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Chapter 18
Golden Auroras
Alas, they'd made the wrong choice.
Father MacPhail and his men were silent as they peered into the translucent, shimmering window at the end of the left path they had chosen. On the other end was a cold, raging snowstorm with an endless sea of arctic before them, much like the world they were currently in. Was it the same world, except in a different location? One had to wonder. Or was it another that just happened to be like this one? One parallel to but distinct from their own? Eulaia didn't know, and nor did Father MacPhail. It was beyond his expertise and his pay grade to know. But right now, he was in charge, and he had to be the one to know at least what to do. If at least nothing else.
"If we send one team through," he began, slowly, "we can see if there's any trace of them. And if we do it in shifts, we can cover more ground."
"I'll send the first team through, sir," the Sergeant replied, nodding to a set of stoic-faced young men who instantly gathered their rifles and lined up next to the window.
"And then?" Eulaia whispered to him, peering over at the window with an almost wistful edge to her beady lizard eyes.
There were others who knew more about these matters. Boreal, to be precise. As insufferable as the man was, it was rumored that he had a certain know-how with these worlds. Father MacPhail had never confronted him about it, to be sure, as the custom was not to speak of such heretical things. But he knew there had been whispers with others higher up in the Church, as well as certain privileges afforded to Boreal based on the things that he knew and could offer. This was something perhaps he knew more about, although it did them little use as the man was back in London leading a most aristocratic life of comfort.
"I must check with the other team and then confer with the Cardinal," Father MacPhail finally said to the whole group, dipping his head once and then turning around back the way he came. He heard the sound of men marching grow fainter as his steps carried him away.
"You don't even want to see it?" his daemon asked him, whispering in his ear and clinging to his shoulders.
"No."
He really didn't. The thought of what existed beyond that window terrified him. That was human nature, after all, wasn't it? Fearing that which one cannot fully understand? Such instinct led to countless wars across humanity, human and daemon and other alike. To charge through straight ahead took a certain boldness Father MacPhail didn't think he could possess.
"We have to check with the other team now," he said quietly to his daemon, dismissing what she was just about to say regarding taking a chance and embracing fear for once in their entire lives.
They didn't exchange another word as they returned to the fork in the road where they had first separated. There was no one to be found, which means they either weren't back yet or had returned without him. Sighing, Father MacPhail turned around again and went back to the zeppelin, stomping his feet on the rug before entering the Cardinal's private room. He and his daemon still hadn't exchanged a single word. And they didn't have to, because they both knew what they really wanted but that, perhaps, Father MacPhail was too weak to admit.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"That was quite the display."
Mrs. Coulter, Lyra, and Dr. Malone were sitting down at a busy café booth, hot beverages in hand as people moved about all around them. Mrs. Coulter was smiling, ankles crossed delicately as she sat up perfectly straight and poised. Lyra was slouching to her left, eyes trained fully on Dr. Malone, who was also slouching. Mrs. Coulter simply continued to smile. The golden monkey was nearly bursting out of his skin with pent-up energy, but Mrs. Coulter was perfectly calm.
"No thanks to you lot, I daresay," the dark-haired woman sighed, cupping her coffee and taking a deep, long sip. She looked tired again, as she had upon Mrs. Counter's first glance of her. Perhaps even more tired now, for though it'd been hardly an hour, it felt like longer.
The police forces of this world were sharp but unimaginative. They'd asked their questions and took their notes shrewdly and diligently but without probing deeper into things. "How do you know about dark matter?" they'd asked Lyra, who'd run with Mrs. Coulter's story that she was learning from her mother and sitting in on her meetings. Mrs. Coulter played the embarrassed card, expressing how she hadn't realized Lyra paid so much attention and laughing at how children can take partial understandings of something and invent their own details. This seemed to pacify them, as they'd let them go. But not before mentioning a boy named Will Parry.
The golden monkey thought they were hiding their true intentions, which was probably true. Will's name came out seemingly randomly, as if they were reaching or hoping Lyra could help them with a harmless task. They certainly wanted to know more about him, after Lyra had let a few things slip. But even then, Mrs. Coulter had expected them to dig deeper, to look harder. To not simply give up as they had after some well-placed deflections and counter narratives.
Still, though, this was deeply concerning, and Mrs. Coulter was starting to wonder if there was more to Will's story than Will himself even knew.
"Are you going to tell me who you people are, or what?" Dr. Malone was blunt now, perhaps a little impatient after the day's events. Mrs. Coulter smiled again, sensing the monkey stiffen and Lyra squirming. She certainly couldn't blame the woman, even as she judged her abrupt and twitchy demeanor.
"Yes," she drawled, "I suppose we will. But not until we learn more about you, and about what those people want."
As Dr. Malone began to share what she knew, eyebrows still furrowed as she tossed sideways glances at the glamorous woman and the scraped-up child, the most unexpected thing happened. Will came barging into the shop, eyes wide and hard as he spotted them at the booth.
"Will!" Lyra blurted out, only for the golden monkey to screech from the bag and Mrs. Coulter to swiftly cover her mouth. Dr. Malone stared as Will rushed over to them, his nostrils flaring and his fists curled.
Will was not supposed to be here. After yesterday's events, they'd agreed for him to remain safe in Cittàgazze, awaiting their return. Too much was uncertain, and he had to search around and think about what Lord Boreal wanted anyway. It had been a while since they'd said they'd return, Mrs. Coulter realized, but still, he was not supposed to be here. Especially not now.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," he snapped at them. "You didn't show up after almost a full hour. Fancied some coffee, did you? And–who are you?"
He froze as his gaze swiveled over to Dr. Malone. Her eyebrows were raised, again. And her eyes were wide. It seemed they were stuck that way.
"Will?" she repeated, looking at Lyra and then back to Will. "The same Will that Sergeant Clifford–"
"No," Mrs. Coulter said quickly, gathering up her handbag and tugging on Lyra's arm. "Now, we have to go. I sincerely apologize for having disturbed you, Dr. Malone."
"Please, no!" Dr. Malone stood, too, blocking Mrs. Coulter's way. The golden monkey snarled, his fur beginning to stick up on his neck. "Mrs. Van Zee, please. I just want to know what's going on. Your daughter has helped me, and has done the most incredible thing, and I just need to know what is happening. I'm just an academic. I am not here to hurt anyone, but to simply figure things out."
She was earnest. Mrs. Coulter couldn't detect any misgivings or deception in her face or in her voice. She was quite good as sussing these things out, as well as a master of them herself. But Dr. Malone was sincere. Mrs. Coulter had seen it back in the college's bathroom, when she'd frantically tried to put two and two together and navigate their current situation. And she saw it now, as the woman, indeed, just wanted to figure out what was happening. And Mrs. Coulter had to trust that, as much as she hated to trust anyone or anything.
"Not here," Mrs. Coulter sighed, quietly, looking all around them. A few people had looked over at them once their voices had started rising, annoyed most likely. "Not anywhere here in this city. It isn't safe. Tell me, Dr. Malone: how long will it take to get to London from here?"