OK guys, you said it was confusing, so I'm going to kind of outline the plot for you. Sorry!
Will and Lyra are at the bench. Lyra is slowly remembering by this time, and when she sits down on the bench, it triggers something and she remembers before she lost her memory, which is the bit on the roof, and the scissors. Either this chapter or some other chapter will explain that in full, because the old master of Jordan soon gets what's coming to him ;)
Mainly, Lyra was so depressed about Will that the old master ordered a kind of hypnotist/apothecary to make her sleep, and forget everything. Is that what you're confused about?
The bit where Will saw Lyra seemed to have confused you too. Will was kind of getting a bit of Lyra's thoughts at that moment. I had to make his see the painting some way :D
Is that everything clear? If it's not, tell me, and I'll do something about it. Also, could you tell me how I could improve the last chapter I did so that it's not so confusing… thank ya!
:D Here you go... :D
O0o, a biscuit :D
Chapter 9: The Master and the Museum
At the same time, in different worlds, two people leapt up from a familiar bench. Will took a second to glance around the gardens, taking in everything.
"Go!" urged Kirjava, streaking ahead of him, the sun glittering on her coat. Will sprinted after her, tearing through the garden, realization dawning on him.
Lyra didn't tear away so quickly. She stood quietly, processing the strange information she'd just acquired. The pieces were started to come together like some macabre jigsaw puzzle of her childhood. The master had drugged her… hired someone to drug her because she seemed almost suicidal. She could understand that, somewhere deep down, but she was still angry. No, angry was the wrong word. Livid, infuriating, enraged, fuming, outraged and incensed were closer to the mark. Lyra ran then, as fast as she could, out of the gardens. As she ran, she felt tears welling in her eyes and thought, I just want to be at home. In Thomas' arms. No! In Will's arms…
She wasn't aware that she was still running, but suddenly, she felt arms round her shoulders, and she was leaning against someone, sobbing softly. She felt safe.
But the small flashback ended quickly, and Lyra stopped abruptly. Where's my daemon? She suddenly thought, swinging round.
"Pan?" she called. "Pan!"
The bushes behind her whistled slightly in the wind. Panic welled up inside her, and she cried out. "Pan?"
The feeling came back to her in a rush. Of losing her daemon, not knowing where he was. It was a physical hurt, like her chest had been sliced open.
"Pan!" she yelled urgently, and was surprised by the sudden claws on her shoulder. Pulling him off her shoulder, she hugged him fiercely. "Where did you go?" she hissed. "I had this weird feeling…"
"I had it too," he said, his pine-marten eyes narrowing. "I've felt it before."
"So have I…"
"Let's go and see the master," Pan said suddenly, squeezing out of her grip and landing pertly on the floor.
"What do you think I was doing?" Lyra snapped. "I had this flashback thing… someone was holding me. On a beach."
She hadn't noticed that detail at the time, but thinking back, she remembered waves, gently lapping up the sloped beach, and trees…
"Let's ask the master," insisted Pan, running ahead of her. "He has all the answers."
"Tell me!" Lyra burst in, ignoring the maid who was flapping at her, and glaring angrily at the old man on the bed.
"Leave us," the master addressed the maid sharply. He was sat up in bed, and looked more alive than their previous meeting. The maid meekly raised her eyebrows, if that was possible, then bowed at the master and gave Lyra a glare before slamming the door.
"You're a liar, you stupid old man!" Lyra yelled, rushing to the bed and pointing her finger at the master. The master simply raised his eyebrows.
"That's twice you've called me a stupid old man," he said calmly. "Please, learn to control your fiery temper."
"For an old man," she observed sharply, "You've got rather a fantastic memory."
"And…?" the master asked snappily.
"And," she mimicked, "You could maybe tell me now, exactly why everyone here knows me, why I keep having visions of being loved, why the hell I went and sat on a bench today because of some feelings, and why you have that stupid smile on your face?"
The master, who was grinning blatantly, wiped the smile off his face and tried to look sombre.
"Oh, Lyra," he said dramatically. "Sit down. I am going to tell you everything. And I'm going to enjoy it."
Will was panting heavily, but he didn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He couldn't make himself stop. He just carried on, heading in the direction of the art gallery. He veered left, into the park, running past startled ducks and a few dog-walkers, momentarily entertained by the fully-grown man apparently desperate to look at some pictures. Forcing the door open then leaning against the wall to regulate his heart rate, Will put his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. The face that had faded in his head years and years ago had returned. It had been a shock to know she was there, never mind see her again. Not really see her. See her back, and a picture of her. Shaking his head, he went up to the counter, leaning forward to catch someone's attention.
He saw the bell and pinged it three times in a row.
"Coming!" called a female voice, from the open door opposite the counter. After a moment a woman came out, a smart receptionist dressed in a brown blazer-like jacket and a brown skirt, and knee-high brown leather boots. "Do you want a ticket?"
"Yes, please," Will said, remembering his manners.
"That'll be two pounds fifty," she said, keying something into the till on the desk before her. It beeped, one of the trays underneath shot out, she took a ticket out and asked his name. He told her and she wrote it quickly with a pen, then exchanged it for the money Will had fished out of his pocket.
He turned to walk away but she called, "Do you want to see the extra painting opening today for public view? Apparently you're in for a nice surprise."
Will turned and nodded. She pulled out another ticket.
"How much…?" Will said quickly.
"Oh, just go, no pay. You're obviously in a hurry." She flashed him a quick smile and walked back through the door, whistling.
Will wasted no time. He turned and took the steps three at a time, hurling himself through the empty galleries until he reached the main gallery.
The doors were open, but he couldn't see much, just an ornate corridor. Another plaque had replaced the other one, this time saying, Please feel welcome to come and see our new painting after you have purchased a ticket from the reception. Feeling his excitement rise, Will walked toward it, but before he could enter, a guard stopped him.
"Oh, what?" Will snapped. He saw the guard's face and mumbled an apology.
"Ticket?" the guard rumbled, holding out his hand. Will gave him the red slip of paper, and went forward without confirmation.
He reached the door and slowly walked forward. The corridor was richly done; the walls magnolia and the floor wooden, except from a new red rug stretching from one to the other. At the other end there was a staircase going downwards, and he couldn't see beyond that. But he knew that whatever was behind was waiting for him, and him alone.
Yeah, quick ending there, sorry about that. My sister wants to come on, she's being a pain in the ass. Swears
Did you like my little Harry Potter bit? "Sit down. I'm going to tell you everything." I couldn't exactly include the Harry part. Jeeezzzuuusss, I'd better do another disclaimer now, for stealing Harry Potter. :s
S'not mine. :D
