Oxford

Miriam grins broadly at her flatmate.  'Stop the night, did we?'

'It's not like you think it is.'

'Oh no?  I suppose you're going to tell me you sat up and talked all night.'

'Yes!  Yes, we did!'

'So what did you talk about?'

'Stories, if you must know.'

'Oh yes.  Very likely, I'm sure.'

'Suspicious cow!'  If you only knew!

Oxford

'Pan, I'm worried.'

'About Will?'

'Yes.'

'You should be more worried about yourself.  If you fall asleep in one more tutorial, you'll be up in front of the Dean.'

'I can't help it.  You know.'

'Of course I know.  I'm yours.'

'I'm yours too.  Come here.'  Pantalaimon leaps across the desk onto Lyra's lap in a lithe motion of red-gold fur.  Together they look out of the window, over the quadrangle.  Above the roofs opposite, over which Lyra and Pantalaimon would roam – when she was a child, when he was able to change his form whenever he wished; and they were both free, free to love and hate and give no thought to anyone but themselves – wave the great chestnut trees in the evening breeze.

'I'm going to do another reading.'

'No!  You'll wear yourself out.'

'I've got to know what's happening.'

'What good will it do?  You can't help him now.'

'I can send him another message.'

'Do you still trust Lizzie?'

'I… don't know.  I'm not sure I do any more.  There's something about her…'

'I'm not sure either…'

Oxford

By ransoming his immortal soul Will manages to get the afternoon and evening free not just from duty, but also from being on call.  I'm going to have to work a few graveyard shifts when this is all over, he thinks.  Judy is free too, having persuaded Miriam to fill in for her, and put up with any number of winks and suggestive remarks in the process.

'Fish and chips!'  Will stands in front of the TV, blocking the screen and provoking a furious sulk from Guilietta.  'In the kitchen.'   They share out the hot and greasy packages around the Formica table.  Judy introduces Guilietta to the delights of malt vinegar and tomato ketchup and they dig in, not bothering with such formalities as knives, forks and table manners.  Giancarlo and his sister would be happier there weren't so much oily batter, but the fish inside is good enough.

'All the food here tastes funny, Carlo,' Guilietta says.  Giancarlo looks embarrassed, but Will smiles.  'Don't worry.  I'm not offended.'  To Guilietta: 'You see, Guili, we're a long way from the sea, here in Oxford.  The fish has to come a long way before we can eat it.  It's not like being in Ci'gazze where you can take the fish straight off the boat and cook it.'

'Don't bother Doctor Will any more, sweetheart.'

Judy hands Guilietta a tub of chocolate ice cream and she retreats to the sitting room, remote in hand.  Will makes coffee for the grownups.

'OK, chaps.

'Giancarlo and me are going to Culham tonight.  We're going to break in and see if we can find out what's going on.  Oh, just a mo.  Had a thought.'

Will takes out his phone.  'Mary.'  She answers, audio only, thirty seconds later.  'Will, hello.'

'Mary, hi.  There's me, Judy and Carlo here.  Are you busy?'

'Rather.'

'I'll be quick, then.  Carlo and me are going to have a look around Culham tonight.  Fancy joining us?'

'Join you?  How… Oh, I see.  Yes, I'd love to.  Wouldn't want to miss any of this.'

'Great.  The I Ching said you could help us.  This has to be what it meant.  I think you'll make quite a difference.'

'Call me later?'

'Yes.  Go and get some beauty sleep.'

Click.

'Just you and Carlo?'

'Sorry Judy.  Someone's got to look after Guili.'

'And it's got to be me, has it?  "Staff, look after the child, would you"?'

Will winces.  'No really, Judy.  It's got to be Carlo and me who go.  We're the Knife-bearers.'

'What if you get into trouble?'

'We'll deal with that.'

'Suppose you're hurt.  Who's going to drive you back?'

'Hmmm…'

'Not Carlo!'

'OK, you've got a point.  But who'll take care of Guili?'

'My flatmate Miriam will… No.  Shit.  She's on duty, filling in for me.'

'Damn.'  Will thinks.

'You're right about driving.  I hadn't thought of that.  All right, you and Guili can come.  But you're both staying in the car.  Yes?'

'Yes, doctor.'

Will speaks to Giancarlo.  'There's something that's bothering me, about the Knife.'

'What's that?'

'When you left Cittagazze, you and Guili walked north, didn't you?  Over the hills?'

'Yes.'

'About how far?'

'It's hard to say.  We didn't know where we were going, the first day.  It might have been… ten miles, maybe.'

'And you went north.'

'Yes.'

'That's what's worrying me.  When I last used the Knife in your world, I cut a window from somewhere near the centre of Cittagazze and came out in north Oxford, just off the Banbury road.  If you went ten miles north from Cittagazze to Siemione then your window should have come out halfway to Banbury, in the middle of the countryside.

'Instead, you came out in south Oxford, in Blackbird Leys… We've got two possibilities to check out.  Either the two worlds, yours and mine, have shifted with respect to each other by around five or six miles, so that the old points of reference don't line up any more, or they've turned round, so that north in your world is south in mine.  We need to make some experiments before we set out tonight.

'Judy, fancy a trip to the countryside?  Guili!' shouting through the kitchen door over the roar of the TV.  'We're going for a ride in the car!'

Oxford

The child.  And death.  Lyra looks at her notes.  There is no doubt about the outcome of the reading, but when was the alethiometer last so terse or so oblique?

Who is the child?  Is the child going to die?  Or is the instrument referring to death as something abstract?  Lyra met her own death once.  Is that what it means?  Is Will going to die?

If he died, I'd know.  I'd follow him.  I wouldn't hesitate for a moment.

She turns to Pantalaimon, whose face reflects her own concern.  Somehow the child – whoever he or she may be – and death are closely linked.  Will is in there somewhere, for he was in the question that she put to the alethiometer:  What is going to happen to Will?

For what seems like the hundred thousandth time, she thinks if only.  If only she could contact Will directly – not just for the joy it would give her and, she hopes, him – she would be able to offer him her help.

'It doesn't have to mean that Will is going to die.'

'I know, Pan.'  Lyra puts her face in her hands.  'But it's all too closely connected.  Will, the child, death, the Ring.'

'And the Knife.'

'Especially that.  Oh Pan – why?  Why did they have to make it?'

'We'd never have met Will or Kirjava if they hadn't.'

Lyra stands up, pushes back her chair and paces around the room, distraught with fear and anger.

'I know. I know.  I know!  Oh stars above, I wish I didn't!'

Pantalaimon sits on Lyra's shoulder and wraps himself around her neck, gently nuzzling her ear.

'We can't tell Lizzie.'

'No?'

'No Lyra, we mustn't.'

'So we can't tell Will, either.'

Lyra leans against her windowsill.  Outside it is dark.  On the other sides of the quad a few windows show lighted candles or the soft flare of naphtha.

Will is going into terrible danger.  And there is nothing Pan or I can do about it.