The sun was setting over Oxford. The spires and domes of the colleges were hazy in the distance, their silhouettes barely visible over the treetops. It was midsummer, and Lyra and Pantalaimon were sitting on a wooden bench overlooking the gardens.

They were subdued and quiet, strange behavior for Lyra and her dæmon. Even after fifteen years, the losing Will caused such a deep, burning pain that Lyra often thought she would die from it. On those early sleepless nights in the strange new girl's dormitories, Lyra would think that the pain of losing Will was nothing like she had ever felt before.

Then she would notice her dæmon, curled up at her by her side, his heart beating in time with hers, and she would remember the way that he looked on the dock at the edge of the world of the dead, and she would remember the pain in her heart. Could it be possible, she whispered, that she loved Will as much as she loved her own soul? The thought made her shiver, and so she put it out of her mind.

And every year she had kept her promise, every midsummer evening saw her and Pan sitting on this bench in this spot for an hour, thinking of Will and loving his memory with all her heart.

For the rest of the year she wouldn't let herself dwell on his memory, though hardly a day went by without her seeing his face, or feeling his hand close over hers. But for this hour she could think of him, and dream of what their life together would be like. She would dream of their children, with her eyes and his beautiful hair, she would dream of their bodies lying close together like they once did, his lips on hers.

"I'm a nun, Pan," she said grumpily. The moment after she said it she realized how ridiculous she sounded, and burst out laughing.

Pantalaimon spoke from the bench beside her. "How ironic. Here I thought we were trying to get rid of nuns?"

"Don't be silly. You know what I mean."

"You were thinking about Will." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I was."

"Don't grump at me. I loved them too." He nipped the side of her leg gently. Lyra put her hand on his head, and he was in her arms in an instant, her face pressed into his fur.

"I love you Pan," she breathed. She released him and stood up. "Time to go now, I think." Pan flowed onto the ground and stood up next to her, nearly reaching her waist with his head. They were both looking at the bench at the spot where Will once sat.

"Goodbye, Will," Lyra said, and now there were tears. She let them flow, unashamed. "I love you with all my heart. I miss you…I love you." A warm breeze filled the garden, and Lyra and her dæmon were silhouetted against the final rays of the setting son, an empty bench in front of them, and a hole in their heart that couldn't be filled in this world.

Lyra had the money for a cabbie, a rather new invention, though she preferred to walk. She didn't trust those three-wheeled horseless carriages, though they were all the rage in London. Oxford only had a few, and they were used to ferry important visitors back and forth.

Lyra knew Oxford city completely; she had played there as a child, studied a there as a scholar, and now lived there as one of the heads of the British Republic. Her apartments were small but comfortable, located next to Jordan College and built just for her.

After her groundbreaking work in alethiometry and her part in overthrowing the General Oblation Board, Lyra had been made an honorary Jordan Scholar, an honor never before given to a woman, let alone anyone under the age of thirty.

Lyra slipped out of her skirt and blouse and slid into a sleeveless evening gown. She sat cross-legged on her bed with the alethiometer in her lap. She read it every single night so as to keep her mind used to the state it had to enter to read it. After years of nightly sessions, she was nearly as good at reading it as she was when she was a child.

"What should I ask it?" she asked Pantalaimon.

"Ask it what we should do next."

"Go to sleep?" Her tone was light, but Lyra knew what he was talking about. After Britain had broke away from the Magesterium, political tensions were at an all time high. They were, literally and figuratively, surrounded.

Lyra set the hands to point at the tree, the helmet, and the moon. 'What can we do to protect ourselves from our unseen enemies?' The answer came swiftly: horse, crocodile, griffin, Madonna, sword, hourglass, sun. The blue needle moved swiftly and surely, and Lyra's eyes followed its movements with practiced understanding. It took her nearly twenty minutes to decipher the answer, but Dust was patient, and her diligence paid off. She came out of her trance slowly, blinking herself awake.

Pantalaimon was staring at her. "What did it say?"

"It was tricky…it said that we needed to go to the Americas…something about Serafina…and the Magesterium, and that people would die…the Magesterium is moving again. It's starting in the Americas. And it's up to us to stop it."

"I didn't know there was a branch of the Magesterium in the Americas," said Pan. "Let me get the book." He was gone in a flash to the study, and came back moments later with a thin volume in his mouth. Lyra took it from him and stared at the cover.

"'Agents of the Authority: The Many Hands of God.' Got that bit right, didn't they?" she said with scorn. She opened the book and thumbed through it quickly. "Here it is, Pan. It's called the Seminary Council, and it's based out of Boston, in the Northern Union." Lyra closed the book, a small frown on her face.

"If the Magesterium is making plans against us, then we need to move quickly. We'll have to talk to the Privy Council tomorrow; we can call a special meeting. Do you think they'll listen?"

"If they don't have the sense to trust you by now Lyra, then to hell with them," said Pan matter-of-factly.

"Right. And we should call Serafina Pekkala. The alethiometer did mention her." Lyra crossed the room and opened a small chest that stood on her dressing table. Inside lay a single purple flower in full bloom. Lyra gently lifted the flower to her lips and spoke.

"I need your help, Serafina Pekkala."