AN: This short story takes place in the world Lyra comes from, and therefore while places and events may seem familiar, they are not entirely like the ones in our world. Any discrepancy between the two is intentional. This story takes place just before Lee's death in The Subtle Knife.
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"Pow! You're dead!"
The French solider looked down at the rifle pointing at him, and realized he was indeed dead. He collapsed to the ground in a sitting position, sulking against the old dusty stone wall. His daemon, a dust-colored hare, flickered into a cougar and growled menacingly at the other soldier, before turning back into a rabbit and hopping over to comfort him. The boy shot him a malevolent look and stuck his tongue out at the other boy before turning his attention to the rabbit and stroking it gently.
Lee Scoresby had no time to waste standing around with the dead man. He was playing the part of a fearless Dane, fighting to defend the Alamo and drive the French back into the sea! So what if one of them happened to die slumped against a wall? He silently called for Hester to come back to him. She had been looking ahead to see if there were anymore Frenchmen still up around the corridor. She came running back as a dark yellow cat, perfectly blending into the walls of the old fortress.
She ran up to him and jumped in his arms, and stared up at her with her beautiful amber eyes while she spoke. "There's a whole load of them outside, comin this way! We gotta move, Lee!" she whispered urgently.
Lee cocked his hat to one side for style (because that was what he thought a brave and fearless Dane would do) and ran off down a corridor with wide arching windows facing the west. The setting sun shone through brightly, illuminating the bits of floating dust in the corridor. Lee had to squint to see anything clearly.
He raced on, through abandoned hallways, up ancient stairs, down corridors like this one, knowing that eventually he would shake off the kids. Then suddenly he tripped! His leather boot had caught on a raised stone, and both his rifle and his hat flew up uncontrollably into the air, down a stairwell he had been making for.
He got up dizzily dusting himself off and checking for cuts. Hester ran right up to him, a desert fox now and asked, "Are you all right?"
Lee grumbled "Yeah, I'm fine. Justa hard knock, that's all." He stood there rubbing his head. "Did ya see where the rifle went?" he said, picking up his hat and readjusting it back on his head.
"It went down the stairs. Over there! Oh, Lee... I hope it's all right." She said worriedly, running towards the stairs and doubled back again to Lee before she got to far. Lee ran over to the stairs, cursing himself for letting go the rifle.
The rifle belonged to his father, and only after much pleading and begging and double chores had he grudgingly been allowed to used the rifle when he and his friends played French and Danes at the Alamo. He was instantly the envy of all the other children (who mostly had only sticks), including Stan Pike, who up till then had been near deified by the children because of his father Smith & Burgesson six-shooter that he was allowed to play with.
The rifle had always stood of the mantle, a thing of beauty. It's smooth steel barrel, cold as ice, extending from the hand-carved wooden handle. It was rumored even to have been once used by Davis Boreman, the famous American explorer, to fight in the wars against the Missouri Indjuns. But even Lee and Hester knew that that was probably only a myth. Still...
And he had banged it up. He had let it bang down a flight of stairs. Lee cursed himself again. He was at stairs in moments and-!
The stairs stopped, halfway down! Lee had to scramble backwards to avoid falling to the ground, twenty feet below. Hester skidded to a stop, but her fox form was too fast, and she couldn't stop. Lee saw and instinctively grabbed her before she could tumble down into the abyss. Another moment and she would have fell, but Lee held his demon close and backed up on the steps, away from the drop.
He realized that both of them were breathing heavily and fast. Hester swallowed.
"Thanks, Lee."
"No problem." He paused for a moment to catch his breath. "Now. Let's see what we can do about that rifle."
He thought. He couldn't go back and around for it because the children would catch him, and he was defenseless without the rifle. Plus, he needed to get it back, because if he didn't he had no idea what his father would do to him, but he knew that it wouldn't be good.
So he searched for a third alternative. Suddenly Hester spoke. "Lee!"
"Yeah?"
"Are you a-seein what I'm seein?"
"No. What is it?"
"That edge of the building. It's worn, and it goes around and down. You could probably edge along it down to the ground, if you were lucky."
He looked. Sure enough, at the edge of the stairway where the building had crumbled away was a sort of ridge, jutting out from the edge of the building. If he was careful he could sidle down it down to the ground, and pick up the rifle.
"Okay," said Lee, setting his jaw "I'm gonna do it. Wish me luck, Hester!"
"I'll be right here Lee!" She said, taking the form of a mockingbird and spiraling down towards the rifle.
Lee Scoresby swallowed, and then stepped off the stairway onto the ledge like a man taking a step into empty space. He followed with the other foot, now completely standing on the foot and a half wide edge.
And not a moment too soon! With whoops and shrieks and war cries, he heard the other children from down the hallway. He instantly flattened himself against the wall, and heard a boy's voice issuing orders. "All right" came the slow drawl of Stan Pike, "All y'all are gonna have to split up. Jim, Ed, you take the left-hand passage. Davis, you're with me."
"But what about that stairway up there?" said a boy.
"That way collapsed a week ago, you idiot! It's just a dead end. Now shut up and go with Ed. C'mon Davis."
He heard the sound of footsteps charging off, and breathed a sigh of relief. That would put them off the trail for a while. He now returned to the problem of getting to the rifle.
The edge started dropping, and it grew steadily narrower, first a foot and a half, then a foot, then a half foot and down to where he could barely keep his balance and more than a few times decided to give up. But the image of his father and his father's belt came to mind, and he clenched his teeth and crept downward.
Finally, he was there; the rifle was lying in the dust six feet below him. He wondered if he could get Hester to pick it up instead of jumping down to get it, but he knew he couldn't chance climbing that ledge a second time.
"Hester!" he said, voice shaking, "I'm gonna jump. Ready? One... two... three!" But Lee found that he couldn't jump standing next to the wall. His knees bent down, but as they did he found himself suddenly falling forward off balance, face first, straight towards the hard ground filled with broken, jagged stone.
In an instant Hester was there as a cougar, the biggest animal she knew, and raced under him and broke his fall. He landed on her, winded, but intact.
He slid off her, trying to catch his air back. He tried to thank Hester properly, but he couldn't speak with the wind knocked out of him, so he settled for firmly and gently stroking her back. She purred appreciatively and Lee smiled. They were even, but who was keeping score?
He padded himself off and walked over to his father's rifle. He checked it, and aside from it being superficially dusty, it was okay.
He swallowed. "Good. Just like new."
"Don't be gettin sentimental now, hear?" said Hester reproachfully. "There's a war goin on."
Lee blinked. In the challenge of getting his rifle back, he had forgotten about the fight.
"You're right Hester. I plum forgot about the fightin. I don't suppose that there're many Danes left, you think?"
"No," said the daemon, now a mockingbird again. "I reckon we're the last ones, Lee."
"Then we'll have to make our stand. Here's a good a place as any." He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. "Dirty Frenchies! Come and get me!" he yelled.
He heard a roar of glee and hostility from the children that were nearby. It would be all over soon, he thought, as he thought he felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him...
.........................................................
"Quit daydreamin and take a sight! This ain't play, Lee!" yelled Hester angrily from her vantagepoint.
Lee Scoresby looked up from the Navaho ring, and back into reality. Hester was right. This wasn't the time for memories. With a final glance at his mother's ring, he looked down at the twenty or more Imperial Guardsmen advancing out of zeppelin into the gulch and realized that this was it. He was going to fight.
He slung the rifle up over the rock he was crouching behind and popped a bullet into the chamber. It snapped in with a cold and satisfying 'click'. He waited.
He sat there, grim faced, his jaw clenched determinedly. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but whatever happened here would affect Lyra. That little girl that he loved like a daughter was counting on him, although she didn't know it. He was damned if he was going to let her down.
He thought of all the needless deaths he had seen and participated in. And he was about to become a murderer again, in a few minutes. It would have to come to that, the men were getting closer now.
He took one last look at his Hester, whom he loved dearly. Then he turned his back to the blue uniformed men.
A steely resolve filled him.
This was for Hester.
This was for Lyra.
This was his Alamo.
.........................................................
"Pow! You're dead!"
The French solider looked down at the rifle pointing at him, and realized he was indeed dead. He collapsed to the ground in a sitting position, sulking against the old dusty stone wall. His daemon, a dust-colored hare, flickered into a cougar and growled menacingly at the other soldier, before turning back into a rabbit and hopping over to comfort him. The boy shot him a malevolent look and stuck his tongue out at the other boy before turning his attention to the rabbit and stroking it gently.
Lee Scoresby had no time to waste standing around with the dead man. He was playing the part of a fearless Dane, fighting to defend the Alamo and drive the French back into the sea! So what if one of them happened to die slumped against a wall? He silently called for Hester to come back to him. She had been looking ahead to see if there were anymore Frenchmen still up around the corridor. She came running back as a dark yellow cat, perfectly blending into the walls of the old fortress.
She ran up to him and jumped in his arms, and stared up at her with her beautiful amber eyes while she spoke. "There's a whole load of them outside, comin this way! We gotta move, Lee!" she whispered urgently.
Lee cocked his hat to one side for style (because that was what he thought a brave and fearless Dane would do) and ran off down a corridor with wide arching windows facing the west. The setting sun shone through brightly, illuminating the bits of floating dust in the corridor. Lee had to squint to see anything clearly.
He raced on, through abandoned hallways, up ancient stairs, down corridors like this one, knowing that eventually he would shake off the kids. Then suddenly he tripped! His leather boot had caught on a raised stone, and both his rifle and his hat flew up uncontrollably into the air, down a stairwell he had been making for.
He got up dizzily dusting himself off and checking for cuts. Hester ran right up to him, a desert fox now and asked, "Are you all right?"
Lee grumbled "Yeah, I'm fine. Justa hard knock, that's all." He stood there rubbing his head. "Did ya see where the rifle went?" he said, picking up his hat and readjusting it back on his head.
"It went down the stairs. Over there! Oh, Lee... I hope it's all right." She said worriedly, running towards the stairs and doubled back again to Lee before she got to far. Lee ran over to the stairs, cursing himself for letting go the rifle.
The rifle belonged to his father, and only after much pleading and begging and double chores had he grudgingly been allowed to used the rifle when he and his friends played French and Danes at the Alamo. He was instantly the envy of all the other children (who mostly had only sticks), including Stan Pike, who up till then had been near deified by the children because of his father Smith & Burgesson six-shooter that he was allowed to play with.
The rifle had always stood of the mantle, a thing of beauty. It's smooth steel barrel, cold as ice, extending from the hand-carved wooden handle. It was rumored even to have been once used by Davis Boreman, the famous American explorer, to fight in the wars against the Missouri Indjuns. But even Lee and Hester knew that that was probably only a myth. Still...
And he had banged it up. He had let it bang down a flight of stairs. Lee cursed himself again. He was at stairs in moments and-!
The stairs stopped, halfway down! Lee had to scramble backwards to avoid falling to the ground, twenty feet below. Hester skidded to a stop, but her fox form was too fast, and she couldn't stop. Lee saw and instinctively grabbed her before she could tumble down into the abyss. Another moment and she would have fell, but Lee held his demon close and backed up on the steps, away from the drop.
He realized that both of them were breathing heavily and fast. Hester swallowed.
"Thanks, Lee."
"No problem." He paused for a moment to catch his breath. "Now. Let's see what we can do about that rifle."
He thought. He couldn't go back and around for it because the children would catch him, and he was defenseless without the rifle. Plus, he needed to get it back, because if he didn't he had no idea what his father would do to him, but he knew that it wouldn't be good.
So he searched for a third alternative. Suddenly Hester spoke. "Lee!"
"Yeah?"
"Are you a-seein what I'm seein?"
"No. What is it?"
"That edge of the building. It's worn, and it goes around and down. You could probably edge along it down to the ground, if you were lucky."
He looked. Sure enough, at the edge of the stairway where the building had crumbled away was a sort of ridge, jutting out from the edge of the building. If he was careful he could sidle down it down to the ground, and pick up the rifle.
"Okay," said Lee, setting his jaw "I'm gonna do it. Wish me luck, Hester!"
"I'll be right here Lee!" She said, taking the form of a mockingbird and spiraling down towards the rifle.
Lee Scoresby swallowed, and then stepped off the stairway onto the ledge like a man taking a step into empty space. He followed with the other foot, now completely standing on the foot and a half wide edge.
And not a moment too soon! With whoops and shrieks and war cries, he heard the other children from down the hallway. He instantly flattened himself against the wall, and heard a boy's voice issuing orders. "All right" came the slow drawl of Stan Pike, "All y'all are gonna have to split up. Jim, Ed, you take the left-hand passage. Davis, you're with me."
"But what about that stairway up there?" said a boy.
"That way collapsed a week ago, you idiot! It's just a dead end. Now shut up and go with Ed. C'mon Davis."
He heard the sound of footsteps charging off, and breathed a sigh of relief. That would put them off the trail for a while. He now returned to the problem of getting to the rifle.
The edge started dropping, and it grew steadily narrower, first a foot and a half, then a foot, then a half foot and down to where he could barely keep his balance and more than a few times decided to give up. But the image of his father and his father's belt came to mind, and he clenched his teeth and crept downward.
Finally, he was there; the rifle was lying in the dust six feet below him. He wondered if he could get Hester to pick it up instead of jumping down to get it, but he knew he couldn't chance climbing that ledge a second time.
"Hester!" he said, voice shaking, "I'm gonna jump. Ready? One... two... three!" But Lee found that he couldn't jump standing next to the wall. His knees bent down, but as they did he found himself suddenly falling forward off balance, face first, straight towards the hard ground filled with broken, jagged stone.
In an instant Hester was there as a cougar, the biggest animal she knew, and raced under him and broke his fall. He landed on her, winded, but intact.
He slid off her, trying to catch his air back. He tried to thank Hester properly, but he couldn't speak with the wind knocked out of him, so he settled for firmly and gently stroking her back. She purred appreciatively and Lee smiled. They were even, but who was keeping score?
He padded himself off and walked over to his father's rifle. He checked it, and aside from it being superficially dusty, it was okay.
He swallowed. "Good. Just like new."
"Don't be gettin sentimental now, hear?" said Hester reproachfully. "There's a war goin on."
Lee blinked. In the challenge of getting his rifle back, he had forgotten about the fight.
"You're right Hester. I plum forgot about the fightin. I don't suppose that there're many Danes left, you think?"
"No," said the daemon, now a mockingbird again. "I reckon we're the last ones, Lee."
"Then we'll have to make our stand. Here's a good a place as any." He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. "Dirty Frenchies! Come and get me!" he yelled.
He heard a roar of glee and hostility from the children that were nearby. It would be all over soon, he thought, as he thought he felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him...
.........................................................
"Quit daydreamin and take a sight! This ain't play, Lee!" yelled Hester angrily from her vantagepoint.
Lee Scoresby looked up from the Navaho ring, and back into reality. Hester was right. This wasn't the time for memories. With a final glance at his mother's ring, he looked down at the twenty or more Imperial Guardsmen advancing out of zeppelin into the gulch and realized that this was it. He was going to fight.
He slung the rifle up over the rock he was crouching behind and popped a bullet into the chamber. It snapped in with a cold and satisfying 'click'. He waited.
He sat there, grim faced, his jaw clenched determinedly. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but whatever happened here would affect Lyra. That little girl that he loved like a daughter was counting on him, although she didn't know it. He was damned if he was going to let her down.
He thought of all the needless deaths he had seen and participated in. And he was about to become a murderer again, in a few minutes. It would have to come to that, the men were getting closer now.
He took one last look at his Hester, whom he loved dearly. Then he turned his back to the blue uniformed men.
A steely resolve filled him.
This was for Hester.
This was for Lyra.
This was his Alamo.