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Chapter Text

Across and Away

Mrs. Coulter was rounding the corner of the cliff when she saw her. 

Lyra had pressed herself against the rock, her gloved hands cemented by her sides and her eyes shut tight. She didn't make a single sound. All Mrs. Coulter could hear was the howling of the wind and the strange, shimmering sounds of the bridge now cutting into the Aurora. Even the golden monkey couldn't hear anything, as heightened as his senses were. 

Was it fate for them to meet again like this? Mrs. Coulter found herself simply staring down at her daughter. She could hardly believe it. How long had she been there? Had she heard what transpired between her and Asriel on the mountain? Mrs. Coulter hoped so. She hoped for Lyra to have heard that she wanted her and wanted to stay in this world for her. She hoped that she'd have another chance to talk, to explain, to listen this time like she hadn't listened before. 

But she wasn't prepared for this. She didn't know what to say or how to say it. Asriel had already left. The Magisterium was in full pursuit. The armed forces would be there in a matter of minutes. Father MacPhail would be furious with her for taking things into her own hands after he was knocked out by Thorold. Above all, he would be furious at this and at Asriel and at the implications of what this all would mean.

There just wasn't time. 

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter finally called out, gently, the golden monkey poised to leap if the girl fled. But Lyra opened her eyes and then looked up at her, a somber and defeated expression on her face. She blinked very slowly and then turned to gaze over at Roger. Tears started to pool in her eyes. Pan slinked out of her sleeve as a mouse, his whiskers moving rapidly. 

Of course.

Mrs. Coulter should have known. Asriel needed a child to sever for his burst of energy, and Lyra unknowingly brought Roger right to him. She'd been running to him since the moment she left Jordan College, after all. And knowing Asriel, he had to trick both children for this to happen; he had to betray Lyra's trust and all of her faith in him, when he was quite possibly the only person she believed in at this point. 

Stop feeling that, the golden monkey snapped at her, thrashing his tail. Don't go there. 

But she ignored him and his objections, as she so often did when it came to matters concerning Lyra. 

"That's your friend Roger, isn't it?" Mrs. Coulter remembered him vaguely from London when he was in the warehouse. From Jordan College, too. He was sweet. Trusting. Sincere. And full of determination to find Lyra again, the only family he had. 

Yet here they all were, staring at his lifeless body. 

Lyra glared up at Mrs. Coulter as she said that, defiant again. But then she softened. "Yes." The pain on her face was impossible to mask. She was trying very hard to hide it, but her face wrinkled up and her breathing began to hitch. She fidgeted with her hands and before Mrs. Coulter knew it, she was sitting beside the boy and holding him in her arms. 

"I'm sorry, Roger," she whispered to him. Tears fell from her cheeks now as Pan huddled by her legs.

"We didn't mean for this to happen," Mrs. Coulter heard Pan say to her. He nuzzled at her ankle. 

"But it did!" Lyra's voice broke. "And it's all my fault." 

It was rare to witness someone interacting with their daemon in the way Lyra and Pan currently were. Such communication was private and intimate. Seeing these moments was common within families, to be sure, but Mrs. Coulter naturally didn't have the traditional type of family dynamic with Lyra to really have seen that. She'd seen Pan when Lyra lived with her and had shared a smile or two with him, but she'd never heard him comfort the child like this. She never saw how close they were and how much love they shared. 

That was us once, the monkey thought to her, grimly. And Mrs. Coulter paused, sharing his sadness for a fleeting moment. 

As Lyra continued to sob her apologies and rock the boy back and forth, Mrs. Coulter decided she had no choice but to intervene. They were running out of time. "It's not your fault, Lyra." Mrs. Coulter approached her slowly, cautiously. "That would be your father's fault. And… Mine." Lyra's head jolted up. "It's my organization that brought him here to the North, after all."

That wasn't easy for Mrs. Coulter to say, even though it was true. She was a very prideful woman. And she did take great pride in the work being done at the station, which stemmed from her advanced research on Dust and on experimental theology. It was cutting edge (no pun intended, the monkey snickered). As Mrs. Coulter had told Lyra, this work would change the world. The Magisterium wanted their own share, of course, with original sin and all they felt plagued humanity, but Mrs. Coulter recognized the wider importance of it; she saw things that could really revolutionize life as they knew it. It would be good, once they sorted it out and worked out the kinks…which indeed led to certain casualties and misconfigurations. 

"I should be glad to hear you admit it," Lyra said, voice still weak, "but I don't think I can ever be glad about anything ever again."

The golden monkey hissed under his breath as Mrs. Coulter leaned down at that, her eyes softening. Lyra's words stung. Mrs. Coulter didn't want her to be so upset and in such pain. It bothered the woman in a way she couldn't quite explain. All of this really wasn't Lyra's fault. Mrs. Coulter spent the better part of three months chasing after Lyra to prevent any of that from happening, to find her and keep her safe. It wasn't right for Lyra to feel this way. In a strange sense, Mrs. Coulter wanted to make it all better for her. Wanted to resolve her of her guilt. 

But why? the golden monkey begged to know, feeling as desperate as his human but for entirely different reasons. 

A distant howl broke through the silence just then. Both humans and their daemons jumped, heads craned toward the source of the noise. Pan flew into the air as a hawk, scouting ahead, and the golden monkey jumped over to scramble up onto the cliff. 

"That'll be Father MacPhail," Mrs. Coulter sighed, seeing through the monkey a herd of men approaching a ways away. She stood back up and put her hand against her forehead, which was starting to throb. 

She didn't have it in her to deal with this. Not the emotional capacity and not the bloody damn time. How long would it take for them to get up there? Ten minutes? Less? And where were she and Lyra to go from the top of the mountain in plain sight? 

Unless... 

No. Mrs. Coulter closed her eyes, shaking her head. They couldn't. 

It was a lie when Mrs. Coulter said she didn't want to go through the portal and into another world. She wanted it with every fiber of her being. She'd heard the rumors and the whispers about the multiplicity of other worlds. She wasn't naive enough not to listen to them. She'd never admit it publicly, but she'd even dabbled with them once before, during her youth in an age far away. The Church told her one thing about this phenomenon, but her research and the whispers told her another. The thought of going further this time and discovering what no one else could, surpassing even Asriel... 

She wanted it, but she also wanted Lyra. And there they were, together again. Mother and daughter. At the top of a mountain at the threshold of another world. 

"What to do with you, what to do with you," Mrs. Coulter muttered, looking from Lyra to Roger to the empty cage and off to the distance. "They'll be here soon."

"What do you mean?" Lyra asked. She was oddly composed and unfazed at the looming threat. Mrs. Coulter vaguely wondered how that could be. "Aren't you going to turn me into them?" 

"Of course not!" Mrs. Coulter spat. Lyra blinked up at her, not seeming to comprehend, and Mrs. Coulter sighed again. "I know a lot of things have happened, Lyra, but I meant what I said back at the station. No one is ever going to hurt you. I won't allow it. And I can't guarantee what those men will do if they find us up here next to this portal."

Comprehension entered Lyra's gaze now as she glanced from Mrs. Coulter to the monkey to the portal and then back again. Pan fluttered back down to the tip of her shoulder, leering over at Mrs. Coulter, too. 

"I suppose there's no way to avoid it," Mrs. Coulter said after a few beats, aware of the Magisterial forces inching closer and closer. "We'll have to go through."

If Lyra was expecting something from their confrontation, it certainly wasn't that. Her mouth gaped and her grip on Roger loosened as she continued to gaze at her mother. "You… You mean…"

"Yes, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said, moving to adjust her bag and then pull Lyra up. "Unless you'd like to explain to the Magisterium what it is you saw and how much you know. Are you ready?" 

Truth be told, Mrs. Coulter didn't know if she was ready herself. She'd spent an entire research career praying for discoveries and opportunities like this, for something grand and exciting and important and meaningful. This was every researcher's dream, to be on the brink of something so utterly unimaginable. It was the chance of a lifetime. But now that it was here, and that she was left with no choice…

"Ready," Lyra said with a confidence Mrs. Coulter didn't even realize could exist in a twelve year-old child. 

With that, Lyra and her dæmon turned away from the world they were born in, and looked toward the sun, and walked into the sky, her mother and the golden monkey following directly behind her.

Chapter Text

It was eerie and silent and… quite beautiful. 

Mrs. Coulter and Lyra walked slowly through the bridge, light shimmering around them at all angles as they moved forward. It was like a rainbow yet not. Light bent in ways it wasn't supposed to; the laws of physics seemed warped as the two walked further and further through this tunnel of gleaming shimmers. It was a tunnel that appeared without end but that was guided by a certain force of energy. 

It was Dust. All of Mrs. Coulter's research (and Asriel's, for that matter) led to Dust. It was Dust that made the alethiometer work. It was Dust that created this bridge. And it was Dust that settled all upon her now, though she couldn't feel it as much as see it so clearly and magnificently gathering around her skin. 

The Magisterium would have no discussion of it, but Mrs. Coulter privately wanted to talk about it at length. How did this particle come to be? Why was it so different than all the others? What made it work, and what could they use it for? Was it possible to harness its energy like the way Asriel did to create this very bridge? So many possibilities and so much potential waiting to be unearthed, if only one was willing to take the risk. 

"It's so beautiful." Lyra had stopped to stare over at Mrs. Coulter, looking from her hair to her coat. The girl's eyes were wide with wonder as she watched golden particles of Dust gather around Mrs. Coulter like a magnet. It was like a golden aurora. "How can something so beautiful make you so afraid?" 

It was a good question, and Mrs. Coulter didn't have a good answer. She'd never have a good answer, since she wasn't as afraid of and disgusted with Dust as she let on and as the Church believed. All she knew was that the unknown could be frightening and that those in authority can never trust that which they can't control. 

But when Lyra murmured again how breathtaking it was and how she wished it'd settle around her like that, Mrs. Coulter's head whipped up. The golden monkey snarled as Mrs. Coulter turned Lyra around and urged her to keep walking forward, suddenly afraid of Dust and of her daughter attracting it and everything she couldn't quite explain. Why did it feel so different, when it was about Lyra and not some random child for the sake of science? Feeling the golden monkey's pangs of loathing, Mrs. Coulter wondered why she was feeling like this, and what it all meant, and how she even came to be here in this bridge to another world. 

They continued to walk for what felt like miles. Glancing behind her, Mrs. Coulter could no longer see the light of the only world she'd ever known. They'd traveled so far, and they had no idea where they were going. Lyra, however, seemed completely at ease with the situation. Mrs. Coulter looked down and saw the spark of determination still there on the child's face as Pan prowled ahead of them as a lithe black panther. It was probably the significance and novelty of it all that kept Lyra so calm in Mrs. Coulter's presence. The last time they'd spoken they were screaming at one another through a steel door. And now they were here. Together. 

As they approached a crossroad of sorts, the party stopped, looking every which way and that. 

"This way." Lyra pointed to their right, her voice full of conviction. 

"But how do you know that?" Mrs. Coulter asked her, sweetly, trying not to completely overpower her. "I'm sure that's a great way, but shouldn't we explore a bit of each, perhaps sending our daemons ahead, and see if—" 

"I don't need your help or your opinion." Mrs. Coulter stopped as Lyra turned to face her. The girl's voice wasn't shrill or whiny but entirely steady. "I was gonna come here with or without you anyway, and actually, I might be glad if you go one way and I go another."

She finally said it. Mrs. Coulter worked hard to keep her face still and neutral as she stared down at her daughter. She'd been wondering when they'd have this conversation, about how they would proceed and what was going to happen to them. And how Lyra still despised Mrs. Coulter for what she had done. 

As Mrs. Coulter said earlier to Asriel, the truth was simple: she wanted Lyra. With everything she had. She didn't exactly know why (and nor did the golden monkey), but she did. It was that desire which propelled Mrs. Coulter to the North in the first place, so that she could find Lyra. And it didn't go so well when they'd last seen each other. Mrs. Coulter blew it. She'd let her greed and her ambition ruin what could have been a genuine moment between them. She'd failed the one quest she most desperately wished to complete. 

Was she going to blow it all again now? Lyra was staring back at her, waiting. She probably expected Mrs. Coulter to grab her, to yell at her, to tell her what was best because she was the adult. But Mrs. Coulter wasn't going to do that. Not this time. 

"I want to be with you, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter finally said, nodding. "My place is with you, wherever you are and whichever path you choose."

Lyra hadn't been expecting that. She hadn't expected a lot of what transpired that day, it seemed. It suddenly was apparent how very tired and drained she was. Her eyes were drooping and her posture slouching. Pan was resting lazily on her shoulder now, too tired to lift his ermine head. She was, after all, still a child. 

Lyra was just a little girl caught up in a plan as big as the universe was wide. 

"I don't care what you do," the girl finally sighed, turning around and heading to the right. 

"That's a start," Mrs. Coulter muttered to herself, following her. It was better than Lyra outright rejecting her. The girl probably knew by now that Mrs. Coulter truly meant her no harm, what with saving her from the operation and choosing to flee the Magisterium on the mountain. But it would take the heavens and the moon for Lyra to ever start trusting her again. If it was even possible. 

They continued to walk, Lyra leading and Mrs. Coulter trailing a little behind. When they reached the end and saw a silvery, translucent window, however, Mrs. Coulter spoke up. "This is it, Lyra." 

Lyra stared at the window and then over at Mrs. Coulter. "You know what this is?" 

"I do." Mrs. Coulter stepped toward it, her eyes measuring the width and depth of the window. It was smaller than the one she'd seen so very long ago. This was not the first time Mrs. Coulter was exposed to the portals between worlds. She'd never tell Asriel or the Magisterium that, but she had been to one once. In another time, traveling at another rate of speed and of light. Back in another era and another continuum. 

The golden monkey chittered at her, impatient to get moving. He'd never been one for traveling, which was tragic given the nature of Mrs. Coulter's research and the voyages she made for her studies and her work. She pushed him aside as she moved even closer, staring at it. She could see the reflection of her blue eyes glimmering back at her. 

"What is it?" Lyra asked, moving closer as well. Pan slipped from her back and crawled closer to it, sniffing. 

"A window," Mrs. Coulter drawled, inching even closer. 

"A window to where ?" Lyra was leaning in, too, her shoulders almost brushing up against Mrs. Coulter's side as she looked at it.

The girl was curious. As curious as Mrs. Coulter and Asriel ever were. Mrs. Coulter felt a strange beam of pride as she gazed down at her child peering into the heart of another world. Is this what it felt like to watch a child grow and see them succeed at life? Was this some of the beauty and comfort a child could bring into one's life? 

"Shall we go through it?" Mrs. Coulter breathed, eyes still trained on Lyra. 

Lyra smiled at that. Actually smiled. It reached her eyes and lightened her presence, which had up until this point felt extraordinarily heavy. She nodded and then turned to face the window, picking up Pan. “Do I just…”

“Walk into it, yes,” Mrs. Coulter finished for her, feeling a smile of her own creep onto her lips. “Can you feel it? The wind of the other world?”

There was a light breeze coming in from the window. Lyra closed her eyes just then, breathing in. “I can.”

“Go on,” Mrs. Coulter urged, pressing her hand gently against Lyra’s shoulder. The girl looked up at her, eyes searching, before she nodded again and then stepped forward, half her body disappearing behind the light of the window.

“Here we go,” Mrs. Coulter whispered, stepping in front of her daemon and preparing to follow her daughter step-for-step.

Chapter Text

When Lyra and Mrs. Coulter crossed over to the other side of the window, both breathless and flushed with excitement, it was not exactly what Mrs. Coulter had expected.

The world in front of them was dark, chilly, and empty. And foggy. There was an endless presence of light fog all around them. Something about it made the fur stand up on the golden monkey’s neck and goosebumps erupt across Mrs. Coulter’s arms. She sensed something deep in her bones, a faint air of foreboding and unrest. She couldn’t quite describe it, but it might be akin to instinct, to reflex. Whatever it was, it told Mrs. Coulter that something wasn’t quite right with this world and that it wasn’t entirely safe. 

Lyra, meanwhile, apparently had no such misgivings. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the soft breeze coming in from the nearby sea. They were atop a cliff of some sort that dipped down into what might have been a little town, if anything could be seen beyond the fog. Pan transformed into a seagull, crying out and gliding closer to the shore as Lyra opened her eyes and dashed forward herself.

“Lyra, wait!” Mrs. Coulter called out, rushing after her. The golden monkey hissed as he chased after Pan, hardly able to keep up.

Didn’t Lyra have any sense? Why were Mrs. Coulter’s misgivings instantaneous while Lyra’s nonexistent? They didn’t seem to picking up on the same sense of this world, which was strange. It wasn’t right. Nothing about this situation seemed right. After a few bounds, Mrs. Coulter caught up to the girl and grabbed her by the arm, more harshly than she’d intended. Lyra spun around, eyes hard, and Mrs. Coulter heard Pan squawk angrily.

“Don’t touch me like that!” Lyra spat, wiggling to get away and to break free.

“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Coulter quickly, letting go, “but hush, Lyra. Something doesn’t feel right about this place.”

At that Lyra’s eyes widened before swiftly narrowing. Pan came back to her, transforming into a bright-eyed owl, and the two looked around with careful eyes as Mrs. Coulter pulled her daemon closer to her, a rare impulse that she just couldn’t possibly explain.

There’s something predatory in this world, the golden monkey thought to her, his beady black eyes squinting into the distance. I’m sure of it. Reminds me of those creatures we saw when we were in Africa.

Mrs. Coulter shivered at the memory. They’d seen a lot of gruesome and troubling things on their travels around the world—around their world, rather, as well as the other they’d visited. They'd seen inexplicable phenomena in both the far south and the far north, and they'd more than once felt as eerie as they did now, where their gut instincts simply urged for them to run and to escape. It never led to anything good, which was what made Mrs. Coulter so uneasy. 

"We can't see anything," Lyra said after a while, frowning. "Just a bunch of fog."

"There's something here," Mrs. Coulter insisted. The golden monkey prowled around in front of them, keeping an eye out for whatever it was. "Stay close for now, Lyra."

They carefully made their way along the clearing in front of them, daemons on watch and humans deep in thought. What was this place, Mrs. Coulter wondered? Was it a world similar to their own? The breeze and the atmosphere felt tropical. Southern, or what Mrs. Coulter associated as southern. The air seemed normal enough to her, too. She soon felt sweat begin to build up in her heavy furs, so she shrugged out of them, gesturing for Lyra to do the same.

"Why is it like this?" Lyra was squinting as she tried to see her way through the fog. "Can't see anything."

Mrs. Coulter didn't know. But when they arrived closer to the trees—their furs draped over their arms—they finally saw something. 

Or, rather, some one . 

"Hey!" Lyra called out abruptly. The golden monkey hissed and Mrs. Coulter took in a sharp intake of breath, but she relaxed immediately as she made out a small child looking up toward them, her eyes surprised yet flecked with curiosity. She came over to them, cautiously, and the first thing Mrs. Coulter noticed was the absence of a daemon. 

That wasn't a shock to her. In the world she'd briefly visited during her youth, the people there had no daemons. They weren't without souls, of course, but their souls didn't manifest openly in the way they did in their world. It was strange, really, to have viewed people without daemons as empty, obedient creatures mere days ago only to see a child so lively without one standing right in front of them now. What would give someone chills in one world was completely normal and regular in another. 

It was remarkable. 

Lyra, however, stiffened. Her eyes looked from the girl and at the spaces all around her, no doubt searching for her daemon. Mrs. Coulter saw from the corner of her eye that Pan remained high in the air as a bird, keeping his distance. The golden monkey, too, was a few feet away and hidden by the fog. Probably for the best, she thought to him. Don't want to broadcast that we don't belong here. Secrecy, she'd discovered, was key. 

"Hello there," Mrs. Coulter sang to the child, who swiveled around to look at her. She was small, maybe 5 years old, and was carrying a basket half-filled with bright blue berries. 

"You shouldn't be here," the girl said to her, voice and eyebrows raised. 

She spoke English, albeit accented in a way that was distinctly non-British yet not quite anything else. Interesting. Mrs. Coulter tilted her head, feigning confusion and innocence. "And why not?" 

"Because you're a grown-up. And the spectres are gonna come and get you."

It was silent for a moment, the girl still staring incredulously at Mrs. Coulter and Mrs. Coulter staring coolly back. What was she talking about? And how seriously could Mrs. Coulter take her? She was only a child, after all. Spectres... A children's tall tale, like that of the Gobblers? Mrs. Coulter caught Lyra's eye by this point, and she could tell her daughter was bothered by this and was not taking it lightly. Even though she doesn't seem to feel the same dread that we do, the golden monkey pointed out, from wherever he was in the fog. 

Approaching it logically, then, they a) didn't know where they were, b) didn't know who this child was, c) didn't know what a "spectre" was, and d) didn't know anything about this world. For now, this child served as their guide, as their entry point. She had knowledge that they didn't. And it wouldn't bode well to scare her away or brush off what came across as very clear and real concern.

"She's alright," Lyra suddenly piped in. "They en't gonna bother her right now. Where are they, these spectres?" 

"Came ‘ere a bit ago." The girl dipped her hand into the basket, popping a berry into her mouth. "All the grown-ups ran away or else got eaten. You'll get eaten too, you know, if they find you."

"How do they find us grown-ups?" Mrs. Coulter was closer to the girl now, her hands clasped together in front of her in a calm, benevolent manner. Lyra came closer, too, building from Mrs. Coulter's lead. The two never spoke to one another about it, but they were operating from a shared understanding here: play dumb and ask as many questions as possible. 

The girl—Angelica, as they'd learned she was called—told them all about the spectres and the ways they come and terrorize entire cities, sounding surprised that they didn't know about it already. She explained how the city below the cliff had only just recently been attacked, which is why she was up there. The adults of this world travel in mobile packs and are ready to leave at a moment's notice for when these attacks occur. The children rejoice in this lifestyle, as they have several days of uninterrupted free time with no adults, no rules, and no responsibilities. What happened to her particular pack of adults, however, was left unclear. 

We need to get out of here, the golden monkey thought to her, still distanced yet growing increasingly agitated. If these things really do consume the souls of humans, then we would be… I would be… 

Mrs. Coulter didn't want to hear him finish the thought; she blocked him out and continued to listen to Angelica, smiling softly at her and complimenting her bravery and her shrewdness every opportunity she could. After a while, Angelica agreed to share some berries with them (they were starving, they'd only just realized) and then gladly volunteered to go gather more along with some other supplies for them. 

"We need to leave here, Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said as soon as the girl had gone. "I can't be around these spectres, and if they've only just taken the town below us…"

As Mrs. Coulter was speaking, Lyra was gazing at her pensively. Her dark eyes traced the lines of Mrs. Coulter's face and watched the mannerisms she made, her brow furrowing. Mrs. Coulter paused just then, feeling increasingly judged and interrogated, but before she could say anything, Lyra reached into her bag and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth. 

"I need you to be quiet, and I need you to not take this from me," said Lyra slowly, her voice level and her eyes hard. "Do you understand?" 

"Yes," said Mrs. Coulter simply, and she watched as her daughter gingerly unwrapped her alethiometer and began to fiddle with the buttons and the hands. 

It was captivating to watch her read it. Mrs. Coulter had never seen anyone read an alethiometer before, not even Fra Pavel. The Magisterium kept him locked up in his study as he examined the symbols and researched their meanings, but Mrs. Coulter had a feeling he didn't do it quite as Lyra did. Her focus was intense and her fingers quick as she moved the hands and watched them whirl, her eyes counting and tracking the machine's response. It was magical, unearthly, and somewhat terrifying to see. But in this moment, Mrs. Coulter truly appreciated it, and realized just how much her life depended on this machine. 

Why is it she’d spent the past few months so terrified of this machine?

After several minutes, Lyra finally looked up, as if coming out of a trance. She blinked slowly and then whirled around to Mrs. Coulter. 

"Everything she said is true," she rambled rapidly, "and we need to move. Now. They're coming and if we don't find somewhere else to go, they're going to eat you."

That was blunt, yet not entirely unexpected. All Mrs. Coulter could do was nod, clearing her throat quietly and signaling for the golden monkey come back over to her. It touched her how concerned Lyra seemed to be about her safety, and the urgency with which she moved forward and scouted ahead, her eyes glued to the machine. She was choosing to trust Mrs. Coulter as well, which was a positive step forward, even if she only did so out of obligation or because she felt that she needed Mrs. Coulter around to move forward.

"There's a boy," Lyra was saying, fiddling with the alethiometer and moving back the way they'd first come. Mrs. Coulter followed close behind. "A boy with—a boy we need to find."

What wasn't she telling her? Mrs. Coulter knew Lyra enough to tell she wasn’t telling the complete trust. She could also sense the girl's apprehension. Had she asked the alethiometer more questions than she’d initially let on? Did it tell Lyra not to trust Mrs. Coulter after all? She needed to know, and she felt the golden monkey’s annoyance at that desire. But she couldn’t help it.

But Mrs. Coulter put that aside for now. What mattered immediately was finding a place where she’d be safe, and where Lyra could further read the alethiometer, and where they could stop for a minute and gather what in the world they were doing and how they were going to survive in an entirely different world full of creatures who eat souls and daemons.

Chapter Text

The next few days were lost in a haze. Mrs. Coulter and Lyra traveled every which way around the outskirts of the city--Cittàgazze, as the alethiometer called it. They slept in trees and washed themselves in streams, their daemons on high alert and never quite sitting still or getting comfortable. The spectres were a mobile group of spirits, but they were earth-bound and slow to move. And while they could sense and track Dust, their range wasn't particularly that extended, making it possible for Lyra to keep them out of their paths until they'd finally left the city. 

It must be draining, Mrs. Coulter thought as she watched Lyra dip her head and study the alethiometer once more. They were breaking in a small clearing just outside of town. She wasn't sure if the girl had taken a proper rest since they first arrived. They took turns keeping watch at night, but Mrs. Coulter could tell that Lyra didn't truly trust her enough to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. She'd sit up and rub her eyes roughly after a while, sleep still clinging to them, before she'd brush it aside and pull out the alethiometer again, verifying the spectres' location. 

Why is she going through all this trouble? the golden monkey wondered, a suspicious edge to his thoughts. She's perfectly safe in this world. She can do as she pleases. So why do this? 

Mrs. Coulter wanted to believe it was because, deep down, Lyra cared for her and wanted to protect her; because Lyra recognized Mrs. Coulter as her mother and thought it meant something. But she didn't need the monkey's scoffs to know that wasn't the truth. Lyra wasn't telling Mrs. Coulter something. She was hiding some kind of important knowledge. Given the way she hugged that alethiometer day and night, she'd probably asked hundreds of questions and probably knew something about Mrs. Coulter that she herself didn't even know. Whatever it was telling her, it apparently was enough for Lyra to want to keep her around, though. At least for now. And perhaps that'd have to be enough. 

It would only be a matter of time until all the citizens returned, so the two made their way into the town. The spectres had moved on, thankfully. At least enough for Mrs. Coulter to be safe. It was dark and a strange, bright burst of light illuminated the streets at every corner. It was different than anbaric light as it was harsher. Could be a different energy source? As they strolled down the street, they looked at the abandoned shops and open houses. The architecture was modern in a way Mrs. Coulter hadn't seen before: flat roofs and steel siding. Yet other elements looked quite timeless, such as wooden mailboxes and bright flower gardens. What is this place? 

This wasn't what Mrs. Coulter had hoped for upon crossing the bridge. She didn't know what she'd hoped for, really, but it wasn't getting chased by soul-sucking spirits and wandering around with no purpose. She liked having a purpose. Needed to have a purpose. Even the golden monkey felt that way, perhaps even moreso than she. So their situation at the moment was not ideal in the least. And what ailed Mrs. Coulter is that she didn't have much control over it. They'd done what they'd done and now they were here. 

"Are you hungry, Lyra?" They'd entered a small home in the middle of the second row, which looked safe enough. Of course Lyra was hungry; her growling stomach gave as much away. They hadn't eaten a proper meal in days, getting by solely on berries and foliage. Cooking would be a completely different challenge, however, as Mrs. Coulter wasn't used to cooking on her own. To boot, the equipment in this world felt completely foreign and unusable. 

"What have we got here," Mrs. Coulter asked aloud, looking around for the ice box. She soon turned to just opening all of the doors, and she was surprised to open the door of a tall box and find a collection of food items and a strong chill. "Ah."

Even though she'd visited another world, she didn't live much of a domestic life there. Her time away was… Complicated, to say the least. Cooking, then, was still very much new and unfamiliar to her. Mrs. Coulter found a package that looked like meat and then emptied it out onto a pan that was already on the stove top. You don't know what you're doing, the monkey practically hissed at her, sitting impatiently on the kitchen counter. With our luck, you're going to poison us all! 

"Oh, hush," she said out loud to him, causing Lyra to look over at her curiously. Mrs. Coulter merely shook her head and continued to stir the meat, hoping it wouldn't taste as terrible as she feared it would. 

They sat down to eat it twenty minutes later, along with large glasses of milk. As they sat there across the table from one one another, completely silent as they devoured the (passably edible) protein in front of them, Mrs. Coulter was reminded of their time in London together. They ate almost every meal out on the terrace, looking up at the clouds and the birds as they chatted at length about the north and the theater and anything else that came to mind. They laughed and exchanged jokes and pleasantries. It'd been under false pretenses, but they'd enjoyed some good moments together back then. It wasn't all entirely awful. At least Mrs. Coulter would have hoped. 

It was all different now, though. There was a divide between them that was almost physical. How'd they get there? Mrs. Coulter should know, but she didn't. She realized that she hadn't truly paid attention to Lyra back then, and had perhaps been more taken with the idea of her than the reality of her. A pattern that played out across her life. 

Lyra was the first to speak. "How long are we staying here?" 

"Well," Mrs. Coulter responded, digging her knife into her meat, "I suppose that's up to you to decide. You were planning to come here all along, right? So what would you have us do?" 

Lyra narrowed her eyes at her, and Mrs. Coulter blinked back slowly. She wasn't trying to be difficult. For once, she actually wanted to give Lyra some space, give her some room. Hadn't her worst mistakes with Lyra resulted when Mrs. Coulter tried to control her? The golden monkey sighed from his place under the table, but Mrs. Coulter ignored him and stared patiently back at Lyra. 

"I suppose the first thing I'd do is… sleep." She was tired. Mrs. Coulter knew that already. It wasn't hard to see. And if the alethiometer could ensure their safety for the time being, then maybe Lyra could actually take the time to rest.

"Alright. Sounds like a plan."

They disregarded their dishes on the table as they wandered upstairs, Pan hopping into each room as a mini kangaroo and Mrs. Coulter and the golden monkey following slowly behind. There were three rooms: two bedrooms and a bathroom. Lyra took the bedroom on the left and Mrs. Coulter took the bedroom on the right. 

"Are you ready for bed?" Mrs. Coulter was leaning against the doorframe of Lyra's room. She was being awkward. Even the golden monkey could feel it as he grew warm and uncomfortable under his fur. What was she even doing, checking in on Lyra like this? She'd lost that right the moment Lyra ran away from her. Both times, the golden monkey was keen to add. Yet there she was, worrying and hovering like all the pathetic mothers she'd once so ardently scorned. 

"Yeah." Lyra was staring up at her from her bed, covers pulled up to her chin and Pan on top of her head as a mouse. 

"Would you like me to, uh… Tuck you in?" 

"No." 

"Of course not," Mrs. Coulter laughed, trying to push aside the mortifying pangs from her daemon. "I'll just be going, then… Good night." Lyra was silent as Mrs. Coulter backed out and then closed the door, kicking the golden monkey as she left. 

Meanwhile, several miles away, a boy tiptoed his way through a strange window. He looked around him in awe and wonder. In one direction glittered Oxford, the bright glare of headlights almost blinding him. Yet, in the other direction beamed something else, something new, something different… 

There's a boy. As she was drifting off to sleep, Mrs. Coulter remembered Lyra saying that there was a boy. And then nothing else. 

"We should ask her about him," the golden monkey muttered, shifting around at the foot of the bed. 

"Maybe." Mrs. Coulter wasn't convinced--about Lyra, about this world, about anything, really. But what she needed most was sleep, so she allowed her eyes to droop and her mind to swirl before she fell into a deep slumber.

Vaguely, the image of a large snow leopard appeared in her dreams, stalking her as if she were prey. It pounced and she screamed, only for the creature to laugh with a growl that soon turned into a deep, male chuckle before it all faded to black. 

Chapter Text

There's a Boy

Mrs. Coulter was trying to fall back asleep after accidentally hitting her skull on the headboard when she heard a door squeak. The golden monkey sat bolt upright, eyes trained toward ahead of him and ears pricked. What was that? 

"I'm not sure," she whispered in return to him, swinging her legs out of bed and carefully creeping over to the bedroom door and easing it open. The sound was distant, like it came from the other end of the house. The upstairs hallway overlooked the main living room, so Mrs. Coulter was in plain view of the front door, which she was certain she had locked last night. But sure enough, there was a boy slowly opening it before peering inside, his movements minor and cautious as he slipped a small bar back into his pocket. 

There's a boy… 

Mrs. Coulter was taken back to when she and Lyra were fleeing the spectres, Lyra swift and insistent as she read the alethiometer. There’s a boy, she’d said. A boy with a—a boy we need to find. What boy, and a boy with what? Mrs. Coulter couldn't possibly know with any degree of certainty what Lyra's earlier comment had meant, who this boy was, and if there was any correlation between the two. But all the same, this didn’t feel like a mere coincidence. They’d been through too much for things like mere chance to make any sense. So she slipped out into the hallway and picked her way down the stairs, the golden monkey light as a feather behind her. 

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw the boy looking through the fridge. He seemed to be comfortable with this technology, she noticed, as he pulled out a can and shuffled around the different ingredients and containers inside. Debating over the best way to make her presence known, Mrs. Coulter decided to let the last stair creak. The boy spun over to look at her, his eyes wide, while the golden monkey hid out of sight just a few steps above. 

"I—" the boy started, looking at Mrs. Coulter as if he'd just seen a spectre itself. "I didn't mean, I only wanted—" 

"What's your name?" Mrs. Coulter asked him, voice calm, as she took a couple steps closer. The boy was young, maybe 12 or 13, with sloppy brown hair and dark, fierce eyes. The intensity of eyes, even while scared, was really something. He had a stocky build with wide shoulders. He looked tough enough to shove her down if they'd get into a confrontation, so she would rather avoid that course of action if possible.

"Will," he answered at once, eyes still glued to her face but gradually flickering around her. He seemed to relax a little bit when he heard her speak, as if coming out of a trance (or into one, more likely).

"Where are you from, Will?" 

"I—somewhere else."

Somewhere else. The golden monkey felt a rush of excitement, and Mrs. Coulter worked to contain it herself. Somewhere else… She was from somewhere else, too. From the looks of him, he didn't really belong in this world. His clothes were modern in the way this world felt modern, but he looked out of place and uncomfortable. He looked unsure of what to expect or what to do. She couldn't quite describe how it was that she knew, but Mrs. Coulter knew both that Will was not of this world and also not from her own. 

They were standing face to face now, Mrs. Coulter looking down at him as he'd not yet grown to be taller than her own modes height. He tilted his head up, swallowing audible, and then took a step back. "I should go—" 

"No," Mrs. Coulter said quickly, too quickly. The boy's eyebrows raised as she shook her head gently and gave him a warm smile. She mustn't get ahead of herself. "I believe we have much to discuss, Will. Do sit down at the table. Can I get you something to drink?" 

It wasn't hard to get it out of him. The boy was visibly very nervous and quite upset about something, and clearly was used to being secretive and self-sufficient. His demeanor and calculated way of talking told her as much. He was good at it, and well-practiced. Even so, Mrs. Coulter sensed something in him that wanted to talk, to be unburdened from the secrets and the worries he carried with him. To be taken care of . She just had this way with children, after all, to captivate them and make them trust her and want to be around her. That's why she'd been one of the Magisterium's shining members, and why she'd succeeded so much with her project. 

But all the while, a part of her felt something almost resembling guilt as she charmed this boy into telling her all about what happened and where he came from. The golden monkey stiffened from where he sat up on the stairs, still separated from her but still making his feelings of disdain at her guilt abundantly clear. 

"You came over a bridge?" Will was asking her, head tilted slightly to the side as he guzzled down his second can of something called Coca Cola. She told him what happened, though vaguely. And she’d mentioned Lyra, but in passing, and in a way where she wasn’t the most interesting or important part of the conversation. 

"Yes," she replied. "A bright, sparkling bridge with layers upon layers of particles swirling all around us. Oh, you should have seen it, Will. Every which was simply exquisite."

He was intoxicated, asking her more and more. Then he described the window he'd seen, pleased yet in awe that she'd crossed one as well. And then Mrs. Coulter thought it was time to reveal one more important detail about herself. 

"Now, Will," she began slowly, making sure he was fully paying attention. "There's one more important thing about my world that I need to tell you, but it'll probably surprise you. Are you ready to hear about it?" He nodded eagerly, eyes still bright despite the time that had passed, and Mrs. Coulter nodded. "In my world, every human's soul walks beside them in animal form. They're called daemons, and they represent the deepest part of ourselves—the parts that make us truly who we are." Will's eyes widened as he glanced below the table and all around them, presumably looking for an animal, and it was then that Mrs. Coulter gave her daemon the okay and he came down the stairs to greet them. 

Will's reaction was intriguing. He was silent as the golden monkey walked over to them. Her daemon’s eyes were lowered out of respect and his mannerisms mild as he sat down halfway between the two, finally turning to look up at Will. The force between them was strange to experience. Mrs. Coulter felt the monkey's burning curiosity as he stared at this boy, no different than the dozens of other boys they'd come across in their work yet distinctly foreign in a way neither of them could explain. She also noticed the intensity in which Will stared back, his dark eyes locked on the monkey's. He seemed to sense an intelligence there that he perhaps never sensed in an animal before. Mrs. Coulter vaguely wondered what that meant before, suddenly, Will reached down to stroke the monkey's head. 

The aftermath was inevitable. The golden monkey screeched, baring his teeth and fluffing up his fur out of cold surprise and defense. Mrs. Coulter gasped aloud, clutching her chest, as she felt a chilling tingle flash through her system, something that felt wrong and dirty and violating all at once and all in an instant. 

"He didn't know," she panted, reaching over to grab the monkey by his fur, squeezing hard. Her daemon jumped at first, his hackles still raised, before he settled down a little, merely growling while glaring over at the boy. He didn’t know, she thought to him again, more sternly in private with more bite and more threat.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Will sputtered, chair pushed back to the wall and body small in his chair. "What, did it—" 

"People aren't meant to touch other people's daemons," Mrs. Coulter explained quickly, still trying to call down the golden monkey but most of all trying to calm down the very shaken boy. "You didn't know. It's alright. How could you know? But one's daemon is their soul, is a manifestation of their innermost selves. So naturally it's a bit strange and surprising when someone else touches them, as it's like touching the very inside of your system. Does that make sense? Can you understand?"

He nodded, eyes still trained on the monkey, and Mrs. Coulter sensed his walls pulling back up. She sighed inwardly, realizing how good it had been going and how swiftly it'd gone off the rails. Damn you, she thought to her daemon, though she couldn’t entirely blame him for a reaction as instinctual and involuntary as any.

"There's no need to be afraid," she added softly. She reached over to lightly brush Will’s arm, pleased he didn’t shrink away. "He won't hurt you. Nor will I. We like you, Will, and at the moment, I think we very much need each other."

Chapter Text

Mrs. Coulter decided it was best to ease Lyra into the situation. It'd been a few hours since Will appeared at their doorstep, breaking into the house with a crowbar before racing toward the refrigerator. The boy was exhausted by this point. He'd been through quite the ordeal back in his own world, after all. Mrs. Coulter encouraged him to go into the adjoining living room to take a nap. She was kind to him, offering him a blanket and fluffing some pillows she'd pulled out from the closet. She was acting like the mother she could tell he never truly had, given the way he watched her and stared at her and seemed marveled by it all. He didn't entirely trust her ( especially after almost being attacked by the golden monkey), but he was either too tired to care or didn't find her threatening enough to sacrifice his sleep. So in the living room he slept, with Mrs. Coulter sitting down at the kitchen table waiting for Lyra to wake up. 

Go and get her, the golden monkey insisted after a while, tail flicking. It's been hours. 

Let her sleep, Mrs. Coulter countered. I daresay she deserves it, keeping us as safe as she has.

It was a weird situation to be in. Mrs. Coulter couldn't stop thinking about how unorthodox it was, for the child to be protecting the mother and the mother to be completely helpless. But Lyra was the one with the means to answer all of their questions and wasn’t affected by the spectres. She had this gift with the alethiometer, for whatever reason. She was special. And what else could Mrs. Coulter do but let her sleep and let her rest to only wake up and determine their next move? 

In her youth, Mrs. Coulter had always been in control. From the beginning of her early teen years, nothing had been able to stop her. She worked hard, raised through the ranks, and kept her mind on the ultimate prize: influence. Power. Control. The ability to overcome every gendered stereotype presented to her. It wasn't until she met Asriel that she started to lose what she had carefully gained, and it wasn't until being here with Lyra that she thought, for the first time, what she was doing with her life. 

Enough, the golden monkey chided, for he'd never much liked thoughts and feelings such as these. Can we please wake her, or find something else to do? 

Despite her own opinions, Mrs. Coulter walked up the stairs to Lyra's room. She eased the door open and looked down at the bed. Her daughter was curled up on the far left side, breathing heavily as Pan laid across her body as a small polecat. It almost looked as if she were hiding from something. Was she? What was haunting Lyra in her dreams? Mrs. Coulter wanted to know, wanted to help, wanted to comfort; wanted to demonstrate that she could do all those things for her.

Was this what she wanted, more than power and influence and her desire to study Dust and save all of humanity from original sin? Was this worth throwing away all that she'd worked so unbearably hard to achieve? 

Mrs. Coulter bent forward to shake Lyra's arm gently, taking care to avoid any contact with Pan. The girl's eyes flew open as she sat bolt upright. Pan transformed into a small mountain lion and pounced to the floor. They were both wild and struck with something Mrs. Coulter couldn't fully understand. 

"Shh," Mrs. Coulter soothed. "Everything is alright. There's no need to be alarmed. I just need to tell you something."

It didn't take long for Lyra's eyes to widen before jumping out of bed and racing down the stairs at the discovery of their guest. There's a boy, she had said days earlier as they wove their way through the outskirts of town. The line kept echoing across Mrs. Coulter’s mind as she followed her daughter out and back into the kitchen, the golden monkey chittering at her heels. A boy with what? A boy who could do what?

"Wake up!" 

When Mrs. Coulter had caught up to Lyra, she was shaking Will awake by the shoulder, and none too gently. The boy murmured in protest before shifting and opening his eyes slightly, blinking up at her. Upon seeing a strange figure glowering down at him, he stiffened and shrank back into the couch. 

"Lyra!" Mrs. Coulter called out, bursting into the room with the golden monkey hissing over at Pan. "What are you–" 

"He's a murderer," Lyra proclaimed, dramatically, and everything stopped. 

Murderer was quite the exaggeration. Will had killed someone, yes, but he wasn't a cold-hearted murderer. There wasn't any planning to the act, as Will himself had recounted it. He was defending himself, and then the man slipped, and then he was dead. It was as simple as that. Mrs. Coulter had done worse than that herself. That wasn't murder in the typical sense of the word. And looking at Will and at how afraid and careful and anxious he was, Mrs. Coulter didn't think he would lie about what had happened. She didn't need the alethiometer in order to determine that. 

Will's face grew pale as he gaped up at Lyra and then at Pan, who was still in his polecat form snarling viciously at the golden monkey. 

"Will?" Mrs. Coulter said to him, stepping closer as she stared at his face. "Are you alright, dear? You look as if you're going to be sick…" And sure enough, he was, right there on the carpet and over Lyra's shoes. 

"Gross," Lyra complained, moving away. Mrs. Coulter, however, stepped closer and put a hand on Will's back to rub it gently. 

"Did you, did you tell her?" he asked, shaking slightly as his face was still drained of all color. 

"Hush now," Mrs. Coulter soothed, deflecting. This was a mess. An utter and dire mess. What had Lyra been thinking? "You'll be alright. Let's move to the kitchen and get you washed up."

"Did she tell you? " Lyra said as they moved across the living room, Mrs. Coulter's arm still guiding the boy along. 

Again, everything stopped. It was almost humorous how everything and everyone just stopped. Will looked from Lyra to Mrs. Coulter to the daemons and then back again, distrust clouding his expression. Lyra continued to glare over at Will and then at Mrs. Coulter. She looked smug, for some reason, as well as focused. Did she know what she was doing? Did she have some sort of plan for this? 

"We all need to settle down," Mrs. Coulter said a beat later. She needed to reframe this conversation and she needed to do it now. Whatever Lyra was plotting just wasn't going to cut it. This wasn’t time for Lyra to call the shots. "How about we get Will settled into the kitchen, get everyone a glass of water, and then we can–" 

"My mother's a murderer, too," Lyra blurted out instead. Her tone was firm and matter-of-fact.. "No wonder you'd two get along like that. Did she tell you about that already? What was your name? Will?" 

The golden monkey let out a curdling screech, and Mrs. Coulter exercised every ounce of her self-control to not scream aloud herself. Murderer? Her? And that aside (which still really, really bothered her), what was Lyra doing? Why was she so antagonistic? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Will froze in Mrs. Coulter's grasp, turning sharply to gaze up at her. His eyes were wide and suspicious and confused and unfocused. He started to sway, too, as if he were about to fall over. 

Look what she's done! the golden monkey fumed. This is why we do not listen to children! 

"Will?" Mrs. Coulter asked, moving forward, ready to catch him by the shoulders if he indeed fell. 

"Get away from me!" he called out at last, stumbling a few feet away from both humans and their daemons. "Just stay away! Who even are you people? Leave me alone. Forget I ever came here."

But Mrs. Coulter couldn't. He was too important, for whatever reason she still didn't know. He was afraid right now, and confused. They'd had an otherwise decent first interaction that was now offset by Lyra's wild and impulsive actions. Mrs. Coulter wasn't going to let everything be lost in vain. 

In an instant, the golden monkey jumped and pinned Pan to the floor. Lyra cried out, shocked, and Mrs. Coulter felt her heart stir as she moved forward and blocked Will from leaving. 

"We all need to settle down," Mrs. Coulter repeated, trying to drown out Lyra's shouts and Pan's whines. "I don't know what my daughter was thinking, Will, but we need to have a conversation and we all need to behave. Will everyone behave now?" 

Mrs. Coulter didn't want Lyra to be afraid of her. She realized that had happened before and wanted nothing more than to reverse that damage. Yet, in this moment, she very much was scaring Lyra. Mrs. Coulter could see it in the way Lyra's eyes glinted up at her as the golden monkey backed away, allowing Pan to rush over to his human. Mrs. Coulter knew that she had acted out on her emotions and had messed up. Again. That she let her temper and her desire to control the situation overpower all else. 

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter began, suddenly regretting what she'd done, but her daughter wouldn't let her finish. 

"Let's talk, then," the girl simply grunted, cradling Pan–now an ermine–on her shoulder as she walked past Will into the kitchen. The boy stared at her, his features now softened and his brows furrowed. 

Mrs. Coulter sighed heavily before moving to join the children in the kitchen, wondering again what she was doing and if any of it would be worth it.

Chapter Text

"Let me get this straight," Will said, sighing and resting a finger on the side of his temple. "You're her daughter, but you didn't know you were her daughter until some Gyptian lady told you. And you're her mother but never said anything until she almost died in some kind of experiment that you were somehow involved with. And you both came here to run away from the people you work for to follow your father and learn about something called Dust."

Will was trying very hard. He looked like a little old man, speaking slowly and gesturing from person to person while trying to focus and keep up. It would be funny if it weren't so inherently serious, as this boy was important in a way that Mrs. Coulter had yet to determine and he was on the brink of running away from them when they'd only just met and started to piece things together. 

"That's about it, yeah," Lyra said, matter-of-fact. "I don't know why she came here, too, but here we are."

"I came here to be with you," Mrs. Coulter said solidly, as she had time and time again. She felt the golden monkey stiffen beside her. She did her best to ignore him. "My place is with you, in whatever world you are in."

It almost felt wrong to come out of her mouth like that. Mrs. Coulter didn't exactly know why. It felt overly dramatic somehow, and not entirely the truth. All her life, Mrs. Coulter had scoffed at the devoted mother types who put their entire lives on hold for the sake of their children. She'd shake her head at the stay-at-home mothers Edward used to introduce her to, and laugh when they seemed shocked that she conducted research of her own. Women weren't meant to be scholars and to travel the world. They were meant to be mothers and to care for their children. That was the order of things, and an order that Mrs. Coulter very much disliked.

But why not do both? That's why Mrs. Coulter was there, to be more fully honest. She wouldn't completely sacrifice her work and her ambition, even as she chased a child who seemed increasingly difficult to catch. She wanted to have everything. She would have everything.

"Alright," Mrs. Coulter finally sighed, sensing this conversation going nowhere productive. "That's us, now what about you, Will? Why are you here and what do you want to do next? We don't have to do this all alone. The three of us can help each other."

"How do I know if I can trust you?" It was a good question, and one Mrs. Coulter actually knew the answer to. She felt the golden monkey snicker. But she held her tongue and smiled lightly at him as he went on. "It seems like all you ' ve done is lie."

"She has, but she isn't lying now." Mrs. Coulter looked up as Lyra leaned forward. "She wants to help, Will. She's obsessed with Dust, too, and I know she'll go wherever I go, and I want to go learn more about it. I've never wanted anything more in my entire life."

Lyra was pure in a way Mrs. Couldn't had never imagined pure could exist. It surprised her, to see it this way. Lyra's focus was completely on her goals. There was nothing else mixed within it. She knew what she wanted and she stopped at nothing to get it. At the same time, though, she didn't hurt others to get it. Everyone around her just seemed to gravitate toward her. She was as pure as ambition could possibly be. And that was the key difference between Mrs. Coulter and her daughter.

But didn't that used to be us? the golden monkey dared ask her. Where did we go wrong? 

Will's troubles were simpler, albeit tragic for a young boy. He had to protect his mother, who couldn't protect him. He didn't know where his father was. Other people wanted to find his father. And he made a mistake and had no way of figuring out how to deal with it except run and hide and flee again if it didn't work out. 

He needed someone to tell him what to do. And Mrs. Coulter could be that person. 

"You can trust me because I've got nothing left to lose," Mrs. Coulter finally said in response to Will. "I've sacrificed my career to come here, sacrificed my standing with the Church and my wealth and any position of power I'd managed to attain. I can't go back there now, even if I wanted to." Will stared at her, watching her carefully. "I've got nowhere else to go but forward, with my daughter. And we could all help each other. I don't know how it is in your world, Will, but aren't things just easier when working as a team?" 

She had him. Mrs. Coulter could see it in the way he frowned ever so slightly and tilted his head to the side. He couldn't argue with that, didn't see anything wrong with that. He wasn't able to counter it. "We'll help you," she finished, causing Lyra to glance up. "It's only right. Take us to your Oxford, Will." 

o-o-o-o-o-o

Father MacPhail stared at the notes in front of him, which bounced ever so slightly from the constant hum of the airship. He was attempting to write a report for the Cardinal explaining what had happened. He himself was trying to figure out what, exactly, had happened. 

It was a blur after he'd come back to consciousness after getting knocked out by that sideways butler of Asriel's. His lizard daemon clicked at him as he tried to make sense of it. Neither the servant nor the Coulter woman were there. And from the window, Father MacPhail had been able to see it as clearly as if it had been high noon: a shimmering collection of light shooting up to the Aurora. 

He'd heard the rumors. All of them had, for as close an eye as they'd been keeping on Asriel. Multiple worlds. A way to manually break through to them. The end of all authority as they knew it. The thought terrified him, shook him to his core. It was the definition of heresy and the product of a maniac's mind, to imagine such a feat and such a world. 

Dust was the answer to it all. Father MacPhail didn't understand it, and didn't really want to understand it. He was but a pious man and not a researcher, so he conceptualized Dust in the only way he knew how: through the lens of sin. A boy's hormones changing causing him to lust over women. A fish trader giving in to greed and including less fish than promised in a delivery to sell more to other customers. A woman in a position of power pursuing an affair with a wild heretic who dead set to destroy every last one of them. 

"What is your sin, I wonder?" he remembered Mrs. Coulter saying, the mere relevance of her bringing her to the front of his mind. "It's envy. You want what Asriel and I have—a sureness of step, a conviction. But you? You lack it." He felt his lip curl. "I am the best weapon you'll ever have."

"It's her," his daemon said suddenly, moving from her perch on the chair to right in front of him on the desk. "It's always been her."

A collage of memories flashed through Father MacPhail's mind. Mrs. Coulter's emphatic request for the Oblation Board to begin operations in Oxford. Mrs. Coulter hiding in her apartment for several weeks upon returning to London from Oxford. Mrs. Coulter tearing up Jordan College and violating the sacred honor of scholastic sanctuary. Mrs. Coulter rampaging through the North and the facilities of Bolvangar falling apart. Mrs. Coulter begging to accompany him to Asriel. Mrs. Coulter disappearing after Father Macphail was conveniently knocked out. 

"We could use this as our opportunity to take her down once and for all," the lizard continued, nudging at her human's hand. "Spin it not so much as our failure but her deceitful victory."

It would work. With a heavy sigh, Father MacPhail knew it would work well enough to save his own skin and that of his men. It wasn't about his own well-being, of course, but his continued participation in this endeavor was vital if they were to succeed in bringing Asriel down. 

"And her," he added aloud, beginning his first sketch of what he and the armed forces arrived to when they'd finally reached the tip of the mountain. He felt a harsh, warm feeling rush through him just then. It wasn't pleasant, but he was too far ahead with it to resist. 

Mrs. Coulter was wrong. Envy wasn't his… only sin. Part of Father Macphail did want to have what Mrs. Coulter had, her blazing confidence and belief in herself and the way in which she could mold anyone and anything to her bidding. It was indeed a quality he lacked but, for a man of his position, would very much benefit from. More than that, though, Father MacPhail wanted something else. In response to all that Mrs. Coulter had done and all the souls she'd left in peril, he sought vengeance. And that was his most glaring sin.

Chapter Text

After scavenging through the town’s department store for suitable clothing, Mrs. Coulter and the children were off to Will’s world. Mrs. Coulter’s skirt was far shorter than prudent and the cardigan she’d found was as poorly-sewed and itchy as it was skin-tight, but it would do. She recognized that they had to blend in upon entering Will's world, or else raise unwelcome attention and suspicion. Her high-class furs and hand-woven skirt were probably not the kind of clothing the people from Will's world were accustomed to, so she had to adjust. Even if she felt inappropriate in doing so. 

Mrs. Coulter knew that her world (and the Magisterium more specifically) was more conservative and patriarchal than it otherwise could be. Women wore dresses or skirts that went below the knee; women stayed at home raising the children and volunteering at Church. It was for these reasons that Mrs. Coulter felt so exposed in these clothes, with her skirt barely covering her upper thighs and the blouse under her sweater showing off more cleavage than she'd ever dare present at home. Her world and the culture surrounding women was the kind of life she detested and fought so ardently against, but it was still the only one she'd ever known. 

Except for the other one, her daemon reminded her, darkly. Mrs. Coulter shook her head and instead focused on the thicket they were approaching. This was no time to reflect on that.

"It's through here." Will stepped in front of Mrs. Coulter and held back the brush enough for her to squeeze through after him. "It was... somewhere around here. I'll know it when we get close to it."

Mrs. Coulter felt twigs scratch at her bare legs as they moved through the wooded area. Lyra was wearing pants, thanks to Will's insistence, so she didn't suffer the same way Mrs. Coulter did. She moved ahead freely and unabashedly, legs safe and Pan soaring ahead of her as a hawk. 

As they kept moving, Mrs. Coulter couldn't help but start to feel excited. It was exhilarating as much as it was terrifying. Even the golden monkey grew more and more eager, his nimble fingers moving branches aside quickly and purposefully. What would Will's world be like? Which was it—one very much like theirs, or one quite different? By now she'd determined it was at least somewhat similar given her interactions with Will, but that could only tell her so much. In what ways? To what degree? What was different, and what was the same? And what did that mean as it related to Dust, if it even did?

Can't you see? her daemon asked her, chittering softly. This is what we were meant to do. This is what we can give . Do you remember what it's like, to be on the verge of something extraordinary? 

For a moment, Mrs. Coulter didn't fight it. Instead, she felt it: the rush of adrenaline, the conviction, the desire, the need. All the things she didn't know, and all the things she could find out; the implications for her world, Will's world, all the worlds. It was presented right in front of her, waiting, boundless, and yet… 

Lyra. Her daughter was by her side now, eyes bright and breath catching as they approached the portal. Pan wiggled next to her, a sleek cheetah. The two exchanged a look of pure glee flecked with apprehension, uncertainty. Understanding and trust.

This was what she was meant to do. Her daemon's face fell as she shook her head slightly, grounding herself back in reality. 

We're here because of her , she thought back, taking in the slouch of his shoulders and the droop of his tail. She felt an unusual urge to reach out to him and comfort him. This was hard. This wasn't what he wanted, what he expected, what he was prepared for. It was all wrong in the most dramatic way it could be. 

Especially after this next part. 

"Stay here," she whispered out loud to him as Will was the first to disappear through the window. 

"What?" He said it aloud, too, his voice almost squeaky. " Here? While you…"

She simply nodded at him, feeling her own eyes betray her as a single tear fell. At that she did reach out and touch him, sinking her fingers into his long, silky fur, aware of his beady black eyes pleading with her. 

"Don't," he whispered to her as she turned away. "We don't have to do this."

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. "But we do."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Father MacPhail returned to the Trollesund Magisterial Seat, he was presented at once with the Cardinal himself.

“Your Eminence,” he greeted, bowing his head at once and reaching to kiss the Cardinal’s ring.

“Enough of the pleasantries,” Cardinal Sturrock snapped at him, brushing the man aside and moving down a hallway to their left. Father MacPhail had no choice but to follow. “We have much to discuss.”

This couldn’t be good. The Cardinal took residence at the London Seat and seldom traveled this far North. He likely hadn’t received Father MacPhail’s report about the activities at Svalbard yet. He thus likely hadn’t even been briefed on the most recent happenings, which were only worse than anything that had happened before and, naturally, grounds for some serious repercussions. 

This isn't your fault, his daemon thought to him, sensing his nerves and his unease as the Cardinal disappeared into a conference room flanked by two Magisterial soldiers. Don't forget that. You did everything you could.

But did he? Father MacPhail wasn’t so sure. He ran a tight ship as far as Magisterial staff were concerned. His men were in order and did as he commanded. His regional officers shared his vision and did all they could to propel it. But when it came to Marisa and her experiments… She’d always been able to elude him in one way or another. She was never quite under his authority or jurisdiction and thus never had to come face-to-face with him. Except at the end when Father MacPhail caved and allowed her access to the one thing that would destroy them all.

She was the cause of everything going wrong right now.

“Tell me, Hugh,” the Cardinal said once they were set up in the conference room, the Cardinal on one end of the shabby wooden table and Father MacPhail on the other. “How is it that we’ve managed to be here today?”

“Forgive me, your Eminence,” Father MacPhail began, aware that a small pool of sweat had begun to bead around his forehead. “I believe that I must first ask if you’ve received my report from Svalbard?”

A cool look passed between them. Father MacPhail took a deep breath, the Cardinal narrowed his eyes, and the explanation began.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It happened so fast that Mrs. Coulter didn't know how to react. 

One minute she was swiftly following Will to the sidewalk, and then the next Lyra was laying on the ground with a large automobile in front of her. 

She rushed over as fast as she could, Will right behind her. Mrs. Coulter's heart was practically beating out of her chest and she was finding it hard to breathe. Was Lyra alright? Had the car run her over? Why wasn't she moving? This moment felt possibly worse than seeing her under that blade at Bolvangar. Then Mrs. Coulter had been startled as much as terrified because she hadn't known Lyra was there, but now it was all panic and full awareness of what was happening and what it could mean. 

A second later she was there in front of her, bending down to cup the child's face and examine her.

Nothing seemed to be run over or broken, which was a major relief. Lyra's eyes were closed before they slowly opened, flitting back-and-forth between Mrs. Coulter’s. 

"Shh," Mrs. Coulter said quickly, aware that someone else was approaching them. "Are you alright? Are you badly hurt?" 

"No," Lyra groaned, although upon moving her leg, it was clear that she was stiff and uncomfortable. 

"Good. Now hush and follow my lead." Mrs. Coulter began to help her up. "Keep Pan inside your pocket for now." She briefly made eye contact with the daemon, who nodded before retreating deeper into the lining of Lyra's jacket. 

"I couldn't help it!" a middle-aged woman exclaimed as she ran up to them, Lyra still on the ground. "She ran out in front. And you were too close." She addressed that last comment to a man, who huffed at her as he caught up to them. 

"It's alright," said Will quickly, weaving around the small crowd to stand on Mrs. Coulter’s other side. "She's alright, isn't she?" 

"Yes," said Mrs. Coulter, taking Lyra's hand in hers and pulling her closer. "Everything worked out to be fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we'll just be—" 

"Wait!" the male driver shouted. "You sure she's alright? We should file a report…"

After half a second, Will interjected. "No, no, she's alright. And we have to get going, Mister."

Everything was happening so fast. Not even one single step into this world and Mrs. Coulter was thrown into a compromising situation. They'd drawn undue attention to themselves. Lyra had been struck, for heaven's sake, in broad daylight and in public. Why hadn't Will said more about where the window led to, and what they would face? This was exactly what they didn't want, and yet here they were. And Lyra was quite possibly seriously hurt, and the golden monkey was still—

"What about your insurance?" the man bypassed Will and was speaking directly to Mrs. Coulter now, which made sense as she was the adult here. "We'll need your information, at the very least."

Insurance? Mrs. Coulter didn't know what that was, but she was noticing a small crowd gathering now to stare at the beautiful woman cradling an injured child. She had to do something to stop this, and she had to do it fast.

"No, really, she's fine," Mrs. Coulter insisted, flashing him a smile as she helped Lyra stand. "I need to bring her home now, and I daresay my husband is the one who deals with the insurance anyway." 

Somehow, that line worked. Mrs. Coulter didn't know what it meant but knew the human dynamics of the patriarchy well enough to make it work. The man nodded his head before taking out a small card and handing it to her. "You just show this card to your husband when you get home and have him call me, will you? I want to make sure she's alright."

"I will. Thank you."

"Here." At the last minute, the man handed the card to Will instead. "Help your mother out and you give it to your father, alright?" 

"Yes, sir." Will put the card in his pocket and dipped his head. Mrs. Coulter couldn't help but think how machovistic, sexist, and assuming that man and his actions were, but she smiled again at him and put her arm around Will's shoulders, gently squeezing and asking where they should be headed.

The man then turned to yell at the other driver some more, and they were off, Mrs. Coulter still supporting Lyra as the three of them headed down the street. And she was intensely aware that the golden monkey was still hiding in the bushes back in the other world. 

How odd it was, to be worlds apart from him. She could still sense him, because they weren't that far apart, but she was feeling increasingly strained as they moved away. They'd never truly separated like this. They've been splitting apart for decades now, to be sure, but traversing different worlds without the other? Facing the foreseeable future in two different locations? Not even before did they do that...

Will took the lead now, clearly knowing his way around his own city. Mrs. Coulter forced herself to focus and to ignore the pain that threatened to spill from her chest and consume her. She had to. 

For her part, Lyra didn't even seem to notice, which was strange given her suspicion of the monkey during their time in London. "Are you sure you feel alright, dear?" Mrs. Coulter asked Lyra again, bending down to look at her shoulder. "It hit you so suddenly…"

"'M fine," Lyra gruffed, shaking Mrs. Coulter off. She sped her pace to catch up with Will now, Pan peeking out of her pocket as a dark brown mouse. "Where're we going now, Will?" 

Indeed, where were they going? Mrs. Coulter didn't know, and as they moved farther and farther away from the scene of the accident and farther away from her daemon, she felt increasingly anxious in a way she couldn't possibly explain. But they had larger matters to attend to, for now.

Chapter Text

He would never be able to forgive her, for what she did. 

The golden monkey was pacing back-and-forth before the window into Will's world, his heart racing and his entire being screaming, writhing as Marisa frolicked to and fro without him. Such a selfish woman, rushing off to do as she pleased with only her own emotional best interests in mind. What a foolish woman, to so willingly and desperately throw herself at an ill-mannered, foul-mouthed, trouble-seeking child who was drowning herself into utter disaster with every impulsive decision that she made. 

The daemon just didn't understand. He tried. Oh, how he tried to understand! It was a daemon’s duty and existence to understand, after all. Those first few nights after they brought Lyra back to London with them, Marisa wept as they tried to fall asleep, mulling over how long it'd been since she'd last seen her daughter and how false their entire arrangement together was; wishing, somehow, that it could be different while still maintaining everything she'd achieved. The golden monkey had listened to her (without a choice, admittedly, as their minds were connected) and tried his best to console her, distract her, assure her. At least in the beginning. 

The truth was that the golden monkey grew utterly bored with the girl almost as soon as she'd pranced back into their lives, and had never been completely on board with the idea when Marisa first conceived of it. Lyra was uncouth. She didn't listen to the rules. She talked incessantly and gave no mind to social cues that told her it was time to be quiet. She constantly complained about schoolwork . She woke up in the morning and crashed into their bedroom demanding immediate attention and entertainment. She consumed their entire day and left hardly any time for important work and continued progress. She was utterly unbearable! 

Yet, Marisa needed her. Love might be too strong a word, even now. Neither of them knew why, but Marisa had this insatiable need to keep Lyra close, to know what she's doing and make sure she's safe. At first it was more of a curiosity, with her contacts in Oxford reporting back to her every so often about what Lyra was doing and what she was like. Casual check-ins, really, with Marisa having never expressed any desire to go see the girl or to take her back in. But then it became more urgent when the work of the Oblation Board started, with hushed talks with Jordan Scholars and an audience with the Master himself. 

The golden monkey distinctly remembered the time a few years after Lyra’s birth where days or even weeks went by without Marisa even thinking about her. And now she’s almost all Marisa thinks about, to the great detriment of their work and their collective psyche, as the daemon did not share his human’s affections.

She's mine, Marisa had told him time and time again when he'd ask her what on earth she was doing. I have to make sure she's safe. It's the least I can do for her. 

But she doesn't need your protection, he'd counter. Asriel has her cared for. Vile as he is, he wouldn't just leave her there. 

And neither will I, she'd snapped once, and that was the last they'd ever talked about it. She detached herself from the subject every time he brought it up. 

So here they are now–literally worlds apart with their hearts pulling from their chest cavities so that Marisa can chase after her elusive little pet. 

He knew their rapport was an odd one, and not commonly experienced amongst humans. Marisa had conducted all the research that clearly demonstrates this, of course, even if she wasn't looking for it. She'd conducted case studies, focus groups, observations, and trials with children and their daemons. They’d learned how deep and connected the bonds between humans and daemons were even at a young age, how like-minded and aligned the two parts of the whole functioned together.

Except for them, apparently. 

It was for that reason why the two could separate and be apart for so long, even though it still hurt. It hurt him more than it hurt her, though, and it was with that pain that the golden monkey decided that he wouldn't stand for it any longer. It wasn’t fair to him, for Marisa to do however she pleased without any regard for his own volition. It wasn’t right, either, for them to be this far apart and to be so completely opposite of opinion. 

So he picked up his tail, leaned back on his haunches, and then sprung forward through the portal and into Will's world, lack of daemons be damned. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Father MacPhail was on a Zeppelin heading back to Svalbard, the Cardinal and a legion of other Magisterial officers in tow. 

What a quick turn of events. Back in Trollesund, Father MacPhail had updated the Cardinal on the most recent situation, which happened too fast for notice to arrive and that was too dire to ignore or push aside. His Eminence was furious, with his face having paled and simmered with a rage Father MacPhail didn’t think possible in a man of Faith. But then he had calmed down, explaining that the situation had escalated in other ways and that they needed to set out for the bridge at once. Soldiers left over from Bolvangar were already there, guarding the entrance and heeding no one entry. Asriel’s servant had gone missing, and the bears were being dealt with, and soon Father MacPhail would be back. 

They’d worked as fast as they could, but it still felt too little, too late.

“Hugh.” It didn’t take long for the Cardinal to approach him, his presence announced by the marching of soldiers and the abrupt opening of the cabin door. Father MacPhail gulped as he stood up for a quick, deep bow, reaching to stroke a finger down his lizard daemon's back upon his return to his seat. His throat felt dry. His right leg was tapping against the wood of the table. If he weren’t careful, his hands would start to visibly shake, too. 

He can't do us any worse, his daemon reminded him, standing her ground on the table. She was ready to lean against his hands to calm the shaking. Just remember the plan. We have a plan. We have it under control.

He’d framed the entire situation as an open rebellion of Mrs. Coulter, which wasn’t exactly a lie. She was the one who told them Asriel was imprisoned but whose forces allowed him to continue on with his research. She was the one to enable her facility to blow up in flames amongst a fight-to-the-death with the Gyptians of Oxford. She was the one who accompanied them to Svalbard anyway. She was the one who escaped after Father MacPhail was attacked. She was the one who conveniently went missing immediately following the sky splitting.

And no one dared deny it, although they didn’t completely resolve him, either. 

“The weather seems to be faring well,” Father MacPhail offered, glancing out the small cabin window at the bright blue sky. 

“What did I tell you about pleasantries?” Cardinal Sturrock tisked as he sank down at the chair a guard pulled out for him, leaning his elbows on the table and resting the tips of his fingers on his forehead. “Enough. We are past that.”

“Apologies, Your Eminence.”

He’s tired, Eulalia thought to him, steadying him. He’s cross with everyone. Don’t take it so personally.

It was hard not to take things personally these days, when Father MacPhail seemed to be responsible for it all. As Father President of the Consistorial Court of Discipline, this entire situation was his responsibility. He knew that from the very beginning, when Mrs. Coulter first planned the project. As the chair of the committee, he presided over all decisions, which also meant fixing everything that needed to be fixed.

“There will be nothing to fix,” Mrs. Coulter had assured him, that gleam in her eye. “No one will even hear a whisper of it. The facility will be strategically placed north of Trollesund, and then on Svalbard once I’ve negotiated with the bears. You and the Court will get all of the credit without having to lift a finger. Let me take care of it, Father.”

But, she had failed. And by consequence, so did he. The other eleven members of the committee were being briefed at this very moment about everything, with time to write and raise their concerns to display at an emergency meeting scheduled as soon as they could return to London. They’d probably interrogate him on the stand, demanding to know why he didn’t act sooner and how long he’d had his suspicions about Marisa. They’d also probably ask about if anything indecent happened between them, and question his morals and his faith and completely and utterly mortify and humiliate him.

One step at a time, Eulalia hummed, and then Father MaPhail cleared his mind and was back on track. He could do this. He had to stay calm. 

"We have pressing matters to attend to," the Cardinal sighed. But instead of resuming their discussion of Asriel, Coulter, and the bridge between worlds, he continued: "I need to ask you what you know about a certain prophecy." 

A prophecy? That was unexpected. Father MacPhail didn't deal much with the witches, though he was aware of their existence and the dreadful prophecies they overheard on their voyages among the skies. In a world devoted to Faith and adherence, such things were bad news. Dangerous. Criminal. If anyone on the street were to be heard discussing it they would be reported and questioned immediately. So why would the Cardinal concern himself with such matters?

“I take your silence as signs of confusion.”

“Forgive me, Cardinal, but I’m afraid I must admit I am puzzled as to why such a...heretical matter is a pressing matter for us in this current moment?”

"There's a witch’s prophecy about a child,” the Cardinal started. “A  child who is ‘destined to bring about the end of destiny.’ A child born of a scandalous affair and able to identify the correct cloud pine of a witch queen. A child poised to bring about the second Fall.”

Father MacPhail took in the Cardinal’s words slowly. Affair. Cloudpine. End of destiny. And then it registered, and he gulped (again). He didn’t think it would have been possible for him to grow paler than he already was. "And she...you think the Belacqua girl…"

"That's why we must find her at once," the Cardinal proclaimed, pounding his fist on the table. “Our alethiometer just recently confirmed this truth. And this is why we start with the woman, as she will lead us to the child and must not evade us again.”

Chapter Text

“Will,” Mrs. Coulter called softly as they paused at a stoplight near a busy intersection. “I think we need to talk about what our next move is going to be.”

They were in the heart of the city now, caught during typical mid-day traffic and busy to and fro. Will's Oxford was unlike the Oxford Mrs. Coulter and Lyra knew. There were more buildings clustered together here, with some shops, some apartments, and some official-looking places. The vehicles, as they'd already seen, were different, too—large, shiny, and fast. Even the air felt different in a way Mrs. Coulter couldn't possibly explain. Yet, it felt achingly familiar…perhaps only for the similarities in names and setup. 

She used this pause to place a hand on her chest and catch her breath, as the strain apart from her daemon was getting the better of her. She'd felt this pain before when they'd first started separating all those years ago, but it hadn't felt like this —like a cinder block was thrown against her bare chest. It was always uncomfortable, but never unbearable, as it almost was now. 

The plan, as they'd initially conceived it, was loosely defined: get Will to a payphone to check on his mother, and then find a Scholar in Oxford. That last part was Lyra's doing, for reasons she wouldn't disclose. Mrs. Coulter wondered if it had something to do with the Magisterium, or with her personally. Lyra had spent a considerable amount of time consulting the alethiometer during their time in Cittàgazze, after all. Mrs. Coulter wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, but she imagined that it could lead her down different paths, and urge her toward certain directions. Her visit could thus be part of a larger purpose, even if it wasn’t exactly prudent to pursue it at this very moment.

But, Mrs. Coulter wasn’t about to say that. She was handling this delicately. She was working hard to suppress all urges to take matters into her own hands, as she wanted to do and be better this time around. 

In that moment, Mrs. Coulter waited for it: the sharp rebuke, the pangs of loathing, the questioning of why she needed to change her ways. But it wasn't there. It was silent. The golden monkey was far off in another world, without her. And she was here, without him. She was alive, but so very empty . 

What had she done? How much longer could she sustain this? 

"There's a park just up here," Will offered, and with Mrs. Coulter's nod, they crossed the street, Mrs. Coulter falling slowly behind as her chest continued to compress itself violently. 

"You didn't have to do that, y'know." Surprisingly, Lyra was beside Mrs. Coulter now as they finished crossing the street. Pan was still tucked away in her pocket, only a slight bulge indicating that anything was in there. "We could have found a way to hide him."

So she did notice. And by the measured look on her face, she did mind and it did bother her, just as it had back in London. 

"I didn't know how," Mrs. Coulter admitted, feeling safer to talk once they were away from the streets and into the edge of the park.

"You could have said something." Lyra's tone was hard now, almost chastising. "But, I suppose you like this, don't you? I've seen you hit him before."

Mrs. Coulter deserved that. But it didn't make hearing it feel any better. Without her daemon reeling beside her, she found that, for the first time in a long while, she wasn't able to control her emotions. Her eyes pooled up as she clutched her chest again, shaking her head. 

It wasn't a secret that Mrs. Coulter was at odds with daemon. Surely it wasn’t natural for someone to so readily and capably separate from them, or to reject their affections and brush aside their feelings. Nothing had ever been the same after that time, more than a decade ago when Mrs. Coulter and her daemon had stumbled upon another world. An experience like that changes you. They escaped a troublesome childhood to spend time in another world very much like their own. 

And very much like this one, in fact, with an Oxford of this modern style and technological advances.

Could it…?  

Mrs. Coulter didn’t have time for that. She had to help Lyra, and then figure out what it is Will was doing and why that mattered so much to them. Lyra's eyes widened as Mrs. Coulter gave her a defeated look, and Will cleared his throat uncomfortably. No one said another word on the subject, although Lyra kept frowning and glancing at her every few minutes.

“Well,” Mrs. Coulter said as they settled down at a secluded park bench, “tell me, Will. Tell me all about your plan, and how we can help you, and what this means for Lyra and me.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The impact onto the pavement was light. Checking his surroundings, the golden monkey leaped again once more immediately upon landing, aware of the stirring and rushing of vehicles every which way. Who would open a portal into the middle of a street like this? he vaguely wondered as he jumped into the sidewalk and then into a nearby bush.

And then it was time for damage control. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the golden monkey did understand why Marisa chose to leave him behind. Will clearly had no external daemon walking about beside him, which would make the presence of the golden monkey a glaring problem. He wasn't a mundane cat or stupid dog, either, which would be easier to conceal. It was easier for him to remain out of sight, which he'd done already. The goal was for her to blend in, and his mere existence foiled that in every way possible. 

But she didn't have to do it like this . 

It'd been a long time since the two of them first separated. They were still children, actually, barely older than Lyra. The golden monkey had settled, and as he and Marisa were arguing about what she wanted to do that weekend and how her mother would react, she closed her bedroom door and locked him inside of it. 

At first the golden monkey had been too shocked to act. He simply sat there, his eyes trained on the shiny doorknob and his ears pricked at Marisa's retreating footsteps down the creaky staircase. 

Then came the pain. It was unlike anything the golden monkey had ever experienced before. His chest tightened, as if something heavy had crushed against it. His heart beat faster than what was likely medically acceptable. He could hear it echoing across the room. And his mind was a frenzy of unrest and instability and longing for his human, for his Marisa, for his own soul. 

She came running back inside moments later, holding him to her beast and whispering over and over again that she didn't mean it. But, she did. The golden monkey knew her better than she even knew herself. She'd disagreed with him and wanted to rid herself of his feelings and his doubts. She was impulsive and passionate and fearless in her decisions and her actions. In a way, she wanted to punish him, to really hurt him for the conflicted ways he made her feel. All while hurting herself, because their joint pain could not be truly separated. 

And here they were now, almost two decades later playing the same old games. She claimed their separation was out of necessity, but was it, he couldn't help but wonder? Was it just more convenient, to set out following and fawning over Lyra with no voice of reason trickling into her every thought? 

The golden monkey bore his teeth as he continued to slink around the bushes, planning what he was going to say to her once he found her. How he was going to reprimand her and try to talk some sense into her. How he was going to remind her who she truly was and how nothing, not even her own sheer willpower, could take that away from her. 

The more he walked, the more at ease he felt. He must have been getting closer to her. If he ran really fast down the sidewalk or between a building, people thought he was nothing more than a small dog or a fast cat. And indeed they didn't gawk at him other than moving out of the way and tossing him annoyed glances as he raced by them. They didn't have a clue. It wasn't as hard as they'd thought it would be. 

When he reached a large, winding park, he knew she was there. He started to feel traces of her again, as if picking up a scent in the breeze and slowly making sense of it. She was currently thinking about Lyra, per usual. This time about who she needed to see in this Oxford and where she could take her to speak with alone, without Will's wandering eyes and ears. 

She was so entrenched in thoughts about Lyra that she didn't even feel her daemon's presence until he was almost to her. Marisa looked up with wide blue eyes as he ran to her, face still contorted with rage at what she'd done and how she'd treated him. She caught him as he jumped to her, and for the first time in a long while, they embraced, lovingly. Or as close to lovingly as Marisa Coulter could ever get. 

All the while, someone was watching them. A tall man draped in a dark, finely-pressed suit was leaning against a tree. His eyes were narrowed, and out of the bottom of his left sleeve, a snake slithered out, staring fixedly at the golden monkey. 

Chapter Text

As Mrs. Coulter and Lyra sat amicably on the park bench, awaiting Will to return from a department store with a handbag, Mrs. Coulter realized that separating from the golden monkey hadn't been her wisest idea. 

You don't say! Her daemon was hiding inside the trash can next to the bench. He was fuming. She couldn't see him, but she didn't need to see him to know how his tail was thrashing and his bottom lip was pressed back into a snarl. Of all the rash things you've ever done, this has got to be the worst of them. When was the last time you acted this dangerously impulsive, Marisa? My God. You're not a girl anymore. 

He was right, so she wouldn't argue. Mrs. Coulter had been quite the emotional child, by all accounts. They both knew it too well. When she was five, for example, she had thrown a fit so boisterous and so intense that all the servants came to her bedroom worried that she'd been possessed by an evil spirit. When she was eight, her language tutor had hurt her feelings so she "accidentally" poured scalding hot tea all over her lap. Even she and the golden monkey experienced episodes during their youth. While sitting with her grandparents during tea (a weekly torture), she'd wrestle him to the ground with her feet and count how long she could keep him there, even though it hurt them both. 

But she was a child then, and now she was a full-grown woman with a child of her own. 

"Thank you, Will," Mrs. Coulter breathed as the boy returned. She took the handbag from him and peered inside. "This will do. How much do I owe you for it?" 

"Thirty dollars," Will answered. As Mrs. Coulter stared at him quizzically, trying to calculate how that might transfer to her own gold-based monetary system, he shook his head. "Don't you all have money where you're from?" 

"'Course we do!" piped Lyra, "and my mother happens to have a lot of it. Give it to him, won't you?" 

Mrs. Coulter's heart twitched just then at the phrase. My mother . It took her back to Bolvangar, when Lyra was trapped inside the separating chamber. Only her head was visible as she pounded her fists and thrust her entire body against the cold metal door. She'd been frantically calling out Mrs. Coulter’s name, until she saw her in the flesh. And then it was, "mother!" in the most desperate, shrill tone Mrs. Coulter had ever heard. It was raw, almost primal .

"I'm afraid our money is different than yours," Mrs. Coulter sighed as she pulled out gold coins, willing away her drifting thoughts. "I'll have to find a way to exchange it first. But I will pay you back"

"That's alright."

Will gave a nod as he proceeded to tell Mrs. Coulter what he'd seen at the department store, and how afraid he was that people were looking for him. He was solemn in his delivery and exact in his details. His eyes moved evenly from person-to-person and then all around him, searching for…something. Or perhaps someone. Mrs. Coulter tilted her head at that, taking in his nervous mannerisms and ticks. 

What is he so afraid of? she wondered. She knew about the accident. But was there something else troubling him? Something else he didn't want Mrs. Coulter to know? Something deeper and more complicated than he could even explain? 

Their next step, they'd decided, the golden monkey safely in tow in Mrs. Coulter’s handbag, was the payphone for Will and the museum for Mrs. Coulter and Lyra. 

"We'll meet you in the museum lobby in one hour," Mrs. Coulter said, pausing to gaze down at Will. In a strange way, she didn't want to leave him. She felt responsible for him somehow, although given the circumstances, it was very much he who was responsible for her in this strange, foreign world. He knew where to run and where to hide. And they needed him, for whatever reason Mrs. Coulter still didn't know. 

The monkey growled in the handbag as Will nodded and headed toward the phone, leaving Mrs. Coulter and Lyra to cross the street and enter the museum. They'd go there to buy a bit of time before consulting with Will on where to find a Scholar and what, Mrs. Coulter could only presume, they needed to help him with. 

"Do you have a plan?" Mrs. Coulter asked Lyra quietly as they paused by an exhibit. It was filled with skulls and shrunken heads, which piqued Mrs. Coulter’s interest. In her own world, she had explored the North, of course, and had come across heads like this. She'd studied the intercission practices when she'd interviewed Tartars as well as the Africans in the South. She knew well their connection to Dust and felt frightened of it all of a sudden, as well as fascinated. Did Dust operate in this world like it did in hers? Was this world plagued by spectres? What were the differences? 

Lyra was intrigued, too. Her eyes scanned the description as she peered closely at the glass. 

"I saw a skull like this at Jordan," she said after a long moment. 

Mrs. Coulter simply blinked at her. When would Lyra had been in a position to see such a thing? She couldn't imagine the Scholars sharing their most precious and exploratory research with the child, and she didn't even think Asriel would expose her to that. It was a harsh act, as well as one shrouded in secrecy and heresy. 

She must have spied, the golden monkey thought to her, bored, as if the answer was obvious. 

"I wasn't supposed to," Lyra continued (the golden monkey flaunted his triumph), "but I did. And I wanna know why people were doin' that here, too. So I'm gonna go ask the alethiometer, and I need you to keep watch."

"Okay," Mrs. Coulter said simply, watching as her daughter headed toward a remote corner and then slunk down to lean against some glass, facing the wall.

Mrs. Coulter could keep watch. She could protect her, look after her. Keep her away from harm. Strangle anyone who even breathed too close to her. 

You have completely lost yourself, the monkey groaned to her, fur ruffled. 

Maybe she had, but Mrs. Coulter didn't care. 

Chapter Text

Are we sure about this?

As they stood at the threshold of another world, a tropical breeze hitting their faces, Father MacPhail and his soldiers paused. 

They'd come all this way from Trollesund. The Cardinal had come even further from the Magisterial Seat in London. As far as they’d traveled, however, it wasn’t that terribly far. And yet there they were: standing in the harsh arctic snow with another world's sun hitting their skin and warming their chapped faces. 

They were truly as far away as far could be.

Father MacPhail leaned forward at that, closing his eyes. It tickled him, this wind from the other world. It ruffled the side wisps of his hair. His daemon slithered closer, too, her eyes wide open as she peered ahead.

The rumors were true, she thought to him, too amazed to think about the consequences of her thoughts. Another world that feels so much like our own. Feel that wind, that warmth...

Except…it wasn't their world. And it wasn’t a miraculous wonder. Father MacPhail shook her thoughts aside and stepped away from the glimmering light, which surprised her. They’d never disagreed about their feelings before. They were resolute and consistent: they were one mind and one train. Until today.

“I’m not frightened of it,” he heard ring through his head. “Work you don’t want others to see, but, you really don’t want to see yourself.”

How she still haunted him, here— especially here, at the rupture of her sin and of Asriel’s, at the precipice of a fate they would soon no longer be able to escape.

He wasn’t afraid. Clenching his fists, Father MacPhail gave a curt nod to his soldiers, who filed ahead and crossed through the portal. They all had a job to do, and he would make sure that they do it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"My dear, dear woman," said a low, drawling voice, accompanied by an overwhelming scent of old-fashioned cologne. "However did you come to be here?" 

Mrs. Coulter froze, her attention still trained on the Skraeling exhibit. The golden monkey stiffened inside the bag as Mrs. Coulter let her eyes drift ever so briefly to check that Lyra was still away in the corner of the other exhibit. She was there, head bent over the alethiometer and feet hanging out onto the aisle as if she were lounging comfortably at home instead of in another world with threats she didn't even notice. 

Did he see her? she thought to her daemon, heart beginning to race as she loosened her shoulders and started to turn around. For once, he didn't meet her concern with his usual skepticism. He didn’t sneer and roll his eyes and snap about the mother hen she’d become. Instead, he peered through the small opening of the bag and peeked over at him, taking in the look of surprise and excitement that still lingered on the man’s face. His snake daemon was hidden in his sleeve, too, so as to keep up the pretense. 

He couldn’t have, he declared. He’s focused entirely on you.

That was what Mrs. Coulter needed to hear. Fully turned around now, she allowed a flicker of shock and then well-practiced, controlled joy to enter her gaze. All the while, she took care to set her bag down at the edge of the exhibit by the hallway.

"Carlo!" she exclaimed, moving toward him. 

And as she did so, the golden monkey slunk out of the handbag and crawled over to the hallway–neither Carlo nor his daemon noticing–and went to find Lyra.

She was exactly where Mrs. Coulter had seen her: sprawled out on the floor with Pan on the top of her head as a very small bird. Her eyes were glossy as she stared down at the golden machine. They darted back and forth as they tracked the movement of the hands. It must take an incredible amount of concentration, the golden monkey thought as he crept closer, making sure to avoid Lord Boreal’s line of vision from the other exhibit. She seemed quite at ease with the machine, though, albeit distracted from the world around her.

“Lyra,” he finally whispered to her, feeling the fur stand up on his neck as he glanced around to see if anybody was near.

She didn’t seem to hear him, but her daemon did. Pan’s head whipped around to stare at the monkey before he recoiled—physically recoiled in nothing other than fear. But then he gathered himself and pecked at Lyra’s head, gesturing toward the golden monkey. 

Was the golden monkey really that frightening? Pan’s feathers were still ruffled as Lyra shook her head and blinked several times, as if coming out of a daze. The golden monkey didn’t think of himself as inherently frightening. He was malicious, he knew, and rotten to the core in a way few would readily admit about themselves. But frightening, in the way that monsters or ghosts or whatever children considered were frightening? Was that really how he was?

"You have to go," he finally said to Lyra, black eyes darting back to Marisa and Lord Boreal. They were still talking, but from the waves of alarm coming from Marisa, he knew she didn’t expect for it to be long. "D'you remember Lord Boreal, from the cocktail party back in London?" 

Lyra thought for a moment, considering his question. It was a heavy question, the golden monkey knew, for that party had been a source of great stress for Lyra, leading to her running away. Recognition dawned on the girl just then, and she made a face. Pan, now a mouse, growled a miniature snarl.

“Yeah. What about him?” 

“He’s here.” At the startled look on her face, the golden monkey continued, “I don’t know how he’s here, or why, but he can’t be trusted.” He inched closer now, tossing more frequent looks over his shoulder. "You must leave before he sees you!" 

For whatever reason, it was imperative for Lord Boreal not to know that Lyra was here, and not to come anywhere near the boy. It was a fact that the golden monkey just inherently knew, as if it were the laws of physics themselves. Marisa had been uneasy about the idea of crossing over for all the reasons she’d said to Asriel and more. Lord Boreal here complicated things even further, especially when it came to Lyra. And though the daemon still didn’t fully comprehend why the girl was the center of all their worry and action, he had to do it. He knew this, and he would respect this. 

The golden monkey wasn’t sure if it was the urgency in his voice or the concern in his mannerisms, but Lyra didn’t argue. She didn’t narrow her eyes and accuse him of lying, or demand to know what he was really up to like she would have during the time he’d known her back in London. She simply listened, nodding thoughtfully and glancing around them.

“Where should we go?”

That was an important question to which he had no answers. They didn’t know this world. It was Oxford, of course, but not their Oxford. So many streets and buildings were utterly different and strange in a way the golden monkey couldn’t quite describe. In his dash back to Marisa, the golden monkey had felt alarmed at the fast-moving vehicles and looming buildings. They all felt dangerous. Where in this world could be safe for Lyra?

“There was a college,” he mused aloud, checking again to see what Lord Boreal was doing. “Right around the corner from here, actually.”

“I’ll go there, then.” Lyra’s face lit up with a fierce determination. It was remarkable to see, really. He knew how bull-headed she was, but not necessarily how readily she accepted a challenge, a difficulty. How brave she was. She wasn’t fazed, whereas a lesser human very well would be.

As she jumped onto her feet and crouched down, eyeing Lord Boreal as well, she paused. "But what about you?" She was very close to the golden monkey as they both hid in the corner of the room. Her arm almost brushed the side of his body. Her eyes turned to him now, wide and...wary? No, that wasn’t quite it. Rather, soft? When looking at him?

It was odd for them to be speaking so long like this. In all of his 35 years of life, the golden monkey couldn’t remember having a conversation of this length with any other person. He stayed away from Marisa’s male companions, preferring to spend time with their daemons or, preferably, alone by himself. People and communication was her thing. He was the introvert to her extravert; he was the quiet to her audacious. He stuck to the shadows and to the sidelines, forever watching. 

Yet here he and Lyra were, working together like they might be a team after all.

“We’ll be fine,” he finally answered, offering her an actual smile. “You know Marisa. She can find her way out of anything.”

Chapter Text

Here and There

Mrs. Coulter was still smiling in a frazzled sort of way as she approached him, slowly yet surely. She tracked his every movement. It was startling enough to find him here, wherever they even were in the plot of the universe, and especially startling to find him here as if he belonged. His clothes were finely pressed and modern in the fashion of all the businessmen she’d passed on her way to the museum. He was holding a museum pamphlet, too, and seemed to know his way around. His presence even felt modern, which was strange because it was most certainly the same Carlo Boreal she’d spent a torturous amount of time with over the past few years. 

“I can hardly believe it,” she said to him, stopping when she was about a couple feet away. She watched his eyes rake her up and down, greedily. It was typical behavior for him, and of all the men under her spell. It wasn't unexpected, yet she still felt the familiar surge of disgust form in the pit in her stomach. But quelled it as she continued to stare at him, eyebrows now creased. “Why are you here? And what even is this place?”

It was a longshot, to feign innocence and confusion. One doesn’t just “happen” upon another world, after all. She also had no idea how long he'd actually been watching her, and what he was doing here, and how much he knew about this world and all the other worlds. But it was the first part of her act. Perhaps he knew that, and perhaps it didn’t matter.

All she was doing was trying to buy Lyra some time.

He smiled in return and stepped closer to her. His daemon slithered out of his sleeve, flicking her tongue out at her. “I suppose I could ask you the same, Marisa. Shall we move to go speak somewhere more private ?”

It was incredibly predatory. All of it. She hated these men and their lust and their boldness and their privilege and everything in between. And while one of her fleeting options would be to agree and follow him who knows where, the most important one right now was to figure out how much of a threat he was and allot enough time for Lyra to escape. The golden monkey was on it, so she temporarily forced her attention to focus solely on Lord Boreal.

“Where would that even be?” she inquired, tilting her head. “Are you—do you live here, Carlo?”

“It’s Charles, actually,” he drawled, moving his right hand to his left sleeve and stroking his daemon’s head once before pushing her back inside. “ Sir Charles, in fact. Sir Charles Latrom.”

“Sir Charles?” she repeated, stepping closer. She leaned forward ever so slightly, as if reaching out to him, but then held back. She noted how he had leaned forward, too. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself here, then, Charles.”

“I have, but I’m more interested in how you arrived here, my lady, and the connection between your sudden appearance and the recent blast of energy that shook this world and every world to its core.”

Ah. So that was it, then—Asriel’s experiment had a lasting impact. It made sense, now that Mrs. Coulter thought about it. She hadn’t found the time to think as deeply about his work as she would have liked, and certainly lacked the equipment and resources to do so thoroughly. But even thinking about the basic laws of physics, it lined up: for every action in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction. What happened on Svalbard elicited further action in the other worlds. Actions to what degree, Mrs. Coulter wondered? Asriel had very carefully targeted the magnetic pole with his work. How did that impact this world’s magnetic pole, and that of Cittàgazze? And of the others?

“You’re deep in thought,” Lord Boreal commented, his eyes crinkled in something resembling amusement as Mrs. Coulter came back to reality and turned back to him. “I take it you haven’t thought about these connections?” Mrs. Coulter simply nodded. It was better to let him do the talking right now, she’d figured. “How the relations between worlds perhaps shifted as a result?”

“Have you always been able to access this world, then?” Mrs. Coulter wondered aloud, thinking about the portal she’d seen all those years ago during her youth and if others had found it, and where it in turn led after all....

“But of course. How else would I have become a Sir?”

“Is this where you came when we thought you were in Brasil or the Indies?”

At that he laughed, sincerely. She didn’t see how it was funny, but she smiled just the same. “I found my way here a long time ago,” he answered, “but, again, I think I’d prefer to speak about this in a safer and more private location. I have a house not too far from here, as well as a car available. Would you care to accompany me there?”

Did she have the time? As Mrs. Coulter tilted her head to consider the invitation, she allowed her thoughts to stretch back to the golden monkey. He was still crouched in the corner, but watching Lyra leave. Her heart jolted just then, wondering where Lyra was going and if she’d ever be able to find her again. It wasn’t exactly a rational thought, but Mrs. Coulter couldn’t help it. All these months she’d set her intention to find Lyra. It’d been the focus of all her movements and actions. It had been her goal for so very long. And now that she had found her, and they were here, and she was leaving…

It was too much. And yet Mrs. Coulter couldn’t allow herself to feel it at this moment, for Lord Boreal was gazing at her expectantly and she only had a few more moments to stall. The golden monkey was already slinking back to her handbag, presumably undetected. She had to let it go.

“Unless you’re waiting for someone?”

His voice was pleasant, but it was then that Mrs. Coulter understood. She felt her face pale then. He knew. Somehow, he knew that Lyra was here. He didn’t have to say it; the threat and the promise lived between the lines of his words and his tone. If she were anyone else, Mrs. Coulter would have gaped just then, and perhaps even cried out. But she stood still, steeling herself. She felt the monkey’s cold surprise, too, as he thought to her: He didn’t see us! How can he know?

“No,” she responded, moving her lips into yet another smile, as she did even under duress. “Of course not. Where is your residence, Carlo? And may I be so bold to ask if you have proper cooking staff on hand?”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Will reached the museum lobby exactly 60 minutes after he and the others had first separated, he knew that something was wrong.

He didn’t know how he knew it. It was a gut instinct, perhaps, that he’d long developed given the instability and tragedy in his life. Or perhaps it was in the air, as the atmosphere felt off somehow as he wandered from exhibit to exhibit looking for Lyra and Mrs. Coulter.

What happened to them? It wasn’t a secret that they didn’t entirely fit in. Mrs. Colter had a majestic air about her that Will couldn’t quite describe, and Lyra was all bruised from her accident, too, which certainly didn’t help the pair fit in. He didn’t think that necessarily made it dangerous for them to be out and about on their own, although Will perhaps didn’t know of all possible threats and activities.

One of the museum caretakers saw him looking at a glass pane of shrunken skulls and came over to speak with him. “Are you alright, young man?”

Drat. Usually Will didn’t warrant attention. He was skinny and plain enough to disappear into the background of things, too simply to sustain attention. But perhaps the edge in his step and the worry over his companions' whereabouts was enough to make him stand out a little more than usual.

“Yes, sir,” Will said quickly, dipping his head in respect. “Just inspecting this exhibit here. I’ve never seen skulls like that.”

“They’re indeed quite intriguing,” the man agreed, although his eyes still lingered quizzically on Will. “Day off from school, then? Where are your parents?”

“I’m here visiting my aunt,” Will answered easily. He’d learned a long time ago not to tell the exact story too many times, so as to spread out the number of young boys out on their own in the city. They’d already let on to the people in the street that he was with his mother and sister, and he’d told the department store clerk the bag was for his mother, so now he would be with his aunt. It was risky, maybe, because he could have a hard time keeping his stories straight, but variation was crucial to staying hidden. “My mum dropped me off here to meet her but I think we might have missed her. Have you seen a lady with a purple sweater recently? And with curly dark hair?”

It was just enough detail and accuracy to sell his story. The man’s eyes widened and then nodded. “Why, I have, actually! She was just here but then left with another gentleman. I believe it was Oxford’s very own Sir Charles Latrom, in fact.”

Sir Charles Latrom… The name was vaguely familiar to Will. He’d definitely heard it before. As he thought about it, he thought he’d read it in a newspaper article about some kind of charity work or something. That would have to do.  “Oh, that’s right. My aunt mentioned something about some charity work she was doing. I forgot about that. Thank you, mister. I’ll go tell my mum about it now and be going.”

And before the caretaker could say anything more, Will was off—headed back to the telephone booth. He didn’t know how Mrs. Coulter got involved with this Sir Charles person, but it worried him, for her to be with someone so high up in society and for her to know about everything he had done. Perhaps he was being paranoid. He could see how an outsider would view it that way. But Will couldn't afford not to be paranoid, given the situation. It was serious. It was bad. So for now, he would focus his attention on finding Mrs. Coulter, starting with calling the operator and finding out where he could find Sir Charles Latrom.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t hard to find Sir Charles Lathrom’s house. It was located in a lane in Old Headington, an area Will had visited occasionally growing up around the area. He thought it’d be harder to find him, actually, since Sir Charles was apparently some kind of public figure. Yet there he was—Limefield House. Nothing to it.

Will's heart was racing. He needed to calm down before he did anything. What was it he was doing here, exactly? He didn’t even know if Mrs. Coulter would be here, or what he was going to say to her if she was. His number one concern was that she’d tell Sir Charles that he’d killed a man and that the police would come and arrest him. And then those people in his house would find his mother and get the letters and he'd never find his father and everything would be a disaster.

Deep breaths, he chanted to himself, as he did whenever he felt himself starting to panic. And it worked, most of the time. Including now. 

When it came down to it: why not stop beating around the bush? Will didn’t have much to lose, he realized. If Mrs. Coulter did tell Sir Charles about the accident and if she had called the police already, there wasn't any further damage he could do in confronting her here. He’d know for sure what she did or didn't do, in fact, and could try to run away again, and maybe find Lyra. 

Or maybe just leave her here. Right now, it didn’t really matter. He had to sort out the situation at hand. 

He rang the doorbell with a firm press of his fingers, listening to the chimes reverberate through the halls on the other side of the door. This was it. He was doing it, whether he was prepared for it or not. 

When the door opened, Will saw Sir Charles and, as he'd hoped, Mrs. Coulter. A look passed between all of them just then. Sir Charles’ eyes flashed at the sight of Will. It was a strange look, really. Will knew that it was important. The man’s expression was filled with recognition, it seemed, and something else… Triumph? Satisfaction? Will didn’t know. He then looked over at Mrs. Coulter. Her gaze met his and was filled with anger, mixed with some kind of suppressed fear and concern. He couldn’t quite decipher that look, either, and realized in that moment that he might have made a terrible mistake in coming here. 

Something serious was happening, and he’d walked right into it.

“My, my,” said Sir Charles thoughtfully, moving to lean against the doorframe. He was blocking Will from entering and, at the same time, preventing Mrs. Coulter from exiting. Will was quick to note that. “I believe I’ve seen your face in the papers. Will, isn’t it?”

Will’s stomach dropped at that. It was his worst fear confirmed: they were looking for him. They were publishing about him. News had spread to the point where a man he didn’t even know could recognize him in the spot.

Yet, the man made no move to call the police, or to rush him. He made no move at all. He simply stood there, watching Will. Mrs. Coulter was looking at Will, too, although her eyes flickered to Sir Charles’ arm that was still blocking the door. 

What was happening?

“Won’t you join us?” Sir Charles finally said, spreading his teeth into a wide smile that felt like it was sharp enough to actually stab Will.

What else was he to do? Inside Will went, finding himself walking next to Mrs. Coulter as Sir Charles led them to the side of the house to the drawing room. Will turned his head over to Mrs. Coulter, the beginnings of a whispered question starting to form: why was she here? He knew that it was serious, and that something was happening, and he felt that deserved to know. He thought he could maybe get a quick answer or two from her here. Before he could ask, though, she shook her head at him every so slightly. Her blue eyes glinted for him not to say anything. He thus held his tongue as they reached their destination, wondering why she didn’t want him to speak and what in the world was going on. 

“Tokay, Marisa?” Sir Charles offered, lifting a bottle of golden liquid. Don’t drink it! Will thought, finding it absurd for anyone to be drinking something from a complete—and dangerous— stranger. Surely she wouldn't. 

But to Will’s surprise, Mrs. Coulter dipped her head as she sat back on the couch, crossing her legs and thanking him for his hospitality. Will was stunned. He didn’t take Mrs. Coulter for a fool, and this seemed like a very foolish thing for her to do. He tried catching her eye again, to ask her what she was doing, but she very pointedly avoided contact. 

“I have to say, Will, that I’m surprised to find you here at my doorstep.” Sir Charles and Mrs. Coulter both were holding glasses of wine now. Will was satisfied that Mrs. Coulter at least waited for Sir Charles to sip his glass first. “How did you find my address?”

“The operator, sir,” Will answered. He tried his best to keep his voice low and his tone even. He wouldn’t let on to any of his uncertainty and growing panic at what he was doing sitting in this man’s drawing room. He would downplay everything, as he was used to doing, and he would make himself seem so small and so insignificant that he’d be able to learn more about what’s happening.

“I see, I see.” Sir Charles’ eyes then focused on Mrs. Coulter. “And you two seem to know one another?”

Will said nothing, as the question was clearly posed to Mrs. Coulter. He listened to how she painted a tale of how she'd run into him on the street and asked for his help finding directions. She made no mention of Lyra, Will noticed, or of her promising to help him. 

Sir Charles smiled and didn't seem to believe a single word of it. He cut all the pretenses and got to the point. “I don’t care about the girl, frankly,” he explained, which sounded to Will like he did know about Lyra, and that they’d already had an important conversation about it. “From what I can tell, she is an unreasonable brat. She’s of no significance to me, but I can see that she is to you, Marisa. And I daresay I can use that to my advantage.”

“You won’t,” Mrs. Coulter said then, her tone changing now. It almost sounded like a warning, Will gleaned. It was different than any of the other tones he’d heard her use in their short time of knowing one another. “I’ll destroy you, Carlo. You know I will.”

“I have no doubt that you’d like to,” Sir Charles—or was it actually Carlo, as Mrs. Coulter had called him? Did she know him?—answered, “but I also happen to wonder if your powers that be know you are here?”

She glared at him then, an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred on her face. Will had to look away from it. It was too intense.

“That’s what I thought,” Sir Charles sneered. He was a genuinely unpleasant man. Will would go as far as to say he hated him, in fact. He was spinning and entrapping the two of them into his stinky cologne web and there was nothing they could do about it. “I figured as much, when I saw you and the girl sneaking around that park. You can’t help yourself, can you? You had to go with her, despite what the Magisterium would say about it.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she snapped back, heat flushing back into her face. “The bond between a mother and her daughter is—”

“Oh, please,” Sir Charles interrupted. “She hates you. We all know that. Once she found out about your relation to the General Oblation Board, she wanted nothing more to do with you.” His gaze then wandered over to Will, who had remained silent since that first lull of conversation. “Did she tell you about that, boy? About her work, and what she does to children like you?”

The way he patronized the both of them angered Will deeply in a way he didn’t expect it to. He knew that Mrs. Coulter herself was questionable, given what Lyra had said and what he’d deduced in his own evaluation of the woman. But still, he didn’t find his treatment of her to be very fair at this moment. Sir Charles was straight up threatening her here, and blackmailing her. And he didn’t even seem to have a reason for it. Will didn’t know all the information, but he could still sense the tension in the air, and feel the waves of fury practically radiating from Mrs. Coulter beside him on the couch.

“She doesn’t bother me as much as you do,” Will finally blurted out. He watched surprise flicker across Sir Charles’ face, and from the corner of his eye, saw Mrs. Coulter turn to gaze at him, calmly yet satisfied. Even the golden monkey stopped what he was doing on the back of the couch to look at him.

“Well,” Sir Charles answered after a beat, “it’s not surprising for you to be captivated by her. The children all are, after all.” Turning back to Mrs. Coulter, he added, “except your own child, I suppose.”

And with that, Will was ignored, as he so often was. He slipped into the background as the grown-ups reumed their conversation about the Magisterium, and a man named Asriel, and Sir Charles’ positions, and more than Will could keep track of.

Taking advantage of it, Will searched the room they were in. Will took note of the woodwork on the walls and the location of the doors and windows. He didn’t know if he’d ever be back here, but if he ever was, he’d be prepared. And it was better than sitting there panicking. 

“While I have no interest in Lyra,” Sir Charles was saying, “there is something else I’m interested in that might persuade me to forget about you and the girl having been here at all."

So it was a transaction of some sort. Mrs. Coulter’s stance changed just then. The golden monkey narrowed his eyes as he glared over at the man and the snake. Mrs. Coulter crooked her head to the side as she listened to Sir Charles talk about something he wanted from the world they’d just been in. 

All the while, Will’s eyes caught sight of something else. Sitting on the end table directly to his right was a shiny object. It was a tool of some sort. It looked old and, from the way it was laid out delicately in a glass holder, important to Sir Charles. A thought occurred to Will just then. Gradually moving more to the edge of the couch, Will acted on impulse and swiped it, nestling it into his pocket. The adults didn’t notice.

He didn’t know why he did it, or how he would get away with it once Sir Charles found out it was missing. It was unusual for Will to act in sheer impulse like that. He was always so careful in everything he did and in every plan he made. Why was he acting so carelessly now? What purpose did it serve? He didn't understand it, and he found that he'd been lost enough in his thoughts to completely miss what was happening amongst the adults at the next moment. 

"I said get out, boy," Sir Charles snapped at him. Mrs. Coulter was at the hallway already, turned to him as if she were waiting for him. "I don't care how you two know each other or what it is you're doing. Just get me what I want, and your secrets are safe with me."

What was it that he wanted? Will couldn’t remember; he had been preoccupied by the shiny object. Sir Charles wrinkled his nose at him as he passed, before following him closely to make sure he followed Mrs. Coulter to the door. She didn’t say anything, either, and simply kept walking forward as if she were running about errands on any regular day.

They would figure this out, Will knew, working hard to prevent his eyes from wandering down to the stolen artifact in his pocket. He didn’t know how, but he knew for the moment that he was safe, Sir Charles wasn’t going to say anything, and he at least had a little more time to figure out what to do.

Chapter Text

"Come on, Will," Mrs. Coulter said as soon as they exited Sir Charles’ house. While she'd spent the past half hour ignoring him, she now took him by the arm and guided him off to a side street, checking over her shoulder as they walked.

"What's going on?" Will demanded, trying and failing to weasel out of her grasp. She hung on tightly, squeezing even harder the more he resisted. "Who is that man, and what does he want?" 

That was the question of the hour. Who was Sir Charles, and how was it that he knew Mrs. Coulter? And how did he know Lyra, and about Mrs. Coulter’s work, and about the people she reports to? It was so strange, the way he’d entered the situation. It’s like when you walk into a movie at the half-way mark: you know that you’ve missed things, you hear some of it, and you hang around to see if you can piece together the information. Except in this case, Will still wasn’t able to pick it up. And it frustrated him.

"I'll tell you, but is there anywhere we can safely talk?" 

They were out of Old Headington now, and Will scanned the landmarks to help him reestablish where, exactly, they were. He saw busy streets and more suburban venues, like big subdivisions and some street-side stores. They were firmly in New Headington, and getting closer to where they’d been in Oxford proper. “There’s a coffee shop up ahead,” he remembered out loud, and Mrs. Coulter nodded as she led them to the direction he pointed. She was still grasping his arm, so he added: “But if you want to go in, you have to let me go so I can get my money out.”

“I have money now,” she said swiftly. How? All Will could do was stare as she continued to guide him forward over to the store. 

“ Tell me. ” They were seated in the corner of the café, a hot chocolate for Will and a mocha latte for Mrs. Coulter. Now that they were sitting face-to-face like this, Will could see how tired Mrs. Coulter looked. She had bags under her eyes, and her shoulders were slumped as she leaned on the table. It looked like she hasn't slept in days. 

“You don’t look so good,” he observed, wondering more and more if he’d gotten himself into something terrible.

It all had happened so fast—Mrs. Coulter and Lyra appearing in the house, convincing him to team up, traveling with him around Oxford. He realized that he hardly knew these people, and that they’d brought even more stress into his life. He normally would avoid people and would never make such a hasty decision, yet he’d decided to go with them anyway. There was just something about them that he couldn't describe, and couldn't resist. He could hardly make sense of it.

Where else did he have to go? 

The thought crept up on him as he continued fighting with his thoughts. He had no one. He had nothing. The incident at his house stole so much from him in terms of options and support. As far as he could tell, he was completely and utterly alone in a big mess he didn’t think he could climb out of.

Mrs. Coulter and Lyra were all he had at this point. And he had to accept it.

“I don’t even know where to start, Will,” she finally sighed, sipping her mocha. “Everything is a mess. Carlo—er, Sir Charles—is a man from my world, and he’s got connections with some people who desperately want to hurt Lyra.”

And so she told him what was going on, and Will listened to her intently. She was being vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen before. She’d been vulnerable during her time without her daemon, but not as open and honest as she was being now. It felt like she was actually telling him the truth, which he hadn't felt before. All Will could do was listen, and realize that in trusting him with all of this information, she was evening the playing field between them. Now, they both knew important things about the other that could make things difficult for them. And Will respected that. 

“I knew he seemed crooked,” Will exclaimed once she’d finished. It made sense for him to be involved in some kind of mysterious plot and to blackmail whoever he wanted. Something about him just didn't seem right. And his behavior certainly hadn't resolved him of anything. 

"And now we have to find Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said, her face regaining some of the determination from when they'd first met. "And then, Will, I promise we will figure this out and help you with what you need to do."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The sight was unlike anything Father MacPhail had ever seen in his forty-four years of life.

He and the Magisterial soldiers were lined up in the golden bridge, watching as glittering particles swirled all around them. He knew what it was, of course. Dust. He couldn’t help but recoil at it. Sin. It clung to adults and to daemons and scattered about them as they moved forward and around—bright and foreboding.

But what does it all mean? Eulalia wondered, her eyes tracking the movement of a nearby Dust cloud. How can we ever fully combat it if we don’t understand it?

That was an important question. Nobody knew the answers, to what Dust was, where it came from, what it did, and what they should do about it. Not even Asriel, in all of his academic pursuits and blatant hersey. Or Marisa, with her repugnant experiments and promises to deliver results. It wasn’t within Father MacPhail’s purview to understand the theoretical properties of these particles, and nor would he ever want it to be. But, as Eulalia’s wandering mind could attest to, it wasn’t something he could completely avoid. That puzzling curiosity would likely always follow him, as it felt key to so much of what people of faith and the Church struggled with day after day.

They reached a crossroad at this point now, the men pausing and moving aside for Father MacPhail to move to the front. 

“We’re awaiting your command, sir,” said the army’s general, nodding to him and stepping back.

Left or right? It was a crucial question, Father MacPhail knew. It was one he’d learned about in his priesthood preparation, too, as decisions were a central theme in the Authority’s work and His legacy. Two different options, two different sets of possibilities. An important aspect not to be taken lightly. 

So which would he choose now? Left, or right? Which did Asriel choose? Which did Marisa? It was impossible to know, and Father MacPhail knew that he’d be long-entrenched in these options either way and regardless.

“You lot go right,” he said to the men on the one side, “and the rest of you go left with me. Understood?”

They were sift and efficient, picking up their weapons and marching in the direction they were ordered. Father MacPhail sighed as he followed the general down the left path, knowing fully well it was the only beginning of a hard journey from which he could only hope to return.

Chapter Text

"Lyra!"

Mrs. Coulter and Will were turning the corner of the park when they saw Lyra coming out of a tall, handsome building, checking behind her and to the side of her as she moved. She's safe, Mrs. Coulter thought over and over again as she watched Lyra pause and then come over to them, her pace quickening. She made it. Nothing happened to her. 

It was quick thinking on the monkey’s part, to send her to the college. They knew she’d be safe out of the public eye at a place like that. Goodness knows that academics have their own problems to busy themselves with, making it much less likely they notice a random child wandering about. It’s the perfect hiding place, as Asriel had concluded all those years ago. Their only hope now was that Boreal didn't have a spy in the college, or in this very park, or tailing their every move… 

"Mrs. Coulter!" The girl came to a stumbling stop as she practically ran into the woman with the cardigan and large handbag. But Mrs. Coulter didn't mind. On the contrary, she felt herself lean into Lyra. It was an impulse, almost. Maybe an… Instinct. She put her hands on Lyra's shoulders and then moved them to her cheeks, looking her over closely. Searching her face and her eyes and her demeanor. Lyra's eyes widened in surprise as Mrs. Coulter continued to just gaze down at her, taking in her entire presence. Mrs. Coulter didn't know what she was doing, really, but the mere sight of Lyra brought a deep sense of relief Mrs. Coulter hadn't realized she was waiting for. She was safe. And she came back. 

For the first time, Lyra had come back to her. 

"I found a scholar!" Lyra blurted out, twisting away from Mrs. Coulter's embrace now to address both her and Will. "It was so interesting, but oh, Will…"

Her face fell, and she ushered the two over to a nearby bench and began to tell them everything she had seen and done while Will and Mrs. Coulter were away with Boreal. She went on and on about a scholar named Mary Malone, and "dark matter," and Dust, and government funding, and strange people waiting for her… 

"What did you tell her?" Mrs. Coulter demanded when Lyra had gotten to the part where she operated a Dust particle machine. Her tone was sharp, she knew, but she couldn't help it. What was Lyra thinking, speaking so freely with people in this strange world? What was she telling them about their world, and about Dust, and about all the connections in between? Fear shot through Mrs. Coulter just then, remembering what Carlo had told her back at the house before Will had arrived: they know about it here, too. And they are watching it. 

This was bad. Although Lyra insisted that it was okay, Mrs. Coulter was too suspicious of this world and of humankind. If this world and government was studying Dust in the way theirs was, there's no way research on it would go unchecked and unmonitored. There were likely five different agencies observing all research activity, with spies placed in labs and in colleges to make sure no ambitious scientist crossed too far away from the approved-upon line. So what would they make of a young girl coming into a laboratory alone, and then suddenly whirling up a previously-dormant machine? And talking follies of a truth-telling device and of multiple worlds and of animal companions?

The golden monkey growled from inside the handbag, his claws stretching out.

Lyra didn't understand, and Mrs. Coulter supposed she couldn't blame her. She was still just a child, after all. The delicacies of things were naturally more obscure to her. But Mrs. Coulter was an adult, and she knew better. So she could do better, for Lyra's sake. For all of their sakes.

"I told her I'd come back tomorrow," Lyra continued, "and then I can–" 

"No," Mrs. Coulter interrupted. This time it was she who bristled, too, along with her daemon. "Absolutely not! Lyra, it's not safe to–" 

"You don't understand!" Lyra insisted. "Just listen to me. The alethiometer said she's important, and her work matters for Dust, and that she can help us."

"Help us with what?"

"With the overall…plan!" Lyra's face was flushed. "Look, the alethiometer doesn't always tell me the details, alright? So I don't know what , but I…I know that ."

"Is that a fact," Mrs. Coulter huffed, moving to press her hand to her temple. Lyra could say that, and Mrs. Coulter had no way of confirming it. Lyra could say anything she wanted and back it up with the alethiometer; she could do whatever she pleased and Mrs. Coulter would be none the wiser.

That's what I've been saying, the golden monkey agreed, anxious to be free of the bag and to pace around as he urged to do. We have no way to control her or that damned machine. She can't be trusted, and we both know that! 

But Mrs. Coulter didn't want to feel that. She did want to trust her daughter. It was so confusing, in that moment on the park bench...

At the same time, the golden monkey was aware that people were beginning to stare at them now. He could see through the thin material of the bag and through the gap by the handles. It was unusual for two children to be out of school in the middle of the day. And it was unsettling, perhaps, for one to be so passionately engaged in an argument with an adult. 

"We need to quiet down now," Mrs. Coulter whispered to them, "but we will continue this conversation. It's just not safe right now. We have a lot to tell you, too, Lyra. Will, can you take us a different route back to the portal, so we can finish our conversation away from here?" 

He'd been very quiet up until this point, per usual. Mrs. Coulter couldn't help but feel judged whenever Will watched her like this. His gaze was so penetrating, but not in the way Mrs. Coulter was used to with all the men she had to deal with. It wasn't intrusive, greedy, overbearing, possessive. It was genuine. A sincere evaluation of what she was up to and if he could trust her, and beneath that, the hope that he could. Even the golden monkey couldn't argue his harmlessness, although they both felt uncomfortable at the conclusions he'd probably be making of them. 

Will led them to safety, once again, this time through a crowded shopping plaza with people busy moving to and from different shops and market booths. "It can be safer in broad daylight," he'd explained to them, and Mrs. Coulter could understand. She'd done the same herself, with her work on the Oblation Board. She knew how to hide in plain sight. 

Cittàgazze was safe at the moment. The spectres had moved on, the alethiometer had assured them, and wouldn't be back for some time. It would be safe for Mrs. Coulter to at least spend the night back at the house they'd come to inhabit, which was still abandoned for reasons Lyra wouldn't explain. 

What a disaster, the golden monkey groaned as they made their way back in, jumping to sit in a kitchen chair as the humans shuffled inside. Here we are, exactly where Boreal wants us. How ironic, for us to view this world as safe.

As pressing as that was, Mrs. Coulter didn't want to think about that. She turned away from her daemon just then. Boreal was an annoying snake who weaseled his way into her business, as he had done time and time again back home. He was a problem, to be sure, but right now Lyra presented the most immediate problem. And that had to be dealt with first.

“Tell me again, Lyra,” Mrs. Coulter said, sitting down beside the monkey and gesturing for Lyra to sit down, too. “Tell me what you saw, and what she said, and what you’re supposed to do tomorrow.”

Lyra sat down and explained, running out of breath as she did, and Mrs. Coulter let out a heavy sigh. It was important to Lyra, to learn more about Dust. And this woman led her on whatever path the alethiometer seemed to want her to be on, which Mrs. Coulter still couldn’t determine if she liked or not.

"Very well," Mrs. Coulter finally resigned, standing up and ushering for Lyra and Will to get away from the kitchen so she could start to prepare dinner. "You can go back and see her, but I'm coming with you. No objections," she added as Lyra opened her mouth to protest. "It's the only way I can keep you safe. We’ll discuss more later.”

Chapter Text

This is a terrible idea, the golden monkey thought with a growl as Mrs. Coulter and Lyra made their way over to the physics building where Lyra had first met Dr. Mary Malone. This is the definition of conspicuousness. This is a terrible idea. 

Mrs. Coulter sighed as the monkey droned on and on in her head, expressing his disapproval and his concerns and his overall misgivings of humanity. It was the same old thing with him, really–in their world and in this one. People weren't to be trusted, and they had to do everything in their power to stay away from suspicion and unflattering attention. They had to be careful, and take only carefully-considered risks. They were not meant to walk straight into uncertainty and danger like this.

But Mrs. Coulter didn’t have time for it. Lyra had gotten herself wrapped up in this mess, and it was up to Mrs. Coulter as her mother to get her out of it. And it was also her duty to help Lyra figure out what she wanted to know, whatever that even was. It was too late for them to back out. 

“It’s this way,” Pan said to them from Lyra's pocket as they exited the lobby and headed over to the porter.

“She’s expecting us,” Lyra explained, sweetly, as the porter stared at the two of them in confusion. “Go on and ask her. We’ll wait. But she’s expecting us, I swear it.”

And indeed the man let them up, to which Lyra gave a triumphant smirk as she led the way back over to the stairs. All Mrs. Coulter could do was follow, amused at how it was she following her child in this strange, foreign world. 

All the more terrible, the golden monkey groaned. 

At the top of the stairs, however, Mrs. Coulter instantly knew that something was wrong. Near a door with a woman’s symbol on it was a tall woman around Mrs. Coulter's age with shoulder-length, curly red hair and flushed cheeks. She was a bit twitchy in her overall presence, moving at every sound and clasping her hands. When she saw Lyra she nodded, but upon seeing Mrs. Coulter, she momentarily tilted her head in confusion before entering the door and ushering them inside.

“You must be Dr. Malone,” Mrs. Coulter puffed as they squeezed inside, Lyra pressed to her side. It wasn't the best place for introductions, but it would have to do. “I’m–”

“Who is this?” Dr. Malone directed to Lyra, her blue eyes scanning Mrs. Coulter up and down. She was oddly agitated, with her eyes flickering toward the door and then back again quite rapidly. The golden monkey thought she was up to something, but Mrs. Coulter instead wondered if she were afraid of something. It seemed like it, at any rate. 

“She’s my mother,” Lyra answered truthfully. “She’s here to help. She knows about Dust, too, and wanted to come.”

“There’s someone else in the lab,” Dr. Malone continued, not acknowledging what Lyra had said. “Police officers or something. They know you came to see me yesterday–I don’t know what they’re after, but I don’t like it.”

“How do they know I came to see you?” Lyra asked at once.

“I don’t know! They didn’t know your name, but I knew who they meant… Lyra, are you in trouble? Is something wrong?”

“This is too dangerous,” Mrs. Coulter interjected, feeling her own mistrust and fear lurk in her stomach as she grabbed Lyra’s hand and moved closer to the door. “I’m sorry, Dr. Malone, but we can’t–”

“Dr. Malone?” said a woman’s voice from outside, causing everyone to stop and turn their head toward the door. “Have you seen the child?”

A look passed between Mrs. Coulter and Dr. Malone just then. It was intense, like a surge of anbaric charge. Say no, Mrs. Coulter said with that look–her blue eyes narrowed and cold. Dr. Malone stared back, her own blue depths wide and her mouth slightly open. It looked as though she didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what she wanted to do. But Mrs. Coulter made it very clear what she had to do. 

“Yes,” Dr. Malone called, her eyes darting to the door and her brow furrowing as she gazed helplessly over at Mrs. Coulter. “I was just showing her where the washroom is…”

“No!” the golden monkey hissed aloud from the handbag, causing Dr. Malone’s brow to furrow even more and Mrs. Coulter to hit him roughly with her elbow. 

This was, as the monkey had said earlier, terrible. Her face tight with fury, Mrs. Coulter followed Dr. Malone out of the washroom, her right hand squeezing Lyra’s harder as they entered the hallway to see a young, pretty woman practically run over to them while eying them suspiciously. Her eyes had widened ever so briefly at Mrs. Coulter’s appearance but then transitioned to a general hardness. She was part of some state agency, Mrs. Coulter could tell, and she could only begin to wonder what Lyra had done in that lab yesterday and how it likely alerted every agency watching over matters of dark matter. 

It really was a terrible idea for them to come here. 

“Hello,” the woman said to them, her voice calm and eyes trained this time on Lyra. “You’re Lyra, aren’t you?”

It startled Mrs. Coulter, for the woman to know Lyra’s name. Dr. Malone had just said that they didn’t know her name, after all. Had Lyra been that careless? the monkey thought to her. And, Mrs. Coulter added, gaze flickering back to Dr. Malone, was this Scholar as harmless as she came across to be? Why warn them of this woman's presence only to have already told her everything she wanted to know? 

Think, Mrs. Coulter chanted to herself, feeling her heart start to beat faster and her mouth start to feel dry. Think, think, think. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Coulter for her, stepping forward so that she was between her child and this sharply-dressed woman who was now staring at her full-in-the face. “And may I ask who you are, how it is you know my daughter, and why it looks as if you’re about to rush her?”

The woman hadn’t been expecting this, it seemed. Mrs. Coulter could see the cold surprise spread across her face as she then calculated what to do next. She also stiffened in her posture and demeanor. It was almost palpable. She clearly had some important business to attend to but didn’t quite know how to go about it now that Mrs. Coulter was involved.

“I’m Sergeant Clifford,” she said a few beats later, forcing a pressed smile. “I’ve heard all about your daughter from Dr. Malone and have a few questions for her. That’s all.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Coulter narrowed her eyes and started tapping her foot–an outward presentation of impatience and irritation, she knew. “I’m afraid I am not comfortable with that, Sergeant. My daughter has quite the wild imagination, and I’m not here for her to play games.”

“Then why are you here, Mrs…?”

“Van Zee,” Mrs. Coulter answered easily, thoroughly surprising the golden monkey as they hadn’t used that name in quite some time. “And I am here as a fellow researcher. We come all the way from Denmark, and this is how I’m greeted? I must say, Mary, I am most displeased.”

No one seemed to know what to do just then. Not even Lyra, whose grip tightened and body stiffened in the most uncomfortable behavior Mrs. Coulter had seen from her in some time. 

It was easy, really, as Mrs. Coulter had seen a flier on their way up to this floor: there was a series of physics lectures from Scholars at the University of Denmark. “Physics,” she surmised, must be the home discipline of those who study what Carlos had described as “dark matter,” or what they knew as Dust. So it would be plausible, however too convenient, for another researcher to show up at a time of extreme reported activity. And Mrs. Coulter could certainly talk her way through Dust, regardless of which terminology she had to use or the circumstances under which she had to use it. 

“I, I’m sorry,” Dr. Malone offered quickly, putting her head down. “Lyra came to see me yesterday, ahead of our meeting, and I couldn’t resist showing her what we’d been working on.”

So, she was on their side after all. It was a relief to Mrs. Coulter, for she hadn't been sure and didn't know what options she'd have if that weren't the case. Sergeant Clifford was watching their every move and taking in each word as if it were oxygen itself, her eyes widening. “Still, Mrs. Van Zee, if we could just take a few minutes to–”

“Very well,” Mrs. Coulter sighed, readjusting her bag and fixing her hair. “As long as it’s quick. We have lunch reservations in twenty minutes.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

Lord Boreal laughed as he sat back comfortably in his chair, his snake daemon slithering from his sleeve onto the plain wooden desk in front of him. “I’m very sorry to have missed His Eminence, especially as my news concerns one of his most influential members. Are you sure he can’t be reached?”

“No, my lord,” said the low-level priest, nervously. “He left a couple days ago for the North and hasn’t said when he’ll return. Can–may I send along a message?”

“I can take care of that,” Lord Boreal drawled, crossing his legs and looking around at the polished lobby of the London Magisterial Seat. “Or I may just...pay him a visit myself. Thank you very much for your time.”

Chapter Text

Alas, they’d made the wrong choice.

Father MacPhail and his men were silent as they peered into the translucent, shimmering window at the end of the left path they had chosen. On the other end was a cold, raging snowstorm with an endless sea of arctic before them, much like the world they were currently in. Was it the same world, except in a different location? One had to wonder. Or was it another that just happened to be like this one? One parallel to but distinct from their own? Eulaia didn't know, and nor did Father MacPhail. It was beyond his expertise and his pay grade to know. But right now, he was in charge, and he had to be the one to know at least what to do. If at least nothing else. 

"If we send one team through," he began, slowly, "we can see if there's any trace of them. And if we do it in shifts, we can cover more ground."

"I'll send the first team through, sir," the Sergeant replied, nodding to a set of stoic-faced young men who instantly gathered their rifles and lined up next to the window.

"And then?" Eulaia whispered to him, peering over at the window with an almost wistful edge to her beady lizard eyes. 

There were others who knew more about these matters. Boreal, to be precise. As insufferable as the man was, it was rumored that he had a certain know-how with these worlds. Father MacPhail had never confronted him about it, to be sure, as the custom was not to speak of such heretical things. But he knew there had been whispers with others higher up in the Church, as well as certain privileges afforded to Boreal based on the things that he knew and could offer. This was something perhaps he knew more about, although it did them little use as the man was back in London leading a most aristocratic life of comfort. 

"I must check with the other team and then confer with the Cardinal," Father MacPhail finally said to the whole group, dipping his head once and then turning around back the way he came. He heard the sound of men marching grow fainter as his steps carried him away. 

"You don't even want to see it?" his daemon asked him, whispering in his ear and clinging to his shoulders. 

"No."

He really didn’t. The thought of what existed beyond that window terrified him. That was human nature, after all, wasn’t it? Fearing that which one cannot fully understand? Such instinct led to countless wars across humanity, human and daemon and other alike. To charge through straight ahead took a certain boldness Father MacPhail didn’t think he could possess.

“We have to check with the other team now,” he said quietly to his daemon, dismissing what she was just about to say regarding taking a chance and embracing fear for once in their entire lives.

They didn't exchange another word as they returned to the fork in the road where they had first separated. There was no one to be found, which means they either weren’t back yet or had returned without him. Sighing, Father MacPhail turned around again and went back to the zeppelin, stomping his feet on the rug before entering the Cardinal's private room. He and his daemon still hadn’t exchanged a single word. And they didn't have to, because they both knew what they really wanted but that, perhaps, Father MacPhail was too weak to admit. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o 

"That was quite the display."

Mrs. Coulter, Lyra, and Dr. Malone were sitting down at a busy café booth, hot beverages in hand as people moved about all around them. Mrs. Coulter was smiling, ankles crossed delicately as she sat up perfectly straight and poised. Lyra was slouching to her left, eyes trained fully on Dr. Malone, who was also slouching. Mrs. Coulter simply continued to smile. The golden monkey was nearly bursting out of his skin with pent-up energy, but Mrs. Coulter was perfectly calm. 

"No thanks to you lot, I daresay," the red-haired woman sighed, cupping her coffee with both hands and taking a deep, long sip. She looked tired again, as she had upon Mrs. Counter's first glance of her. Perhaps even more tired now, for though it'd been hardly an hour, it felt like longer. 

The police forces of this world were sharp but unimaginative. They'd asked their questions and took their notes shrewdly and diligently but without probing deeper into things. “How do you know about dark matter?” they’d asked Lyra, who’d run with Mrs. Coulter’s story that she was learning from her mother and sitting in on her meetings. Mrs. Coulter played the embarrassed card, expressing how she hadn’t realized Lyra paid so much attention and laughing at how children can take partial understandings of something and invent their own details. This seemed to pacify them, as they’d let them go. But not before mentioning a boy named Will Parry.

The golden monkey thought they were hiding their true intentions, which was probably true. Will’s name came out seemingly randomly, as if they were reaching or hoping Lyra could help them with a harmless task. They certainly wanted to know more about him, after Lyra had let a few things slip. But even then, Mrs. Coulter had expected them to dig deeper, to look harder. To not simply give up as they had after some well-placed deflections and counter narratives.

Still, though, this was deeply concerning, and Mrs. Coulter was starting to wonder if there was more to Will’s story than Will himself even knew.

"Are you going to tell me who you people are, or what?" Dr. Malone was blunt now, perhaps a little impatient after the day's events. Mrs. Coulter smiled again, sensing the monkey stiffen and Lyra squirming. She certainly couldn’t blame the woman, even as she judged her abrupt and twitchy demeanor. 

"Yes," she drawled, "I suppose we will. But not until we learn more about you, and about what those people want."

As Dr. Malone began to share what she knew, eyebrows still furrowed as she tossed sideways glances at the glamorous woman and the scraped-up child, the most unexpected thing happened. Will came barging into the shop, eyes wide and hard as he spotted them at the booth. 

"Will!" Lyra blurted out, only for the golden monkey to screech from the bag and Mrs. Coulter to swiftly cover her mouth. Dr. Malone stared as Will rushed over to them, his nostrils flaring and his fists curled. 

Will was not supposed to be here. After yesterday’s events, they’d agreed for him to remain safe in Cittàgazze, awaiting their return. Too much was uncertain, and he had to search around and think about what Lord Boreal wanted anyway. It had been a while since they’d said they’d return, Mrs. Coulter realized, but still, he was not supposed to be here. Especially not now.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he snapped at them. "You didn't show up after almost a full hour. Fancied some coffee, did you? And–who are you?" 

He froze as his gaze swiveled over to Dr. Malone. Her eyebrows were raised, again. And her eyes were wide. It seemed they were stuck that way.

“Will?” she repeated, looking at Lyra and then back to Will. “The same Will that Sergeant Clifford–”

“No,” Mrs. Coulter said quickly, gathering up her handbag and tugging on Lyra’s arm. “Now, we have to go. I sincerely apologize for having disturbed you, Dr. Malone.”

“Please, no!” Dr. Malone stood, too, blocking Mrs. Coulter’s way. The golden monkey snarled, his fur beginning to stick up on his neck. “Mrs. Van Zee, please. I just want to know what’s going on. Your daughter has helped me, and has done the most incredible thing, and I just need to know what is happening. I’m just an academic. I am not here to hurt anyone, but to simply figure things out.”

She was earnest. Mrs. Coulter couldn’t detect any misgivings or deception in her face or in her voice. She was quite good as sussing these things out, as well as a master of them herself. But Dr. Malone was sincere. Mrs. Coulter had seen it back in the college's bathroom, when she'd frantically tried to put two and two together and navigate their current situation. And she saw it now, as the woman, indeed, just wanted to figure out what was happening. And Mrs. Coulter had to trust that, as much as she hated to trust anyone or anything. 

“Not here,” Mrs. Coulter sighed, quietly, looking all around them. A few people had looked over at them once their voices had started rising, annoyed most likely. “Not anywhere here in this city. It isn’t safe. Tell me, Dr. Malone: how long will it take to get to London from here?”

Chapter Text

Will didn't want to go to London. But he supposed that he didn't have any choice on the matter. 

They were leaving the coffee shop now, Dr. Malone returning home to gather some belongings and Mrs. Coulter, Will, and Lyra returning to Cittàgazze to gather theirs. Or rather, what they'd claimed and stolen as their belongings, since none of them really had anything with them when they'd stumbled into the foreign world. 

"We'll talk about this once we're away," Mrs. Coulter muttered to him as he again asked her if they could stop for a moment to discuss this. What was all the way in London, he wondered, and why did they have to go there now? He must have missed some of what happened when Mrs. Coulter and Lyra visited the college. They hadn't said anything further once Will had arrived, and he got the impression that a lot had happened. And it felt serious and important, in the way their visit with Sir Charles felt serious and important. And that made Will nervous, since this was all becoming bigger and more complicated than he’d ever imagined this would be. 

"I also have to tell you about something," Will insisted, hovering now as they quickened their pace through the park on their way back to the portal. "I did some looking around that big tower, and I heard—" 

" Not here, Will!" There was an audible screech coming from the red handbag as Mrs. Coulter took Will's hand and led them down a side street, glancing around them. 

"What are we doing? " Will all but whined, and to his surprise, it was Lyra who snapped at him this time. 

"Can you just shut up ?" the girl exclaimed, joining her mother in glancing all around them. "It's not safe, and I have to do something that requires hiding. We're almost there."

Will was left in the utter dark as the trio finally stopped in a well-hidden alleyway, boxes and trash obscuring them from sight. It wasn't fair to Will, really, to be outnumbered by them. They were traveling together. They were a mother and daughter pair. Shouldn't their vote only count as one? It seemed like they could do whatever they pleased and string Will along. In fact, everything as of late had been about them and not about Will. They’d said they were there to help him, but it felt like helping him was only secondary to whatever it was they were set out to do. Maybe it was time for him to address this, and to speak up for himself. 

Before he could do so, however, Lyra did the most curious thing: she pulled out some kind of leather-skin pouch to reveal a shiny golden instrument. 

"What's that?" 

A look passed between Lyra and Mrs. Coulter in that moment—a look of warning, of hesitation. Of apprehension. Lyra gave a curt nod, and as she turned around with the instrument, Mrs. Coulter came over to sit beside Will on the boxes. 

"There's something else we need to explain to you," she began, and with that, she told Will everything about the alethiometer, Lyra's talents, and why exactly the meeting with Dr. Malone was so important and dangerous. 

Will should have been surprised, but he'd been around the two of them long enough to not feel shocked by anything anymore. The alethiometer made a lot of sense to Will now that it was properly explained. In fact, he recalled a few times in their journey together of Lyra referencing such a thing. He’d assumed it was just a word or concept from their world or something, but now he understood. This Dust, or dark matter as they called it his world, was serious. It'd caused a war to break out in Lyra and Mrs. Coulter's world, and from the sound of that meeting with police officers in Dr. Malone's lab, was close to starting one here as well. And the alethiometer was at the center of it all.

“You can see why things have been so hectic,” Mrs. Coulter finally sighed as she finished, moving her hand to rub her temples. Will noticed that she’d been doing that a lot. Whenever she seemed stressed. “So Lyra is checking now to see what our safest next move.”

A thought occurred to Will just then at the woman’s words. It scared him a bit, this thought and its implications. Part of him didn’t even want to voice it for that reason, yet he couldn’t stop himself. “So, Lyra’s alethiometer...It can tell the truth about anything?”

He didn’t say it, what he perhaps wanted to ask it. He didn’t dare voice it. Part of his heart didn’t want to admit it. Mrs. Coulter, however, seemed to understand. Her eyes softened as she leaned forward to put a hand through his hair, gazing at him for a few moments. “Sometimes. But not always.”

“Alright.” Will looked away from her, gazing instead at a big dumpster bin with some graffiti on it. Rust flecked the left side, crawling around the corners through the top edge. 

“We can have her check,” Mrs. Coulter offered.

“It’s fine,” Will answered, shaking his head. He felt his face growing hot. “It was a stupid thing to think.”

“Not, it’s not.” Will looked back at Mrs. Coulter as she said that. She was still wearing a soft expression–gentle, but not pitying. She never pitied him, which he appreciated. “It’s an understandable thing.”

“Anyway,” Will sighed, wiggling around a bit and looking back at the garbage bin, “when we get back to Cittàgazze, we need to—”

“Will, look at me.” Mrs. Coulter’s voice was calm but firm. Will whipped his head around to stare at her again, his own dark eyes slightly widened. “I haven’t forgotten about you and your father. We will help you find him, Will. I promise.”

And he believed her. For whatever reason, he believed and trusted this strange woman with a strange monkey from a strange world. She didn’t treat him like a child. In a way, she treated him like an adult, like an equal as they navigated this situation together. And that was more than so many others had done for him.

“Mrs. Coulter!” said Lyra suddenly, appearing in front of them. Her hair was disheveled and Pan was flying around her head impatiently as a brown finch, fluffing out his feathers.

“What is it?” her mother asked, eyes narrowed and body turned to fully face her.

“We have to go back to Cittàgazze, now,” Lyra breathed, shoving the alethiometer back into her bag. “And Will, there—there’s something you have to do. And it’s almost too late.”

Chapter Text

It was during this trip back to Cittàgazze that Mrs. Counter would finally realize why it was Will was so important. 

Lyra had ushered them back to the other world, almost breathless as she explained the spectres were on their way back (if not already there) and there was something Will had to do. Will, too, seemed agitated as they crossed over, his dark eyes glancing to their right. 

"I found some stuff out, too," he simply replied, heading over to the right without another word. Exchanging a puzzled look with Lyra, Mrs. Coulter followed, opening her handbag so that golden money could roam free. 

Finally! he thought, his glee almost infectious as he ran out ahead of the group, stretching his legs. I'm all coiled up like a damn snake in there. 

She snorted at the comparison, thinking immediately back to Carlo and his "proposition" for her. There was something in this world he wanted, as he'd made clear to her. Something he wanted enough to blackmail her. He was even hesitant to tell her what it was, for the item was supposedly so great and so widely-sought after that even she would be interested in its possession, if she knew more about it. "You'll know it when you see it," he'd said to her, "and then you'll bring it immediately here to me, Marisa, do you understand?" 

Mrs. Coulter could promise him whatever he wanted, but she wouldn't be able to keep it until she saw what it was he wanted--and if she even wanted to risk or waste her time retrieving it. Mrs. Coulter also had Lyra and the alethiometer. She doubted Carlo knew the exact extent to which Lyra could read the device, which would tell her everything she would want to know about whatever it was. And then she could focus on traveling with Dr. Malone to London and learning more about what was happening in their world.

But she had to follow Will and Lyra now, all her senses and instincts telling her that whatever they were after was important and, above all, dangerous. 

The golden monkey felt it, too: that off-putting feeling. The children didn't seem to notice, which made Mrs. Coulter fear the spectres were back. But this felt different than it did the first time in a way she couldn't possibly explain. It wasn't long until they'd reached a tall, glimmering tower. Mrs. Coulter's eyes lifted to trace its entire length, noting the golden statue of angels at the center. 

Perhaps the Authority has blessed this world as well? the golden monkey wondered. Mrs. Coulter wasn't so sure, but she knew better than to voice it out loud in front of Lyra. 

"And what is this?" she asked instead, noting the hard look that passed between Lyra and Will. They both seemed to know what this was, and what it meant. 

"The Torre degli Angeli," Will answered solemnly, tripping up a bit over the pronunciation (which was Italian, Mrs. Coulter realized). "Some kids told me while I was investigating earlier."

"Where did they go?" Lyra asked, a sharp edge to her voice. 

"I scared them away." Lyra smiled then, but Will missed it. "Figured we wouldn't want them around. But Mrs. Coulter, I think this might be what that man wants. According to the kids, there's a crazy man with a special knife up there. A knife from the old ages or something like that."

Ah. Some sort of knife of legends. Of course Carlo would be interested in that. Mrs. Coulter held back a smirk, because that was precisely the sort of thing men like Carlo sought after. Special artifacts lost in time and space, waiting to be claimed by a worthy pursuer. It was appalling that he'd send her out to do his own dirty work, but not entirely surprising. The man lacked integrity in a way Mrs. Coulter could barely stand. 

“Those kids said this tower is haunted,” Will said, in a tone that attempted to appear skeptical but that, underneath, wasn’t entirely sure. He glanced over at Mrs. Coulter then before quickly looking away again.

“It’s not.” Lyra’s voice was quiet as she gazed over at it, her eyes knowing. Mrs. Coulter realized that this was what Lyra had been referring to earlier. And by the way the girl looked over at Will, her eyes sad, she realized that this involved Will as well. A boy with a… A boy we need to find. She’d said it all those days ago. And now was the time. 

Will turned to her, brow furrowed, but didn’t say anything. He just nodded, and then joined Lyra in looking up at the tower. Faintly, Mrs. Coulter felt that eerie presence again, and it was enough to make the hair on her arms stick up and the golden monkey’s hackles to raise.

Indeed, Pan seemed unsettled, too. He was in the form of a moth and was fluttering anxiously on Lyra's shoulder, whispering in her ear. Mrs. Coulter wondered what he was saying, but she had a guess: this was a bad place. Something felt wrong. Displaced. Something was here that shouldn’t be. It was a relief for Lyra’s daemon to be feeling this, too, as it meant it wasn’t just her and thus not necessarily a sign of the spectres.

“There’s a man up there,” said Lyra quietly, breaking their collective silence. “Young, with curly hair. I’d seen him with some of those other kids earlier. I think he’s their older brother. But I—I know he’s up there, and that he’s got the knife.”

“Well then,” said Mrs. Coulter, clearing her throat and smoothing down the red dress she was wearing. “Shall we go up and talk to him, then?”

Will murmured his agreement, taking a step forward, but Lyra reached over to stop him, her arm firmly pressing into his shoulder. “You have to be careful, Will,” she urged. Will seemed surprised as he looked at her, nodding, before she let go and he moved forward, looking over his shoulder at them. 

“What did you read, Lyra?” Mrs. Coulter asked her, coming over to stand beside her. 

Lyra looked up at her with heavy eyes and sighed a deep sigh. “You’ll have to wait and see. But this is for Will to do. We can help, but he has to do it.”

This was serious. It was in the air, in Lyra's voice, in every word and action. Mrs. Coulter moved forward and put her hand out for Lyra, not sure if she’d take it but feeling the increasing threat of danger and the need to keep her close. Surprisingly, Lyra accepted and took her hand, following her mother up toward the tower, just behind Will and his steady step forward. 

All the while, the spectres from nearby started to gather closely, sensing not only the presence of the woman and her golden monkey daemon but also that of two men up in the tower.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Lord Asriel stepped onto the hard rock carefully, looking all around him. He and Stelmaria had walked the golden tunnel for days, possibly weeks. They stopped only to drink water, eat crumbs of their rations, and then sleep for an hour before they kept going. He was surprised to see that the golden tunnel changed and evolved as they went. He’d been stuck at one of the deadends debating what to do when, suddenly, another path started to appear, leading down a whole different section. Asriel knew he’d walked far enough so that no one would ever be able to find him, so he felt safe as he took to exploring the world through this window, although safe was a questionable word when it seemed that this world was filled with active volcanoes.

“How intriguing,” Stelmaria growled, pacing a bit further ahead of them. Asriel glanced down at his watch just now, deciding to give himself ten minutes or so to determine if this world was safe enough for them to temporarily stay. She stepped a little faster then, keen to make the most of their time.

For all the plans that Asriel had set out, the fine minutia hadn’t been one of them. He almost wanted to laugh at it now, how reckless he was. Thorold had warned him of this, of rushing too quickly into the explosion and of the exploration when he’d barely had time to think about how exactly he’d build his army and his regime to take down the ultimate regime.

“Here!”

At his daemon’s call, Asriel increased his pace to a jog until he caught up with her, pausing at the little cliff she was gazing down at. A few feet below was a small stream of water—or what looked like water.

“Shall I test it?” he asked her, already strapping his rucksack back on fully and heading toward the edge. Her thoughts of agreement filled his own as they climbed down together. Asriel then set down his pack and pulled out a small metal gadget, which he placed into the water and held for a few seconds.

“It’s clear,” he announced a minute later, tone surprised. The water was drinkable. More than drinkable, even, as the water came back clearer than some of the dirty rivers back in their London. Stelmaria wasted no time in bending down and lapping down at it, noting the warmth of the water and the pleasant, spring-like taste of it. Asriel pulled out one of his almost-empty canteens and unscrewed the top, glancing down at his watch to see how much longer he had to determine if they’d leave or not.

The canteen’s lid slipped from his hands as he continued to stare down at his watch.

“What is it?” Stelmaria mumbled between laps, her yellow eyes glancing in his direction.

Asriel didn’t know what to tell her. When he looked down at his watch, it showed that no time had passed at all—which was impossible since he knew they’d been there at least ten minutes and his watch was unbreakable and required no batteries since it operated by the presence of his and his daemon’s Dust.

“That can’t be.” Stelmaria was standing by his side now, staring at the watch. It hadn’t even moved, not even one second. 

“Perhaps there isn’t any Dust here?” Asriel wondered, reaching for any kind of logical explanation. He dug through his other gadgets to verify this theory, pulling out a Dust-operated heat thermometer. Alas, as he turned it on, the machine started whirling up before spitting out a temperature to them. Twenty-two degrees celsius.

“It must be the watch, then,” Stelmaria concluded, though she wasn’t sure. Just then, Asriel had a theory. It didn’t make sense, but he set his bag down and then pulled himself up over the rock, gesturing for Stelmaria to follow.

They ran back over to the window, jumping up into it since it rested a few feet above the ground of this world. Stelmaria landed with ease while Asriel struggled a bit and landed on his knees. It took him a few seconds to get back up onto his feet.

Once he was settled, however, he felt himself taking a deep breath before glancing down at his watch, aware of Stelmaria balancing on her hind legs to stare at it, too.

The small hand was turning again, counting the seconds. Asriel let out the breath he was holding, eyes locked with Stelmaria.

For the second time, Asirle jumped down back into the volcanic world, his eyes entirely on his watch this time as he readied his legs and body for the impact. As soon as he’d passed through the window’s threshold, the small hand stopped turning. Asriel then felt the impact of the ground, on which he’d landed a bit shakily due to his eyes being diverted elsewhere.

“It can’t be,” Stelmaria simply mused, standing but moving her paws in place as she stared over at him.

“Yet it is,” Asriel declared back, his voice light and jovial. He let out a laugh, eyes still on the watch with the hands that refused to move. “A world with a different sense of time. Or, perhaps, no time at all…?”

Asriel wasn’t sure, but that wasn’t important at the moment. He’d stumbled upon something so grand and so useful for his purposes that he could feel nothing but joy and determination as he and his daemon went back over to his rucksack, getting ready to plan not only their next move but their next 100 in barely any time at all.

Chapter Text

As they entered the tower, keeping their footsteps light and silent, Mrs. Coulter suggested that Lyra send Pan ahead as a moth to investigate.

The idea seemed foreign to Lyra, who, from what Mrs. Coulter could tell, had never attempted to stray that long of a distance from her daemon. She supposed they’d experimented when they were younger, as all children did, but perhaps they hadn’t tried it in earnest in the way Mrs. Coulter was asking them to do now. She glanced down at her own daemon at her feet, who looked up at her with deep sadness. The two of them had done this for as long as they could remember.

“It doesn’t have to be for too long,” Mrs. Coulter was whispering to her, “but just enough to see where that man is, and what he’s doing. It’ll help us be prepared.”

“I don’t know,” Lyra answered, looking over at her daemon, but Mrs. Coulter tapped her shoulder lightly, smiling at her.

“I promise it’ll be fine. You’ve done this sort of spy work before, haven’t you? Now is just a time where we really need it.”

After another few seconds Lyra finally nodded, her eyes directing Pan up the staircase. The daemon paused for just a sliver of a second before darting ahead, soon out of sight. The group kept walking, slowly, and Mrs. Coulter was aware of Lyra tensing beside her. She looked uncomfortable, in pain. Mrs. Coulter felt a stab of guilt just then, making the golden monkey bristle ( so you feel guilty when it’s her and not us who feels pain?) . But she brushed it away as they kept moving, awaiting Pan’s return.

When he came back to them, quickly transforming into an ermine that curled around Lyra’s neck, his report was a bit disturbing: there was a man dancing near the window.

“He must be mad,” Mrs. Coulter whispered, thinking about how that shifted their situation. She still didn’t know much about what this knife was, or how any adults could be here when the spectres were apparently on the loose. She thought back to their first day in this world, where that girl had told them that spectres would “eat” all the adults. What did getting eaten by spectres actually entail, Mrs. Coulter wondered? What did they feast on, and what did they maybe leave behind?

The structure of the tower itself was well-made and of a certain noble quality. The floor they had first encountered was made of flagstones smoothed over centuries, while the steps were oak. They were solid and left no creaking, which helped their precarious situation but which would perhaps prove troublesome if there was anyone else in the area wishing to follow them.

They could hear the man as they advanced upward, the low muttering of his voice. It sounded like he was talking to himself—or maybe to someone they couldn’t easily see, although Mrs. Coulter wished that weren’t the case for they’d be more evenly numbered and at less of an advantage.

Will put his fingers to his lips as he looked at all of them, his eyes wide and his mannerisms quick yet quiet. They’d arrived at a room across from the landing now, where the noise was coming from. Will pushed the door open for them until they saw the wide, open room with, indeed, a dancing man at its center. 

Mrs. Coulter saw it immediately: the knife the man was holding. He was swirling it up and down the air as he danced and moved to and from. It was a dull knife that didn’t look all that impressive to Mrs. Coulter’s cursory glance. It was about 8 inches or so in length. But the man was clutching it tightly, slicing through the air with it. 

His back was to them as he danced, and as he seemed to be turning back their way, Will moved out of sight, gesturing for Mrs. Coulter and Lyra to do the same. They did, and they retreated back to the staircase, out of earshot. 

“What’s he doing?” Lyra whispered as they gathered together.

“I don’t know,” Will answered, eyes still narrowed. Mrs. Coulter could almost see the gears churning in his head.

“We should move up a floor, to check if we can see him up ahead,” Mrs. Coulter suggested.

As they moved up, they heard another sound: someone groaning.

Mrs. Coulter could see the fear spreading through to the children, as they hadn’t expected there to be anyone else there. They both froze, their eyes wide, and Mrs. Coulter felt Lyra’s hand reach out to her, as if by instinct. Even Pan faltered, his ermine ears folding down. 

“There’s someone else here,” Will whispered, looking up at yet another room in the tower.

“Well,” said Mrs. Coulter evenly, impressed at the way in which she could stay calm. She hoped it eased some of their fear. “I suppose we have no choice but to go investigate. Would you like to come with me, Will?”

She could sense Lyra’s surprise at her asking Will and not her to go with her, but Mrs. Coulter had her reasons. Above all, she wanted to keep Lyra safe, which had proven to be difficult in that moment with a lunatic with a knife a few floors below them and a yet-to-be-identified threat in the room ahead of them. So she wasn’t about to let Lyra stumble into something dangerous head-on. She smiled and smoothed down Lyra’s hair, hoping she could somehow understand. The golden monkey even felt indifférent as he chattered something to Pan, which for him was quite a progression.

All Mrs. Coulter could think was how fortunate it was she was here, and how terrifying this would be for two children on their own. 

The door led the two of them to a roof of lead. Lying on the lead, in full sun, was an old man with white hair and a bruised and battered face. He was tied up, too, Mrs. Coulter noticed, and seemed to be in a great deal of pain. They crept closer, lowered to a crouch with Mrs. Coulter slightly ahead of Will, her arm out to partially shield him. They hadn’t said anything about their arrangement, but she could tell Will seemed surprised, for her to be as protective as she was. But he went with it, alert and ready to spring. 

By now the old man heard them coming and groaned again, turning to try and protect himself from what he could only assume would be another attack of some sort.

“It’s alright,” Mrs. Coulter called to him, her voice gentle. She felt strength flowing back through her now. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

The old man opened his eyes to look at them, taking in Mrs. Coulter and, with the swift swivel of his eyes, her golden monkey daemon. They didn't widen with shock, as she might have expected. 

“Did the man with the knife do this?” Will asked, coming up beside Mrs. Coulter. His voice was earnest, and she could hear concern nestled in it.

“Mmm,” the man grunted, his shoulders loosening now as he fell back, still struggling with the ties bounding his arms.

The ties were not expertly tied, Mrs. Coulter saw. She calmly assured the man that she would untie him and then undid the lackluster work. The old man was weak, and she and Will had to help him up from his pitiful position on the ground. He wasn’t aggressive, so Mrs. Coulter asked the monkey to go and get Lyra, who was probably already creeping her way over here as they worked.

“I am the bearer,” the man was saying when Lyra had joined them, looking around at all of them as if they dared challenge him. “No one else. That young man stole it from me. There are always fools who take risks like that for the sake of the knife. But this one is desperate, He is going to kill me.”

“No, he en’t,” Lyra insisted, moving closer to the man. She had a look of intense determination on her face. Mrs. Coulter again wondered what she had learned from the alethiometer, and perhaps what she was trying to prevent. “What is the bearer?”

The old man began describing his role as the bearer of the subtle knife, and raving on about the young man not being able to “cut through.” Mrs. Coulter sharpened at that, more than the children because she had the distinct sense that “cutting through” in this sense meant more than what they probably thought it did. She was going to ask him what he meant before they heard a sound from the door. 

“Watch out,” Lyra said, but the crazy man was already here, and there was no place for them to hide.

In an instant, the golden monkey launched toward him, Pan quickly following in the form of a grizzly bear. Their plan, they'd both somehow determined, was to distract the man with two attacking, wild animals. He didn't have to know what they were, and that would not, in fact, actually touch and attack him. For his part, the man hardly seemed to register the animals. He looked like he was at the peak of insanity. His curly red hair was matted and frizzy, and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot as his wide pupils took all of them in. He had an air of desperation yet amusement around him, which struck an unsettling chord with Mrs. Coulter. 

And above all else, Mrs. Coulter’s gaze focused on the knife he had in his hand, and realized that none of them had any weapons at all.

The man lunged forward when Will had crouched down, ready to fight. He was going toward Mrs. Coulter, as the tallest person standing in the room, but she was prepared for him. She jumped out of the way as he went crashing into the wall. He turned back around, slashing wildly in the air with the knife. This alarmed Mrs. Coulter more than anything else, as his movements were fluid and unpredictable. He slashed without thinking and with no regard to what was in front of him. She was scared that he’d lash out at the children, at Lyra .

In that moment, both Lyra and Will darted forward, confusing the man. He fell over, startled at the sudden movement, and the knife flew from his hand. Both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter watched it fall and then plunge into the lead easily, as if slicing through butter. At any other time Mrs. Coulter would be filled with a profound curiosity and hunger at why and how the knife did so, but for now, she had other things to attend to, the golden monkey shrieking from somewhere to her left.

Once the man had fallen, Will climbed on top of him, digging his hands into the man’s hair. He seemed fierce and brave as he clawed at the man. There was no fear in him now as he fought. The two struggled, with Will digging in and holding on as hard as he could, but the man was fully grown and soon flung the boy off him. Will landed roughly on the floor, the wind knocked out of him, as the man lunged back for the knife. 

But Lyra was too quick, launching herself onto the man’s back. Mrs. Coulter’s heart sped up as she raced over to them, seeing the man howl and shake as her daughter scratched at his back and clung on just as Will had done. Once Mrs. Coulter was almost there, Lyra had lost her grip and was sliding down on one side, Pan hissing near her as a polecat with wide, terrified eyes. The man kept writhing around, his fist coming close to landing a blow to Lyra's head. With a leap, Mrs. Coulter reached the pair and immediately shoved Lyra away from him, checking quickly to see if she was alright. But in that instant and with that choice, the man was free to go back over and grab the knife. Mrs. Coulter saw it glint from the sunlight as the man raised his arm again.

You fool! The monkey thought to her, his hackles raised now as both he and Pan hissed at the man. You could have prevented that! You could have held him down or gotten to the knife before he did!

He was right, Mrs. Coulter realized with a flush of emotion, her eyes now glancing back to Lyra, who was glaring at the man again. When it came down to it, she had chosen Lyra. She had let her heart rule over her head. And it might very well cost them their lives.

It might have, except Will was there with them. The boy sprung toward the man, something like a battle cry ringing from his chest. If he’d had a daemon, it might have been a mighty lion given the way the boy absolutely roared. Though small, his presence was formidable in this moment. The impact of his jump had caused the man to fall to the floor this time, with Will’s foot crushing down on the knife in his hand. Will kicked the knife away, grunting and screaming as he and the man rustled there on the ground, but before he could get it completely away, the man moved and then—

The man fell backward into the glass, which shattered at once at his weight and the force of his movement. He kept falling downward for a few flights, shattering more and more glass. Lyra and Mrs. Coulter ran over to see, watching as he eventually landed on a stairwell and then looked up at them, that wild look still in his bloodshot eyes. Tossing a furious look over in Will’s direction, the man took off and fled, surprisingly quick on his feet for someone who had just fallen a few flights.

It was then that they heard a strange “ah” from Will and turned to see him holding the knife, blood pouring out of a finger on his left hand.

Chapter Text

“Ah,” said Will, sitting down on the ground and releasing his hold on the knife. “Ah.”

Mrs. Coulter watched as Will faltered, head lolling to the side and his entire body seeming to simply crumble in front of them. His fingers had been cut cleanly off from his hand. She couldn’t believe how much blood poured from the stumps, and wondered how that could possibly happen from the way he’d been holding the knife. It was alarming and unlike anything she’d ever seen. Mrs. Coulter’s head rushed as she lunged forward to him, shrugging out of her cardigan sweater and wrapping it tightly around the wound while applying as much pressure as she could.

“Oh, Will!” Lyra was howling, she and Pan coming closer to hover near them, eyes taking in the sight of Mrs. Coulter’s rapidly-soiling sweater. “I wish we had bloodmoss! That’s what the armored bears always used. It’d stop the bleeding right now!”

“Lyra, wrap this rope around his arm,” Mrs. Coulter instructed. It was the only other thing she could think of. Lyra nodded and came over to wrap it around his arm tightly, which didn’t seem to help but didn’t seem to hurt, either.

It was then that the man in the corner spoke up again, his voice hoarse and raspy. Mrs. Coulter stirred, for she had entirely forgotten he was there.

“I can help the boy,” he said quietly, fiddling in his pocket for something. He was on the floor again, probably having fell during the skirmish. All Mrs. Coulter could do was look over at him, hands still desperately applying pressure to Will’s wound as the boy started laughing now, looking down at his fingers and at all of the blood starting to seep through the thin material. Mrs. Coulter shushed him softly, eyes gauging the man to their right. Who was he? What about this knife and this wound did he know?

Here, the monkey thought to her, going over to the man and taking a flask full of liquid from his outstretched arms. The man didn’t seem surprised nor uncomfortable handing the liquid over to the monkey and uttering some instructions to him. He hadn’t been surprised to see the monkey or Pantalaimon earlier, and Mrs. Coulter was beginning to wonder where this man was from and, more importantly, how that somehow connected to the knife. There was no way these things could be mere coincidences. 

“Drink this,” Mrs. Coulter’s daemon murmured to Will as he tilted the flask forward toward his lips. The boy was too weak to argue and accepted as the monkey tilted the flask more. “Drink it all.”

“What is it?” Will asked, coughing after he took a few sips. The monkey had to swerve back to prevent the rest from spilling.

“Plum brandy,” the man huffed at them, slowly getting up from his spot on the ground and attempting to untangle himself from the ropes that had previously bound him. Lyra rushed over to help him get up, her body language kind and attentive as she touched his shoulder and then reached down for the ties. Mrs. Coulter felt a sudden sense of pride swell over her, at how helpful Lyra was, and how it came to her by instinct whereas Mrs. Coulter herself usually had to purposely calculate such things.

Well, except for now, it seemed, where helping Will seemed to be the only thing she could focus on.

“Can you heal him?” Lyra was asking the man.

“Oh, yes. We have medicines for everything.” They were at a desk drawer before they came back over to them, the man tilting more liquid into the flask and nodding to the monkey again. “Make him drink it all.”

He did, and then the man moved over to apply an ointment to Will’s finger, gesturing for Mrs. Coulter to remove the sweater. She cooperated and watched as the man went to work, carefully squeezing out a clear gel from a dusty tube before smoothing it in and around the wound around all the blood. Will gasped and thrashed his legs at the contact, which meant the brandy probably hadn't kicked in yet. Mrs. Coulter moved her least-bloodied hand to his head then, running a hand over his hair to try and soothe him. She felt a pang of loathing from the golden monkey but pushed it off as she continued to watch the man work with such an intense curiosity that she thought it might overcome her.

“What is it you’re applying?” she asked him softly. “An antiseptic?”

“It’s a very special ointment,” he explained. “Very hard to find, but perfect for a wound such as this.”

“This isn’t an ordinary wound, is it?” The man glanced over at Mrs. Coulter as she said that, eyeing her carefully. Lyra looked over at them, too, her head tilted to the side.

“No,” he answered, pausing to examine Will’s fingers more carefully. “It is the mark of the subtle knife. It is unforgiving without the proper ointment.”

Mrs. Coulter continued to watch, and all the while, she felt it. She and the monkey jolted their heads up as they felt an eerie sensation overcome them from somewhere nearby. The monkey darted over to the window and through him Mrs. Coulter saw the redhead boy waving his arms and then, out of nowhere, a dark figure swirling over to him.

“Spectres,” Mrs. Coulter whispered aloud, dropping her hand from Will’s head to join her daemon at the window. The figures were tall, dark, and oddly translucent. They looked to be made of spirit with fierce appendages jolting out all around them and toward the poor boy. Mrs. Coulter gasped as it wrapped itself around him. The boy put his hands over his head and his face to try and shield himself but it was to no avail. The strange being continued to invade him until it suddenly lurched away, the boy now still and blank.

Like a child with no daemon, Mrs. Coulter dared to think, understanding dawning to her.

Controllable, the monkey mused, shifting to peer closer at the man. No free will or conscious thought.

It was then that the spectre turned its attention up to the window, looking directly at Mrs. Coulter. She supposed she should have felt frightened of it, after having observed what it’d done and looking now as the little girl they’d first met in this world came over to yell and cry while tugging at her brother’s arms, unaware of the malicious being two steps to her right. Mrs. Coulter should have observed the sight and thought about how painful it would be to envision Lyra flailing around trying to gain her own attention like that. She should have run to Lyra, clutching her to her breast and promising to never, ever leave her.

But instead, Mrs. Coulter had an idea—had a very faint outline of a thought and a theory that she couldn’t even fully conceptually grasp in her head. And she smiled at the demented creature before it took a step forward and then recoiled as if being struck by something.

“You got to tie something around his arm,” Lyra was saying to the man, her voice anxious, “to stop the bleeding. It won’t stop otherwise.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” the man answered, a certain sense of sadness flecked in his voice. Mrs. Coulter came back over to them now to see the man point from Will to the knife and say that he was the bearer now. The children balked.

And with that, Mrs. Coulter understood what the man had been trying to get at before, and wondered what the connection was between that red-haired man, the knife, and the spectres, and again thought of how the spectres had recoiled when getting closer to them—and the knife.

“I know that man.” Mrs. Coulter’s attention was captured again, as the old man talked about a “liar” and a “cheat.”

“He’s from our world,” Mrs. Coulter interrupted, causing the man to stop and stare at her. “You’re exactly right: he’s not to be trusted. He sent us here searching for an ‘object’ of significant worth and wouldn’t even tell us what it was in case we wanted to keep it.”

“And do you?” The man’s voice was cold as he continued to stare at Mrs. Coulter now, his eyes knowing.

He can see right through us, the monkey warned her, but she fluffed him off yet again with a smile. 

“Do I want to keep it for myself? No,” she said lightly, bending down to examine Will’s hand. Surprisingly, the bleeding had actually stopped, although the wound was still red and still pulsated. “But do I want it to fall into Boreal’s? Absolutely not.”

“Well, it’s not yours to give away, at any rate,” the man simply said before turning to Will and talking low and quick about the knife.

It could cut into other worlds. Mrs. Coulter’s mouth popped open at that, delight filling her every thought. Of course Carlo would want that. It made too much sense. And it was that Lyra had read on the alethiometer back when they’d first arrived, and which somehow bounded their fate to his in the middle of this clash to find and fight the existence of multiple worlds and universes.

“Stop,” the old man was saying gently. Mrs. Coulter shook herself out of her thoughts to see Will standing with his arm outstretched with the knife in his hand. “Relax. Don’t push.”

After a few more minutes of instructions and trials and errors, it happened: Will swished forward, and a small window appeared. Just like the one behind the hornbeam trees.

Both Mrs. Coulter and Lyra gravitated toward the window, their mouths gaping open. It hadn’t occurred to Mrs. Coulter that this was the way the windows between worlds were made. She’d obviously seen how Asriel created his, and she’d assumed that the one she’d stumbled upon all those years ago must have been the result of a similar experience. But this was unreal. This was all the difference.

It was once Will had learned to close the windows that the conversation turned to the spectres.

“They are here, and they have destroyed us,” the man sighed. He looked over at Mrs. Coulter at this point. “I know you went over there and saw one. Frightening, isn’t it?”

Not really, Mrs. Coulter thought, feeling the golden monkey snicker as she merely nodded and listened to what he had to say. They talked about Carlo again, and how they must never, ever let the knife into his possession, and the man rejected Will’s pleas to tell him more as his time as bearer was over and it was up to Will to protect the realms now.

“Watch out for him,” the old man said to Mrs. Coulter as the children headed for the stairs and she lingered by his side. She felt bad for him, really. Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate; Mrs. Coulter felt that it was such a waste for his knowledge and his experiences to be put to sleep like a sick animal.

“Come with us,” she offered, holding out her hand. “You said the knife protects adults from spectres. We’ll get you safely back into the world Will is from. We can clean you up and then take you to London. We’re going there shortly ourselves.”

“There’s no use,” the man simply sighed, waving his hand at her. “My time as bearer is over, and I have no other purpose in life. It’s up to him now. But he’s so young. You must look after him.”

These ideas were complicated in ways Mrs. Coulter couldn’t truly understand, but she did understand this one. She glanced back at where the children had left, already feeling her heart start to beat faster at the distance growing between them now.

“My daughter is young, too,” she murmured.

“I know of your world,” the man panted, “and of a certain man from there. Asriel, I believe he’s called. The witches have been whispering about him, and about his plan and about the role of a child and a golden alethiometer. It’s important, all of it. And I think he’ll be important, too.”

Mrs. Coulter only stared at him, knowing much more than he could imagine yet, seemingly, not enough to follow along.

“Go,” he urged her, “and take care of him. Both of them. There’s a battle bigger than any one of us individually, and our fates all hang in the balance of those two children. They must be protected at all costs.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Lord Boreal. What a pleasure.”

Father MacPhail’s lips were pursed as he stood in front of the tall, older man. He’d traveled all the way to Svalbard from London, and then Trollesund after that. He had “important information” for the Cardinal that couldn’t wait any longer. “Top secret intel.”

“Are you going to allow me to see His Eminence now, or must I suffer through one of your seething interrogations first?”

Father MacPhail’s daemon hissed at that, for they’d always hated this man and everything he stood for. For as long as they knew him and had been forced to work with him. 

“Just tell me what you know and then I’ll leave you to it and not talk to you again.”

“There’s the ticket,” Boreal sang, clapping his hands together in delight. “I don’t know why we always beat around the bush, father. I’ve seen the girl. In the other world. With Marisa.”

Marisa. Father MacPhail’s face flushed with a burning fury he hadn’t realized he could possess. It was surely a sin, to be as vehemently charged as he was in this moment. It surely wasn’t holy. But he couldn’t help it.

“Where is she?” Father MacPhail all but spat out, his teeth clenched.

“That must first be relayed to the Cardinal,” Boreal purred, his eyes twinkling, “but I daresay you’ll find out soon enough. Until then, do dwell on your failures that brought us here.”

Father MacPhail stepped aside as Boreal entered the Cardinal’s chambers and closed the door behind him. Eulaia sunk her claws into his shoulders as he bent down on his knees in prayer, trying to collect himself and refrain from the hatred nearly consuming his entire being. 

“Give me the strength to hold back,” he whispered aloud, Eulaia’s grip tightening. “Let the Cardinal handle this. Don’t let me do something I’ll later regret.”

Chapter Text

Will and Lyra rushed down the staircase and away from the tower as fast as they possibly could, out of breath as they ran away from the old man and the scene of the accident. They stopped several feet away from the tower by the nearest building.

What had just happened? Will didn’t even know anymore. He gazed down at his hand, which was still red and so very sore. He stared at where his fingers had been, and at the makeshift bandage Mrs. Coulter and the old man had made. He simply stared at it, willing his eyes to believe it and for it to finally sink in.

“That poor old man,” Lyra kept saying, her voice struck with a strangled sort of passion. “Oh, Will, I wish he didn’t have to do that to himself! Can’t we save him?”

“Hush, Lyra,” Will offered, trying to comfort her. He was surprised he could still stand, let alone run down the stairs. The brandy the man had given him helped with the pain, but it also made his head spin and feel a little woozy now. He’d never had alcohol before, which is what had probably done it. “He won’t feel any pain. And it’s better than the spectres, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Lyra said, face still flushed as she pulled out the alethiometer. It was particularly sunny out today, and Will watched as the machine glinted pure gold in the sunlight as Lyra frantically turned the handles.

“What are you asking it?” Will wondered aloud, leaning against the building for support while looking up at the tower. Mrs. Coulter still hadn’t followed them out, which made him worry a little. What was she doing up there? Was she talking further with the man?

“Trying to see if we can save him!” Lyra’s daemon changed into an eagle and flew around them, agitated. He noticed the daemon always revealed more of how Lyra was feeling than she probably even realized. Will watched as Lyra gazed down at the instrument, her eyes glazed as they followed the big hand as it whirled around in circles. It was dizzying for Will to watch under normal circumstances, let alone now.

“No!” she howled, and Pan let out a sharp cry. Lyra hastily rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve for a moment before turning back to it, her brow furrowing.

“Now what are you asking?”

“About my mother,” Lyra answered, her voice still shaken with her earlier sobs. Will stared again. She had only called Mrs. Coulter that a few times during all of their time together. “They just saw a spectre down there, didn’t they? What’s gonna happen to her?”

Will was quiet as Lyra continued to stare down at the alethiometer. He didn't know the answer to that and hoped the machine did. Lyra was very upset and he didn’t think anything he could say would comfort her in this moment anyway. He tried to focus on his breathing now as he slumped down to sit on the ground. He was vaguely aware of Pan coming over to him, in the form of a tabby cat as he sniffed at him. It reminded Will of his cat Moxy, which both comforted him and made him sad, because he wondered what happened to her and if she was finding food and hanging in there alright. He was so sad and so hurt and so tired that he just wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t, because Lyra was already upset and Will had to be strong for her.

After a few more minutes, Will heard shuffling come from the tower before a piercing cry from Lyra: “Mother! Watch out!”

It all happened as if in slow motion, yet too quick to even process. Will turned his head to see Mrs. Coulter exit the tower, stopping on the spot and looking over at them. Pan charged forward as a Tiger, haunches sending him off at full speed. Lyra followed, arms waving in the air, and Will simply watched as Mrs. Coulter looked over to her left and gaped at something that neither Lyra or Will could actually see.

The knife, Will remembered, struggling to stand up. His head still hurt, and ached for him to sit down again and close his eyes. The knife protects the bearer from spectres. 

Despite his body’s protests, Will moved forward, following Lyra and her daemon. The girl had caught up to Mrs. Coulter now and was tugging at her arm, eyes searching frantically for a threat that she couldn’t find. Mrs. Coulter simply stared at something just ahead of them, head tilted slightly to the side and eyes round and wide. Her monkey daemon clung to her heels and was wailing a strange, high-pitched cry. Will thought he also heard Lyra cry out again. 

And just when Will thought he was too late and everything was going to explode, it stopped, when he was a few feet away from them. 

“Will!” Lyra breathed, looking from her mother to the boy as he held out the knife, pointing it toward the wide open air. “Oh, Will!”

“It won’t come near it,” Mrs. Coulter rasped, her blue eyes still wide as she continued to stare in front of them. Lyra was still clinging to her arm, pulling at it and gazing up at the woman with wide, fearful eyes.

"Are you sure?" the girl asked, straining her eyes to try and see ahead of them. Her guess was as uncertain as Will’s was.

"Yes." Mrs. Coulter's voice sounded different now. It wasn't alarmed as it had been a few moments ago, but fascinated now, as if she were in a museum gazing at an ancient artifact. It left a strange impression on Will. He didn’t know why, but he felt deep down that Mrs. Coulter’s reaction now wasn’t exactly normal.

"I was afraid it…I was afraid it was going to eat you!" 

Lyra's voice squeaked, and Will watched as Mrs. Coulter turned back around, her face soft. Something intense battled in the woman's eyes as she leaned down to touch her daughter's face, her other hand on top of her head. She moved to swiftly kiss Lyra's forehead before murmuring something to her, pulling her into an embrace. Lyra hugged her back. 

It almost felt wrong to see, in a way. Will could tell it was a special moment between the two of them, some kind of uncharted territory that both surprised and upset them. They seemed to have a rocky relationship, but when it came down to it, they were there for one another, whether they wanted to be or not. It was kind of nice, albeit tense. 

Will thought about his own mother, hidden away with his teacher, and he again wanted to cry. Maybe this time he could, now that Mrs. Coulter was around to be strong. 

“How far, I wonder…?" Mrs. Coulter said then, her eyes swiveling back to Will. "Will, stay there a minute."

He couldn’t move even if he tried. Will slumped to the floor again, knife still out but head pounding. It was starting to catch up with him. He was aware of Lyra coming over to him now, her hands gentle as they helped him up. Mrs. Coulter was a few feet away, murmuring something to things neither child could see. They were both scared in that moment, then, hanging on to one another aware of an invisible force that could consume all living adults in its grasp. 

“It’s alright, dear,” he heard what felt like hours later. His eyes drooping open, Will saw Mrs. Coulter looking down at him, her blue eyes bright and her face the perfect portrait of grace. “Shh. We’re going to fix you up, Will, and take care of you.”

It was her sweet face that Will last saw before he passed out, aware of the knife slipping from his grasp and a strong arm supporting him and moving him up. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was after several minutes that Father MacPhail was finally permitted to see the Cardinal and Lord Boreal, a guard coming through the door and ushering him inside.

The bald, hunched man was sitting at his wooden desk, brow furrowed and beetle daemon buzzing angirly in the air. Lord Boreal was sitting back on his chair easily, silver hair slicked back and snake daemon lounging luxuriously in his lap. It looked as if they were resting comfortably at home, and not at a cold, temporary headquarters in the furthest regions of the North.

“Get in here, Hugh,” the Cardinal huffed. Father MacPhail felt himself frown, as he was most definitely in a foul mood with Lord Boreal’s news. Which isn’t your fault, his daemon reminded him, her lizard claws deep into his jacket. Remember that. Stay firm. You’ve done all you could. It’s the woman who’s a blight on the Magisterium, not you.

“Your Eminence,” Father MacPhail offered, but he already knew it wasn’t required, wasn’t wanted, and he’d be brushed and cast aside as always.

“It seems that it’s a most fortunate day for you,” the Cardinal snarled as he interrupted. “Our dear friend Carlo here has news that you, after weeks, could not find yourself. Doesn’t that make you feel relieved, Hugh?”

“Yes, your holiness,” Father MacPhail responded, dipping his head. He’d get through this. He always did.

“And my, don’t we owe so much to Carlo, for his loyalty to the Church, and the use of his most unique and special services?”

Father MacPhail knew where this was going, he thought. Something was going to be taken from him and given to Lord Boreal. What it was he wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised.

“It is my honor to serve the faith, your Eminence,” Lord Boreal simply said, his voice rich and smooth like honey. “And it is with my most heartfelt sorrow to have to report the news to you, that our madame has gone rogue and against the Church in this vile manner.”

That surprised Father MacPhail a bit. He knew that Marisa and Lord Boreal had a close relationship, in the way Marisa liked to have close relationships with people in power. He had never been with a woman or been in love himself as a man devoted entirely to faith, but he knew how people swayed for those they cared about, how they gave up everything for lust and the sake of what they thought was love. Lord Boreal, however, didn’t seem to be afflicted with it.

“Yes, that is most disappointing.” The Cardinal’s voice betrayed his disgust. “Although, I must have hope that she’ll come to her senses, if she perhaps has a certain talking to.”

It was then that the Cardinal focused on Father MacPhail again, and he gulped.

“Your Eminence?” Father MacPhail asked, not entirely following.

“I know how much interest you have in this matter,” the man began, his eyes glimmering, “and how much work you’ve done with her. I’m therefore sending you across to deal with her.”

So that was his punishment, it seemed. Eulaia swayed on his shoulders a bit, portraying the strength that was leaving him and the terror that consumed him. Father MacPhail had made it clear since they first started this Dust business that he wasn’t interested in the other worlds, that he didn’t want anything to do with them. He was afraid of them, to be sure, as they all should be, but he was perhaps the most insistent in his aversion to them. And the Cardinal knew that, and relished in it.

“I serve where the Authority sends me,” Father MacPhail simply responded, knowing already that it was over for him. He’d never make it through. This was his sentence for a most grave sin of letting Marisa Coulter overpower and control him.

“We are pleased to hear it,” the Cardinal answered, satisfaction clear on his face now. “And since he is more worldly in these manners, Lord Boreal will be your guide, and your direct line of reporting. He’ll see you out now, and over to where you must go.”

Chapter Text

Mrs. Coulter was nestled between two sleeping children as they sat on a train headed to London—and away from Cittàgazze and the spectres. 

She’d shoved three duffle bags into the overhead above them, filled with clothes and supplies from the department store. They didn’t need very many clothes, really: one light coat, a sweater, a couple pairs of pants, a few shirts to change into, enough pairs of undergarments to go between washes in a sink or, if needed, a river. People often overpacked when they traveled, lugging around over-bulging suitcases full of outfits they’d never wear. Mrs. Coulter had even done that herself before, and thought back to her lavish closets back in her London full of clothes she didn’t even remember purchasing.

Things were different now, Mrs. Coulter thought, sighing. Her life wasn't what it once was: luxurious and full of power and control. Now, she was simply surviving. They were all doing their best to survive and move forward. They packed for necessity and for uncertainty. Even the golden monkey couldn’t argue as he sat restlessly in her handbag, picking at the zipper to one of the inner-pouches.

Is that what she had been prepared for, all those weeks ago when she and Lyra were first reunited by the bridge? Did she have any idea what was ahead of them? She hated confronting the truth about it, as natural as it was to reflect on prior actions and major decisions. What she hated most of all, perhaps, was the gnawing hysteria that she and Lyra were in completely over their heads. 

So, she tried not to think about it if she could help it. 

Instead, as they rode on through fields and pastures toward the big city, Mrs. Coulter thought about the spectres, and about what had happened at that tower. Whatever she'd been expecting upon crossing the bridge, it certainly wasn't that. She'd seen what they'd done to that red-haired man, with a sort of detached fascination at the time but now more and more horror. They sucked the life entirely out of it, as if it were nothing. Then she'd seen them herself, when she exited the tower too far away from Will and the knife for the spectres to stay clear of her. While Lyra had yelled and screamed and feared for the worst.

That moment seemed to last a lifetime, while simultaneously barely passing any time at all. She’d felt Lyra’s hand, insistent as it curled itself into hers and pulled. She’d also felt the sharp sting of the golden monkey’s claws scratching into her shoulder as he leaped off her and into the foray of the spectres, snarling and lashing out with all of the might and fury he’d ever possessed.

Mrs. Coulter even thought of Asriel, briefly, as she gazed in front of her and wondered if that would be the last thing she ever saw, and if her moment with Asriel on the mountain would be the very last they’d ever share. Her mind, it seemed, was more prone to wander during these strange, new times. It wandered to places she didn't even know she wanted to go. 

Will was sitting with his head only just barely touching Mrs. Coulter’s shoulder, still out cold from earlier at the tower. Lyra was folded in by her side, head against her chest. They'd only just made the train, as the events from earlier in the day had been increasingly time consuming in ways none of them could expect. Mrs. Coulter had done her best to wash Will's wound and change his bandage, before changing his bloodied clothes and going back into the department store and packing full bags of supplies for all of them. And here they sat, at peace for the moment. They were both so sweet, and so innocent.

"Where am I?" Will was up after a few more minutes, eyes still deep full of sleep. His hand had been freshly wrapped before they left but was still rather swollen. His body looked tired, and like it’d undergone something incredibly strenuous. Mrs. Coulter smiled at him, taking her left arm to brush the sweaty hair out of his face. 

"We're on a train to London," she explained, "to meet with Dr. Malone." 

"The—what about the knife!" 

Will fished around in his pocket and then relaxed when it felt it: the knife tucked away in his sheath. Mrs. Coulter titled her head then, considering him. Had he thought she'd stolen it? She didn't miss the panicked and suspicious look that flashed over his face, darkening his features for the few moments they'd occurred. There was a part of him that very much still didn’t trust her, it seemed. And she couldn't entirely blame him. 

“Shh,” Mrs. Coulter simply said to him, putting her arm around him and snaking her hand up to cup the side of his head. She placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head, aware of a woman a few seats away staring at them. They were drawing too much attention and she had to fluff it off. “Can’t talk here,” she added, her voice barely a whisper. "People staring."

He met her eyes then, understanding dawning along with more exhaustion. “‘M so tired,” he said after a few moments, his eyes drooping again.

“Just sleep.” Mrs. Coulter shifted so that her shoulder was lowered to him. She patted it with her free hand, and he glanced at her hesitantly. “Rest now. We’ll be there in thirty minutes or so.”

He nodded and then he went back to sleep, with Lyra stirring yet remaining deep in rest herself as they grew closer to London.

Even though Mrs. Coulter had already experienced adjusting to Will’s Oxford, London was another ordeal all together.

The train station was larger and busier than the one in her own world. It was overwhelming, really. The golden monkey shrank back in the handbag at all of the rustling to and fro around them. Lyra clung to Mrs. Coulter's side, her hand in hers as she stared at all the people around them. They'd grabbed their bags and now stood on the platform, unsure where to go. 

"Have you ever been here before, Will?" Mrs. Coulter asked the boy after a few helpless minutes. 

"Yes," he said, "but not on a train. My mum and I drove up a couple times before, to some friend's house. But I…I dunno where we are right now."

Of course he doesn't, the monkey thought to her, bitterly. He's just a child. They both are. What are we doing here, Marisa? 

"That's alright," Mrs. Coulter said, fluffing her daemon off. "We'll find our way. Come along, let's not dally too much here."

Dr. Malone had written an address down on a napkin, telling Mrs. Coulter to meet her there later the day after their meeting. They were running a tad behind, given the events with the knife, but Mrs. Coulter felt they had no choice but to keep going. 

"Excuse me," she said to a man passing by, reaching out to touch his arm as he paused. "I'm supposed to be meeting my husband with my children but I'm afraid I copied down the address without knowing where to go. Do you think you could please kindly help me?" 

He gave her the general direction to go in, as the shop (another coffee shop, Mrs. Coulter learned) wasn't too far away from the station. They wouldn't miss it, he assured them. Coffee Emporium, with a big electronic sign. 

This is too much, the monkey gasped, feeling increasingly trapped and uncomfortable as they pressed forward. 

Hush, she thought back to him, more stern than comforting as they pressed forward. 

"This isn't like our London," Lyra observed as they crossed a street, where cars lined up in droves behind bright yellow gadgets with blinking lights. 

"No," Mrs. Coulter agreed, looking at street names and buildings and wondering how it could be so different. Oxford was different, but not overly so. Jordan didn't exist, of course, but the general areas were similar enough, albeit with different technology. Multiple worlds were not entirely new to Mrs. Coulter, but their particularites were, as she'd never stopped to study the world's history to see what, exactly, was different and caused such divergences. 

It was fascinating, but Mrs. Coulter didn't have time to be fascinated. They had to meet with Dr. Malone to figure out what, exactly, was happening. Why were people looking for Lyra? What did they want with Will? Where could they go to be safe? 

"There," Will said after a while, gesturing toward a large green sign branding "Coffee Emporium." Mrs. Coulter felt relief wash over her as they picked up their pace and then entered the building, eyes scanning the crowds of people for Dr. Malone's dark mop of hair. 

"There you are!" they heard a voice call out to them then. Dr. Malone was suddenly by their side, blue eyes wild and mannerisms insistent as she ushered them over to a table. "What happened to four o'clock? Blimey, it's been hours!" 

"I know," Mrs. Coulter began, gesturing for Will and Lyra to scoot into the booth before her. "A lot has happened, Dr. Malone. So much, in fact, I haven't had a chance to properly think."

They began to fill her in—mostly. Lyra and Mrs. Coulter were on the same page, painting a tale that was mostly true but leaving out some of the most delicate parts, like the knife and what it meant. Dr. Malone had noticed Will's hand, though, and questioned it, which Mrs. Coulter had deftly played off as an injury from a fall. 

"So you see, Dr. Malone," Mrs. Coulter was finishing, "we are quite in the bind."

"And we need your help," Lyra added, her face bright as she leaned comfortably on the table. "Which I know you can provide, and which I know you want to do, too."

"What can I possibly do?" Dr. Malone seemed genuinely puzzled now, looking from Lyra to Mrs. Coulter with unease. "I'm afraid I don't know how helpful I can be, especially here outside my lab."

Mrs. Coulter didn't know, either. Both she and the golden monkey were growing irritated, as their entire entanglement with Dr. Malone was all Lyra's doing. All of it. She'd insisted on needing to see a scholar, with the alethiometer egging her on. She'd seen Dr. Malone's work with Dust and told her more than was probably prudent, which had clearly caught the attention of local authorities. And as much as Mrs. Coulter didn't want to push Lyra too far, to lose her trust, to try and control her, there was only so much she could withstand. 

Before she had a chance to suggest something, however, Lyra said something that caught them all off guard:

"But you will, Dr. Malone. Trust not me, but God himself that you will. Remember what I told you about communicating with your Shadows. All will be revealed for you then."

Trust God himself, Mrs. Coulter thought back to herself, stunned as she watched Dr. Malone's eyebrows raise almost to the top of her head. Of all things she'd imagined Lyra might say, it hadn't been that. She knew Lyra's belief in higher powers was as wishy washy as the Northern wind. 

"But…what...how did you…" The scientist simply gaped at both of them, her eyes now widened again with such burning curiosity Mrs. Coulter almost felt scalded. 

"The alethiometer knows things," Lyra whispered, her voice rather dramatic now. "And we have to trust it."

"And what else does it say?" Mrs. Coulter asked, still feeling uncomfortable. "What are we meant to do now, Lyra? Where do we go?" 

"It doesn't say about that," Lyra frowned. The girl glanced over at Will, who was following along carefully with a shadow of concern flecked in his eyes. "All it says right now is to trust Dr. Malone, and to help Will, and stay the course."

This is madness. The golden monkey was wiggling around in the handbag now, which any patron could have easily seen if they'd been looking. We can't do this, Marisa. Let's get out of here. Take Lyra and run. Start a new life. Get away from everything. 

The golden monkey was the practical side of her in most of these situations. He was the logos to her pathos, the voice of reason amongst her passion and her whims. But right now he was distracting. They didn't have time for such anxiousness, such flighty plans. They were here and they had to deal with it, which wouldn't be easy. But it was the choice they had made and had to now follow through. 

"Do you know of a safe place we can stay, Dr. Malone?" Mrs. Coulter finally asked, feeling quite exhausted, again. Everything they had done was just entirely exhausting. "We've had a long couple days and unfortunately there are people trying to hurt us. We need to make a plan, but we also need to rest."

Dr. Malone had offered up her cousin’s house, which was located just outside the city and was empty as her cousin was away on business travel for the year. Dr. Malone had the key and kept watch on it every so often, and was happy to host them for the time being.

“What’s gonna happen to us here?” Will asked Mrs. Coulter as they followed Dr. Malone to the street, where they’d look for a car to take them to the house. They also got the existence of daemons out of the way when they'd walked down an empty alley, which Dr. Malone took better than a lot of others had (she was so fascinated with the golden monkey that it almost disturbed Mrs. Coulter). 

Will, the poor thing, was very pale as he rested his injured arm in his coat pocket while he lugged around his duffle bag.

“Let me,” Mrs. Coulter offered, moving to take the bag from him. He didn’t protest it, so she slugged it around her arm with her handbag, which jutted against the monkey and caused him to hiss at them through the fabric. “You need to rest, darling. You don’t look well.”

They would be alright, Mrs. Coulter determined, even though she didn’t entirely know how. They’d keep a low profile for now. When he wasn’t looking, Mrs. Coulter had stolen some money from Boreal, which could give them food and shelter for at least a little while. There would probably be a time, however, that they had to make a choice about whether or not to go back, and what to do.

This wasn’t their world. Mrs. Coulter felt it in her skin and in her bones. She didn’t belong here, not really. And part of her didn’t want to remain here indefinitely, which appeared to be the course they were on according to Lyra and the alethiometer. Mrs. Coulter hoped they’d finish their business soon, and that she could perhaps clear some things up before taking Lyra and going back to their world. That was wishful thinking, of course, which was maybe all Mrs. Coulter had left at this point, in the wake of a multitude of things happening beyond her control and beyond even her own understanding.

Chapter Text

"This way, now," Lord Boreal was saying, weaving his way through the plants of the dark, empty greenhouse. 

This is very strange, Father MacPhail couldn't help but observe as he quietly followed the other man. He felt like he was in danger somehow, like he was doing something forbidden and illicit—probably because in all reality, he was . 

If the Cardinal hadn't sent us here, I'd have guessed this was a trap. Eulaia was bitter as they moved forward, her little claws digging into his shoulders. This is utter insanity. 

His daemon was usually the more adventurous one. She hadn't balked when they'd first been introduced to the new worlds. She wanted to see them, actually, and had craned her head forward when Father MacPhail himself shied away. She opened her mouth to taste the air of another world, begging him to stay and to move forward and to give them that chance. Yet now she felt dragged through the mud like a dog forced on a leash, her claws painfully clinging to him as if she were hanging on for dear life. With a smirk, he realized that perhaps the one thing that could overpower her excitement over new worlds was her hatred of Lord Boreal. 

You're not wrong, she practically hissed back to him. He grinned, and then frowned again with a heavy sigh. 

At the very edge of the greenhouse, something caught their eye. It was a glimmering, translucent stream of air. Father MacPhail knew what it was: light and silvery, there yet not. It was the exact same one they'd seen on the bridge. Except this one didn't seem to lead to anywhere that drastically different. 

"After you," Lord Boreal crooned, amusement and taunting in his eyes as he stepped aside and gestured toward the window. Father MacPhail scowled at him then, allowing himself one moment of unpious discontent before he shook himself, cleared his head, said a little prayer and then stepped through the window—eyes closed and heart pounding. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Lyra, wake up now." Mrs. Coulter gently shook her daughter's shoulders, watching as her face twisted and protested, attempting to go back to sleep. She loved watching Lyra sleep. It was something she hadn't been privy to for the past twelve years, after all. Most mothers did this when their children were first born, tucking them into their cribs and watching them fuss and squirm and then eventually lull into sleep. Mrs. Coulter had exactly one of those nights, when Lyra was first born before Asriel came to take her away. And it wasn't enough for her. 

"Lyra. Lyra. "

"Huh!"

Finally the girl was awake, dark eyes snapped open and her body jolting forward. Both she and Will had been doing that lately, where their light rests left them waking up in a panic. Mrs. Coulter couldn't blame them, after all they've seen and all they've had to deal with. And after traveling from one place to the next! 

"Shh, you're alright, darling." Mrs. Coulter smoothed down Lyra's hair, which was damp from sweat. "We're safe. We're with Dr. Malone in London."

The morning was already tense and wary as Mrs. Coulter and the children woke up and came downstairs, changed into new (and stolen) outfits. Mrs. Coulter sported blue jeans for the first time, uncomfortable with the way the fabric was heavy and thick. She missed the air and breathing room dresses and skirts brought, despite the way they tightly clung to her frame and made it a little difficult to move. These jeans complemented her purple sweater, however, and her small-heeled black boots. Lyra donned a much-more-comfortable-looking pair of red pants and a flower t-shirt while Will wore black jeans and a white shirt. Quite forgettable, really, the three of them. Just regular people out and about. 

When they got down to the kitchen, they found Dr. Malone at the stove. She was cracking a series of eggs into a pan while dashing them with salt, pepper, and a spot of cheese. That was a curious choice, Mrs. Coulter thought, but she wasn't going to complain when they were quite literally at this woman's mercy and care, and when, as Lyra kept promising, they very desperately needed her still. 

"Good Morning," Mrs. Coulter sang instead, forcing herself to smile and clap her hands. Her daemon loitered by her ankles, feeling at a loss of what to do except sit there and glower at everyone with contempt. 

"Oh, hi!" Dr. Malone jumped a bit, stepping away from the stove to look at them. Her reading glasses were a bit steamy, as she'd been leaning very close to the pan. 

"Can I help you with anything, Dr. Malone?" 

"Oh, uh, sure. Want to stir the sausages and pop some bread into the toaster? 

You didn't mean it, the monkey scoffed to her, laughing with more malice than Mrs. Coulter would have liked. She resisted the urge to kick him as she went over to the stove and picked up a spatula. This is what you get, trying to be polite. Live the life of a commoner. Flounder around in the kitchen. 

Mrs. Coulter instructed Lyra and Will to go set the table as she and Dr. Malone cooked in the kitchen. Well, mainly Dr. Malone, as she realized quite soon how Mrs. Coulter barely knew her way around a pan. 

"Never cooked much, have you?" 

"We have… people for that, where we come from." 

"I see." Dr. Malone snorted then, stirring the eggs and flipping them to the other side of the pan. "One of those worlds, eh?" 

The women exchanged a glance just then. Dr. Malone's blue eyes were surprisingly soft and kind as they gazed at her. An unspoken connection seemed to transmit between the two of them. Mrs. Coulter didn't know much about the woman, except the little Lyra had let loose, but she understood the woman's religious past, and some of her views and some of the things she had gone through. It seemed similar in some ways to Mrs. Coulter's tangling with the Church, except perhaps less binding in the way the Magisterium demanded. Mrs. Coulter still felt like she could understand the other woman, however, and vice versa. The two seemed to find in each other ambition stained by very real cultural expectations and restrictions. 

"We can talk more later," Dr. Malone said to her before transferring the eggs and sausage to a plate and then heading over to the table, Mrs. Coulter left only to blink a few times before gathering the toast and following. She hadn't expected to find anything in common with the woman, but perhaps there was more to her after all. 

They ate breakfast with surprisingly pleasant chatter, Dr. Malone and Will taking turns describing things about their world while Lyra and Mrs. Coulter listened, their daemons sitting patiently under the table. 

"Computers are probably the best thing we've invented," Dr. Malone was saying, her mouth full of eggs. "Back even twenty years ago when I started university, we had to look up everything in books. Can you just imagine! All that digging, and only whatever you had at your own library. It was painful, really, and took several hours. Now to think we have access to so much information online, wherever you are."

"How did you find information when you were in school, mother?" 

It was always a shock, to hear Lyra call her mother. Even the golden monkey jumped at that, feeling the same course of emotion that flowed through her. Mrs. Counter was still getting used to it, to being someone's mother. It was a title not every woman could claim. She'd given birth to a child twelve years ago, to be sure, but to be that child's mother, and to care for her in the ways someone's mother should… 

"Well," Mrs. Coulter said, shaking herself from her thoughts and offering Lyra a smile, "it was much like Dr. Malone said. We had our library of books at St. Sophia's, and, of course, other books at the colleges in Oxford we could visit. This one time my classmates and I needed a book at Wordsworth and it was quite the adventure…" 

When they'd finished sharing stories, asking questions, and eating as much food as they could possibly stomach, Dr. Malone encouraged Lyra and Will to go watch TV while she and Mrs. Coulter started to clear the table. She also put on a fresh pot of coffee, apologizing for having neglected to do so earlier. 

"Do you feel like talking more, now?" Dr. Malone asked once she'd poured Mrs. Coulter a cup and all of the dishes were washed and drying out on the sink. Mrs. Coulter paused to consider the woman, who was sitting across the table from her looking extremely calm and relaxed. She'd taken the three of them in and transported them across the country while barely knowing anything about them. Why did she do that? Was there something more sinister involved? 

"I don't know what, exactly, you want," Mrs. Coulter began, "but I can assure you that we're better off as friends than enemies. We can be equally advantageous to one another."

"I have no intentions of being your enemy," Dr. Malone quickly interjected, her eyes round now. "Good God, why are you so suspicious? What is going on?" 

She's no threat to us, her daemon concluded, his eyes narrowed as he sat up on a chair on the left side of the table. She's also not lying, or hiding anything. I dare say she might very well just be a good person. 

Mrs. Coulter snorted at that, but then cleared her face and turned back to Dr. Malone with a smile. "I apologize, Dr. Malone. I'm afraid it's rather…tense, where I come from, and one must always be on their guard."

"Mary," the other woman said then, returning the smile. "If we're to be friends and help each other, you may as well call me Mary."

"Then please call me Marisa."

"Why are you here, Marisa?" Dr. Malone leaned down on the table now, shoulders hunched and a worried look furrowing her brow. "When Lyra first came to see me, she was so anxious, and she knew so much that I could hardly believe it. She explained the alethiometer, and that's fine, but why are you here with her? What are you running from?" 

"In our world, the Church does not exactly look favorably on this particular phenomenon," Mrs. Coulter sighed, gesturing around them. 

"Independent living?" Dr. Malone asked. 

"Other worlds," Mrs. Coulter clarified, "although they don't like that much, either. After my husband died it took me years to establish myself on my own." 

"Oh, I didn't realize—I'm sorry for your loss. Is Lyra—did she take it well? I imagine it's hard, to lose a father."

"My husband wasn't her father." Dr. Malone's eyebrows rose, and Mrs. Coulter couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips. Even the golden monkey felt amused. "I'm indeed caught up in the Church, you see, but I'm not exactly its most holy example."

It was easier talking to Dr. Malone than Mrs. Coulter thought. She told her more about the politics of their world and the difficult situation she was in, where she’d more or less turned her back on the Church in following Lyra over when she very well knew about their stances on Asriel’s research and the heresies within.

“They fear it, these other worlds,” Mrs. Coulter explained. “They fear it because they can’t control them. And now that one most definitely exists, well, I’m afraid of what they’ll do, and how they’d treat Lyra and her ability to read the alethiometer.”

“Is it not common in your world, for people to read it?”

“No. For one, there are only six known devices in the world—seven, counting Lyra’s, which I didn’t even find out about myself until very recently. And for another, they’ve adapted reading to be a religious affair—one tied directly to the Magisterium which in turn controls all six devices.”

“Can they...read it as well as her?”

“No.” Mrs. Coulter smiled again. “No, they cannot. I know one of the readers. He spends weeks studying the books and the symbols to even ask the question, let alone read an answer to it. These men don’t seem to have the natural affinity for the alethiometer that my daughter does. And I’m afraid that they’ll kill her for it, Mary, which is why I am here with her. Here with you, hoping you and your research can somehow help us in the way Lyra seems to think you can.”

Dr. Malone was quiet for a few moments after that. She’d been absorbing Mrs. Coulter’s every word, listening intently to her and reacting as she went along. The golden monkey was watching her. Her face balked with concern when hearing about Lyra’s voyages alone through the north, suspicion when hearing about Father MacPhail’s plans, and thoughtful now as she sat back and considered everything Mrs. Coulter had said. She’s not hiding anything, the monkey observed again. She’s very...open.

“I’ll admit part of me is still in shock at the realities of other worlds,” the other woman began, “but I am theoretically prepared for them, given my research, as you understand.” Mrs. Coulter nodded, charmed, a bit, at how Dr. Malone acknowledged and respected her own expertise as a scholar. “I have to say the Church in your world concerns me, and sounds something like how the Church in my world could have become, given certain circumstances. But I also sit here and wonder how it is I’m supposed to help you and what I can even do.”

“Well, you’re helping right now,” Mrs. Coulter said softly. She reached over the table to place her hand gently on Dr. Malone’s. “You’ve provided us shelter and safety during a time of great uncertainty, and I will forever be grateful for that.”

Dr. Malone smiled then, her eyes kind as she placed her hand over Mrs. Coulter’s to give a gentle squeeze back. “It’s the least I can do, given the absolutely years of progress Lyra gave me in just one hour. Now, what about the boy? How does he fit in?”

Mrs. Coulter sighed as the golden monkey bristled. They still didn’t know the answer to that. Since he’d stumbled upon their lives and traveled with them all this way, he’d been nothing but a complication. In some ways, Mrs. Coulter thought they’d be better off without having met him. They would have continued to explore Cittàgazze, with the alethiometer leading them to safety and, eventually, perhaps, to Asriel. 

But, he was important. And she couldn't well abandon him, after all they'd been through together. He was important in the way Dr. Malone was important, which was also shrouded in obscurity. The knife alone is clear enough reason now, of course. Mrs. Coulter could finish Lyra’s sentence now: a boy with a knife. A knife that Lord Boreal and, perhaps by extension the Magisterium, very desperately wanted to find. And that they now never will, as long as she could do anything about it.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Coulter answered her. “I really don’t. But Lyra says he’s important, and he’s with us now. So my guess is as good as yours, but all I know is I will help him in whatever ways I can while trying to do what’s best for my daughter.”

“What will you do now?” Dr. Malone asked then, setting down her now-empty cup.

“Keep a low profile for a few days,” Mrs. Coulter mused aloud. “Enough time for things to settle down. I’m not sure the lengths to which my acquaintances will look for us, and I don’t want to do them any favors.”

“That’s wise,” Dr. Malone agreed. “I suppose I’ll keep a low profile, too, given they know Lyra came to see me.”

“Will that make your work difficult for you now?”

“Probably not. They’ll be watching me, but not too closely. These things have a way of blowing over after a certain length of inactivity. It’s nothing we can’t manage.”

“I’m glad.” Mrs. Coulter pushed her own empty-cup away and folded her hands together then, not exactly sure what to do now. This idle chit-chat was common for her but not with people she actually liked and meant to spend actual time with. She was uncomfortable, and at a loss of how to proceed and what to suggest.

“I probably won’t be heading back until the weekend is over, though,” Dr. Malone added, grinning shyly over at Mrs. Coulter. “I’m not sure what kind of profile you’d like to keep, but how about we gather the kids for a walk in the park?”

“I would love that,” Mrs. Coulter said, feeling herself smile in return. She didn’t know what the next few days or weeks had in store for them, but she was happy to have a friend amidst it all, as unlikely a friend as it may be. The golden monkey still held a healthy dose of apprehension, of course, but it was going to be alright. Lyra trusted Dr. Malone, and in her own way, Mrs. Coulter did, too.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"She's not here." Lord Boreal was angry as he stormed into the living room from his study. Very, very angry. Angrier than Father MacPhail had ever seen him in all of their time working together.

"What do you mean?" Father MacPhail asked him. "I thought you said that you'd just seen her here?" 

"I did, and then she left!" He pounded his hand on the table then, sending a small stack of papers flying to the ground. "That damn woman. Always finding a way to ruin everything."

If Marisa Coulter is one thing, it's resourceful, Eulaia almost laughed to him. She very much enjoyed seeing Lord Boreal squirm, even if it meant being grateful to Marisa. He didn't see this coming and now he has nothing. 

"Is there a problem, my lord?" Even though he was in an entirely different world and at so many disadvantages, Father MacPhail had a sudden revelation. He held the upper hand here now. They were there at Lord Boreal's command only because of his knowledge of Marisa and her intentions, because he had her and knew where she was and held some sort of leverage over her. But now, if she were gone, and if Lord Boreal couldn't help them find her after all… 

"No problem at all," the other man growled, moving to the side of the room to pick up a phonebook. "I just need a bit of time."

Chapter Text

Teaching Lyra what "TV" was proved to be quite a challenge for Will. 

"What is this?" she exclaimed as they sat down on the burgundy sofa, looking almost scared as she gazed at the television set. 

"Television?" he asked, astonished. "You don't have this in your world?" 

"No."

"It's people on a screen," he explained, pointing. "They record themselves acting and we watch it to pass the time."

"Record it with what ?" Lyra asked, head titled as she looked over at the screen. Some kind of sitcom was on with two women and three men gathered around a hospital bed of an older woman. The women were crying, clinging to the woman's hands, while the men stood off to the side with their hands crushed into their pockets and their heads bowed low. It was rather sad, actually, Will realized, and perhaps not one's best introduction to film and media in his world. 

"There's a special camera that records people moving. Do you have cameras in your world?" 

"Camera?" Lyra repeated, still watching the screen but Pan looking over at Will curiously. 

"A device to take pictures," Will tried, "photographs, of like, your mom or dog or something."

"Like a photogram?" Lyra paused to fish something out of a case she wore around her neck. It was what Will understood as a picture, taken on an old-looking film of some sort. It showed a tall, wild-looking man in a heavy fur coat standing with a beautiful snow leopard. 

"Who is this?" 

"My father." Lyra took the picture back, staring at it intensely. "Although, he pretended to be my uncle for practically my whole life, until I found out that truth from my mother, who also never told me who she was until I found out."

"Oh, wow." 

"They're both a bunch of liars," Lyra sighed, "but my father perhaps most of all. He tricked me and killed my best friend Roger in order to build the bridge to get here. Did you know that?" 

"No." Will felt uncomfortable now, turning his attention back to the screen. The two women were howling as the machines in the hospital started beeping and a group of nurses rushed in. 

"Yeah, it was awful. And I hate his guts because of it. I think I might kill him, if I see him again."

"You'd really kill your own father?" 

Perhaps it was just because Will hadn't seen his own father in so long that made him wince at the statement, and at the conviction Lyra exhibited when saying it. What she described about him was horrible, to be true, but Will still found it hard to believe anyone could kill their own father, could even want to in this way. Maybe it was different in other worlds, but to Will, family meant something. 

"Maybe." Lyra put the picture away and sighed again, reaching for Pan. He changed into a cat and purred as he rubbed against her face. "I wanted to kill my mother, too, when I'd first found out all about what she'd done. But I don't want that anymore, so maybe this will change. I dunno."

It was quiet for a long while then, Lyra seemingly lost in thought while Will desperately tried to pay attention to the TV show. The two women and three men were at someone's house now fighting terribly. Two of the men seemed to be brothers while the other was the husband of one of the women. They were all screaming and yelling and pointing accusingly at each other, and Will wondered what had happened for them to be so upset. He also wondered what it was like to have a family like that, and to have people to gather with during times of tragedy. 

"This reminds me of a play," Lyra commented after a while. 

Will nodded. "Yeah, this all started as plays, really. People would gather on big stages and act out scenes and stories, and then we were finally able to record it on video camera and then show it to people even outside of a stage. And now they make stuff especially for TV."

"Geez." Lyra was enthralled again, flinching and biting her lip as the three men started hitting each other now, the two women rallying together in their cries and pleas for the men to stop. "This looks nuts. I'm glad I'm not with them right now."

Her deadpan delivery made Will laugh. It was so blunt and so honest about something so very serious, and on something Lyra barely understood. She smiled, too, and the air between them lightened considerably as they talked not about Lyra wanting to kill her parents but instead about what other TV shows Will watched and which were his favorites. You know, normal conversation, perhaps. 

It was after about thirty minutes or so that Mrs. Coulter and Dr. Malone came to retrieve them. They announced they were going to a park, and that they'd be hanging around this house for a while to lay low and stay out of trouble. Lyra jumped up and headed along, picking up a little white shoulder bag and then rambling to her mother about what she'd just seen on the TV. Mrs. Coulter listened with kind and mild interest, asking a few follow up questions and nodding along as Lyra kept talking. 

Will felt a sudden flash of jealousy overcome him then. Lyra didn't even know her mother very long and, from what he could gather, didn't even necessarily like her very much, or at least yet. It seemed unfair then, in a way, for them to be going out to enjoy a Friday afternoon like this. Light and easy, simple and natural. Why couldn't that be Will's life? Why did he have to have murdered a man, hide his mother away, and now run around trying to escape detection? 

"How are you doing, Will?" 

Dr. Malone had fallen into step with him now as they walked just ahead of Lyra and Mrs. Coulter. Her tone was nonchalant and her eyes kind as they made their way forward, stopping at a light on their way through the city. 

"I'm fine, thank you," he answered politely. "Thank you again for giving us somewhere to stay."

"You're quite welcome. How are you holding up?" Her eyes glanced down at his bandaged hand. He supposed it was obvious, that something had happened to him. He wasn't sure how much Mrs. Coulter had told her, and how much was even prudent to tell other people. He was still finding it hard to wrap his around the idea of the subtle knife and the thought that he could open up windows to other worlds like that first one. It was incredible, but it was also quite serious in a way Will was starting to realize more and more. 

He continued his small talk with her for a few moments before Lyra and Mrs. Coulter came up to join them again, bright and full of wonder. They were soon at the park, with Lyra and Mrs. Coulter lost in taking in how this park was presumably different from the parks back in their worlds. 

"Look at all this stuff," Lyra let out. Pan flew above her as a bird, free enough to not look as suspicious. 

"It's incredible," Mrs. Coulter breathed. 

Will took everyone's apparent distraction to slink over to a more heavily wooded area, sheltered from other people and passerby. He had a thought just then: he could practice with the knife. He needed a quiet and private place to do so, however. He hadn't had any time alone except to sleep in the time since emerging from the tower. There was so much more he wanted to figure out and try and make sense of. 

Careful that no one was around, he pulled up his shirt and took the knife from its sheath, holding it in his hand. Calm your mind, he remembered the old man telling him. Find your focus. Center on it. 

"Not here, Will."

With that Will jumped. And he was very glad that he wasn't yet trying to slice into the air at that point. The golden monkey came around from behind a tree, his beady black eyes narrowed as he gazed at Will's hand.

"Why are you—"

"Not in public like this. Don't be foolish. What if someone saw you?" His tone was harsh and stern. It reminded Will of one the teachers he'd had once, Mr. Brimley. He'd been just as sharp and lithe as the golden monkey in a lot of ways, but also stern and intimidating. It was also interesting for the monkey to be the same being as Mrs. Coulter, who excused everything opposite of cold and harsh and mean. And where was she, anyway? If he was here? 

"I'm sorry, I just didn't have an opportunity to—" 

"We can help you later, Will." That was Mrs. Coulter herself now, which made sense. She rounded the corner and came over to him then, her eyes flickering down to his hand with the knife. "Such things require more discretion, really, and perhaps we can do that at the house."

She was only trying to help, but Will couldn't prevent feeling a little controlled in that moment. The monkey sat down by her ankles, looking at Will coolly. Will felt the strange desire to rebel. 

"But I want to do it now."

"Will." There was a warning flecked subtly in Mrs. Coulter's voice now. It wasn't stern or rough like the monkey. It was soft and so sweet that it almost felt nice. Her voice made it logical to obey, as it was so kind and sensible. But Will recognized it for what it was, and again thought of his own mother hidden away who rarely ever bossed him around in the way he probably should have been, instead it having been him looking after her in the ways that he had. 

"Will?" Mrs. Coulter called again, and this time concern rounded her tone. It was that which broke Will then—the gentle softness and concern, the head tilted to the side, the calm patience. He felt himself sniff and then try to hold it back, and suddenly Mrs. Coulter was there in front of him. 

"Are you alright, dear?" 

"Yeah," Will gulped, clearly not able to calm down. 

"Oh, come here." She reached for him and pulled him into an embrace. It made it worse. Her sweet scent surrounded him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. "It's okay. Shh."

He couldn't hold it in anymore. He felt himself cry out and hug her back. He allowed himself to feel comforted by her gentle hold and soft skin and kind murmurs. 

"I miss my mother," he let out, embarrassed at the admission but somehow feeling better at having said it out loud. It no longer remained hidden in the pit of his stomach. 

"I know you do, darling."

"It's not fair, that she's hidden away with someone and I'm—I'm—" 

"I understand." 

Will didn't have to finish his sentence. She seemed to glean what he hadn't been able to articulate, that he was too ashamed to articulate. Mrs. Coulter held him for a little while longer before letting go and putting both hands on his shoulders, looking him squarely in the face. "We'll get you back to her, Will. I'm not sure how, but we will."

"Alright."

"And your father, too." Will couldn't look at her. He couldn't dare reveal how desperately he wanted to believe her and take comfort in her words. "We'll do everything we can. I promise."

Because he wasn't looking, he couldn't see the darkness that flashed over Mrs. Coulter's features just then, or the way her daemon monkey shivered uncomfortably. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"She's in London," Boreal called out, suddenly appearing from his office again. His daemon snake was slithering impatiently from his sleeve. 

"There's a London in this world?" 

"Yes, of course," Boreal dismissed, moving to grab his coat. "We need to get going."

"How did you find her so quickly?" 

"I have good connections." Boreal didn't even bother to check and see if Father MacPhail was following him as he headed out the door. Eulalia tisked as it was left to Father MacPhail to shut the door and make sure it was locked. Has he lost all common sense? 

He's too panicked to think straight, Father MacPhail ventured. Indeed it was most distressing for Boreal, to have bragged and boasted about having both Coulter and the girl and then coming up short when the moment came. Father MacPhail began to wonder if he'd even seen the woman at all, and if he'd just jumped to conclusions due to his own motive of somehow gaining traction with the Church. He looked too panicked now, though, and flustered in a way he normally suppressed. 

"Aren't you coming?" Boreal growled, rolling down the window to his car. It was green and very shiny. Much shinier and modern than the kind they had back in their world. 

Get on with it, then, Eulalia sighed as they climbed into the passenger seat, inhaling an almost nauseating array of strong cologne. 

"We're driving to London?" 

"Yes," Boreal answered, putting the car into drive and lurching forward with a quick start. "Easier to search and then take them hostage. I know she's there but I don't know where, and given the city's size it could be anywhere." 

"How long do you think we'll need to be there?" Father MacPhail tried to hide the whine that threatened to creep into his voice at the prospect of being stuck in this world and this situation for longer than necessary. 

"As long as it takes," was the steely response, and Father MacPhail sighed as he stated out the window at bright brick buildings and colorful greens that looked so inviting yet feel so utterly revolting to him. 

Chapter Text

Lord Asriel grunted as he reached up to tuck in a piece of pink insulation into a corner of a room. 

"Fussy little brat," he muttered under his breath, balancing on the ladder to place a little more push into his work. "Stay put there."

"You're wasting too much time with it," Stelmaria growled, pacing around restlessly at his feet. "Will you let one of the contractors do it? We have other work to do."

In almost quite literally no time at all, Asriel had begun building and establishing a small headquarters there in the Republic of Heaven itself. They'd discovered that time worked differently here, and that they could spend time planning and building and organizing with hardly a few minutes passing in their own world and the myriad of others.

It was a lot of work, to build a fortress and a movement, but it was one Asriel had been preparing for practically his entire working life. He'd found a way back to his world and brought back some reinforcements, chief among them King Ogunwe. The pair had met from Asriel's travels and shared a similar disdain and mistrust of the Magisterium, along with grand ambitions to take matters into their own hands if only they could. Asriel's bridge and his discovery was the perfect moment to do so, and thus they slowly yet surely began to build their operations on the basalt ridge of the mountain. 

"I have to do my part as well, Stel," Asriel told her, letting out an "aha!" as he finally tucked the piece in and then promptly covered it. "Good leaders understand and participate in all the work. This is the least I can do."

He jumped down then and wiped his hands on his already-dirtied work pants. Much of the building and construction was left to the architects and engineers he and King Ogunwe had recruited for their cause. There was an astonishing amount of people both looking for work and most displeased with the Magisterium, so their operations were off to a productive start, as strange as all the time worked. 

"Lord Asriel," came King Ogunwe's low, deep voice from across the half-built room. "A moment of your time for an update?" 

Part of their work, naturally, needed to include keeping a careful eye on the Magisterium and their actions. In his travels Asriel came across a small group of Gallivespian spies and convinced them to join his cause. A few of them, under the military direction of King Ogunwe, had been keeping an eye on Geneva, London, and Trollesund to learn as much as the Church's moves as they could, both to stay out of their path while also further anticipating their next moves. 

"Of course, your majesty. What's the latest?" 

Nothing new was happening, really. The Magisterium was still in a tizzy over the newfound portals, keeping guards there day and night while keeping the entire thing hush-hush. There was concern in Geneva about this proof of multiple worlds and the consequences it would prove to their own control of their world, which led to certain committees formed to further address the matter and next steps. The Cardinal of London was also jet-setting across London, Trollesund, and Svalbard, which concerned Asriel but wasn't too worrisome in itself. They had sent search patrols forward but, from what King Ogunwe and his people could glean, didn't have much luck in finding anything. 

"This sounds very promising," Asriel said when he was done, realizing how only a few weeks seem to have passed in their world while it felt like he'd been in the Republic for several months already. 

"There's something else to report, before I leave to go speak with the witches. Something more… private in nature."

"What is it?" 

"We still haven't found the girl," King Ogunwe told him, voice a tad softer. As soon as they'd met and joined forces, Asriel asked the African king for one and only one personal favor: locating Lyra. He could only have assumed she'd followed him in through the bridge, since the Magisterium was still looking for her. She was smart and resourceful and above all had the alethiometer with her, but it still worried him, her being alone like that entering who knows what worlds. It wasn't right, but Asriel was at a loss for how to help her when he didn't even know where she was. 

"We did find something else that might help us, though," King Ogunwe continued. Asriel gazed at him expectantly. "We haven't heard much from the Coulter woman, either."

"What do you mean?" Asriel asked, tone sharper than he'd intended. Stelmaria bristled at the mention of Marisa. It felt simultaneously long and short since he'd last seen her on the mountain, asking her to come with him. They'd felt the sun of another world shine upon them as they fell into one another. But she'd pulled back, and said she needed to stay with Lyra, and then it was over and she was just another memory in his past. He hadn't even asked King Ogunwe to look into her, but given Marisa's incessant devotion to Lyra, it wasn't too surprising for her to come up.

"Whereas our informants reported increased activity from her the past several months looking for the girl, it all suddenly stopped at the time the bridge was created." 

"Can't have too much attention on the heresy of other worlds," Asriel spat. 

"It's not that she told them to stop. She herself seems to have disappeared." 

At that Asriel felt his mouth gape open a little bit. "Disappeared?" 

"No one has seen her. Not even the Magisterial forces first stationed at the bridge upon their arrival. We think that wherever the child is, Mrs. Coulter is with her." 

Asriel will admit this wasn't what he'd expected. Of all things he would expect Marisa to do, it'd be to take Lyra and drag her back to London under her tight leash and watchful eye, using all of the resources and influences at her disposal to mother her however she pleased. He expected her to hide behind the Magisterium's ranks until she knew more about how things were going to shake out. She was purposeful and methodological in that way, as well as inherently selfish. The one thing she wasn't was impulsive, which seemed to be what King Ogunwe was implying. 

"Thank you, friend," Asriel simply responded instead, nodding. "I very much appreciate the update, and look forward to hearing how things go with the witches."

This isn't good, Asriel, Stelmaria thought to him as the king bowed and then walked away. You know what the witches have said about the girl. If Marisa is there with her, and if she stands in her way…  

Asriel didn't like it. He didn't want to think about it at the moment, though, as he rolled his sleeves back up and instead grabbed a piece of wood from a nearby pile. Lyra had an important mission to do in an effort to save them all. The witches have whispered about her for years. Their prophesies were sacred and highly-regarded and not the sort of thing to interfere with. 

They still didn't know anything for sure, however, so for now he didn't need to worry about it. Brushing away his daemon's lingering concerns, he went back to work, lining up some wood and reaching for a hammer and a nail. He had time to work it all out—more time than anyone could ever ask for. He also had more important things to attend to than obsess over whatever Marisa was up to. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

On their second full day with Dr. Malone in London, Mrs. Coulter decided to keep her promise and help Will with the knife. It was very early on Saturday morning as she made her way into Will's room and gently shook him awake.

"It's okay, Will," she soothed as the boy awoke in a terror, per usual. He'd clutched for the knife and then relaxed when he saw her, eyes widening very slowly. 

"What is it?" he asked, still blinking sleep from his eyes. 

"I'm extending the offer I made to you yesterday," she explained, smiling as the golden monkey grunted from the corner. "Practicing with the knife. It's very early now and no one should be out and about."

His eyes brightened as he nodded and jumped out of bed. Mrs. Coulter went out into the hall as he changed, waiting with her daemon. 

"I still think this is too risky," he snapped to her. "We have no idea where Carlo is or what he's planning."

That was their main problem. Mrs. Coulter had known Carlo Boreal for several years through his work in the Church. He was a wealthy man, and sharp and worldly in ways Mrs. Coulter was continuing to discover. She'd always been amazed before at all he knew and how he could quickly discover things, so she shouldn't be surprised now to find some of his secrets. She knew nothing about this world while he knew everything. He knew where she had been and how she'd gotten there and even how to best track down Will, given their display back at that college. And she can't feel at all comfortable, with him knowing their connection to Dr. Malone and her now stealing away the knife Carlo so desperately wanted from her. 

"All the more reason to lie low," the monkey insisted. "We should stay put until they give up looking for us."

"That will never happen and you know it." Mrs. Coulter's voice was cold now. "They'll never give up. And we need to be ready, which in part means helping Will with the knife."

The knife was indeed, in Mrs. Coulter's eyes, a way out. A way through their unfortunate situation. Maybe it was selfish of her, to view the instrument purely for her own benefit in this way. She knew there was something larger surrounding it, something so grand that even the alethiometer wouldn't tell Lyra as some things just couldn't be shared. But couldn't it help them in the here and now, too? Did everything have to be so purely altruistic at the expense of all utility? 

"What about Lyra?" Will asked once he met her outside the door in a new set of clothes. 

"What about her?" Mrs. Coulter asked, ushering him down the stairs. It was so early not even Dr. Malone was awake. "She'll be fine here. No need to bother her."

Mrs. Coulter tried her best to be more gentle with him, given the outburst he'd had the day before. Will was young. He was strong and tough in ways she couldn't help but admire, but he was still just a child. He was sensitive in a certain way, too, where he cared about what was happening in the world and wanted to do the right thing. He was like Lyra in that way: determined and pure. They were both so pure that Mrs. Coulter could barely take them in. 

"Where are we going?" Will asked once they'd been walking for a few minutes. 

"Just here, dear. I found a nice spot this way."

She led the way over to a small little clearing beside the park. It was covered by thick trees but led to a big enough area to move around. The golden monkey jumped out of the bag given the privacy. Will looked around cautiously and carefully before nodding once and then pulling out the knife. 

"Right," Mrs. Coulter said, rolling up the sleeve of her creamy beige blouse. "Now, what did the old bearer tell you to do in order to cut through?" 

"Calm my mind," Will said aloud, closing his eyes. "Find a center or focus."

"Very well, then." Mrs. Coulter lowered her eyes respectfully as Will spread apart his feet and stood in the grass, his eyes closed and the knife gripped firmly in his right hand. His breathing was slow and even. Steady. Mrs. Coulter assumed he was gaining enough focus now to be ready to do something, whatever that something was. 

"Alright," Will said after a while, voice eerily calm. "I think I'm ready."

"Then go ahead, Will." Mrs. Coulter found herself breathless, almost, as she waited for Will to slice into the air. "Concentrate now on what it is you want to cut into."

With a deep breath, Will suddenly moved his hand and stabbed at the air. A thin, small window appeared, about half as big as the one they'd been creeping through between this world and Cittàgazze. Mrs. Coulter came closer to peer into it, the monkey coming to rest on her shoulders. 

"Where is it?" she asked him, voice lit with wonder. 

"I don't know," Will murmured, gazing curiously at it himself. "I know you have to kind of think about where you want it to be, and I thought of somewhere cold. So it's… A tundra, I suppose."

"What if you wanted to go somewhere warm?" Mrs. Coulter pressed. Will nodded, before closing his eyes again and then tracing the window with the other side of the knife's blade and moving upward. The arctic tundra in front of them vanished, then, and Will closed his eyes once more. 

This is incredible, she thought to her daemon as Will slashed at the air again, his eyes closely following every thread and movement he made. Absolutely incredible. 

What if he could target specific worlds? the monkey dared ask. Mrs. Coulter gasped at that, and tried to hide her excitement as Will opened up another window this time to a vast and steamy dessert. If he could do that, and specify even specific cities, or places, or coordinates… 

"Nice work," she breathed to him, leaning forward again this time to run a quick hand through his already-tousled hair. "Tell me again how you knew to open this?" 

So he explained to her, sharing how he cleared his mind and found the center of his attention as if aligning the needle on a compass. It reminded Mrs. Coulter very much of the alethiometer, actually, and the way she'd watched Lyra stare and read the machine as if almost in a trance. Will didn't look quite so escaped from reality, but it was a similar look. She wondered if it was the same kind of mental exercise. It might be useful to ask Lyra to work with Will, too, as perhaps she could help him better hone his focus. 

As they continued to talk and practice, Will gaining more confidence in his ability to actually open a window and determine even slightly more precisely where it'd open to, they heard a noise from the tree-veiled entryway. The monkey hid behind Mrs. Coulter as she moved over to Will, edging his knife hand behind his back and putting an arm around his shoulders instinctively. 

To their surprise, it was Lyra who peeped over at them, Pan on her shoulder as an orange little kitten. 

"Lyra!" Mrs. Coulter let out. The monkey jumped out from behind them, teeth pulled up into a snarl. She didn't know the girl had been awake, let alone actively seeking her out. It worried Mrs. Coulter, for her to be out alone like this. She may have the alethiometer, but she was still a little girl who was very much in danger. And it bothered Mrs. Coulter for Lyra's presence to catch her off guard in the way that it had. Angered her, even.

"I wanted to see what you were up to," Lyra said lightly as she came over to them, completely unfazed. She was wearing a mismatched outfit and her shoes were untied. It was an utter mess. 

"You can't just leave like that, Lyra!" Mrs. Coulter scolded. "What if you ran into trouble?" 

"I didn't," Lyra countered, coming over to Will now. “So it’s fine. How's it going, Will?" 

Mrs. Coulter let out a flustered sigh as the two children began to talk now, sharing their thoughts and processes. She's so reckless, Mrs. Coulter fumed, feeling her daemon's tail lash against her ankles. So stubborn. 

Now you see what you must be like, the monkey thought to her bitterly. While Mrs. Coulter might in another context be warmed at the connection and at his acknowledgement of their shared characteristics, now she only felt annoyed. It was getting in the way now, Lyra's steadfast nature. It was dangerous. It was harmful. 

This is why we shouldn’t listen to her like we do, the monkey tried, but Mrs. Coulter wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. She was frustrated with Lyra and disapproved of her behavior in this moment, but it didn’t meant she was going to completely discount her. And she had just been thinking about how mutually beneficial it might be for the two to work together, so it wasn’t the worst surprise she’d even had.

"You have to think about it while not thinking about it," Lyra was saying to Will. "The trick is not to push it too hard."

"Okay," he said, closing his eyes again and bracing himself from another try at it. The window he produced was bigger now, and the two exchanged excited glances. They kept at it, Will opening then closing and opening then closing with Lyra peering over at his work curiously yet wisely.

As they worked, Mrs. Coulter and her daemon heard another noise from the entryway. They weren't thinking too much about it in their current frustration, so they gave it a cursory glance and then looked away again, focusing again on the children. They heard another noise then, however, and looked back toward the source. 

Two men dressed in dark black clothing strolled through the opening then--both bald and grinning very widely at her. Mrs. Coulter felt her face drop and the monkey rush over to her as they approached, spread just far enough apart from her to be able to catch her any which way she'd run. 

"Well, well, well," said Carlo, his voice a light hiss like his daemon's as he looked not only at Marisa but also at Lyra and Will a couple feet or so away. Father MacPhail’s face was set in a familiar frown intensified by the bulging of a vein on his neck. "We've finally tracked you down, my dear Marisa. Is this how you'd planned on giving me my knife? I really wish you would have been more particular about it. And our friend here says the Magisterium has some questions for you as well."

Chapter Text

Time seemed to slow to a standstill as the two men entered the clearing. They looked like hunters circling their prey as they arrived, movements drawn out and calculated as they creeped forward. Will gripped the knife tightly as Sir Charles glared over at him. His gaze was arrogant yet hungry as he took in the knife and Will's outstretched hand. Will was reminded suddenly of a certain artifact he took from the man’s office, and how it was sitting right here in his backpack. He wondered if the man had noticed it’d gone missing, and if he’d try and get it back now—or if the knife alone consumed all his attention.

Will very much wanted to shudder in that moment. He was aware of Lyra shaking slightly next to him, too, staring not at Sir Charles but at the other man who rounded out the right flank. 

"I've seen him before," Lyra whispered, "at my mother's house. I think he is—was—her boss or something. She didn't seem to like him much."

"So they're both bad?" Will whispered back, feeling even more unease trickle through him. 

"Yes," Lyra answered. She didn't even need the alethiometer to determine that. It came out instantly as barely a breath. Not good, Will thought. 

"Don't try and do anything rash now," Sir Charles was saying, to Mrs. Coulter but also to him as his snake eyes shifted over to his hand again. "We have help on the way and it won't end well for you."

"How did you find us?" Mrs. Coulter asked, her voice light as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She smiled, even, like she was greeting an old friend. Will vaguely wondered how she could be completely and utterly unfazed. 

"The College," Sir Charles drawled, "and then public cameras, and train records, and well-placed informants. You haven't been very careful, you know." 

"Clearly not," she conceded, shrugging. It was remarkable to see her act this calm during such a terrifying moment that they'd been dreading for days. Will truly wondered how she did it, and if he could one day be as strong. "And Father MacPhail got involved how, exactly?" 

"By my invitation," Sir Charles sneered back, again glancing toward Will and the knife. 

He can find us anywhere, Will thought, feeling himself start to panic. I'm not safe anywhere. 

After the two went back and forth a few more times and Will's heart rate continued to speed up, several things happened at once. First, Mrs. Coulter looked Will straight in the eye and called out, "take her!" Then, both Mrs. Coulter and her daemon sprung. The monkey darted for Sir Charles, barreling into him and then finding the man's daemon up his sleeve. The monkey took the daemon and squeezed down hard, causing the grown man to cry out and bend over. For her part, Mrs. Coulter rammed into the other man, catching him unawares and knocking him over. She clawed at his face and kicked him in the groin, eliciting a painful shout from the man as his lizard daemon squirmed and did her best to attack Mrs. Coulter despite its weakened state. 

Will took those moments to do as Mrs. Coulter said. His hand moved as if on its own accord as he sliced through the plain air, his other arm grabbing Lyra and pulling her closer to him. A portal appeared, just like the one with the hornbeam trees and the ones he'd opened here just a few minutes ago as he practiced. He didn't know where it led, since he'd cut into the air with impulse, but it somehow didn't matter. The only thing he could think of was getting away. 

"Let's go," he hissed to Lyra, taking hold of her and then passing through the threshold, aware of the growling and screaming still happening in his world as he left it behind. 

"Wait!" Lyra called as they moved, looking back through the portal. Tears clung to her eyes. "We have to help her!" 

"There's no time!" Will called, pushing her aside and then moving the knife up backwards, the scene before them fading away until it was nothing and they were left standing in a vast, barren field of grass in a strange, distant world. 

"No!" Lyra charged into Will, knocking him down to the ground with so much force it shook him. He felt his ear mash painfully against a stone. "We have to go back, Will!" she insisted. Pan fluttered anxiously above them as a squawking hawk. "We can't leave her! Save her, Will! Please !" 

Her voice was shrill and high-pitched and her eyes wide and quite mad-looking. Will had heard her like this once before, at the tower when Mrs. Coulter was almost attacked by the spectres. It was moving, to hear the passion that rang from her voice as she punched him and cried against him and almost tore through the thin fabric of his shirt. It made him think about the way he felt about his own mother. He wondered if he'd be this upset if it were her who was left behind. He wondered what he'd do, exactly, and how he'd handle someone else deciding what to do about her. 

"Alright, alright!" he said, finally pushing her away with more force than probably necessary as he jumped back up to his feet. He couldn't leave Mrs. Coulter there, of course. It wasn't the right thing to do. She'd looked after them and had been so central a part of their process and mission that he didn't even know what to do without her, really. "Let me think about this. How do I go back? What do I do?" 

"Focus your mind," Lyra said to him, a bit calmer now as she wiped away some tears that still fell down her cheek. "Think about the clearing and the grass and the people. If it's anything like the alethiometer, you need to let it know what you want."

Will calmed his mind, closing his eyes and envisioning the frightful scene they'd just escaped. He concentrated on Mrs. Coulter's thrashing arms and the golden monkey's tight squeeze and the two men shooting and flailing and struggling from the force of the two. He also allowed the feeling of his own world to swirl through his senses: the whisper of the breeze, the sound of the clock tower, the kiss of the sun hitting his forehead. 

Once the scene was clearly set in his mind, his arm lashed out, finding the borders and boundaries to cross and to slice. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw her. Mrs. Coulter was screaming as Father MacPhail had overpowered her, her voice a low yet high-pitched yowl. The man was crouching over her now as he held down her wrists firmly down to the ground. Her hair stood out at multiple places and dirt flecked her pale cheeks. She was basically an image of defeat. Meanwhile, Sir Charles was still grappling with the monkey, although the daemon's movements were growing weaker as his human struggled. It wouldn't be long until the monkey would lose his control. 

Think fast! Will thought to himself, glancing all around them. Suddenly, he had an idea. At Lyra's protest, Will closed the window and then thought again about where Mrs. Coulter was. He saw her on the ground by a quarter-shaped rock and a patch of grass that was overtaken with seeds. He recreated that exact image in his mind as he took out the knife, held his breath, and then swiped. 

He then opened his eyes to see exactly what he'd planned: Mrs. Coulter and Father MacPhail thrashing directly in front of them. Will barely had to reach his arm out to touch them. 

Both Mrs. Coulter and Will were quick to act—much quicker than Father MacPhail. Will darted forward and body slammed the man to the ground, pleased with the giant thud and gasp of surprise that filled his ears. Will wasn't as tall as the man but was lithe and had the element of surprise. Mrs. Coulter jumped up and reached out for the monkey. With a sudden surge of strength at Mrs. Coulter being freed, the daemon drop-kicked the snake as hard and as far away as he could before racing back to her. With her daemon perched squarely on her shoulders, Mrs. Coulter grabbed Will by the collar of his shirt and quite roughly threw him back through the window over toward Lyra, stopping to glance back at Sir Charles. He was still on the ground but quickly recovering. 

"Stop!" Father MacPhail shouted from off to the side of them, his voice crazed. "Stop this madness at once, Marisa!"

She stared down at the man coolly, with one foot through the portal and the other arched if she were priming to step on his hand. In the shimmering aura of the window, Will thought she almost looked like an angel. Her hair was wild now but glowed faintly from the light, and she had such a sparkle in her eye that Will couldn't help but feel a little bit unsettled.

What is she? he asked himself, not even remotely sure what he meant by it. 

After a few more beats, Mrs. Coulter's face broke out into a wide grin. 

"On second thought," she said sweetly, eyes swiveling to see Sir Charles getting up, "how about you join us, Father MacPhail? I have some questions for you as well."

And then, in an astonishing turn of events, Mrs. Coulter grabbed Father MacPhail by the shoulders, dragged him into the portal, nodded to Will, and then watched triumphantly as Will closed the portal to Sir Charles standing up and screaming over at them.

Chapter Text

Will stared as the man choked and coughed from his place on the cool grass, clutching at his chest as his daemon dug her claws into his shoulders. He looked out of breath and nauseated, as if he'd been on a great roller coaster and was now hobbling off after spinning around for twenty minutes straight. Will felt bad for him, almost, as he seemed very shaken. That couldn't be a good feeling. 

"Get up," Mrs. Coulter spat to him. Her face, still flecked with dirt, was hard as she glowered over at him. Her lip twitched as she moved a heeled boot to press down on the man's arm. He groaned as she smiled, her eyes still locked intensely on him as she pressed down and he scrambled to get out of her way. 

She seems to be enjoying this, Will observed, something unsettling stirring through him. That's not...natural. What is she doing? Why did she bring him here? 

Will remembered hearing a certain expression in school that seemed fitting here: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It made sense, in a way, since it helped to keep tabs of what enemies were doing. It was easier to anticipate their next move if you knew what it was, to be sure. But it still felt strange, for Mrs. Coulter to bring this man here and not Sir Charles, as Will still didn't know who he even was or what he’d done and why Mrs. Coulter seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him like this.

"Perhaps some introductions are in order," Mrs. Coulter said then, her eyes flickering toward Will. Will gulped as her eyes met his, and he felt himself scoot closer to Lyra, who was watching the scene passively with the smallest hint of a frown on her face. 

"Will," Mrs. Coulter continued, "this is Father Hugh MacPhail. He serves as Father President of the Consistorial Court of Discipline in the Magisterium in our world. I worked with him conducting my research. And it appears now he's taken it as his charge to hunt me down."

"Don't flatter yourself," Father MacPhail hissed at her, moving up into a slouch. He spit out what looked like blood as he wiped his mouth and then looked down at his swollen hand, his daemon moving toward the center of his lap. 

"So you're not here to seek me?" Mrs. Coulter asked, voice so light as if she were asking him how many lumps of sugar in his tea. 

"Not only you," he grunted, and at that he turned to look over at Lyra, as if it were the first time he fully noticed her. 

The atmosphere in the room changed then in an instant. Mrs. Coulter leaned forward and extended her hand to move his face back to her. The man resisted, trying to wiggle away from her grip, but her mouth twisted and she squeezed down harder, causing the man to groan. 

"You will not look at her," Mrs. Coulter growled. "You will not address her. You will not even breathe near her. If you do I will cut out your eyeballs with that knife and feed it your daemon. Do you understand me?" 

"What's going on?" Will finally whispered to Lyra, his voice low enough that neither of the adults could hear him. They were standing so close that their shoulders were brushing and they could feel one another tensing at the scene occuring before them.

"I dunno," Lyra said, her brow furrowing as Pan let out a frustrated sigh in his ermine form. "There's something going on that I just don't know. The alethiometer never told me Father MacPhail was looking for me…"

"Will she hurt him?" he asked then, watching as the golden monkey plucked the lizard from the man's lap and bore his teeth at her. He had understood why they had acted violent before, as they were quite literally being attacked and threatened. But now, when they outnumbered him and he wasn't even posing a threat? Why did Mrs. Coulter need to act like this? And it was disturbing, to see the woman who had so kindly cradled him as he bled from the knife and who had patiently done up his bandages now so ruthlessly hurt the man in front of them. Will didn't know what to think. 

"Yes," said Lyra. Her eyes narrowed. "She will. Without even feeling bad about it." 

"Do you think she, that she'll… kill him?" 

"Probably not." Lyra's voice sounded sad then, like she was admitting a truth she was most displeased with. "She's not stupid. She knows he's worth more alive, and apparently with us."

“But worth what ? What does she want to know from him?"

"I said what did the Cardinal tell you to do?" 

The children were snapped back over to Mrs. Coulter as a loud slap filled the air. She'd assaulted the man's cheek and was crouching right in front of him, with the golden monkey crouched similarly right at her side. They were mirrors of malice as they towered over the cringing man. Father Macphail's breathing sped up as he gazed down toward the ground. 

"To find you," he replied, "and to go with Boreal, who had seen you. I’ve already told you that."

"What else?" Mrs. Coulter's voice was doing a very strange thing. It was a breathy, high-pitched sort of hiss that sounded quite animalistic. It scared Will, and apparently scared Lyra as he felt her hand brush against his arm. 

"Nothing concerning you," he gruffed, and Will had to look away as Mrs. Coulter struck him again. 

After a few more minutes, Mrs. Coulter pulled some rope from her bag and tied the man up and left him against a giant stone, with the monkey still overpowering the lizard daemon. She then came over to Will and Lyra, who were watching her quite apprehensively.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," she said to them, her face troubled as she settled down beside them on the grass. The world they'd cut into seemed to be empty. They were sitting in a large, grass clearing that extended as far as the eye could see. The sky was a sort of dark blue-gray that showed a constellation of planets on its horizon, which filtered light through to them now. There were no bugs or birds or anything that they could hear, which didn't mean they didn't exist but that made them feel so entirely alone. 

"Thank you for saving me, Will." Moving his gaze from the sky back to Mrs. Coulter, Will saw her smile grimly over at him. She looked tired but grateful. "It means so much that you came back. I just wanted you to get Lyra away, but I'm glad you were able to help me, too."

Will simply nodded, avoiding her eyes. It was the right thing to do, and he doesn't regret it, but he couldn't stop thinking about that man and the suffering he was going through, and how it was Will's fault. 

"What are you gonna do with Father MacPhail?" Lyra asked her then.

"See what he knows," Mrs. Coulter said, moving to brush a piece of hair from Lyra's face. But Lyra flinched away, shuffling closer to Will and glaring over at her mother with a strange sort of defiant disapproval. 

"Lyra," Mrs. Coulter said then, and her eyes suddenly pooled. Will was struck with the feeling her gaze omitted. It expressed such warmth and sorrow that it overwhelmed him. "I'm only doing what I have to. You don't know these people like I do. They're highly dangerous, Lyra. And they...seem to want to find you.”

“But why?” Pan changed into a small panther as Lyra leaned forward, her eyes wide as she searched Mrs. Coulter’s. “I don’t understand. The alethiometer isn’t telling me anything, and I ask it about things I should worry about. But it hasn’t said anything at all. Can’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know what it is,” her mother murmured back. It was clear that Mrs. Coulter was frustrated, not at Lyra but in general as she let out a puff of air and then looked back at Father MacPhail. “I’m trying my best, darling. But I don’t know. And I can’t protect you if I don’t know what I'm protecting you from.”

What a mess they were in. Will stood up and walked away from the both of them and further into the empty clearing. He was jealous sometimes that both Lyra and Mrs. Coulter had daemons to talk to during times like this. It must be nice to have a friend who sensed your every sentiment and could feel exactly what you felt and understand the things you just couldn't find the words to say. Lyra had said to Will once that he did have a daemon but that it was simply inside of him. He didn’t know how true that was, but sometimes he thought about it and wished, for even just a brief moment, his daemon could show itself and help him figure out what to do.

Because at the moment, he didn’t know what to do. He was on the run as a fugitive with two people who were also fugitives of sorts, it seemed. Will wanted above all to find his father, to bring him home and solve all of his problems. That was a childish thing to think, and not something Will was proud of. But he couldn’t help it. And now with this knife, if he only knew where his father was, he could go to him, and bring him home, and then finally face the police…

He heard footsteps behind him and expected to see Mrs. Coulter but instead found Lyra.

“You okay?” she asked him, eying him cautiously.

“Yeah,” he said, looking off into the distance at what looked like a cloud starting to form around one of the planets.

“It’s all pretty messed up, isn’t it?” She came to his side now and followed his gaze, head tilted to the side.

He couldn’t quite figure Lyra out. When they’d first met, she’d been ballistic, saying she knew he was a murderer and ranting on and on about her mother. And then they’d traveled, and they learned more about each other and survived finding the knife together and it seemed like they were actually friends. But he still couldn’t figure her out. She hated her mother, yet she loved her mother; she wanted to learn more about Dust, and Dust seemed to be ruining everything in the world around them. It was infuriating sometimes, thinking about all the contradictions. But it was comforting, to know she seemed just as lost as he was.

“What are we gonna do, Lyra?” he finally asked her, looking away from the horizon to face her. “Can you ask the alethiometer?”

“I can,” she said, turning to him, too, “but last time it told me to ask you what you wanted to do, and to do it. Because what you’ve got to do, it’s important.”

What is it I’ve got to do? Will again felt completely and utterly lost. All these people seemed to know about him and said he had something important to do and that everything connected to them. But how could that be, when he himself didn’t have the slightest clue of what he was supposed to do?

“It says it’s about your father, and that you...you’ve read some letters.”

Surprise flitted through Will then. He hadn’t known Lyra had been asking the alethiometer questions about him. It distressed him, in a way, and he momentarily wondered what else she might have asked and what it is she knew, but then he grew distracted thinking back to the letters. They were in his pack, actually, but he didn’t need to reference them to remember what they said and what his father was looking for.

“He was looking for a window,” he whispered aloud, for Lyra’s sake but also his own. “A window that crossed between worlds, and like the ones I can make with the knife…”

They stopped talking then as they heard other footsteps approach. It was Mrs. Coulter, watching them with a sort of curious expression as she stopped just a few feet away.

“Will?” she called out. “I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

“With what?” he called back instinctively, although he did pause to wonder what she wanted and, really, if he wanted to help her.

“We have a few things we need to do,” she said. “First, we have to go back and warn Dr. Malone. I don’t think they knew where she is, but I don’t want her to get worried or to get into trouble. Then, we need to think of a place we can go and hide again. And figure out what to do with our friend tied up over there.”

“Alright,” Will sighed, exchanging a nod with Lyra and then heading back toward the rock. He didn’t entirely trust Mrs. Coulter in this moment and given her behavior. But she was all he had, he supposed, along with Lyra. And it was going to have to be enough until he could find his father and figure everything out.

Chapter Text

Father MacPhail grunted as Mrs. Coulter pushed him forward through yet another portal. He was blindfolded this time, though, by one of Mrs. Coulter's dark nylon stockings wrapped craftily around his head so that his vision was blurred and essentially non-existent. His arms were also bound behind his back as if he were a common criminal. 

"Is this really necessary?" he asked her as she came over to his right side and placed her hand on his shoulder as she guided him forward, making him move quickly and stumble. He couldn't see her, but he could smell her lavish perfume as well as hear her scoffing at him. Eulalia was tucked under the monkey's arms, also without sight. It felt more and more ridiculous with each passing moment. 

"Seeing as you and Boreal just ambushed us: yes. I find this entirely necessary."

"Marisa." 

Father MacPhail was finding this new arrangement difficult to stomach. He'd known Mrs. Coulter for several years now. He'd taken an early interest in her work and her career for the ways in which she pushed boundaries. He was never certain about her, but he had watched carefully as she rose to prominence, staggered from her affair, and then completely rebuilt herself up from the ashes. Then he watched her now doing whatever it was she thought she was doing and he felt sick over it. This woman who had pledged her ambitions to the Magisterium and had offered her talents for the greater good now threw it all away entirely as she muddled through this circus with the girl. She burnt every bridge she ever built and seemed to have no problem at all with doing so. 

Whatever happened after this, Father MacPhail would never forgive her. And he'd make it so that no one else in the Church ever would, either. That was a promise and a threat he'd tell her if she gave him the chance.

"Dr. Malone," he heard her call out then. There was some shuffling as Mrs. Coulter and the children moved forward, and then he heard a fourth person approach. The daemons were loitering somewhere nearby. 

"Good God!" he heard a woman's voice exclaim. She sounded middle-aged or so, and British yet somehow not in the way he recognized from his own world. "What's going on here?" 

"It's too complicated to explain," Mrs. Coulter whispered, "and we haven't got much time. We need to get you out of here. Will, if you would?" 

Whispering then filled the air—so faint that Father MacPhail couldn't quite make it out. He supposed they were plotting their next moves and didn't want him to hear. 

Which means they must plan on keeping us alive, Eulalia offered from her place somewhere to the right of him. 

Lucky us, he growled in their minds, feeling anything but as he waited for whatever it was Mrs. Coulter was going to do to him. 

He couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, even if he wanted to. As Mrs. Coulter was somehow aware, there was a great prophecy that swirled around Lyra. The witches knew of it, as well as the Church. They didn't know all the details, but they knew she'd be the fall of everything. And as such, she needed to be captured where she'd be questioned, tested, locked up—whatever it took. There was much they didn't know and were still finding out slowly with Fra Pavel's careful reading of the alethiometer. Father MacPhail himself didn't have the answers; he was only the messenger and thus the wrong captive. If he could only help her see that, and see any sense at all, then maybe he'd be able to get out of here and back to his own world where he belonged. 

"Right, Father MacPhail will come this way with me," Mrs. Coulter said brightly a few minutes later. "You lot stay here and don't come up. Come along now, Father."

After a winded trip up the stairs and into another room, he heard Mrs. Coulter turn the lock before coming over and tearing off the nylon stocking from his face. Bright sunlight blinded him then, making it hard to see anything except a filtered glare of Mrs. Coulter's imposing figure. 

"You listen to me now," she hissed at him. Danger flickered in the blue depths of her eyes, he was starting to see as his vision evened out. "Tell me everything the Magisterium knows about Lyra."

"And why would I do that?" he sniffed. He heard Eulalia whimper in the monkey's grasp but did nothing about it. "We find ourselves on opposite sides now, it seems. Are you even with us anymore? What was it you used to say—you're either with me or against me?"

"What do you know?" she repeated hotly, ignoring what he was saying. But looking over at the golden monkey, Father MacPhail saw his tail twitch and thus knew that he'd hit a nerve.

"Just look at yourself now, Marisa," he decided to try. "What are you doing here? You're in over your head. Maybe I can help you if you just stop this madness."

It was then that she made her first move—or, rather, the monkey did. Father MacPhail felt a sharp pain in his right arm then as the woman's daemon squeezed down on Eulalia. He refused to react, but it hurt, and his daemon wiggled helplessly in the monkey's arms. 

"Have you any idea how much pain I can cause you?" the woman asked gently, stepping closer. She was smiling and her tone was pleasant. She seemed to be enjoying this. 

"No doubt I do." Father MacPhail was taken back almost a year ago when they'd caught an Oakley Street spy meddling into the Oblation Board's business. He was with some other officials and Mrs. Coulter as they interrogated him. All the woman had was one empty wine glass. She had made the informant cry so pitifully with the one, undamaged glass that the man cracked and told her everything. She was not one to underestimate.

"Then why resist?" she asked, tilting her head as if considering a painting on display. "You know this can't end well for you. Just tell me. It'll be easy."

"Because I don't know any more about Lyra and the prophecy than you do," he finally spat out. The room grew quieter somehow, if that were even possible. "I know you heard about it. The Cardinal told me. But I only just found out about it myself a few weeks ago, and there hasn't been any new leads since."

"You're lying." Her voice was angry, but Father McPhail could tell she believed him. Her lip trembled slightly as she continued to scorch him with the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes were flecked with hesitation, too, as well as a nestled sense of fear. She'd captured him for nothing, perhaps, and was wasting her much precious time.

"I'm not and you know it." 

"Shall we break a few limbs just to be sure?" She was serious. He could see it in her eyes, and hear it in her voice. And he didn't want to go there. 

"I can help you, Marisa," he decided to say next. It was something he'd been thinking about since getting involved with Boreal, and upon hearing the Cardinal's ideas about how to best approach the situation of the portal (which was basically not to). He didn't like the way things were going with current leadership, and although Marisa could hardly be considered an ally, she at least understood these matters differently. "We can help each other."

"How?" Her voice lost all of its false sweetness as she considered him carefully. Even the golden monkey looked closely at him. 

"Untie me and I'll tell you."

"Don't insult my intelligence."

"Fine," Father MacPhail sighed. He'd take what he could get, he supposed. "I have an audience with the Cardinal, and you have an audience with the girl."

"And?" 

"We both have something the other wants."

"I hardly care about the Cardinal," she laughed then, in a cold, bitter way. 

"No, but perhaps you'd be interested in knowing that he wants to shut down the portals between worlds, pretending they don't exist and nothing has changed and that there's nothing to worry about."

Her eyebrows raised at that. "And you don't want them shut?" 

"I don't know what I want." He really didn't. He hated the idea of crossing between worlds and interacting with people from different faiths and different contexts who didn't even have daemons. Yet, at the same time, he couldn't ignore they existed, like the Cardinal wanted to do. Like he even wanted to do when he first found the portal. But he was more sensible than that, and here he stood in one such other world. It was real in the way his daemon and his very own soul was real, and it felt wrong to try and ignorantly shun them away. They needed proper investigation and, eventually, conquest. Just as their kind had always done. "But it's bad for you if he wants them closed. He'd willingly trap you here forever and not blink twice."

"So what do we do then?" Mrs. Coulter asked after a short pause. She was no longer smiling yet was not quite frowning. Father MacPhail took it as a good sign.

"Send me back," he answered. "The Cardinal wants the girl, and he can't shut down the portals if we don't have her—if we need further access in order to retrieve her."

"So a stalemate?" Mrs. Coulter laughed again. This time it felt more genuine. "Just go back to our impasse from before?" 

"Precisely. It'll give us both time to figure out what to do for our respective plans."

"Fair enough," said the woman as she snapped her finger and the golden monkey both dropped Eulalia and then swirly cut the ties from Father MacPhail's arms. It was a relief to feel the tension leave his wrists, although his ankles were still tied together. "I'll send you back, and you'll no doubt tell them every single thing you saw here. But also tell them this." She came closer and bent down slightly so they were at eye level. "They will never get Lyra. I'll die first before I allow that to happen. So plot all you want, but you'll never win. It's futile to fight me." 

Chapter Text

Will wasn’t particularly good at waiting around, especially when he was anxious. It’s been hard for him ever since he was a little boy. His mother had various episodes at any given time and they’d frequently have to wait quietly in order to ward off the people looking for them, or else not to leave too much psychological carbon in the air around them, as his mother had said (whatever that meant). That had left a mark on him, Will knew now in a way he couldn’t quite have known then. It was what it was, but it made waiting around a very anxiety-inducing activity. 

And indeed it was quite the time to feel anxious, with strange men attacking them and Mrs. Coulter absolutely letting them have it. Will had never seen the woman let loose to her fury. It was disturbing, really, although perhaps not as much as it could be since they were on her side in all of this (vaguely, he wondered what it would be like if they weren’t). Both Will and Lyra had no control of the situation, and thus had no choice but to wait as Mrs. Coulter figured it out. They'd already sent Dr. Malone back to Oxford via the knife, so it was just the two of them now. They were sitting in the living room in front of the television, although neither of them were watching the show that flickered on the screen. 

“I’m going to ask the alethiometer what’s going on,” Lyra said to him after a while of sitting in uneasy silence. She’d told Will before about how she’d been hesitant about reading the alethiometer, since the machine was finicky with her sometimes. It’d kept her and Mrs. Coulter safe from the spectres and led Lyra over to Dr. Malone, but she was afraid to ask too much of it, potentially because she was afraid of what it might say. Will could certainly understand that, and she’d also told him that the alethiometer had a way of telling her what it thought she needed to hear, and how “truth” was sometimes not always the truth she wanted at any given moment.

She settled down on the sofa and brought the instrument out from her bag, eyes already glazing over as she stared down at it and Pan perched himself on the back of the sofa as a young raven. She seemed to fall into a weird sort of trance every time she did it, and Will was fascinated as he watched her. He still didn’t know exactly how the alethiometer worked, or how reliable it was (he knew that Lyra swore by it, though). It seemed strange that she had a tiny little instrument who could tell her whatever it is she wanted, even as it had limitations. Will thought about how much different his life would have been if he’d had something like that growing up. And maybe how much different Lyra’s would have been, too.

“It says we have to find your father, Will,” Lyra told him, her brow furrowed as she blinked and stared over at him. 

"What did it say about Mrs. Coulter?" 

"It didn't," Lyra replied, looking frustrated now as she stared down at the device. "That's the thing. When I asked, it just ignored me. It said we have to find your father and it’s what we’ve got to do. It’s our mission. It almost felt like it was telling me Mrs. Coulter was…getting in the way."

Will frowned at that, too. He'd admit that he initially hadn't been sure about tagging around with Lyra and her mother all this time, as he very clearly needed to find his father for help and the two of them had their own agendas to attend to. But he also acknowledged that being with them was beneficial to him, too. Mrs. Coulter, first and foremost, was an adult. She knew what to do when bad things happened and also could travel and take them places that would look strange for a child to do alone. Lyra, of course, was useful with her alethiometer. She was also someone he could trust, and who seemed to understand what he was going through. That was special, and something Will was glad to have. 

“What do we do, then?” Will finally asked, looking up toward the stairs. Mrs. Coulter was still up there. They'd been there quite a while, he realized, and it again made him feel so incredibly nervous. 

“I dunno,” Lyra said truthfully, “but all I know is we've gotta find your father, Will. And I just hope Mrs. Coulter understands."

“Do you think she won’t?”

Lyra bit her lip, her eyes rounding as she considered him. She seemed to be debating something, as he heard Pan let out a tiny squawk. “I asked the alethiometer about her a lot, Will, before we met you. I wasn’t gonna say nothin’, but it told me to be careful. It said she wanted to keep me safe and she really cares about me, but it said to watch her. It always says that, so I guess I don’t know what she will do. But she can be real good sometimes. So I don’t know what to think, really.”

Will was silent as he nodded and continued to stare back at her. That was concerning in a way. What did that even mean? If someone kept you safe, then how could they not be trustworthy? Will had heard from Lyra about what Mrs. Coulter had done and he’d admit he also didn’t know what to make of it. It all didn’t make a lot of sense to Will, but he didn’t know what else to do.

When Mrs. Coulter came back, she cut right to the chase and demanded Will send Father MacPhail back to their world.

“He has some work to do,” she said sharply, enunciating each syllable. Her eyes flashed at him then. “Don’t you, Father MacPhail?”

“Yes,” he said, still blindfolded and sounding absolutely furious. Will briefly wondered what they’d talked about up there. The last time Mrs. Coulter had interrogated him she'd kicked him and spat in his face. He thus couldn't imagine that she'd suddenly softened. He also wondered, increasingly, what was going on, as he knew there was something that she wasn’t telling them.

“Pip pip,” Marisa said, looking at Will then and bringing him back to the present. “Do you think you can open a window to the right world, Will?”

Will didn’t know if he could, to be honest. He’d managed to pop in and out of worlds earlier solely because he was going back to his own, which felt as familiar to him as his own shadow. It didn't take an exorbitant amount of thought since he was just so accustomed to it. Each world has its own cut and feel; he’d felt it when he’d cut into random other worlds back in the tower and at the park. He didn’t know how to sort through worlds, though. He didn’t have time to learn that from Mr. Paradisi. He didn’t have enough time to learn anything.

“I can try,” he offered, looking to Lyra now. She nodded to him, although her face was tense as she looked at the man and her mother. Will knew she was contemplating what was happening, too, and thinking about what the alethiometer said. Will felt uneasy, too, but not as uneasy as he felt about Father MacPhail and Sir Charles.

So Will closed his eyes, thinking solely about Mrs. Coulter. Part of him thought that maybe he could channel the different worlds by connecting them to certain people. It was worth a try, really. He thought of Mrs. Coulter and her golden monkey daemon. He tried to feel their presence, both here in this moment and from his memory. He remembered her holding him when he’d first gotten the knife. He remembered her grabbing him at Sir Charles's house and leading him away to the coffee shop. He thought about resting on her shoulders on the train.

But it didn’t work. As he cut through the air, he opened a window to a world with a purple sky and mountains jutting up from the ground. He didn’t know where or what it was at all, and neither did Mrs. Coulter.

“That’s alright,” she sighed, although he could tell she seemed frustrated and disappointed. “We can make it work. You had to have gotten here somehow, hadn’t you, Father?”

“With Boreal,” he grunted, and Marisa smiled. 

“Very well then. Will can drop you off, since we’ve been there before, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Cutting over to Sir Charles's house would be a lot easier. Will had been there before, after all, and had taken careful note of the inside of his den. 

“Wait,” Will said right before he reached out to slice into the man’s home. After another moment of hesitation, he reached into his backpack and handed Father MacPhail the small object he’d taken from Sir Charles’s house. “I stole this from him. Can you...give it back?”

“Will,” Mrs. Coulter said quickly, stepping to intercepting to stand between them. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not a thief,” he mumbled, feeling himself frown. It’d been bugging him this entire time and nagging at him. “I took this from him when we were there. I don’t know why. Thought it might be blackmail or something. But I don’t want anything to do with him anymore. I don’t want to be like that. Can’t he just take it back, if he’s going there anyway?”

A strange expression clouded Mrs. Coulter’s face then. It was soft, as well as surprised. Will got the impression that she didn’t often hear anyone admit things like that. And that made him feel sad. But she still looked at him slowly and carefully with her eyes inscrutable before she gave a curt nod and stepped away.

It all happened very quickly. After a few moments of concentration, Will closed his eyes, opened them, and then found the right fabric, tearing an opening to a thin, tiny window.

“Remember what we discussed,” Mrs. Coulter whispered to the man before shoving him through. She nodded to Will then, and he quickly pinched the window from the top and then closed it shut, catching wind of Father MacPhail flailing by a gray sofa and hearing footsteps come from the other end of the room.

“Right,” Mrs. Coulter said as soon he was done, clasping her hands and considering the two of them. Lyra was still staring and Pan was sitting on her shoulder as an ermine. They both still looked very concerned. “I hate to do this, Will, but we’re going to have to spend some more time with that knife now.”

“How come?”

“Because we have to make a quick visit to make sure Dr. Malone is alright and after that, I really, really need you to cut us into Lyra and mine’s world.”

Chapter Text

As they packed up their belongings and prepared to leave their little London hideaway, Mrs. Coulter was growing suspicious of the children. 

She didn't like the way they looked at each other, for one thing. When they'd ushered Father MacPhail out through the window and Mrs. Coulter told Will what they needed to do next, he hesitated. He looked instead over at Lyra, who also hesitated. 

They're up to something, the monkey growled from his perch on the bed. Mrs. Coulter was dropping her various belongings into her bag—her watch, some lipstick, some coins, a book. She didn't have much, but she apparently had enough to sort through. 

I know, she agreed, but then she paused, because was she just hypersensitive to everything going on right now? Was she worrying over nothing and letting the entire precarity of the situation overwhelm her? Was this some sort of irrational, emotionally-fueled reaction to the totality of events they'd experienced the past few days?

Don't second guess your intuition, her daemon warned her. He was cross now, as he'd said this to her before and she didn't listen: back on the mountain, back when Lyra wanted to see Mary again, back when Will wanted to go practice with the knife. Nothing good seemed to come from her meddling. He’d told her this time and time again to no avail, no change.

I know, she sighed, and she did. It was appropriate to adopt a certain degree of skepticism during times as tense and high-stakes as these. Mrs. Coulter was going to tread more carefully around Will and Lyra, deciphering their every move and gauging all of their reactions. She could also maybe talk to Lyra about it, too, if she could get a moment alone with her, and if Lyra would even be willing to do so. Mrs. Coulter wanted to think she could be honest with her daughter, after all they'd been through together these past several weeks. She hoped Lyra realized she only wanted what was best for her. 

And for Will? the monkey pressed, considering her with narrowed eyes. 

Mrs. Coulter paused, feeling suddenly quite sad. Yes, but secondary to Lyra. We must first and foremost protect Lyra. 

About ten minutes later Mrs. Coulter was back in the living room with her bag fully packed, pleased to find the children ready to go with theirs packed, too. "All set?" 

They were quiet as they prepared to travel. The golden monkey kept his eye on Pan, who was on Lyra's shoulder as an ermine and whispering in her ear. Mrs. Coulter watched Will, who was cool and calm as he prepared to slice over to Dr. Malone's lab but who also seemed slightly off in a way she couldn't quite name. There was something going on. Mrs. Coulter felt it in the air, like she felt the steady stream of sun hitting her back from the skylight window. 

We can't let this linger, she said to her daemon, eyes now flickering over Lyra's entirely impassive face. I don't like it and we can't leave it. 

No, we can't, the monkey agreed, and an unspoken agreement settled between them as they watched Will cut into the air and then as they followed the two through the window, gazing for a moment behind them as the window into the house was sealed shut. 

"OH!" came a startled voice to the left of them. Mrs. Coulter watched as Dr. Malone jumped at the sudden sight of them in her cramped, messy office. She'd grown used to their coming and going via windows during their time spent together but apparently hadn't been expecting them at this very moment. 

"Apologies for the fright," Mrs. Coulter offered, eyes immediately drawn to the door. With a snap of her finger her daemon went over to it, closing the blinds and locking the door. Dr. Malone followed his actions and then her gaze returned to Mrs. Coulter, blue eyes clouded with concern. 

"Is everything—are you okay?" the scientist asked. 

"No," Mrs Coulter sighed. Lyra and Will came up over to them, their faces hard and their shoulders slumped. They were all a mess, as the survivors of a grand assault that spanned across worlds and governments for reasons they could only ever partially understand. It was taking a toll on them, Mrs. Coulter realized. They all looked so tired. How long could they keep this up? What was their limit? What were they doing?

"Let me make you some coffee," Mary said kindly, jumping out of her chair and heading over to the little table by the window with her French press and a collection of mugs. At that Mrs. Coulter looked over at Lyra, locking eyes with her. The question was simple: did they have time for this? 

Lyra nodded before rummaging around in her bag and then pulling out her velvet casing. After glancing behind her at Mary, who was still busy fiddling with the coffee, she got it out and began to maneuver it. Her eyes scanned it swiftly and thoroughly before she snapped it shut and nodded again to Mrs. Coulter. She didn't know what exactly that meant, but she figured they likely didn't have a lot of time and still needed to move quickly.

"So what happened?" Mary said as she started pouring each of them steaming cups while tossing over sugar packets and cream containers. "Catch me up."

They filled her in as they sipped their hot coffees, Lyra and Will downing it more rapidly while Mrs. Coulter paced herself. They told her about Father MacPhail, and how he was dangerous but seemingly at some kind of stalemate with the Magisterium. They told her about Boreal, too, and how carefully they all had to tread. 

"So we find ourselves on the run," Mrs. Coulter concluded, "and we wanted to warn you that you may face trouble. Bor—Sir Charles is not one to go away quietly. I'd expect he'll be back here trying to hound you for information."

"Let him," Dr. Malone laughed. Mrs. Coulter looked up above her cup, surprised as Dr. Malone leaned back comfortably. "He wouldn't be the first to come in here ransacking the place looking to steal some information."

"Oh?"

Mrs. Coulter was intrigued. She felt captivated and hooked on every single word coming out of the redhead's mouth. Here she was, a female academic free to study and pursue whatever it was she pleased. There were no limits to what Dr. Malone was able to discover, was allowed to discover. Mrs. Coulter was envious in a way, since she was never afforded the same privilege in her world and during her studies as a woman. For a moment she felt lost in all the possibilities of who she could have been in this world, and what she could have accomplished and achieved and perhaps what she might not have needed to sacrifice. 

The golden monkey squirmed as she thought so, and the thought trickled through to her: but what about me? If you were born here, where would I have fit in? I wouldn't exist!

She didn't want to think of that, though. Biting her lip, she brushed him aside and turned her attention back to Dr. Malone. 

Lyra was speaking now, and saying the most curious things: "You still have your work to do. The alethiometer says you're close, but you've still got work to do. We've distracted you 'nuff already." Her gaze then cut over to Mrs. Coulter, looking surprisingly harsh. That intrigued Mrs. Coulter instead of unsettling her. She admired that about Lyra, how fierce and bold she'd become. Never the meek pushover, she spoke her mind and fought for what she wanted, which was problematic for the society in which Mrs. Coulter spent most of her time but, in a context like this one, an admirable trait. 

Who might Lyra have been, Mrs. Coulter also wondered? Who could she be still? Was there a world in which she didn’t need to to exist at the center of some mysterious and ominous prophecy? Could Mrs. Coulter somehow give that to her, and free her from all the turmoil that plagued their every move?

"I'm working on it," Mary was saying in response, her brow furrowed, "but I'm having a bit of a hard go. Can't quite get it to speak in the way you did."

"You'll get it," Lyra said confidently. Her cheer and conviction was refreshing, really, as there had been so much lately that was so incredibly discouraging and sour. It made Mrs. Coulter brighten, even, as it did the same to Mary, who smiled down so serenely at her.

“I’ll certainly try, little miss,” she said, and Lyra beamed. Mrs. Coulter did, too.

“Right,” said Mrs. Coulter after the moment had passed, clapping her hands together. “I hate to interrupt, but I don’t know how much time we have and there’s another matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Actually,” said Lyra, her voice quiet yet strong, “there’s something we’d like to discuss with you.”

Here it is, the monkey thought to her, his mouth twisting into an invisible snarl from his place on the back of her chair. I knew it. They’ve been plotting against us.

We don’t know that, she returned, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t like the way Will nervously shuffled his feet on the floor and then glanced over at Lyra, who nodded back. They were in agreement about something. They had been planning something. And they were finally going to confront her about it. 

“We know you want to go back to our world,” Lyra began, “but we can’t.” She paused, taking in a deep and steady breath. “We have to go back to Cittàgazze to find Will’s father. He's there. And it’s what we’ve got to do, whether you want to or not.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Father MacPhail fell sideways onto a hardwood floor as Mrs. Coulter shoved him out of the window and then disappeared behind him. He coughed, gulping for air as the shift between worlds took the breath out of him and left him wheezy and cold.

“Are you alright?” his daemon asked, sliding out of his coat sleeve to lick at his face. He nudged away from her as he clutched at his chest and scrambled up, taking his newly-freed hands to claw at the nylon stocking still obscuring his vision.

They were back at Boreal’s place, where they’d arrived before tracking down Mrs. Coulter in London. Father MacPhail didn’t know how much time had passed, or where Boreal was, but had to assume he’d be back soon, as London wasn’t that far and Mrs. Coulter had taken her time interrogating him.

“What do we do now?” Eulalia asked, wary as he slowly moved over to the sofa and stretched across it, allowing himself to catch his breath and rest his body for a moment. Mrs. Coulter had tied his binds quite well and his ankles and wrists all throbbed.

“Wait for Boreal,” he gruffed, closing his eyes. He vaguely heard her crawl closer to him, scampering up the cushion so that she was somewhere to the left of his head. “Go back to the Cardinal. Tell him what happened. Convince him not to shut down the portal.”

“And if he does?” Eulalia asked.

Father MacPhail didn’t answer at first as he listened to his slow and steady breathing. In and out, like the waves of an ocean. Harsh and ragged, like out on a climb up a steep hill. He didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into, really. He knew that he escaped Mrs. Coulter’s grasp and prevailed with his life, which was a satisfying feat to accomplish. He also knew that they’d both recognized the appeal of being on the run from one another, although he still didn’t want to face the absolute wrath the Cardinal would omit once he’d learned she’d gotten away.

There was still the matter of the prophecy that they had to sort through. Fra Pavel was working on it, but he was slow. He was so incredibly slow in finding out what it is they needed to do.

“It’ll be what it is,” he sighed, feeling himself sink further down into the cushions. He would wait until Boreal arrived to worry about the rest, and for now would focus on healing and preparing for an even more momentous task.

Chapter Text

Mrs. Coulter stared down at Lyra, her eyes calm and her face completely expressionless as they stood there together in Mary Malone’s office.

“We need to go back to Cittàgazze?” Mrs. Coulter repeated out loud, eyes swiveling from Lyra to Will and then back again. The two were standing very tall with their backs straight and nodded eagerly back at her, just the hint of cookie crumbs on their lips. “Back to the spectres?”

“Yes.”

“In order to find Will’s father?”

“Uh-huh.”

I don’t like it, the golden monkey growled, thrashing his tail as he narrowed his eyes at Pan. He was in a little panther form now sitting at Lyra’s feet. He glowered back, his little chest puffed out and his head steadied high in the air like an arrogant, indulgent old man. If Will had a daemon, it’d probably do the same, and glower at them with indifference. It’s not right.

“Why is this so imperative to you now?” Mrs. Coulter pressed, holding her hand up to the monkey as he whipped his head around and she took a step closer to her daughter. 

“The alethiometer—”

“—tells you, yes, I know,” Mrs. Coulter interrupted, and she couldn’t quite help the impatience that flecked her tone. 

For the past few weeks, everything they did and everywhere they went was at the mercy of the alethiometer, which told Lyra this, then didn’t tell her that. It kept them safe, then told them they were in danger, and everything else in between. Mrs. Coulter could hardly stand it, being so helpless and reliant on a machine that was as much a mystery to her as Dust was. It was also too convenient, really, for Lyra to have this little truth telling machine to consult with complete autonomy that Mrs. Coulter couldn’t even verify. 

If she can even read it at all, the monkey snorted, but Mrs. Coulter stopped him there.

Of course she can read it, she snapped back, for it was true. Since the beginning of their excursion in this world, Lyra could do the most incredible things. In her trance she could effortlessly avoid the spectres and tell directions and find people who otherwise might not have been found. She knew things about people and about worlds that were impossible for her to know. Lyra could achieve so much with that device; she wielded such power. And if only she were able to harness it all…

But, that wasn’t the point, Mrs. Coulter had to remind herself. She wasn’t here to control Lyra, this time, but to guide her. To be there for her. To be there with her and beside her, as she’d wanted all this time.

You’re soft, the monkey whined, shuffling his feet beside her. You’re too damn soft. How did you become so soft?

“This plan requires extraordinary risk,” Mrs. Coulter finally said, and she put a finger up as she sensed the rebuttal coming from her daughter’s lips, “but seems like a noble cause.”

What are you doing? the golden monkey asked, eyes wide as Mrs. Coulter bent toward the children and listened to them go on about Will’s father being located near a canyon beyond the city of Cittàgazze itself. You can’t actually think this is a good idea?

Why not? Mrs. Coulter pressed. Don’t you think this might actually be a good thing? Help Will and not be responsible for him?

So you mean lose the power of the knife?

It was quite the standoff, really, between Mrs. Coulter and her daemon. In many ways it actually represented Mrs. Coulter’s own conflict within herself. She felt this tenson once before during trip when she saw the spectres. Coming out of the tower with the creature hovering over to her, Mrs. Coulter saw it: the dark stain of a tortured, soulless monster, of the arctic cold, the cracked earth, of darkness itself. And with it she saw power. Something she could control, something that would lend itself useful to her one day. And it was that which plagued her now, as she thought about the knife and what Will could do and how that could potentially benefit her every need.

Don’t be stupid, the monkey cautioned her, his tail flicking twice. We need him and the knife and you can’t just give him away.

I’m not, Mrs. Coulter thought back, letting out an inner sigh. She had a plan. Of course she did. She felt it, there at the tip of her tongue, in the very back of her mind. It would all work out the way that was best—for her, but most importantly, for Lyra. She just didn't necessarily know all of it, and they were running out of time. They were always running out of bloody time. 

After another annoyed grunt from her daemon, Mrs. Coulter nodded her head to Lyra and Will’s half-fleshed out plans and then turned over to Dr. Mary Malone, the only other sensible person in the room. She’d grown to quite like her, actually, even given the circumstances of their meeting. “I’m afraid we’ve crashed into your life only to yet again suddenly leave you.”

“Or she could come,” Lyra piped up suddenly, and both adults whipped around to look at her, heads craned. 

“Me?” Mary breathed, letting out a shaky laugh. “I used to go rock climbing and such back in the day, but why would ya want a scientist like me out there in the canyon with ya?”

“Because you’re supposed to,” Lyra said, and again Mrs. Coulter felt a cold sort of foreboding hit her as Lyra spoke with an air and a conviction that just didn’t seem like her, that didn’t seem of her age. “You’ll learn it soon enough. Please keep trying with your Cave computer? And then you’ll know, and you’ll come with us?”

“I’ll be darned,” Mary replied, looking this time at Mrs. Coulter. Her blue eyes searched Mrs. Coulter’s own, looking for her opinion, Mrs. Coulter supposed, for an indication of what she should do. Again, Mary was sensible. She didn’t go around listening to children, or acting on a whim, or anything else of the sort.

We don’t need her, the golden monkey calculated, eyes still narrowed as he glared at the children. We don’t need much of this at all, do we? We just need to get Lyra away. Keep her safe.

Perhaps we don’t, Mrs. Coulter reasoned, but perhaps it wouldn’t be too terribly inconvenient. She knows as much about dark matter and Dust as we do, after all.

It was all a risk. Life was just one large, calculated risk that humankind gambled with each and every day. The Authority this and the Authority that, but it was all a risk. And it was one that, for whatever reason, Mrs. Coulter felt like taking, even if she didn’t realize why.

“Very well,” Mrs. Coulter sighed, and agan she felt her daemon’s shock and disapproval course through her as she gave a shrug and moved back over to her bags. “Let’s get prepared then, shall we? We’ll go back soon, but we don’t have much time. Boreal and Father McPhail will be on their way already and we mustn’t cross paths again. Dr. Malone, please make your arrangements. We’ll meet you there. I believe Will can tell you where to go from here.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Father MacPhail knew that Boreal would be in an absolutely dreadful mood when he returned from London, but he didn’t expect the man to be quite so violent.

“MacPhail?” Boreal bellowed upon storming into the manion. Father MacPhail heard the door slam shut behind and heard the arch of his boot click against the hardwood flooring as he swept inside, snake daemon likely hissing from her perch inside his sleeve.

This wasn’t good. Father MacPhail understood the risk and gravity of the situation. He knew very well how horrible it was for the woman and the girl to have gotten away, for that boy and that knife to exist and to be partnered with them. Good heavens, it was terrible! It was all completely a wash. Father MacPhail understood it perfectly—even if Boreal didn’t give him the credit.

“What happened?” Suddenly Boreal was standing directly in front of Father MacPhail now, his jacket crumpled and wrinkled from their skirmish and his face plastered with dried sweat and pure fatigue. He looked awful, and smelled awful despite the perfume he used to try and hide it. Father MacPhail very nearly gagged at the intensity of it all.

“She captured me,” Father MacPhail began, pausing for a moment of drama before launching into the tale and telling Boreal everything—well, mostly everything.

The truth of the matter was that Father MacPhail didn’t trust Boreal. Not one bit. He didn’t trust Marisa, either, but in this moment, he trusted Boreal less. The man had hidden entrances to alternate universes for years—decades, maybe—and used it completely to his own gain and benefit. Eulalia snorted as Father MacPhail thought about it all, the treasures the man had assumed and traded and sold across the worlds. He led a double life, an extra existence, a forbidden existence, and only came to the Church with the knowledge once something he wanted was gone and he couldn’t retrieve it himself. Boreal was pathetic, really, and even as Marisa had crossed the lines countless of times, at least her obsessive desire to be with her daughter rang with enough sincerity for him to at least temporarily trust her here.

“So we’re going back?” Boreal said as soon as Father MacPhail was done, just the smallest hint of anxiousness in his thick, velvety voice. “But, the knife—”

“Is not of the Cardinal’s utmost concern at the moment,” Father MacPhail cut in, his tone stern as his eyes locked directly with Boreal’s. “The child. The prophecy. That is our concern. And we need reinforcements.”

“Surely we could intervene directly if—”

“Now then, Carlo,” Father MacPhail interrupted again, the sense of finality in his voice not lost on his companion. “The Cardinal will need to hear from us at once right this very instant. Take me to the portal now, if you would be so kind?”

Chapter Text

“Up,” said Lyra, looking down at the small golden device. Her brow was furrowed as she gazed down at it, grimacing. Mrs. Coulter knew that face well. It was the look Lyra made when she didn't quite understand something, or when the alethiometer told her something she didn't quite want to hear. It was a look that, quite often, to a very sticky situation. “That’s all it says. Up."

"Of course it does."

Mrs. Coulter sighed then as her stroll came to a stop. The group had just passed through the portal by the hornbeam trees, a path that was becoming more and more familiar to them as they flitted between the worlds with ease. Their path across to the town village was well-trodden by now, yet currently they found themselves in uncharted territory as they left the town proper and advanced toward the towering mountains and caverns ahead of them. There was a spring of some sort in the distance, the golden monkey could glean, which was intriguing. He could faintly hear the trickle as his eyes strained to see ahead. Yet still they had to go "up," whatever that meant. And wherever that would lead. 

"How about some snacks now, loves? I've got some granola bars. They're full of sugar and are no good for you."

Mrs. Coulter appreciated Mary's attitude, now and throughout the trip. She was kind and warm. Mary was gentle in a way that Mrs. Coulter admired and knew she’d never actually be able to replicate. What was it about certain people who just exuded that aurora? Mary had “it,” whatever “it” even was. Mrs. Coulter could feel it. And she respecte it, as much as it puzzled her.

The children looked uncertain but then agreeable enough as they sat down on the grass and huddled around Mary's rucksack, accepting the half of granola bar she broke apart for them. The woman seemed to have quite a bit of supplies with her and was planning for the long haul. All Mrs. Coulter knew was that her Cave Computer finally spoke to her in the way that she'd been trying for it to and it told her to join them immediately and, as Lyra had been saying all along, that she had a job to do. Some kind of important, imminent job that required her leaving her entire life behind her in literal flames. 

What if they're all on hallucinogenics? the golden monkey droned in her mind. He wasn't pleased, per usual. These people, talking about this and about that and being told what to do… One has to wonder what's in the water here. 

Oh, hush, Mrs. Coulter sighed. She had questioned it all herself, to be fair, but at this point she didn't really have a choice. For whatever reason, the whole group was intent on coming here. Mrs. Coulter found herself out voted. The children insisted on finding Will's father, who was here, apparently, and Mary had some new adventure ahead of her. They all wanted to do this. And if there was one thing Mrs. Coulter had learned after all these weeks traveling with the children and from her previous experiences with Lyra, it was best not to push too much or else lose everything. So with the crowd they went, their unease pushed aside and buried behind them.

"Would you like half of mine, Marisa?" 

Mrs. Coulter blinked, brought back to the clearing with Mary staring at her with a soft smile and a half-unwrapped granola bar in her outreached hand. Mrs. Coulter didn’t know what a granola bar even was, but it certainly didn’t seem appetizing. "No, thank you."

"Alright then. Mighty fine view we've got here, haven't we?" 

Mrs. Coulter suffered through the boring smalltalk until Will had finished eating. He was still looking a little rough. They all did, of course, but he'd been especially shaken by the encounters with Boreal and from all the running. His clothes were torn and he had scratches all across his cheeks and forehead. He was worried about his mother as well, Mrs. Coulter knew, the poor thing. She seemed to suffer greatly and Will had been responsible for all of his life with the absence of his father. Was it that, perhaps, which motivated Will to travel across the worlds in pursuit of his father? Did he want to finally cede responsibility for his mother, who should have been taking care of him this entire time?

The more Mrs. Coulter thought about it, something else occurred to her. 

"Will," she said softly, right as Lyra had gotten out of earshot to go collect some water. "May I have a word?" 

He nodded almost instantly, dark eyes set on her. Mrs. Coulter smiled as she sat down beside him, looking him over and frowning in concern as she dabbed at a dirt fleck on his collar and then dusted off the top of his shoulders. The golden monkey was almost certain he blushed, too, as she sat there, fussing over the most seemingly mundane details. 

"You're looking rather peaked," she commented, blue eyes searching. 

"Yeah," he said, slowly. "I suppose there's a lot goin' on nowadays, isn't there." 

Of course there was, so she asked him how he felt and listened to him. At first he was reluctant, but after a while he spilled more of his feelings about the pressure to find his father and how he hoped it would help his mother. He shared how he hadn't contacted her in so long and he was afraid that she thought he'd abandoned her, and Mrs. Coulter murmured in sympathy the entire time, waiting patiently for him to finish. 

What are you up to? the monkey pressed, as he distractedly watched Mary fiddle with her bag on the other end of their little clearing. She ignored him. 

"You can always confide in me," she reassured Will when he was done, moving to brush her hand so very softly against his forearm. "I'll listen to you and do as best I can to help you."

"I know that."

"And you'll help us?" she asked, biting her lip slightly as he watched her. Comprehension dawned on the golden monkey just then. "There may come a time very soon, darling, where Lyra and I might be in inescapable danger. There are forces beyond this world that seek to hurt her, and as her mother, I simply cannot allow it. If necessary, I'd like to know that you'd be able to help us escape, even if it meant sending us away."

Will's eyes widened at that before narrowing, looking at the woman closely. Mrs. Coulter couldn't blame him. She had tortured a man in front of him, after all, and lied and schemed so many times. She'd stolen, too, and fought a man with her bare hands and nails. She gave him absolutely no indication that she was trustworthy except for that fact that she intervened to save his life on more than one occasion—and he hers, in fact. 

"We're bonded now," she went on, and something that almost resembled sincerity seemed to ooze from her now. This was important. It was very important, and Mrs. Coulter had the distinct impression that they both knew it. "We're a team and we're in this together, but all teams have backup plans in the event that the worst happens. Can I count on you, Will, if the worst happens?" 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Will didn't trust her, but he supposed he didn't have to. 

After a day of traveling, Will, Lyra, Mrs. Coulter, and Mary set up a makeshift camp for the night since they couldn't see in the darkness. Mary had brought a lot of camping supplies with her, which struck Will as a little strange. What had her computer told her before she came here? Will supposed that Lyra might know, but he and Mrs. Coulter were clueless, following along with the suspicious cautiousness that Will realized they both possessed and led with. 

She's a lot like me, he thought to himself as he curled up under a blanket next to Lyra. The thought made him feel warm, in a way, because she was an overall impressive person. Mrs. Coulter could control a room by simply stepping in it. She commanded attention like she commanded the Magisterial forces (as Lyra had said she did) and Will hadn't seen her fail in any of the tasks they set for themselves. There didn't seem to be anything she couldn't do and her sheer will to carry on and protect Lyra was something to be admired. 

Should Will admire her, though? That was something he kept thinking about. It echoed through his mind like a drum beat. Should he or should he not. She seemed to have some kind of hidden agenda, which was fair enough because he supposed he did, too. Even Lyra said not to entirely trust her. And then there was all this business about a time when Lyra would be in danger and when Will would have to help protect them. 

It just didn't sit right with him. But he didn't know what else to do about it. 

After the adults fell into an uneasy sleep, Will turned to Lyra, trying to determine if she was awake or not. 

"Can't sleep either?" Her eyes opened up immediately, not clouded with any sleep. Pan flicked his ermine tail but remained silent as the two exchanged hushed words, painfully aware of Mrs. Coulter and the golden monkey only meters away. 

"I told you about her," Lyra was saying, frustration creeping into her tone. "I don't know. But she's here with us now, isn't she? She's spent months looking for me and I don't think she'd want to just leave me."

"I think she's up to something, though."

"Of course she is."

"And you're okay with it?" 

Will didn't mean to sound as aggressive as he did. He sighed then and closed his eyes, trying to recenter and stay calm. If it was one thing Mrs. Coulter taught him it was not to be overly emotional. Even under the most difficult of circumstances she remained cool, calm, and collected. Will wondered how she did it, actually, even when her life was literally on the line. She did it and so could he. He controlled his breathing, finding the center just as he did with the knife. 

"Look, Lyra, I'm sorry," Will offered after Lyra's moody silence. "I'm not trying to start a fight. I just need to know…what do we do?" 

"What she says, I guess," Lyra whispered, the smallest trace of hesitation in her voice, "until the alethiometer says somethin’ else.”

Will didn’t like it. As he rolled back over facing away from Lyra, folding his arms and curling inward, he still didn’t like it. He felt like a prisoner in his own world, trapped between the whims of people and forces that he didn’t entirely understand. 

He didn’t have to like it. As they woke up and packed up their campsite, Mary scouting ahead and Mrs. Coulter hanging back to tag along with Will and Lyra, he didn’t like it one bit. But he supposed he didn’t have a choice. And all the while, he didn’t realize that with each step he was getting closer and closer to his father, which would be the end as well as beginning to everything.

Chapter Text

It was exactly as Father MacPhail expected.

Fury. Pure, unadulterated fury. The kind that burned white—invisible, instant, indelicate. Father MacPhail listened as Cardinal Sturrock released his wrath upon them both, on him for letting the situation grow out of hand and on Boreal for lying to them for so long about the existence of these worlds and his own role in them. The man's daemon, a once-beautiful and poised macaw, loomed haggardly above his shoulder now, cawing at the men and the daemons and what felt like the air itself. Her eyes were bulging, just like the veins on her human's neck. 

Such wrath and fury were most perfectly deserved, Father MacPhail knew. He wouldn’t deny it. Mistakes were definitely made. He knew this the moment the Coulter woman started this ludacris child program, and the first time he heard the whispers start to swirl around the Magisterium halls. She'd never had a proper plan for it all. Big dreams and grand promises were her go-to sell, even as she failed again and again to deliver any positive results. It was a slow demise, really, coming in like a tidal wave to drown them all out. Father MacPhail deserved this. He’d done this to himself. And as such, he would fix it. It was up to him to fix it. 

“Give the army over to me,” he said after the Cardinal was finished. His voice was quiet and measured. It did not waiver or shake or hesitate. He blinked slowly and kept his head high. 

Both men looked at him then. Even the daemons did. 

What are you doing? Eulalia probed, her lizard claw on his shoulder stabbing sharply into him. She didn't like this. She didn't have proper time to comprehend the plan, really, as it just occurred in his mind the moment he said it. He was uncharacteristically rash here in this moment, standing at the Magisterial seat with the barest outline of a plan. 

“I beg your pardon?” the Cardinal asked, face flushed and brow furrowed. 

“Give the army to me,” Father McPhail repeated, gaining strength and energy with each passing moment. "It's quite simple. We will follow the woman and the girl, and the knife. We have sources who have seen them lumbering about. We'll find out what they are doing and capture them, and I'll question them personally. And we'll strike them in a way they aren't possibly expecting."

"And how is that," the Cardinal snorted, and Father McPhail smiled. 

"John Parry," he said simply, and even Boreal balked. "You're not the only one who's heard the whispers, Carlo. He's connected to all of this. Give me the army and we'll track them all down. Give me the army and they won't be an issue for us any longer."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Stillness filled the air as Mrs. Coulter, Lyra, and Will turned around the bend of one of the mighty canyons. It was strange, the way the air chilled and stopped this far up the ravine. Where birds once swooped in and across the sky now lay barren, with not a speck of living matter to be seen the further and further they progressed. Even the vegetation was dry and crusted, with grass sparser and sparser amongst the pebbles. The vast sense of emptiness about this world was something that Mrs. Coulter was still growing used to, and that unsettled her just the smallest amount.

They were dropping Mary off near a waterfall, with her rucksack and her I-Chang and forced smiles. Why the woman wanted to travel this empty world was a mystery to Mrs. Coulter, but she respected it, as well as worried about it. None of them knew anything about this world. Mary certainly didn’t know much about the spectres. In a way, Mrs. Coulter was glad, as the creatures were eerie and chilling and just too entirely haunting for the red-headed scientist. 

Why worry about her? the monkey snorted, his shoulders moving methodically as they continued uphill through the ravine.

That was a good question. That was an excellent question. The truth was that Mrs. Coulter didn’t really have to worry about Dr. Mary Malone. The woman could take care of herself, she supposed, and had her own mission according to Lyra. 

All Mrs. Coulter had to do was worry about Lyra—which took enough of her time as it was. 

"Thanks for all the help and for the company," she said softly to the doctor as she took a step toward her new path. Will was frowning, per usual, and Lyra was staring intently at her. Mrs. Coulter couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking.

"This won't be the last time we see each other," the girl said, and then she flew into the redhead woman's arms. It caused something to stir inside Mrs. Coulter as she stood there and watched her daughter embrace the scientist, her arms wound tightly around her waist. They'd grown close over the past several weeks. Mrs. Coulter could tell that Lyra admired Mary's knowledge and the technology of her world, as well as her heart. Mary Malone was a fierce yet kind woman, believing in Lyra and going along with their utter madness against all logic and reasons.

A better person than we are, the golden monkey commented, and Mrs. Coulter said nothing. 

It was true. She couldn't deny it. Mrs. Coulter stiffened as she stood there, frowning and watching the scientist and the children share a last few words. They were tender and sweet. The lot of them seemed so genuine, so good-natured. It was so entirely authentic in a way Mrs. Coulter could barely understand. And then before she knew it, she was faced with Mary herself. 

"You take care of them," Mary said, and there was something different about her now. She was serious and almost stern as she spoke, with a certain glisten in her eye. It was full of concern and softness yet something else. "I know we've all got a huge journey in front of us, and that they need all the support and help and protection they could possibly get."

"Which I am perfectly equipped to provide." 

Mrs. Coulter didn't mean for it to come out so icily, as if she were defending herself or trying to prove herself. She knew very well here that she didn't have to do that, and that Mary only wished them well. But still the tone struck as Mary dipped her head and then smiled once more, turning around and pulling up her bag onto her back. And still Mrs. Coulter watched her walk away, wondering if Lyra was right and if she would ever see her again, and what it all meant. 

At the canyon now it was silent. Completely and eerily silent. The golden monkey sensed no movement from up ahead around them, and nor did Pan from his little scout ahead in the air as a hawk. They were alone in this part of the world and walking into something with only the vague guidance of the alethiometer. 

"Up ahead," Lyra was instructing, hands clutching the golden device and eyes furiously keeping up with the swinging handle.

“Up,” Mrs. Coulter parroted, looking out in front of them at stillness, nothingness, emptiness. “Up.”

It was always up. Up and away. So up they climbed, stopping for a rest and then gathering their things to set out again. And little did they know, up the Magisterium went, heading directly into their path. 

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

Will was getting anxious. He tried not to show it, but this all didn’t feel right as they kept climbing through this canyon. He tried to stay calm and not to be too much of a bother. This was Will’s way of life, really: stay quiet and out of the way. He was well used to it as he helped his mother around and avoided any of the neighbors and adults noticing. He kept his head down at school and around town running errands; he was best at disappearing completely, leaving no trace and causing no stir.

But this was different.

Will could tell that Mrs. Coulter was anxious, too. She walked along the ridge with a certain air of unease about her, checking behind them and ahead of them frequently with that monkey daemon trailing behind, always appearing ready to pounce. Perhaps she too had certain misgivings about this place, and about the pure isolation they faced now that they left Mary and all signs of civilization far behind them. Perhaps she didn’t agree with their quest to find his father, not quite understanding what it has to do with Lyra, or her, or anything they’re interested in. Or perhaps she was simply tired after being on the run for all this time.

It was hard to define, which probably should have troubled Will more than it did. 

“Yes,” Lyra returned, stiffly, as they kept marching forward. The canyon was winding into sharper cliffs now, and a light fog teased in the air. Pan scouted ahead as a black raven, and again Will found himself wondering what his own daemon would do in this situation: scout ahead, or keep guard from behind and on the side? Which side of him would it exude so openly, and which part would he keep just for himself? 

“Lyra,” Mrs. Coulter called, and Will turned around to face her. “Might we rest a bit, my love?”

“We’re almost there now.”

Lyra was stubborn. Will knew that from the moment he first met her there in that house with Mrs. Coulter. She wouldn’t listen to anything the woman had to say and didn’t take any excuses. Will admired that about Lyra, even if it annoyed him. He could respect it, although at the moment, he worried about it, as they felt so far out of their depth in this current situation. 

“Maybe she’s right,” he said then, soliciting a raised eyebrow from Mrs. Coulter and a frown from Lyra.

“What?”

“It just doesn’t feel right here is all,” Will continued. He could sense quite clearly that Lyra didn’t agree with him. She was standing tall as she glared at him, Pan swooping in from the sky to consider him. He glanced over at Mrs. Coulter, who was staring back quietly, not intervening yet actively engaged. 

“Don’t be a wuss, Will.”

“Lyra.”

Mrs. Coulter stepped forward at this, her eyes kind and her shoulder relaxed. “I don’t think it has anything to do about being scared. I agree with him. Something…isn’t right here.”

“Says you."

A thick tension filled the air now as Lyra and her mother stood across from one another. Their daemons squared off, too, the golden monkey baring his teeth and Pan raising his hackles and flattening his cat ears now in his feline form. It felt still, the breeze seemingly pausing and giving way to the conversation to come. 

Will couldn't help but think of his own mother again, with her worried brow and her nervous fiddling. She'd too been more cautious than Will thought was necessary, too, but he'd never treated her like this, like someone to be stood up to and put in her place. She was too kind, too innocent, as much as she was troubled. 

The difference, Will supposed, is that Lyra's mother wasn't exactly innocent. 

"Lyra,” Mrs. Coulter returned, voice measured.

"I en't listenin' to you on this. You're a liar and you don't care about Will anyway."

"That is not true." The woman's tone was sharp now as she stepped forward a bit, her cheeks flushing and her back straightening up. The golden monkey let out a small growl, too. "I do care. I just think you should stop and listen to what everyone else has to say."

"Why? You mean listen to you ?" 

"All of us," Mrs. Coulter emphasized, and at this she looked at Will, her blue eyes hard. "Do you want to continue up this path, Will, walking aimlessly toward something the alethiometer only vaguely suggests?" 

The way she said it was entirely loaded, Will knew. It was clear she didn't want to do that, and that she found it unfavorable and questionable and that she expected him to support her. 

But what did Will want? He had to stop and think for a moment, frowning as he focused his gaze down at his shoes. They were starting to split at the sides since they were a bit too small now. The budget was tight and his mother hadn't bought him a new pair yet. There was dirt flecked across the sides—dirt from different worlds, different lives. He was in quite a state here on this mountain, alone with a pair of strangers who said they wanted to help him but, at least with one of them, didn't seem to entirely act like it. 

At the end of the day, Will realized what he needed most was a parent. He was a child trying his best in an impossible situation. His mother wasn't able to help at the moment, and as helpful as she'd been, Mrs. Coulter wasn't his mother. 

So that left Will's father, which the alethiometer apparently located. 

"I want to find my father," he eventually let out, surprising even himself with the whine that threatened to spill from his voice as a sudden burst of emotion overcame him. It wasn’t something he liked to admit and give power to, but the truth was that this was something he had been growing increasingly expectant of happening. 

It was the best result of this entire adventure, he supposed, something positive to occur after something really horrible. Will almost felt like he was owed this, even if he wasn't used to getting things that he wanted—something he wanted as badly as he wanted this. 

Two things happened at that moment. 

First, Lyra lowered the alethiometer to gaze at him, her eyes rounding and softening with something more resembling compassion than pity but still flickering between the two. Will felt the intensity of it like a bullet. Second, Mrs. Coulter's eyes narrowed and her monkey daemon snarled—low and humming, like the motor of an engine. 

Before Will could react, however, Lyra interrupted.

“It says,” Lyra murmured, eyebrows raised as she glanced at the device again, “that your father is…there? Is…here, actually! Right here!”

Silence, still, in the air as the golden monkey continued snarling at something none of them could see. Mrs. Coulter was completely still as she closed her eyes, sniffing for something. 

“What?” Will started, staring at Lyra with his eyes wide and his mouth parting. He could practically feel his heart leaping from his chest at this point. 

“Shush,” Mrs. Coulter commanded then, putting her arm up to stop Lyra from moving. It reminded Will of what his mother would do when they were driving and she came to a sudden halt. It felt abrupt, out of place, dangerous. 

“But Will’s dad—”

“No—”

“—Is just there, there.”

Will had to look closer, and so side-stepped Mrs. Coulter and peered into the clearing before then to see what, exactly, she was so worried about. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When they all finally realized what was happening, it was too late to do anything about it.

Pounding filled Mrs. Coulter’s ears as they huddled there in the clearing, Will and his father talking face-to-face on one side with Lee Scorsby standing nearby. Lyra was glued to her waist, thrashing as Mrs. Could held her there tightly, but she couldn't let her leave, not yet, because surely enough… 

Zeppelins, the golden monkey completed for her, and Mrs. Coulter looked up, searching for the machines that she couldn’t yet see but knew innately were just there beyond the fog. 

The others didn’t notice at first. 

It felt like a dream, where Mrs. Coulter watched Will and his father embrace and then slowly heard the roaring of the machines. Lyra sensed them, too, and finally quieted down as everyone looked up— forever searching for up— to see what was coming. 

And then it happened. 

Gunfire erupted all around them. Mrs. Coulter shoved Lyra down against the rock, hard, as the golden monkey scouted a route for their escape. 

Just up here! he thought to her. A narrow passage. They'd never see us in all the smoke.

“Lets move, Lyra,” Mrs. Coulter murmured, dragging her daughter over to where her daemon hid. 

“But, Will,” Lyra protested, craning her neck around to look for him. 

He was on the other end of the clearing with his father and Lee. The two adults were firing off their weapons, Will crouched behind them, and Mrs. Coulter felt her heart leap. 

There's no time! the golden monkey raged, impatient from a few yards away. Come at once! 

"Will!” Mrs. Coulter shouted above the gunfire, ducking and pushing Lyra down even further behind a nearby boulder. The girl squirmed as she looked all around her, at Lee, at Will, at Will's father. The golden monkey came around, too, tugging at Lyra's arm. Both of them gasped at the contact, but he insisted. 

“Please!” he begged, attempting to pull her away. “This way!” 

Still, Will was crouched by his father, having some kind of conversation with him between shots. He seemed scared, but calm somehow. It was a trait Mrs. Coulter had come to admire about the boy. 

It was a trait that, ultimately, just wasn't enough on its own. 

"We have to move now!" Mrs. Coulter called to him, aware of the golden monkey inching past them with Lyra's arm on his back. 

Her call seemed to catch his attention. He looked at her, brow furrowed, and then looked back at his father, whose eyes locked with Mrs. Coulter's as he lowered his weapon and grasped the boy's shoulders. 

Mrs. Coulter knew in that moment exactly what he meant and what he wanted. She felt it in her bones, just as strongly as she felt when looking at Lyra crawling ahead in the dust. 

We're out of time, Marisa, her daemon pleaded with her as she stayed rooted to the spot, trying for the first time in her life to do the right thing. 

But then a gun fired and hit the stone just in front of them. Mrs. Coulter flinched away and moved to push Lyra further away into a nearby brush, closer to the passage where the golden monkey identified earlier. She looked behind her to see Will jumping in the opposite direction, his father and Lee right behind him. 

"Will!" Mrs. Coulter tried one more time, but it was too late. He was too far away and could no longer hear her, and the Magisterial army grew closer and closer. 

“They can't find us here,” the monkey assured them, still holding onto Lyra as they snuck behind the bushes. None of them questioned it anymore as the sounds grew fierce and they heard men's shouts swirl around them. Pan was hissing at the soldiers in his polecat form as Lyra was squinting toward Lee and John. They both had overheard about the prophecy, and knew what it meant, and knew that Lyra could never be found by these people. 

"Lyra, we have to go," Mrs. Coulter shouted then, picking up Lyra by the shoulders and dragging her off to the side. 

"What about Will?" Lyra cried, her eyes traveling over to where the boy and the two men could still just be seen. 

"There isn't time," Mrs. Coulter insisted, although she felt Lyra resist from her pull and break free entirely, turning back around. 

" WILL!" she shouted as loud as she possibly could, which was still drowned out by the firing of gunshots. Oh, Mrs. Coulter's heart sank as her daughter called out for her friend, for the boy she'd traveled the ends of the earth with and who had saved them all from certain death with the knife. She felt her cheeks moisten as she stood there, hand on Lyra's back and other hand being pulled by the golden monkey daemon. 

The girl had a choice to make in this moment. Mrs. Coulter saw it flash across her face and in her eyes as she stood there, trapped between two destinies. As Mrs. Coulter pleaded with Lyra to hurry and to go along with her, Lyra cast one last woeful look at Will and the two men before coming along, taking Mrs. Coulter's hand and following her deeper into the little forest. 

“Where are we going?” Lyra eventually asked. Her voice was hoarse and Mrs. Coulter caught tears glistening as they continued to run ahead of them. 

The truth was that Mrs. Coulter didn't know. She hadn't the faintest clue where they could go now that the Magisterium was here, and that Will and his knife were gone. 

If they even survived, her daemon thought grimly. 

“Somewhere safe,” she said, in spite of her creeping panic. “Somewhere safe, my love. I promise. Just keep running.”

And so our story ends, much like it might have ended if Mrs. Coulter hadn't been there at all. Lyra and Will are separated, with Lee and John Parry in perilous danger. Still, Mrs. Coulter finds herself reunited with her daughter, as fate has a way of sealing itself even in the most peculiar of circumstances.