years and years all the same. Funny, that.”
Lyra nodded. “It has gone by quickly. My work at St. Mary’s takes up much of my time, though I enjoy every minute of it.”
“It’s a lucky soul who loves what they does, and does what they love. You’ve done a good life’s work, my dear. You ought to be mighty proud then.”
“I am pleased with my accomplishments, but I don’t take too much pride in them. The benefits of my work aren’t solely meant for me.”
In the months after Lyra had said good-bye to Will, she began her studies at a new boarding school for girls established by Dame Hannah Relf. Dame Hannah told her should could study the alethiometer with her help, and make it part of her life’s work if she so chose. This was a decision that took longer for Lyra to settle on than she had expected. She had at first thrilled to the idea of regaining the knowledge that she had once possessed by grace, but wasn’t sure if she could muster the patience to do so. It had been an ability that had touched her deeply and she hesitated to revisit it, as one sometimes hesitates visiting an old lover who has since become only a friend. Dame Hannah had several books and resources with which to help her, and could even use the alethiometer herself as she helped Lyra, but the sheer amount of texts that existed on its study made the path that lay before her seem all the more daunting. But she gave it more time, and more thought, and remembered that it was her job to help make the world a better place in the best way she could, to ‘make heaven where she was,’ as Will’s father John Parry had once instructed. She knew she’d be able to at least gain some level of ability while she studied, and could use what little she’d gleaned from the alethiometer to perhaps help in her efforts to build the Republic of Heaven. Her only task now was to create a blueprint for its construction.
With the money that had been saved for her as a child by the faculty of Jordan College, Lyra had no need for want. But Lyra rejected the idea of using the money to create an opulent lifestyle for herself, though the temptation to do so was undeniable. She felt the money would be best used in two complimentary capacities: a sizable portion of the funds would be set aside for any children she would perhaps have one day, and another portion would be used for humanitarian and philanthropic purposes: donations to charities, repair and construction of learning facilities, and even a scholarship fund for promising Jordan College and St. Sophia’s College students. Give people the greatest chance to better themselves, she felt, and the world might become a better place.
Five years after she’d begun her studies, Lyra, now a young adult, was nearing graduation. She had worked toward a teaching degree, hoping to someday teach at either St. Sophia’s or another school (she’d ambitiously considered starting her own school someday). She’d intended on teaching general studies: mathematics, experimental theology, proper grammar and language skills, and so on, just as the instructors at her own school had done. She had also made great progress in her alethiometer studies, and many of her financials contributions yielded the positive results she’d hoped for. But she felt as if there were more she could do. Something that would have an even greater impact than her already beneficial accomplishments. But what?
One day, during one of Dame Hannah’s alethiometer sessions, a question sprang into her mind: Do I now know enough about the alethiometer to teach how to read it? Certainly not as much as Dame Hannah knew, but she knew far more than anyone else her age, or anyone of any age for that matter. Of course she could! Why hadn’t she seen it before? And it wasn’t just that she could, but she wanted to; she’d wanted to teach, because this was her special talent, as well as her life’s study, and above all, it was an ability that enabled one to know the truth. What could be more noble a goal than that? What better way to help build the Republic of Heaven? She asked Dame Hannah about the possibility of shifting her studies to include preparations for eventually earning a certification for conducting her own alethiometer studies. Dame Hannah thought it a wonderful idea, and obliged. Two years later, Lyra began teaching the alethiometer at St. Sophia’s to any young women who wanted to learn. She found that teaching how to use the alethiometer helped her to learn more about it as well.
Several years after that, and using her money and stature within the educational community, Lyra established her own boarding school near Jordan College, with herself as the headmistress. At the age of thirty, she was one of the youngest headmistresses of a boarding school in all of Anglia. She named it St. Mary’s School for Young People – the name was a partial nod to her old friend Mary Malone, who years ago had revealed profound truths to her in their short time knowing one another. It was like other boarding schools in many respects, but with two key differences: it featured an alethiometer-intensive course unmatched by any that had come before it, and, perhaps most divergent from tradition, was a co-educational school – the first of its kind in all of Anglia. Ideas and values had changed enough over time, though, that the idea of such a school was not only accepted but welcomed. Young men and women did not share classrooms though, but both could study in separate classes taught by Lyra herself. Theo Balfour was one such student at her school, though Bella was not; she attended St. Sophia’s just as Lyra had. She felt it was important that Bella receive her education from an institution other than her own in order to keep her role as mother intact without the additional role of academic instructor.
“You’ve done well with Bella, I’ve heard,” Ma said to Lyra. “Such a beautiful young woman. Like her mother, she is.” Lyra blushed slightly. “Is she seeing any boys?”
Lyra loved how Ma Costa always got right to the point. “Yes. Young Theo Balfour, a student at St. Mary’s. He’s not in any of my classes, but he’s a bright pupil. He seems to be Bella’s first crush. He came along today at Bella’s request.”
“Ah, so that’s where Bella is right now.”
“She and Theo are off playing that game the children play these days… ‘Authority,’ I think it’s called? Bella’s played it for some time now. I get the idea she doesn’t want me knowing too much about it.”
“All children have their secrets.”
“Of course, Ma. I played many games once upon a time, you may recall,” Lyra said warmly.
“Damn near sank my boat too!” laughed Ma Costa, remembering Lyra’s own inept childhood attempt to commandeer the Costa’s grand narrowboat.
Ma leaned closer to Lyra. “Does young Bella know all about what you had to do with the real business with the Authority?”
“She has some idea, but I’m going to wait till she’s a little older. There are some other things in life she needs to discover first.”
“Such as that young Theo.”
Lyra nodded.
“Young love,” mused Ma.
“Yes.” Lyra looked away for a moment. She was so happy for Bella, happy her daughter had many opportunities that she herself did not have at the same age. Lyra was a little sad for herself as well. She silently scolded herself for feeling that way.
Ma saw her words had some effect on Lyra. “Sorry, dear. Didn’t mean to…”
“It’s alright. Just pleased for her.”
“As well you should, dear.”
Lyra thought for a moment. “I think that’s why I made St. Mary’s open to both girls and boys. They still have separate classes, but there is time where they can interact with one another. I just felt that that interaction at that age…it could be an enriching experience. Something you can’t teach in any classroom.”
Ma beamed at Lyra. “And the Republic of Heaven continues to blossom.”
Lyra stood and raised herself onto her tiptoes, catching a glace of the steady stream of fairgoers through the tent’s high windows. She knew her work with the school was the right place to start, but her need to do more perpetually nagged her. It was a start, but that was all. She wanted to change things now. Do more now. And that now was in its twenty-fifth year, and she still felt she was only just beginning her life’s work. She’d sometimes wished she had a few more lives to use, just for her quest.
“There seem to be so many impossible obstacles to scale, Ma,” Lyra admitted. She didn’t show her worry often, but Ma was someone she could let her guard down in front of. “So many of the things we said we’d do…or we’d at least try to do…”
“Like what, dear?”
“For instance. Will and I promised to let everyone know, in each of our worlds, that when they die and enter the Land of the Dead, to tell the harpies the true stories of their lives once they died. So that the harpies will help them to find peace. Well, I’ve told everyone I could – friends, family, even fellow college administrators and scholars – but not everyone believes in the Land of the Dead, let alone the harpies. And I’ve not been sure how to spread the message any farther.”
“Well, child, that’s the way of things. You can’t make everyone believe everything.”
Lyra nodded grudgingly. “True. But I don’t know what’s been happening to the harpies and the souls of the dead since then. Perhaps that’s what’s been eating away at me. Hopefully the harpies know that not everyone will tell them the truth…but that I’ve tried. Perhaps that will be truth enough?”
“Perhaps so, dear. And you have tried.”
“I was so young and full of enthusiasm, and felt if I put my heart and mind into it enough, it would all happen the way I’d hoped it would.”
“You’ve made people see things they never thought were true before, or even possible. There’s good in that.”
“I don’t know…there are many that aren’t happy with what I’ve shown them. Many are still angry. You don’t see them speak of it often, but they are out there. Their feelings are just beneath the surface.”
“Don’t fear, my child.”
“I try not to. But there are those out there who…well…I don’t want to think about it.”
Lyra paused. She thought of how Will was doing. Was he doing any better than she had? His world was far less receptive to such things as daemons and angels and harpies…had he made any progress?
“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you.” Ma knew she was referring of Will, and Lyra knew she knew.
“Yes,” she said.
A lump caught in Lyra’s throat. She took a large gulp of tea, but it had no effect. She could feel hot tears returning to her eyes. Wordlessly she excused herself from Ma’s chamber and went to the front flap. She hoped Paula wouldn’t see her this way, but Paula thankfully wasn’t in the front; she must have been on the boat. She felt ashamed to hide herself from Ma like this, but she needed a moment alone.
Lyra closed the flap and stood outside the tent. The sun was still high in the sky but had begun its long descent, and the air had a pre-evening coolness. And somewhere, she knew, Bella is having fun with Theo.
I miss when Daniel and I would come here. Bella was only three years old when Daniel passed away and didn’t remember the visits she and her parents made to the fair. Lyra wondered what it would be like if she and Daniel were children as well, playing secret games and waging battles, without a care in the world.
I wonder what it would have been like if
Will and I…
Stop thinking about him! Would he always enter her thoughts when thinking of Daniel? Was he somehow thinking of me in his own world, insinuating himself into my mind? Will had been appearing in her thoughts more and more as of late. Why? Why now? Things are finally getting settled again. Things were going well. Bella was growing up wonderfully. St. Mary’s was strong and well-respected. Things weren’t perfect, but they were comfortable.
Maybe that was why. Things were too comfortable. Nothing more to look forward to except her work. Nothing to distract her from the thoughts she dare not speak of. Of course Will had always been on her mind, even after she’d met Daniel. She’d still visited their bench in the Botanical Garden every year on Midsummer Day, but she limited her thoughts of him – her conscious thoughts, anyway – to that one day of the year. At least, that’s what she’d tricked herself into thinking.
What did all of this mean? Was there nothing left for her to do in life? Simply maintain what she’d already created? Impossible. She wanted to do more in building the Republic. But what else could she do? Was their nothing left to yearn for?
Only what she couldn’t have. And that was Will.
She look down at her feet and saw more snakeshead fritillaries. Daniel came back into her mind. How awful am I, to dishonor his memory with such thoughts? But it wasn’t dishonoring, she knew that. It didn’t mean she cared for Daniel any less, but it certainly felt that way.
Ma made her way up to Lyra, timeworn cane in one hand, her daemon perched on her shoulder. Lyra was shocked to see the old woman walking alone.
“Should you be up by yourself?” Lyra asked.
“Pay no mind to me,” Ma said. “My body does what it does when I want it to. I can get around more ably than I let on, you see. When I’m tired, I’ll rest. I’ve rested plenty today.”
Lyra smiled.
“What’s on your mind, dear?”
Thoughts of Will. Thoughts of Daniel. How Daniel liked coming to the Horse Fair. How he’d come to her so unexpectedly. How tragically she’d lost him. Or was it Will she was thinking of in that respect? Both. It was both.
“Daniel,” she finally said. “I feel torn. I want to forget him, to move on. But I feel if I do…”
“It’s hard, child. Such as it as with any loved one.”
“It was different somehow with Will.” Ah yes, Ma Costa thought. Not just Daniel she’s thinking of.
Lyra went on. “We’d never…we’d only been together for such a short time. We were children. It was so painful, but with Daniel…”
“You had more time with him than Will.”
“Yes! We’d spent so much time together. Years together, married. But somehow…being with Will…it was no less profound than all the time I’d spent with Daniel. In fact, you could even say…no, I shouldn’t think that.”
And than it hit her. She couldn’t admit it, not even to herself. She didn’t want to. It couldn’t be true. What a terrible thing to think.
“Will was your first love, dear. No shame in never loving another as much as him.”
Ma could see what she was thinking. Lyra wept openly. Pantalaimon leapt into her arms and she stroked him. She felt like a young girl all over again. “I can’t help it, Ma. I cared for Daniel so much. I loved him, didn’t I?”
Ma put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course you did, dear.” She let Lyra finish the thought.
Lyra looked up at her. “But I wasn’t…in love with him. I wanted to be. I so badly wanted to be.”
Ma nodded. “You did no wrong by him, nor yourself, dear. Never think otherwise. Not even now. No use tying yourself up in knots over it. Will you ever forget Daniel? Mayhap so, mayhap not. Either way, whichever happens, it will be how you deal with his memory. How you move on. And that’s what’s most important, dear. Honor him by living your life. You have so much to live for.”
Lyra knew she was right. It was all so confusing, her feelings of guilt and loneliness mingling together. She wasn’t sure what she’d been pained by until now.
“I know I do,” Lyra said. “You’re right. Thank you, Ma. I just didn’t see it before.”
“Even with all your alethiometer studies?” chided Ma.
Lyra laughed. “I suppose I never brought myself to ask it the right questions.”
“Some questions aren’t meant to be asked until they’re ready to be asked, child. That’s all.”
Lyra sat on the cool grass out the tent, stroking Pantalaimon. There was something else, though. Something about Will she still couldn’t shake.
“I do know what it is to be in love, though,” Lyra said. “I just wish I could be in love again.”
“Why’s that, dear? Be sure it’s for the right reason.”
Lyra knew what Ma meant. It wasn’t that she simply wanted to be in love; she wanted to be in love with someone else – not Will. She wanted to forget him. Or did she?
“I’ve visited our bench every year, Ma,” Lyra went on. “I’ve kept the promise. It hasn’t always been easy. Some years it was wonderful. But when Daniel came along…it changed. Once I married him, visiting the bench became no different than an old acquaintance. But eventually, it was like visiting a gravesite. Speaking with someone you’d never see again. I even considered laying flowers there for him. Isn’t that something? Not to treat him as if he were dead, mind you. But just as a expression of… of love, I suppose. Of remembrance. Or maybe I was trying to pretend he were dead? Perhaps there’s a part of me that wants to feel that way, but only just a part of me. Just so there’d be a sense of finality.” But shouldn’t I have already felt some finality? Even after all this time?
Lyra started crying harder. “Then Daniel died. Now I had two places to visit.” Lyra didn’t have to explain. Ma knew that Daniel, per his wishes, was cremated, his ashes spread over the Isis River. At the site of the spreading, near the riverbank, a gravestone was erected in his memory.
“There’s something I never told anyone, not even Bella,” she continued. “The year before Daniel died, I didn’t go to my and Will’s bench. I couldn’t, could I? I was tending to Daniel, just waiting for him to die, and I knew he needed me. I wanted to…to ‘talk’ to Will, as I often did, just to explain what I was going through. I’d often imagine what he’d say, thinking of things he’d tell me to comfort me.
“But the year after Daniel died…I couldn’t bring myself to visit his gravestone. I just couldn’t. The pain was too great. I tried to, but I simply couldn’t. And it was then, only then, that I started visiting the bench again. Isn’t that ironic? It had it all backwards, didn’t I? I ran there and wept for hours, pouring my heart out to someone who wasn’t even there. And it wasn’t Daniel I was saying these things to, it was Will. It should have been Daniel.”
“There’s nothing wrong with what you did, child,” Ma said. She laid her free hand on Lyra’s head, caressing her hair. “It’s perfectly understandable. You were in love with Will. And even to this day, it sounds like you still are, at least a part of you. What of it? Sometimes, there are those in life you’ll always feel that way about. You may feel like you shouldn’t, you may feel like you’re a terrible person for holding on to such thoughts and feelings, but there it is. It’s who you are. And there’s nothing to do about it. And what’s more, there’s nothing wrong with it, either. It’s meant to be, ain’t it? Time may take away the feeling, or perhaps it will preserve it. Your love for him ain’t a bad thing. It didn’t make you weaker, it made you stronger. It made you a better person. And you ain’t dishonoring Daniel by feeling how you do about Will. You was all that Daniel had. You made his life bearable, dear… nay, more than bearable! You made it worth living again, even if he had only a short time left. Hear me when I say that you’ve done more good for the people of this world than anyone before or since. And that’s the truth, by my life, it is.”
Soaked with tears, Lyra looked up into Ma Costa’s kindly old face. Pantalaimon was still curled around Lyra’s neck. Ma had also been weeping, though her voice hadn’t shown it. Lyra took Ma’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “I just wasn’t sure.” Lyra was glad to have spoken with Ma about her feelings. She knew somehow that truths had been spoken by the old woman that not even the alethiometer could have answered.
“Let’s come inside, dear,” Ma said. “There’s more to talk over.”
Lyra picked herself and went back into the tent. She was glad she came.