At Stonehenge

Nothing happens…

'No!  No!  NO!  Please, please work – you've got to!'  Will cannot comprehend what is happening.  He concentrates as hard as he can on the blade, the tip, the interstices of space, the gaps between the worlds.  And still the Knife in his hand cuts nothing but the empty air, lethally sharp but impotent.

He is flailing now, out of control.  He runs away from the car where Henry, Lizzie and Greaves can see all too clearly that something is desperately wrong.  Greaves takes out his mobile phone and calls The Grove.  His voice is low and urgent.

It is fortunate that the land around Stonehenge is flat and the roads are not busy.  Will runs blindly away from the Stones and across the road to the visitor centre, not waiting for the traffic.  He blunders his way into the car park and crashes into a wire fence; stops and catches his breath.  He throws down the Knife in frustration and disgust.

'Kir!  It's hopeless!  It's all gone!'

Pick it up, Will.  Try again.

Will takes the Knife.  Half-heartedly he searches one last time for a fault-line in space.  He knows that he will not find one, and he is right.  He slumps down against the fence.  It is cold, and the ground is hard.

Now he knows how Lyra felt, in the world of the Mulefa, when she lost the use of the alethiometer.  Grace has fallen from him, as it fell from her, and he is left utterly forlorn.  He remembers Lyra's poor bewildered face as she realised what had happened to her, and the tears spring to his eyes.  Now he knows how it was for her, and the knowledge is ashes and bitter aloes in his mouth.

He realises that he must soon return to the Mercedes and tell Lizzie and Henry that their death sentence is sealed, but not yet.  Not yet.  He cannot yet bring himself to confess his failure to them and see the despair in their faces.  Especially in Lizzie's face, which now more than ever reminds him of his lost Lyra.

The headlights of the passing cars periodically illuminate the empty visitor centre and recede down the road.  Otherwise, the car park is quiet and deserted.  Will's eyes are downcast and half-closed in misery, so that he does not see the two figures who approach across the tarmac.

Will!

It must be Lizzie or Greaves, come to find him.  He looks up.

There is a small boy with dark curly hair, no more than nine or ten years old.  Behind him… a man-shape, glowing golden in the darkness surrounding them.

'Excuse me.  Are you Will Parry?'  The boy has a slight foreign accent, mixed with the clipped accents of London.

'Yes.  Who are you?'

A voice emanates from the golden aura behind the boy.  It is both near and distant, loud and soft, real and imaginary.  'I am the angel Remiel.  This boy is Giancarlo Bellini.  Will Parry, there is much that we must talk about.'

In the Mercedes

Lizzie and Henry wait anxiously in the car.  They believe that their hopes have foundered.  Will would not have run away as he did if he had been able or willing to use the Knife to save them.  Either he has decided to use it only for himself, or he has lost altogether the ability to cut windows between the worlds.  Greaves is speaking into his phone, urging the ambulance that has been sent by The Grove to hurry, to break whatever laws it needs to break, but to hurry.  Henry is breathing shallowly.  Both he and Greaves know the meaning of the rattle in his throat.

There is a knocking on the window of the car.  Greaves presses the button that winds down the glass.  'Let us in!'  It is Will, and Lizzie opens the door for him.  Behind him there is a glow, which she thinks at first must be lights from the road.

She is astonished when a small boy pushes past Will and into the car next to her.  'Lizzie, this is Giancarlo.  He is going to help us.'

'Help us?  How?'

'Listen.  Listen to what the angel has to say.'

Lizzie does not understand what can be happening to them, but her uncle's croaking voice comes from the front of the car.  'Elizabeth, listen.  This is our only chance.'

The angel speaks.  'Elizabeth and Henry, hear me.

'I must start by saying that I am sorry.  Sorry for the distress that you, and all the other Exiles, have suffered.  Sorry that it has taken so long – two years – for us to mend our mistake.

'For mistake it was; to close the windows between the worlds and leave you stranded; you and all the thousands of others who found themselves marooned as you were, with no hope of ever returning home.  Will has told you of the promise he made to my sister Xaphania that he would not use the Knife.  That promise he has kept, although it was hard for him to do and he would not have been able to do so without the help, knowingly or unknowingly given, of others, such as Mary Malone.

'For two years we argued; we angels.  Some said that the loss of life was worthwhile, so that the principle of the wholeness of the Universe might be preserved.  Others argued that we had no right to sacrifice living creatures to a principle, however good that principle might be, and they cited the great wrongs done by principled men and women over the ages; in the name of faith, or ideology, or the common good.

'That view – my view – eventually prevailed.  But having agreed that we would do what was needed, we had to accomplish two more things before it could be achieved.

'Firstly, we either had to restore the Knife, or see to it that the Knife was restored.  That has been done.

'Secondly, we needed to find a new Knife-bearer.'

Will interrupts. 'You see, when I broke the Knife for the second time, outside the Botanic Garden in Oxford; it was a kind of divorce, if you see what I mean.  I rejected the Knife, and it rejected me in return.  Even if I could have mended it myself, I couldn't have used it, as I found out tonight.'

The angel resumes.

'Giancarlo here is a special child.  Not unique, but special.  His mother, who died when he was two years old, was a woman of this world, but his father was born in another.  Giovanni is lying in his bed at home now, and he is dying, but Giancarlo is perfectly well because he is native both to this world and his father's.

'He will be the new Knife-bearer.  It has already recognised him.  Will, if you please.'

Will and Giancarlo step out of the car. 'Now listen, Giancarlo,' says Will.  'There are three important things that you must learn.  They are the laws which every Knife-bearer must obey.  Some of them didn't obey them and a lot of harm came from it.  Do you understand?'

Giancarlo nods.

'The first law is this: use the Knife only when you have to.  Do not use it lightly, or just for fun, for it is a dangerous tool.

'The second law is to open a window for the shortest time possible.  An open window causes great damage to the life of the Universe.

'And the third law is the most important one: never leave a window open.  When its job is done, close it.  I will show you how.

'Now, let's open a window to Lizzie's world.'

Together Will and Giancarlo hold the Knife, Will's hand over the young boy's.  He guides it through the air, searching for and – snick! – finding the node that leads to Lyra's world.  Gently, they slide the point into the gap and slice space open around it, creating a window into the darkness beyond that is easily wide enough to allow the old man and his niece to pass through.  Remiel flickers out of sight for a fraction of a second.  'A Spectre was created in a nearby world.  I have destroyed it,' the angel says.  'It is my charge to follow you everywhere you go and make sure that as little harm as possible is done when you use the Knife.  Now, go!'

Lizzie turns to her uncle – 'Come on, Uncle Henry, we're going home!' – but it is too late, for Henry Latrom is dead.

The ambulance arrives five minutes later.  Giancarlo has closed the window as Will showed him, and Lizzie is weeping over her uncle's body.