During the rest of the journey to the lesser peninsula, Farder Coram was very quiet. He kept to himself mostly, and he told no more stories to Peter. In all honesty, Peter didn't try as hard as he might have to coax it from him. It was just that the poor man looked so distant, like he just needed some extended time for himself, and Peter felt he could not take that from him. It was in vain that he wished that there had been some mistake, that Farder Coram himself was Lucy's father instead of Lord Asriel, but there wasn't even a sliver of hope in that dream; Sarah never loved Farder Coram as anything more than a dear father-figure; Peter had to let that go, too.
Ma Costa gave Lucy a dagger, just as she had promised, and of course, it bore the name, 'Reep'. Its coppery sheath was smooth, soft to the touch, but firm enough to be of real protection all the same. Lucy loved it and, though it made Peter a tad nervous, spent much of her remaining time at sea holding it up and watching as the sunlight reflecting off of the perfectly mirror-like water below made it sparkle like a long, pointed jewel, glistening and winking at the seagulls that flew passed.
Doe watched Peter's nervous eyes, Lucy's delighted, slightly muddled, gaze, and the twinkling of the sun-bathed blade, with her own cat-eyes wide and her tail flicking rapidly, mistaking it for a sort of game-a game that she must have been doing well at. Why else would Peter reach down and stroke her ears so often, always remembering to save a scrap of his supper for her after all the other sailors had practically licked their plates clean and then gone to wash up, barely paying her any mind?
As for Lord Asriel, he showed no signs of caring about anyone's actions on-board. He didn't react at all to Lucy's dagger, or Peter's occasional glares, or even to Farder Coram's slightly withdrawn attitude. Peter wondered if he was thinking, perhaps, of Lady Sarah, lamenting over how he had betrayed her. Then, he might have not been thinking of her at all, his thoughts might have been with Mrs. Coulter, or else, with no one at all. It was impossible to tell, he was a closed book-a secret tome that nobody was allowed to read, written in symbols that could not be puzzled out. His snow-leopard dæmon was as unreadable as her master, blankly glancing at the dæmons of the sailors with a slightly superior, but also somewhat understanding expression written on her soft, furry, pale-coloured face.
When they reached the peninsula at long last, the Gyptians gathered up their tent-poles and their food-stores, tucking them all away into tightly-wrapped packs. Everyone-even Lord Asriel-had to carry something, and it made Peter realize, not without some disappointment, that they wouldn't be at Jordan as quickly as he would have liked. Lucy-though she, too, had a small pack she was ordered by Ma Costa to carry-was rather excited. In spite of the fact that she'd loved every minute of her time on the ship, she had been starting to feel her growing legs cramping up and simply needed to stretch them. A long walk, at the time, seemed more like a blessing than a curse. What was more, she would get one of her wishes, if only for a short period of time; she would get to see the Gyptains' camp after all. At least, she would get to see them set it up, and-perhaps-if Jordan College was far away enough-get to spend a night in one.
Reepicheep, ready for adventure and in as good a humour as his human, shifted into a black stallion and trotted merrily at her side. Lucy was rather surprised-Reepicheep had never taken such a romantic-looking form before. With his beautiful ebony mane and his velvety nose, she almost felt shy of him-of her own dæmon-and had to look closely into his familiar eyes to be sure he was still her Reep. Once she was convinced, she laughed at herself, shaking off the shyness and the silly-feeling altogether, and patted his neck lovingly.
Ratter remained a rat; clearly this was no new experience for her. And why should it have been? In all likelihood, Billy and his dæmon would have made this journey countless times, young though he was.
While she adored Billy and was proud enough to call him her friend, Lucy couldn't help wishing that Edmund could be there, too. He was a different sort of playmate, a darker soul with a wiser dæmon, but she missed him. She wondered if his arm still hurt him, if his mother by some chance had found out that he'd tried to help them, if he was safe. She thought of Ella with her wings the colour of moonlight; poor Ratter, in spite of her own charms, paled in comparison. Not that Lucy would ever tell Billy Costa that she secretly liked Edmund Coulter better, it would have been horribly cruel thing to say to anyone, and she couldn't even imagine doing such a thing.
Ma Costa smiled sympathetically at Peter who was trying to steady himself, dizzy as he first stepped off the ship, onto the firm-set land, while Doe yowled in a cranky, temperamental manner, having something of kitty-indigestion from the long trip over.
The walk that first day was slow-paced enough. No one except Billy Costa and Ratter spoke; Lucy would have spoken, but she was too busy drinking in the look of the shady shore and the start of the woods they were coming to. They wandered down thick green-and-brown lanes that seemed more like old cow-paths than anything else. Peter felt a bit unsettled, wondering if some spy of Mrs. Coulter's was going to magically appear behind the first tree around the next bend, club him over the head to save on spy-flies, and ship his tush back to Bolvangar before he could protest. Well, if they really meant to do something like that, he wouldn't give in without a fight-Lucy needed him and that was that. He had to be free for her sake. Otherwise, he might have almost-not quite, for he wasn't crazy, but almost-been tempted to allow himself to be caught in hopes of getting a chance to see Susan again. But then, seeing as pretty much the last thing she'd said to him was that she didn't love him and couldn't see him anymore, she probably wouldn't give him the time of day if he ever turned up at Bolvangar again.
Night fell and the stars came out like a thousand points of light above them. As if it were a cue of some kind, the Gyptians stopped at the nearest clearing and set up their tents. Mostly they were purple and blue colours, dark, but not royal, slightly faded, but somehow grand in their own ways. The poles were of light copper with heavier silver tips for sticking deep into the ground. The largest, most luxuriously wild bonfire Lucy had ever seen was started up in the middle of the camp, and something that smelled simply delicious and made her eyes and mouth alike water, roosted over it. There was clapping and a few of the older men, including Farder Coram who seemed to be coming back to his old self again, sang cheerful songs. Ma Costa clapped and whistled lightly while her hawk added shrill notes here and there.
Once everyone's stomach was full-and many a Gyptian chap had gotten giddy on wine-they all retired into the tents they had been assigned to earlier by someone who was evidently related to Ma Costa, and went to sleep.
Hours later, Peter found that he was still awake. Doe had been sleeping on his chest and had, in her sleep, scooted up to his head at least twice, making it impossible for him to fall asleep. Also Reepicheep, who was of course a mouse again as a stallion would not have fit into the tent, was snoring at Lucy's side quite loudly.
"Agh, Doe!" Peter groaned in a sleepy voice, too tired and cranky to humour his pet. "Will you stop trying to sit directly on my nose?"
The cat let out a low meow and started kneading his chest with her front paws like it was dough, her face barely an inch away from his.
Peter let out another moan; maybe having a pet-fake dæmon or not-was over-rated.
Doe turned around full circle and her bottom ended up in Peter's face again. "You know, Doe, I really wish I was talking to the other side of you." he murmured.
With a rough swish, the tent flap was moved back. Peter closed his eyes part-way so that, in the darkness, it looked like he was asleep although he could see a little bit through his light-coloured eyelashes. The man entering the tent wasn't a Gyptian, he was too fair for that, and Peter got ready to leap up holding a knife he'd kept from supper just in case it meant to try to harm poor little Lucy. But, then, he saw that the man's dæmon was a snow leopard and knew him at once for the Lord Asriel.
What is he doing in here? Peter thought-feeling his heart pounding as he wondered if Asriel suspected him of only pretending to be asleep, or if his dæmon could sense something amiss.
Lucy shivered slightly from the bit of cool air that seeped into the tent from the open flap. Peter had to fight back the urge to jump up and throw an extra blanket over her shaking shoulders; Reepicheep shuddered, too, huddling closer to his human.
Looking over at his dæmon and then back at his daughter again, Lord Asriel sighed and placed a woolen blanket over Lucy's small body. The snow leopard lightly dragged her paw along Reepicheep's rodent form and patted Lucy's covers around him.
"Sleep well, daughter." Lord Asriel whispered in an almost inaudible tone of voice-though Peter heard it.
Biting onto his lower lip, Peter willed himself not to blurt out 'thank you' to Lord Asriel as he left. The man was only doing the bare minimum of what he always should have done. He never took care of his own daughter, this was the first time he had ever even called her 'daughter', the first time he had ever spoken to her with actual tenderness that could be considered remotely genuine; why should he get commendation for that?
It was almost funny, Peter thought, how he could know a boy to be his sister's betrayer and not hate him, and then know a man to be his sister's own father, and well, hate him as deeply as if he were the betrayer. In a way, he was, wasn't he? Hadn't he hurt Lucy's mother? Hadn't he had an affair with a married woman? But then, if he was so horrible, why did the Gyptians favor him so greatly? None of this made any sense to him, his head was reeling. Doe, oblivious of his distress, let out a mew that sounded more like a 'meep' and went to sleep on his stomach.
When morning dawned, the Gyptians rose and packed up all their things, ready to set off on a march again. According to Farder Coram's brass compass, they were heading due north and would be arriving at Jordan by the evening. Peter was glad of it, but a little frightened when he remembered that surely educated scholars would see straight through his fake dæmon and know him for what he was right away-a boy from another world who had no real dæmon of his own. The Gyptians had accepted him, but would the scholars? Would they want to? Would they have to?
Just as the sun was setting over a cultivated wheat field which Farder Coram informed him was property owned by the college, casting a warm, pinkish-orange light over the strangely misty plain, Lord Asriel announced that they would go on alone from that point. Non-protesting, Farder Coram nodded and shook Peter and Lucy's hands solemnly, telling them that his ships and camps were their ships and camps and if they ever needed him, not to hesitate to send word his way.
"Goodbye my dears." Ma Costa kissed them both goodbye on their foreheads. "And take good care of your dagger, child." she added for Lucy's sake.
"I will." Lucy promised, stepping away from the most motherly person she had ever known other than Peter's mother, Helen, with a few tears in her eyes.
Lord Asriel rolled his own eyes; he despised all things sentimental, much too rough a noble for such nonsense.
"Billy!" a voice suddenly cried out excitedly, a small-framed figure bounding out of the taller corner of the wheat-field.
It was a little girl about Lucy's age with wild, uncombed, light-brown hair a few shades darker than blonde. She was fair-skinned like Asriel, and her dress, while of very good quality, looked borderline-horrid, because it was stained and torn from running around. Her dæmon was currently in the from of an egg-yolk yellow butterfly with black-tipped wings; he fluttered a few inches away from her left shoulder.
"Lyra!" Billy exclaimed excitedly, rushing with both his hands out to meet the girl. His dæmon shifted into a white moth and banged into her butterfly playfully.
"You're back," Lyra grinned at him.
"Of course."
"You aint forgot about our war, then?" Lyra raised an eyebrow at him challengingly. "You lost the last bet we made just before you left."
"Double or nothing?" Billy tired.
"And what if I say no?"
Billy shrugged. "We Gyptian children can do anything you college-folks can, we aint afraid of no battle."
"Well," Lyra's mouth twisted as if she was trying not to laugh. "double or nothing, we'll see who wins."
"Lyra Belacqua!" Lord Asriel stepped out from the midst of the Gyptians looking cross.
Much as she tried to put on a reasonably fearful face, Lucy could see that Lyra was delighted that Lord Asriel had turned up, that she found his presence an exciting change, even more thrilling than that of Billy Costa.
Lyra's dæmon, Pantalaimon, beat his wings timidly. "Oh, Lyra, we're in trouble now! What a mess you've gotten us into!"
"Hush, Pan." Lyra whisper-hissed to him over her shoulder, turning her attention back to Lord Asriel. "Uncle Asriel, what are you doin' traveling with them Gyptians instead of in your fancy carriage and going through the city and all that?"
Lucy felt her forehead crinkle in confusion; Lyra Belacqua, Edmund's own half-sister, was Lord Asriel's niece? Well it would make sense, seeing as there couldn't be that many non-servant kids at a college, but it was still something of a surprise.
"It's none of your business, Lyra, I come and go when and how I please," Lord Asriel snapped curtly, his eyes flashing angrily. His dæmon growled at Pantalaimon, who-now in the form of a small white ermine at his human's ankles-shifted uncomfortably. "what do you mean roaming about the wheat fields like a half-wild thing? Did you even have your lessons today?"
"The Master said I don't need 'em." Lyra came up with too quickly, blinking at Asriel in pretend innocence. "Says I'm plenty smart already and if I get any more smart, it wouldn't be fair to the scholars."
"Liar." said Lord Asriel, gritting his teeth at her bold-face fib. "What have you been doing all day?"
"Well, the scholars were busy and all that, so I was playing with Roger, he works in the kitchens, but he's gone back already for the evening meal."
"And why are you still out?" Lord Asriel demanded harshly.
"I wanted to see the Gyptians come in." said Lyra, shrugging her shoulders; if she was afraid of her uncle, she didn't show it.
"Well you've seen them, so you'll be coming back to the college with me and the new scholar I'm bringing-and if you ever disobey the master and run off at odd hours again, you will be punished, do you hear?"
"Yes, uncle." said Lyra as he grabbed her hand huffily, his dæmon snatching up poor ermine-form Pantalaimon in her mouth by the scruff of the neck.
"Don't you take that surly tone with me, young lady, I'll whack you till your rear-end is sore." Lord Asriel muttered under his breath, though he seemed to be talking more to Lyra than to himself.
Looking over her shoulder, paying no mind to the possible future state of her bottom, too excited to be having the thrill of the Gyptians returning and Lord Asriel's visit at the same time, Lyra noticed Peter carrying Doe-who was clearly not a dæmon, but an ordinary cat-and Lucy who was a little girl just like herself with a mouse dæmon riding on her shoulder. Oh, it was a very exciting day, wasn't it? She couldn't wait to find out who these people were and what they were doing here at Jordan, she was sure it must be a fascinating story, one that she-just maybe-could sit still long enough to hear.
AN: Just so everyone knows, in a manner of speaking, this chapter finishes off the first part of the fanfic (don't panic, the story itself is far from over, breathe...in...out..it's okay...), the next chapter will take place four years after this one and the story will go on from there. Trust me, I know what I'm doing...I think...LOL.
Please review.