The Title

Lyra leaned against the parapet of the Westminster Bridge, Pantalaimon beside her on the top of the stone wall. It was midday and the Council had been adjourned for a couple of hours. The great bulk of the Palace of Westminster on her right was brightly lit by the noontide sun, casting a warm red-brick glow over the waters of the river Isis.

'I couldn't stand it any longer, Pan.'

'You're missing a good lunch.'

'I'm not hungry.'

They were silent for a minute. The never-ending flow of goods and passenger traffic passed over the bridge behind them. Beneath their feet, the river barges chugged stolidly upstream through the arches of the bridge, heading for Richemond, Remenham, Abingdon and, eventually, Oxford. Lyra was briefly seized by the impulse to leap from the bridge, land on the tarpaulin covering of one of the barges and let it carry her back home to Jordan College.

'This isn't like you.'

'I don't feel like me. I haven't felt so all at sea since... since the first time I walked into the Senior Common Room in Jordan. All those eyes looking at me. All those men wondering what I'm doing there. I feel as if I have to prove myself to them all the time.'

'You don't, you know.'

'Yes Pan, I know, but I just couldn't stay there. I had to get away.'

'We're missing things! All the really important discussions happen in the corridors, over sandwiches, not in the Star Chamber.'

'Just like Jordan, then.'

'Just like Jordan.'

'We'll have to go back soon.'

'Let's wait a little longer.'

Lyra turned to the right and looked up at the Palace, towering three hundred feet into the sky. All that power. This building announces its importance in every detail of its construction, from its great halls to its gothic spires. It's designed to overwhelm you and make you feel small and insignificant. Don't let it.

Lyra sighed, held out a hand for Pantalaimon, and walked slowly across the bridge back to the Palace of Westminster.

Disestablishment. That was the word. That was the idea too – the idea which had been buried for hundreds of years, all the way back to the sixteenth century and the reign of King Henry Tudor. Henry the Great he was called (but Henry the Adulterer too). It was King Henry who, faced with a Pope who would not sanction the divorce he needed in order to marry a queen who would give him a boy-child, had declared himself Defender Of The Faith and made the Government and the Church one combined ruling body under his personal control. The Church and Government were united - with priests sitting in the Chamber of Commoners and bishops taking their places in the House of Peers.

Secular Members of the Chamber were elected to their positions and were expected to represent the interests of their constituents. The Church was entitled to a half-share of the seats in both the Chamber and the House and chose its appointees itself, with the utmost care. The king ruled over all, in name at least.

The system was clearly unfair and undemocratic, but those dissenting voices who espoused the cause of disestablishmentarianism had long been suppressed; by the Church and often by secular forces too. Those forces had been in control for over four hundred years, and there had seemed to be no reason why the rule of the Magisterium should not continue for ever, supported by the dark power of the Court of Consistory Discipline.

Twenty years ago, however, there had been a change. Lyra knew, more than almost anybody else, what that change had been, and how it related to the Millennial Events. And more recently the destruction of the Subtle Knife of the Torre degli Angeli had triggered fundamental changes in the underlying structure of the multiverse – or, to be precise, had allowed it to revert to its former structure.

The power of the Church was waning, and ideas which had once been ruthlessly proscribed were now common currency. People were beginning to wonder why the voices of their elected representatives should always be subservient to those of the self-appointed clergy. King Alfred knew this; and he could foresee a time when those voices would demand to be heard and would take up arms if they were denied. The message to the Church was clear: Give up your power now and gracefully, or be forced out by bloody revolution.

How could this transfer of power be managed? How could the Church – deeply embedded as it was in the government of the country – be made to see that change was inevitable? That was why the King had called his Council.

Arthur Shire was on the bridge too, watching the boats with longing eyes and thinking his own thoughts. Lyra said nothing to him as she passed, and he made no attempt to speak to her.

The Council reconvened at two o'clock, signalled by the massive tolling of Old William in the great clock tower at the western extent of the Palace. Lyra took her place again, closely followed by the little gyptian man. She had said little during the morning session, preferring to gauge the mood of the Council by listening to what was said. She had learned little. Everyone present, with the exception of Arthur Shire and herself, was a skilled politician, expert in the art of appearing to speak well while saying nothing of substance and promising even less. It was not clear to her if they were discussing whether the Church should be separated from the State or, with that already a given thing, the issue was how it should be done. The bishop and his chaplain were being especially non-committal, Lyra noticed.

The Council deliberated. There was no shape to its deliberations – the whole thing was quite formless, so far as Lyra could tell. It's as if we were all lost in a strange country, only some of us have got maps of that country and some of us haven't. Everyone's talking in a foreign language. I can't tell what anyone believes. And: What on earth am I doing here?

Lyra's musing was interrupted by the Bishop's voice. 'Lady Belacqua, we have not heard from you yet. I wonder if you could let the Council have the benefit of your thoughts on the issue of derogation?'

Lady Belacqua again! Lyra had had enough of My Lady and Your Ladyship over the past twenty-four hours. Her temper flared.

'My Lord Bishop, I have earned the position of Endowed Professor of English at Jordan College in the University of Oxford by my own efforts. My title came to me by the merest accident of birth. I am generally addressed as Madam Professor, and you would do me the utmost kindness if you were to employ that particular honorific in connection with myself.'

'Madam Professor, I am your most humble servant and I greatly regret the gross solecism which I have committed.'

There was an absolute silence. Lyra's eyes were drawn, as before, to the head of the round table and to the face of the king. And then she realised what it was that she had done.

King Alfred's expression was unreadable. Lord Dellar, gallant military man that he was and meaning only to help, leapt to Lyra's defence only to stumble head-first into the abyss that she had opened up.

'Sire, I am sure that Professor Belacqua meant no disrespect. Everyone knows that your majesty earns the honour and respect of us all, by his ceaseless striving in the interests of our great Brytish Empire.'

'And yet,' Alfred's voice was almost causal, 'my own position as monarch is but an inherited one, handed down to me by my father. I am very grateful to you, Madam Professor, for your assistance in this matter. One cannot be reminded too often of one's responsibilities.' He inclined his head slightly towards her.

The Bishop of Caester leaned over to his chaplain. 'Pavel, you were right. If I were her, I should withdraw from the Council now.'

'We shall see. Perhaps, however, we can draw her into a further indiscretion, or force her to make another gross error. We must utterly discredit her if we can. This is an embarrassment, nothing more.'

'Gentlemen! Madam Professor! May we continue, please?' King Alfred looked away from Lyra, releasing her.

Will! If only you could be here! I've never needed you more than I do now! How could I have missed such an obvious trap?

Pantalaimon spoke so that only Lyra could hear. 'It was hidden inside another one. We have subtle enemies, Lyra, and Will can't help us. It's all down to you and me. We'll show them. Don't forget – there's something special that only you can see. Something only you can tell.

'The truth, Lyra. Tell them the truth!'