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Chapter 26

Golden Auroras

Teaching Lyra what "TV" was proved to be quite a challenge for Will.

"What is this?" she exclaimed as they sat down on the burgundy sofa, looking almost scared as she gazed at the television set.

"Television?" he asked, astonished. "You don't have this in your world?"

"No."

"It's people on a screen," he explained, pointing. "They record themselves acting and we watch it to pass the time."

"Record it with what ?" Lyra asked, head titled as she looked over at the screen. Some kind of sitcom was on with two women and three men gathered around a hospital bed of an older woman. The women were crying, clinging to the woman's hands, while the men stood off to the side with their hands crushed into their pockets and their heads bowed low. It was rather sad, actually, Will realized, and perhaps not one's best introduction to film and media in his world.

"There's a special camera that records people moving. Do you have cameras in your world?"

"Camera?" Lyra repeated, still watching the screen but Pan looking over at Will curiously.

"A device to take pictures," Will tried, "photographs, of like, your mom or dog or something."

"Like a photogram?" Lyra paused to fish something out of a case she wore around her neck. It was what Will understood as a picture, taken on an old-looking film of some sort. It showed a tall, wild-looking man in a heavy fur coat standing with a beautiful snow leopard.

"Who is this?"

"My father." Lyra took the picture back, staring at it intensely. "Although, he pretended to be my uncle for practically my whole life, until I found out that truth from my mother, who also never told me who she was until I found out."

"Oh, wow."

"They're both a bunch of liars," Lyra sighed, "but my father perhaps most of all. He tricked me and killed my best friend Roger in order to build the bridge to get here. Did you know that?"

"No." Will felt uncomfortable now, turning his attention back to the screen. The two women were howling as the machines in the hospital started beeping and a group of nurses rushed in.

"Yeah, it was awful. And I hate his guts because of it. I think I might kill him, if I see him again."

"You'd really kill your own father?"

Perhaps it was just because Will hadn't seen his own father in so long that made him wince at the statement, and at the conviction Lyra exhibited when saying it. What she described about him was horrible, to be true, but Will still found it hard to believe anyone could kill their own father, could even want to in this way. Maybe it was different in other worlds, but to Will, family meant something.

"Maybe." Lyra put the picture away and sighed again, reaching for Pan. He changed into a cat and purred as he rubbed against her face. "I wanted to kill my mother, too, when I'd first found out all about what she'd done. But I don't want that anymore, so maybe this will change. I dunno."

It was quiet for a long while then, Lyra seemingly lost in thought while Will desperately tried to pay attention to the TV show. The two women and three men were at someone's house now fighting terribly. Two of the men seemed to be brothers while the other was the husband of one of the women. They were all screaming and yelling and pointing accusingly at each other, and Will wondered what had happened for them to be so upset. He also wondered what it was like to have a family like that, and to have people to gather with during times of tragedy.

"This reminds me of a play," Lyra commented after a while.

Will nodded. "Yeah, this all started as plays, really. People would gather on big stages and act out scenes and stories, and then we were finally able to record it on video camera and then show it to people even outside of a stage. And now they make stuff especially for TV."

"Geez." Lyra was enthralled again, flinching and biting her lip as the three men started hitting each other now, the two women rallying together in their cries and pleas for the men to stop. "This looks nuts. I'm glad I'm not with them right now."

Her deadpan delivery made Will laugh. It was so blunt and so honest about something so very serious, and on something Lyra barely understood. She smiled, too, and the air between them lightened considerably as they talked not about Lyra wanting to kill her parents but instead about what other TV shows Will watched and which were his favorites. You know, normal conversation, perhaps.

It was after about thirty minutes or so that Mrs. Coulter and Dr. Malone came to retrieve them. They announced they were going to a park, and that they'd be hanging around this house for a while to lay low and stay out of trouble. Lyra jumped up and headed along, picking up a little white shoulder bag and then rambling to her mother about what she'd just seen on the TV. Mrs. Coulter listened with kind and mild interest, asking a few follow up questions and nodding along as Lyra kept talking.

Will felt a sudden flash of jealousy overcome him then. Lyra didn't even know her mother very long and, from what he could gather, didn't even necessarily like her very much, or at least yet. It seemed unfair then, in a way, for them to be going out to enjoy a Friday afternoon like this. Light and easy, simple and natural. Why couldn't that be Will's life? Why did he have to have murdered a man, hide his mother away, and now run around trying to escape detection?

"How are you doing, Will?"

Dr. Malone had fallen into step with him now as they walked just ahead of Lyra and Mrs. Coulter. Her tone was nonchalant and her eyes kind as they made their way forward, stopping at a light on their way through the city.

"I'm fine, thank you," he answered politely. "Thank you again for giving us somewhere to stay."

"You're quite welcome. How are you holding up?" Her eyes glanced down at his bandaged hand. He supposed it was obvious, that something had happened to him. He wasn't sure how much Mrs. Coulter had told her, and how much was even prudent to tell other people. He was still finding it hard to wrap his around the idea of the subtle knife and the thought that he could open up windows to other worlds like that first one. It was incredible, but it was also quite serious in a way Will was starting to realize more and more.

He continued his small talk with her for a few moments before Lyra and Mrs. Coulter came up to join them again, bright and full of wonder. They were soon at the park, with Lyra and Mrs. Coulter lost in taking in how this park was presumably different from the parks back in their worlds.

"Look at all this stuff," Lyra let out. Pan flew above her as a bird, free enough to not look as suspicious.

"It's incredible," Mrs. Coulter breathed.

Will took everyone's apparent distraction to slink over to a more heavily wooded area, sheltered from other people and passerby. He had a thought just then: he could practice with the knife. He needed a quiet and private place to do so, however. He hadn't had any time alone except to sleep in the time since emerging from the tower. There was so much more he wanted to figure out and try and make sense of.

Careful that no one was around, he pulled up his shirt and took the knife from its sheath, holding it in his hand. Calm your mind, he remembered the old man telling him. Find your focus. Center on it.

"Not here, Will."

With that Will jumped. And he was very glad that he wasn't yet trying to slice into the air at that point. The golden monkey came around from behind a tree, his beady black eyes narrowed as he gazed at Will's hand.

"Why are you—"

"Not in public like this. Don't be foolish. What if someone saw you?" His tone was harsh and stern. It reminded Will of one the teachers he'd had once, Mr. Brimley. He'd been just as sharp and lithe as the golden monkey in a lot of ways, but also stern and intimidating. It was also interesting for the monkey to be the same being as Mrs. Coulter, who excused everything opposite of cold and harsh and mean. And where was she, anyway? If he was here?

"I'm sorry, I just didn't have an opportunity to—"

"We can help you later, Will." That was Mrs. Coulter herself now, which made sense. She rounded the corner and came over to him then, her eyes flickering down to his hand with the knife. "Such things require more discretion, really, and perhaps we can do that at the house."

She was only trying to help, but Will couldn't prevent feeling a little controlled in that moment. The monkey sat down by her ankles, looking at Will coolly. Will felt the strange desire to rebel.

"But I want to do it now."

"Will." There was a warning flecked subtly in Mrs. Coulter's voice now. It wasn't stern or rough like the monkey. It was soft and so sweet that it almost felt nice. Her voice made it logical to obey, as it was so kind and sensible. But Will recognized it for what it was, and again thought of his own mother hidden away who rarely ever bossed him around in the way he probably should have been, instead it having been him looking after her in the ways that he had.

"Will?" Mrs. Coulter called again, and this time concern rounded her tone. It was that which broke Will then—the gentle softness and concern, the head tilted to the side, the calm patience. He felt himself sniff and then try to hold it back, and suddenly Mrs. Coulter was there in front of him.

"Are you alright, dear?"

"Yeah," Will gulped, clearly not able to calm down.

"Oh, come here." She reached for him and pulled him into an embrace. It made it worse. Her sweet scent surrounded him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. "It's okay. Shh."

He couldn't hold it in anymore. He felt himself cry out and hug her back. He allowed himself to feel comforted by her gentle hold and soft skin and kind murmurs.

"I miss my mother," he let out, embarrassed at the admission but somehow feeling better at having said it out loud. It no longer remained hidden in the pit of his stomach.

"I know you do, darling."

"It's not fair, that she's hidden away with someone and I'm—I'm—"

"I understand."

Will didn't have to finish his sentence. She seemed to glean what he hadn't been able to articulate, that he was too ashamed to articulate. Mrs. Coulter held him for a little while longer before letting go and putting both hands on his shoulders, looking him squarely in the face. "We'll get you back to her, Will. I'm not sure how, but we will."

"Alright."

"And your father, too." Will couldn't look at her. He couldn't dare reveal how desperately he wanted to believe her and take comfort in her words. "We'll do everything we can. I promise."

Because he wasn't looking, he couldn't see the darkness that flashed over Mrs. Coulter's features just then, or the way her daemon monkey shivered uncomfortably.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"She's in London," Boreal called out, suddenly appearing from his office again. His daemon snake was slithering impatiently from his sleeve.

"There's a London in this world?"

"Yes, of course," Boreal dismissed, moving to grab his coat. "We need to get going."

"How did you find her so quickly?"

"I have good connections." Boreal didn't even bother to check and see if Father MacPhail was following him as he headed out the door. Eulalia tisked as it was left to Father MacPhail to shut the door and make sure it was locked. Has he lost all common sense?

He's too panicked to think straight, Father MacPhail ventured. Indeed it was most distressing for Boreal, to have bragged and boasted about having both Coulter and the girl and then coming up short when the moment came. Father MacPhail began to wonder if he'd even seen the woman at all, and if he'd just jumped to conclusions due to his own motive of somehow gaining traction with the Church. He looked too panicked now, though, and flustered in a way he normally suppressed.

"Aren't you coming?" Boreal growled, rolling down the window to his car. It was green and very shiny. Much shinier and modern than the kind they had back in their world.

Get on with it, then, Eulalia sighed as they climbed into the passenger seat, inhaling an almost nauseating array of strong cologne.

"We're driving to London?"

"Yes," Boreal answered, putting the car into drive and lurching forward with a quick start. "Easier to search and then take them hostage. I know she's there but I don't know where, and given the city's size it could be anywhere."

"How long do you think we'll need to be there?" Father MacPhail tried to hide the whine that threatened to creep into his voice at the prospect of being stuck in this world and this situation for longer than necessary.

"As long as it takes," was the steely response, and Father MacPhail sighed as he stated out the window at bright brick buildings and colorful greens that looked so inviting yet feel so utterly revolting to him.