Disclaimer: I don't own Lyra, Will, Pantalaimon, or Giacomo Paradisi, and I don't own the fantastic His Dark Materials Trilogy. They are all the property of Philip Pullman and Scholastic Inc.
Author's Note: I stole the first part of the fic out of The Subtle Knife so that I could accurately establish what was going on. I know I borrowed a lot, but I couldn't help it, that's what it took. Like I said in the summary, it's not meant to be wonderful art. Please review the story, and thanks for reading!
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"But, Mister Paradisi -" Lyra began, but he shook his head and went on:
"There is no time. You have come here for a purpose, and maybe you don't know what that purpose is, but the angels do who brought you here. Go. You are brave, and your friend is clever. And you have the knife. Go."
"You en't really going to poison yourself?" said Lyra, distressed.
"Come on," said Will.
"And what did you mean about angels?" she went on.
Will tugged her arm.
"Come on," he said again. "We got to go. Thank you, Mr Paradisi."
He held out his bloodstained dusty right hand, and the old man shook it gently. He shook Lyra's hand too, and nodded to Pantalaimon, who lowered his ermine-head in acknowledgment.
Clutching the knife in its leather sheath, Will led the way down the broad dark stairs and out of the tower. Giacomo Paradisi watched the children leave with sadness in his eyes. "How could it be a child?"
He walked with slow deliberate steps over to the small window on the west side of the tower. Through it, he watched the waves of the ocean crash onto the shore. Several children were wading in the cool waters until a red-haired girl came to the water's edge and called their attention. After exchanging a few words with the girl, the children quickly got out of the water and ran into the town.
Mr Paradisi turned away from the window and walked over to a cabinet. He reached out a shaking hand to open the door, but before he reached it, he pulled back his hand. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly until his shaking was under control. This time, Mr Paradisi opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of cyanide pills. He set the bottle down on the counter and then filled a glass with water from an old dirty sink in the corner. The sink was made of dark stone, and had a disgusting layer of grime on it. The liquid that came out of the tap was flecked with rust and dirt.
Taking the glass of water and the bottle of pills with him, Mr Paradisi sat down in the chair that Will had sat in. He looked around him at the room. There were pools of blood on the floor from Will's wound, and everything was covered in dust. Even the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the window could not brighten the mood of the space. He felt a bitter resentment that this was where his life would have to end, a lonely room at the top of the Torre degli Angeli.
With a sigh of acceptance, he opened the bottle of cyanide pills, and shook some out onto his left hand, the one that had lost two fingers in his own battle for the knife so many years ago. With his other hand, he took a pill and placed it in his mouth, quickly washing it down with water. He shuddered slightly as he felt the pill travel down his throat.
After he set down the glass, Mr Paradisi leaned back in his chair. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the musty humid air. As he exhaled, a single tear strolled down his bruised and battered right cheek. Without wiping it away, Mr Paradisi closed his eyes, and waited peacefully for his death to come.
