A/N: Long author's note. Sorry! I am slowly but surely adding all of my works to this account. I was in a little bit of a writing slump, but now I'm back on track, and will write the next and final chapter soon, along with updating many of my other, longer fics. For those of you who are not familiar with the "His Dark Materials Trilogy", here are some key points: 1) "Dæmons are the external physical manifestation of a person's 'inner-self' that takes the form of an animal. Dæmons have human intelligence, are capable of human speech—regardless of the form they take—and usually behave as though they are independent of their humans"- taken from the trilogy's wiki online. 2) It is considered taboo to touch another person's daemon. 3) The Magisterium represents the bad guys, and the Gyptians are good men and women who live in boats and sail the channels and the high seas. They are a close-knit community who protect their own and help friends in need.
Belle and her daemon moved through the darkening streets, taking care to keep to the shadows and along the canal. It would be suicide to stray far, for the channel was their way to freedom, its waters offering precious passage for the Gyptian boat that would arrive in two hours to save them from the Magisterium. Bobbing boats littered the channel's side, offering cozy nooks and crannies to hide in until the rendezvous. Belle reached out, and seeing no one, climbed into a boat, careful not to slip on the dock's boards and create a fuss.
She tucked in underneath a set of wooden stairs and let out a low sigh of relief. All was quiet and still.
"That was close," her daemon whispered, swooping down to nest in her arms. "The docks were empty as far as I could see, though I can't be sure about the other side of the canal."
Her daemon's name was Altair, and he had settled into a beautiful barn owl when she'd matured at the age of sixteen.
"Hopefully no one saw us then," Belle whispered back, allowing her eyes to scan the shifting surface of the black water surrounding them. Night had set in hours ago and she was grateful Altair could see in the darkness.
The boat rocked gently in the canal's small waves, lulling them into a relaxed stupor. They had been running and hiding for days without proper sleep, barely avoiding the Magisterium's officers and patrons, and had reached their breaking point.
"How can you be so sure they'll come?" he wondered, hooting very lowly in her ear.
"Because if there's anything I know about Gyptians, it's that they don't abandon their blood. Besides, even though it's been eight years, I know they remember me. They'll come," she told him very quietly. Her hands strayed to his feathers and absently stroked them. "What do you think the Magisterium has done with the alethiometer?"
Altair snorted, though it came out sounding more like a soft screech. "Probably driven themselves mad trying to sort it out, I reckon. Why else would they be after us?"
"Fair point."
An alethiometer was a round, golden compass-like device that told the truth. Its name literally meant "truth measuring-device", and those who wielded the gift to read it were very rare and powerful. Symbols ran along its outer rim, each with a different meaning, while four needles pointed from the center toward the rim. The Magisterium had searched for years, trying to find someone who could manipulate the instrument's three main needles and know which symbols to place them on. If the alignment of the needles was correct for a particular question, the alethiometer's fourth needle would spin, settle on the symbols, and tell the truth. The trick was understanding the meaning behind the symbols.
Belle was the first person they'd found in two hundred years who could read and understand the alethiometer.
She'd discovered the ability when her father Maurice French—a collector of all things valuable—gave her an alethiometer for her eighteenth birthday. Had he known what it was at the time, Belle was sure he would have hidden it. Alas, fate played them a terrible blow and the Magisterium discovered the existence of the alethiometer in Oxford where they were living. They would have only collected the instrument if they hadn't caught her using it on the docks.
Yet that was weeks ago, and her father was now dead. He'd died at the hands of the Magisterium's officers, lying even in torture about her whereabouts.
"You miss him," Altair whispered, stroking his feathered head against her neck. As her daemon, he felt and experienced her thoughts and emotions—and vice versa for Belle.
She peered into the cloudless, star-speckled sky and nodded slowly. Her papa had been an educated man and she had loved him dearly. The afternoons spent on the quiet riverbank learning about ever gadget and gizmo, instrument and invention known to her papa had been the best in her life. "Someone's coming!"
Altair's hiss of warning sounded in her ears, and in a flash, Belle was curled into a tiny ball and had closed her eyes. It was her best form of silent defense. Eyes glittered in light and could give away their position.
Loud footsteps sounded on the boards of the dock, followed by a soft scratching of nails and pattering of breath. If she had to guess, the intruder was a heavyset man with a dog for a daemon.
The footsteps continued for ten paces before coming to a stop. Then a loud voice said, "I know you're here, and more men are coming. Why don't 'ye come out and make this easier for 'oth of us?"
Belle kept her eyes firmly closed, trusting in her daemon to warn her if the man discovered them. Her heartbeat thrummed like the wings of a hummingbird, deafening her senses, and then everything came into focus when Altair tweeted frantically, "His daemon smells your fear!"
As he said it, the man gave a triumphant grunt of glee and called, "Found 'ye."
"No," Belle murmured, opening her eyes to see a set of legs moving fast and approaching their position. She was right about his dog of a daemon because the beast began yowling and galloping along the slick boards, headed their way.
"Run! I'll fly out above," Altair cried, and quick as lightning, tore into the starry sky. "Run!"
"There 'e is, Aesina! The girl must be in the boat!"
Belle bristled with anxiety and tore over the wooden rail of the boat. Seeing her, the man's daemon snarled and charged, though it was thrown into confusion when Altair screeched, dipped down, and tore at its hackles. The man gave a shout of pain, feeling his daemon's injury. "Get off of 'er you mangy bird, get off!" he yelled, pattering down the row with an uneven gait.
Altair shifted and dug his claws into the daemon's face. The daemon barked, whining in its effort to protect itself. Though, as soon as the attack came, it left, for Altair retreated out of the man's range. He dipped out over the water, circling the sky. "More people are coming!" he told her. "We have to go, Belle! Go right! Right! Jump from boat to boat!"
Heart pounding, Belle sprinted down the row and launched herself into the nearest boat. She landed easily, though her knees buckled in the effort to keep her body balanced. The next boat was harder, but the sounds of pursuit behind her kept her moving. Altair swept overhead, screeching at her to move faster. "Belle, they're right behind you!" Terror cracked his voice. "Watch out!" That was her only warning before something solid slammed into her from behind.
Belle hit the deck hard, nearly cracking her skull against its wooden steps. She gasped out and struggled to stand, but a rough pair of arms pinned her. "Altair!" she shrieked. "Altair!" But when she looked to the sky, she realized he was fighting another man's daemon. A massive hawk pecked viciously at his feathers. "Oh, God. No!"
The strong arms checked her to the boards and her answering cry echoed into the night. "Don't hurt her!" someone demanded, and this time, Belle couldn't tell where the voice came from. From her angle, she could see that there were at least five men. All were dressed in black, which allowed them to blend into the darkness of the night. "Sir Gold wants her unscathed! You bloody idiot—she's bleeding!"
Belle should have been more concerned about the blood soaking her hair, but the name 'Gold' made her still. Her blood ran cold and horror shot through her body faster than adrenaline. If it was the same 'Sir Gold' she'd heard of during her short studies at Oxford and in the private offices of Oxford's finest men, she was doomed.
Sir Raeburn Gold was one of the Magisterium's most loyal supporters. He annually donated a large portion of his wealth to the Magisterium and had vast connections the Magisterium often made use of. His deals ran far and wide, and almost every business and invention had his name stamped on it. Simply put: he was powerful. If he wanted Belle, he would get his hands on her.
A cloth was pressed to her temple. She moaned out in pain at the pressure, still struggling to be free of the vice-like grip that pinned her. Overhead, Altair shrieked and fought in a blur of claws and feathers. He battled a hawk nearly twice his size, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed. They were caught.
"Call your daemon off," one of the men hissed in her ear. "We've got you, and you ain't getting away. Call him off and save us all the trouble." Belle cringed at the smell of his putrid breath. She coughed, feeling her vision swim, and cried out brokenly:
"Enough, Altair! Enough!"
Her brave, fierce daemon cried out in dismay at her orders, and immediately dipped down to land and hide in the crook of her neck. He was shaking, she realized with a shock. Blood spattered his white feathers, like blood splashed on snow. Gently, she clutched him closer to her skin, tenderly stroking his feathered head. He was so brave...
"Look! Even her daemon is hurt, you bloody fools!" the man who'd cautioned them earlier spat. "Sir Gold'll whip us for this! He specifically said he wanted her and her daemon unharmed. She's no good to the Magisterium bashed and bloodied, now is she?"
There was a rumble of displeasure, and the man who'd hunted her down and hurt her was roughly cuffed on the head. Then, moving with swift precision, they tied Belle's hands behind her back and lifted her to her feet. She wobbled, feeling sick, and one of them had to put an arm out to keep her from falling.
"We've been out 'ere too long! Let's move! The sooner we get 'er to Sir Gold, the better!"
Forced to half-walk and half-stumble, Belle was led by the group of men down the dock. At first she thought they were headed for the road, but as time passed, and they did not stray far from the river, she began to feel hope. As long as she was close to the river, the Gyptians had a chance of finding her.
They stuck to the shadows, careful not to let their footsteps echo on the cobblestones. The men's daemons prowled the area, trotting or flying close to their humans, and Belle was too intimidated by them to flee. She was outnumbered, battered, and bleeding. She stood no chance against five men and their quick daemons.
Altair tucked himself against her cheek as they traveled and hooted lowly in her ear. "Can you make a run for it?" She shook her head, biting her lip. Oh how her head pounded. "Belle, you've heard of Gold. We have to escape or else we're done for. He'll hand us right over to the Magisterium."
"I can barely stand straight," she whispered to him, "and you're in no shape to fly right now."
A rough hand gripped her shoulder. "Stop talking!" the man with the dog for a daemon growled against her ear. She yelped at the pressure and tried to shove him away, almost upsetting Altair on her shoulder.
"Don't touch her, you idiot! You're the one who busted her head. You want to get in even more shit?"
"She was talkin' with 'er daemon. They were conspirin' together!" he defended himself.
"Enough! We're here!"
Belle's eye widened. They had not gone far from the docks and, if she was not mistaken, her rendezvous was less than a mile away. Her eyes flashed to the wealthy townhouses sitting on the edge of street, overlooking the river, and rested on the most prominent one situated at the end of the lane. It was well-lit and made of rich, burgundy brick, which was expensive to come by in this day and age.
"Sir Gold lives here?" she wondered aloud, voice strained. If she had known he lived very close to her designated collection point, she would not have dared come.
The men chuckled. "Sir Gold has been tracking you for days, girl. He has assets everywhere."
Her blood instantly ran cold, and Altair fluttered nervously at her shoulder. She could not comprehend her situation. The night had started off hopeful but had slowly become worse, and the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her things were about to grow even more problematic.
She would have to keep her wits about her.
Maybe she would find a way out of this by the end of the night.
