The King

The Dean of Jordan College had been a great Roman scholar in his younger days and even though he was an old man now his skill in the composition of Latin prose had not deserted him. He had decided that he would pen this, the most important letter he would ever write, in the Roman tongue, as befitted one scholar writing to another, and he had thought that the task would be a simple one. Yet the words would not come. He did not know how to express his distress adequately in English, let alone Latin.

'Slow down, Elizabeth. You're talking very little sense.'

Molly brought a glass of water. Lady Boreal took it from her and sipped at it.

'Now, Lady Boreal. Why does you think the Church wants to assassinate the king?'

'I… I overheard them talking in the chapel. They were saying that they were going to find a condemned man in the Scrubs and offer him a reprieve if he'd murder Alfred. You've got to warn him!'

Lyra slapped her sister hard across the cheek. 'Don't lie to me! Especially not to me! Don't you think I can tell when you're lying?'

('It's when her lips move,' muttered Pantalaimon.)

'It takes one to know one, wouldn't you say, Mister Shire? My sister is a born liar, didn't you know? What lies has she been telling you?'

'You is the spitting image of your mother, my lady.'

'I shall take that as a compliment. Thank you.' Arthur turned his face away in disgust. 'May we leave, Madam Professor? Sal and me is finding the atmosphere in here somewhat oppressive.'

'Please stay, Arthur. We need your help.'

'But – this woman! When we looks at her all we sees is that murderous bitch who killed my Maggie!

'Oh, no. We is sorry, Lyra. We does not mean to…'

'That's all right, Arthur. I know. I think my mother loved me, in her own way. I sometimes wonder if she didn't die for me.'

Lizzie: 'Or your precious Will Parry. He really fancied her, you know. Why do you think he slept with me?'

'Liar!'

'No, Lyra. I think you'll find I'm not lying. Why don't you ask your magic box there? It'll tell you the truth, perhaps, if you've the guts to face it.'

Arthur: 'He didn't sleep with you because you looked like Mrs Coulter. He slept with you because… because you looked like Lyra.'

Elizabeth smiled at her sister. 'What a clever little man this is. You know, I wasn't feeling very well at the time. I certainly wasn't looking my best. Really rather plain, in fact. Well, darling sister, that just about sums up the difference between you and me, doesn't it?'

Arthur took Lyra into his arms. She was crying and shaking with rage. 'Lyra, listen to me. Don't pay any attention to her.' He turned to Elizabeth. 'Say what you've got to say, my lady, and then get out. When are they going to kill the king?' He looked directly into Elizabeth's eyes, piercing her's defences. Suddenly she was helpless. A golden thread linked the humble gyptian and the great lady. The Dust-stream demanded that she speak nothing but the truth. It was truth.

Later, when Elizabeth had gone, flushed and distraught by the way in which her soul had been plumbed by Arthur's gaze, Lyra asked him how he had known about her sister and Will Parry.

'Does you think your alethiometer is the only way to the truth? No, Lyra, there is many paths you or we can take.'

'So it is true that they slept together?'

'Yes, it is. But sleeping's all that happened, we is certain of that. And Elizabeth did look a lot like you in those days, we is sure. Don't take it to heart, what she said. She wouldn't have said it if she hadn't been so jealous of you. Would she, Sal?'

'We were going to be such good friends, Lizzie and I…' Arthur held Lyra and gently stroked her hair.

'Molly!'

'Sir?'

'Tea for us all, please, including you. We've got to think about how we're going to save the king's life.'

Molly returned with a laden tray.

'Sit down, Molly. We're going to need your help too. You know the Palace better than either of us.

'Now go on, Arthur.' The gyptian took a noisy slurp at his cup of tea.

'The way we sees it, Lyra, your sister has been the king's mistress for a year or more. We thinks that she's been working with the Church. We noticed that Sir Patrick was taking the Church's side in the Council. We also suspects that the Church, through Lady Boreal and maybe in other ways as well, has known for some time about what the king has been planning to do.'

'Do you think Lizzie was with him tonight?'

'We is sure of it. Something didn't go as they meant it to. We thinks that Elizabeth was supposed to pillow-talk the king into changing his mind, but she must have said or done something wrong. That's why she was so upset when she got here. She told the bishop what had happened, so as he had failed to dispose of you…'

'What?'

'And even your problem with the alethiometer hadn't shaken his view that the Church must be removed from power…'

'They tried to kill me?'

'Not for the first time, was it?'

Lyra slowly shook her head.

'No airships were meant to be aloft in that storm. They was all grounded. Didn't you know? That Captain Hollins of yours – he must be an incredible aëronaut. Tell the king about it when you sees him. It will help to persuade him.'

'I should tell the king?'

'Yes. He'll listen to you. You must tell the king that the Church have decided that the only way to kill the idea of disestablishment is to kill him. Molly, this is where you come in. How do we get to the king's quarters?'

'They're on the top floor, sir, about fifty yards west of here.'

'Can we get there without being seen?'

'Not if you take the main corridor and the Grand Stair no, my lady.'

'How does the king's servants get to his apartments? There must be separate passages for the staff. They wouldn't be allowed to go up and down the public corridors.'

'Yes sir. We use the back stair.'

'So you could get to the king's room without being noticed. Nobody notices the servants, do they?'

'No sir. It's not too late in the evening yet for us to be about in the passageways. Do you want me to go and warn the king, sir? Why would he listen to me? I'm only a maid.'

'Not you, Molly. But you can help.'

Lyra felt more than a little ridiculous, and not nearly as well disguised as she had hoped. Molly was a tall girl, and buxom too, and her second-best uniform was a baggy fit on Lyra's spare frame. 'Don't worry, my lady,' Molly had said. 'Nobody's looking at either of us.' Lyra tucked her hair into her borrowed mob-cap and hoped that Molly was right.

They walked together down narrow passages, floored with linoleum or threadbare carpet. There was a steep spiral staircase to climb. It took them past several floors until it came to a dead end. A spring-hinged door led to another cream-painted corridor, with a door at its end.

'The King's Lobby is past that door. The entrance to the Royal Apartments is on the other side.'

'Is it guarded?'

'Yes, there's two Yeomen Guards there. Don't worry about them.' They walked to the end of the passageway and opened the door.

The contrast between the spartan area they had just left and the luxurious room they entered nearly took Lyra's breath away. The walls were covered with dark oak panelling, the floor with a thick blue and crimson carpet. The ceiling was of vaulted elmwood, with brightly painted bosses, depicting the emblems of the Royal Houses of Brytain. Soft anbaric lighting cast a gentle glow over all. Outside the massively porticoed double doors which led to the king's private apartments stood two guards wearing scarlet and gold uniforms of an antique design. They carried halberds, which they crossed to bar the way as Lyra and Molly approached.

'Halt. Who approaches?'

'Eric Little, you know perfectly well who I am.' The younger of the two guards shuffled his feet and looked embarrassed. 'You get yourself in there and tell his majesty's equerry that I've got Lady Lyra Belacqua with me and she wishes to see the king on a matter of urgent business.'

Alfred sat by the fireside in his bedroom. He really ought to be getting ready for bed, he knew. He was tired, and the Council would resume first thing tomorrow. He would need to give his full attention to it. Somehow, following Professor Belacqua's disastrous attempt at reading the alethiometer, he had lost control of the meeting. It had passed to the Church; to the Bishop of Caester and that sinister little chaplain of his. Alfred knew that he had to regain control tomorrow and force the Councillors to follow his agenda, not the Church's. But how? When the professor had left the Star Chamber and the bishop had started that absurd prayer meeting it was as if all the progress that they had made in the previous day and a half had been thrown away.

As for Elizabeth's suggestion… Even while he had had his arms around her, and his daemon Eleanor had been engaged with her Parander, he had felt a sudden revulsion towards her. He knew that she was a scheming woman, intent on her own advancement, yet he could not help loving her all the same. They were alike in so many ways – ready to disregard convention and common ideas of propriety. So why did he feel as if she had gone too far this time? What was it about the idea of Lizzie impersonating Lyra in his bed that had upset him so?

Alfred's thoughts were disturbed by a knock on the door. It was his equerry Alan, probably bringing him a night-cap. 'Pardon me sire, but there is a visitor waiting for you outside.'

'A visitor? At this time of night?'

'There are two persons, both dressed as Palace servants. One is known to the guards; she is Molly Pritchard, a ladies' maid. The other claims to be Professor Lyra Belacqua.'

Lyra? Here? Now? What the hell's going on?

'Her daemon?'

'Her daemon is in the form of a small mammal, like a stoat or an otter, but with red-gold fur. I do believe that she really is the Lady Belacqua, sire. I caught sight of her in the Amber Hall the night before last.'

'Is she armed?'

'I do not think so, sire. Should I have her searched?'

'No. No, don't do that. Show the professor into my salon. I shall join her in a moment. You stay outside on guard. I'm uneasy about this – there are plots and counterplots here and I don't know enough about what's happening.'

'Yes sire.' Alan left the room, closely followed by his Irish wolfhound-formed daemon. Alfred heard the outer doors open and Alan admitting his unexpected visitor. He put on a quilted green satin dressing-gown and, leaving the bedroom, crossed the hallway to his private salon.

It certainly was Professor Belacqua. She was sitting on the edge of a chair, leaning forward anxiously and wearing a maid's uniform which was at least two sizes too big for her. It emphasised her childlike vulnerability and he felt a sudden urge to protect her, to wrap her in his arms, press her cheek close to his chest and shield her from danger.

('Careful,' said Eleanor. 'That's one of your weaknesses.')

Lyra stood up when he entered. 'Sire, is it safe in here? Can we be overheard?'

What a funny question!

'We are as safe as anywhere in the realm of Brytain, Professor.'

'That's what I'm afraid of, sire. Can we go to your bedchamber?'

'Madam, you take me by surprise!'

'Please sire, now!' Lyra leapt to her feet, took the king's arm and practically pulled him out of the room. 'Is this it?' She pointed to the bedroom door.

Alfred, who had not been the object of such enthusiastic attention from a lady for more years than he would have liked to admit, merely nodded. The professor tugged urgently at him – 'Quickly, sire!' – and they tumbled into the bedroom.

'The bed, sire!' Lyra crossed the room, still leading the king by the hand, and climbed up onto the large, richly decorated four-poster bed which was the main feature of the room. Alfred joined her, together with Eleanor and Pantalaimon. Much to his surprise, Lyra untied the curtains and drew them all around the bed so that they were enclosed in a warm dark velvet cave. So she's shy after all! That's nice. He reached across to her, feeling in the shadows for the fastenings of her blouse. If the lady was in such intemperate haste it would be most ungentlemanly of him to keep her waiting…

She slapped his hand away. 'Not now, sire!' Eleanor yelped – Pantalaimon had bitten her in the left foreleg.

'What!'

'Your majesty must start thinking with his head!' Lyra's voice was low and intense in the muffled darkness. 'We are in the most serious danger and if you don't listen carefully to me now we shall both be dead – murdered – within the hour!'