Chapter 4 is going to be a bit more serious than my usual style (only up to a point; highlights will include Dave getting the old cigarette-soaked-in-barbeque-lighting-fluid trick pulled on him and ending up blissed out on painkillers), so I thought I'd put in something a little more lighthearted for you to be going on with.
The newly deceased Lord Asriel was in a foul temper. "Ungrateful bitch. I should've left her in that damn priory. I wouldn't be in this mess now if I had, oh no, I'd be the ruler of the Republic of Heaven!" He paused, but only to draw breath. "I cheat death by the skin of my back teeth, get caught and locked up, and what happens about ten minutes after my daring escape? I get shot by my own daughter!"
"Will you please give it a rest?" grumbled a fellow victim of the Battle of Bolvangar. "Whining isn't going to achieve anything, and I swear to God that if you keep this up I'll be obliged to clout you one right alongside the ear!" Asriel wisely shut up. He'd always thought of himself as pretty good in a fight, but it had recently been brought home to him that there were plenty who were better. That bastard from some other world -the same world as that kid who Lyra was shagging, he remembered irritably- for a start. What was his name, again? Marshall? Something like that.
He wandered through the makeshift town on the shores of the lake, with the intention of going and having a good cathartic sulk. He eventually found himself sitting on a large rock by the lakeside, idly throwing stones into the water.
"Morning," said a new voice. "Well, I think it's morning, but you can't really tell in these parts." Asriel glanced up. A worryingly familiar man was standing nearby.
"Oh, Dr Grumman, nice to see you again. Come to gloat, I presume." He smiled nastily. "The whole Republic of Heaven thing was a total washout, but some woman from that brat Parry's world came up with an absolutely foolproof way of travelling between worlds and blew seven sorts of hell out of the Magisterium with an aircraft like nothing I've ever seen before. The pilot -David something or other, disagreeable bastard anyway- ended up in a cell with me for some bizarre reason. Then, no sooner than I've engineered a dazzlingly audacious escape from the clutches of the Church, I get gunned down by my own bloody DAUGHTER! Can you believe it?" Dr Grumman sighed, shaking his head.
"You ought to know something about me, Asriel. I'm not from your world. My real name is Johnathan Parry. The boy you described as 'that brat' happens to be my son." The look of blind panic in Asriel's eyes was a joy to behold. "I suspect that the man who you shared a cell with was a very good friend of mine."
"Oh, I see," Asriel replied in a rather strangled voice.
"And as for getting shot by... Lyra, yes? Well, that's what you get for fooling around with other people's wives, pal!"
Asriel groaned. An indefinite period with this man for company was far from a welcome prospect. He'd never really liked Grumman at the best of times, but this was worse.
John Parry couldn't help but agree. He was waiting for Elaine, and suspected (hoped) that he had pleny more time to wait. He calculated the chances of Asriel getting on the boat in the next few millenia as something like one in ten to the power of his overdraft, and decided to simply wait on the far bank. Since all that unpleasantness with the Magisterium it had been rather crowded around here, but John wasn't above jumping the queue to escape this idiot. And he'd always been a strong swimmer.
He hastily removed his clothes, and dived in. The boatman shouted something about how he wasn't supposed to do that, but John couldn't have cared less at that point. He reached the far bank, enjoying the appreciative glances from several teenage girls who'd just learned the hard way why narcotics and pedestrian crossings don't mix, and wished he'd thought of a way of carrying his clothing with him.
//Is the prospect of that idiot for company REALLY worse than spending the next God knows how many years standing around in my underwear?// he wondered. Fortunately for him, somebody took pity on him and put his clothes in the boat.
"Coming?" asked a nearby harpy.
"Not yet. I'm waiting for somebody, you see." He grimaced. "Unless that bugger Asriel turns up, of course."
While they waited, John filled her in on his life. In return, he got access to the expansive gossip network shared by the angels, harpies and Gallivespians.
"Oh, you can't be serious!" he groaned. "Dave? They put DAVE in charge of my son's upbringing? A man who I personally witnessed being thrown out of Stringfellows and then getting arrested for pouring soap powder into the fountains in Trafalgar Square?" He beat his head gently against a convenient tree. "In the name of God, why?"
After a little sober reflection, he decided that it wasn't all that bad after all. Any young boy would have worshipped a man like Dave. He was a pilot. He owned a motorbike. He'd been to Knebworth to see the finale of Queen's Magic Tour in 1986. He knew how to make his own fireworks.
It was the part about giving Will a gun that bothered him most, however. "ELAINE insisted? Evn if she did get institutionalised for paranoid delusions, surely she..." He gave up.
//Like it or not, John, it isn't your problem any more. I'm sure Elaine will be able to keep them both out of trouble...// He'd be lucky!
The newly deceased Lord Asriel was in a foul temper. "Ungrateful bitch. I should've left her in that damn priory. I wouldn't be in this mess now if I had, oh no, I'd be the ruler of the Republic of Heaven!" He paused, but only to draw breath. "I cheat death by the skin of my back teeth, get caught and locked up, and what happens about ten minutes after my daring escape? I get shot by my own daughter!"
"Will you please give it a rest?" grumbled a fellow victim of the Battle of Bolvangar. "Whining isn't going to achieve anything, and I swear to God that if you keep this up I'll be obliged to clout you one right alongside the ear!" Asriel wisely shut up. He'd always thought of himself as pretty good in a fight, but it had recently been brought home to him that there were plenty who were better. That bastard from some other world -the same world as that kid who Lyra was shagging, he remembered irritably- for a start. What was his name, again? Marshall? Something like that.
He wandered through the makeshift town on the shores of the lake, with the intention of going and having a good cathartic sulk. He eventually found himself sitting on a large rock by the lakeside, idly throwing stones into the water.
"Morning," said a new voice. "Well, I think it's morning, but you can't really tell in these parts." Asriel glanced up. A worryingly familiar man was standing nearby.
"Oh, Dr Grumman, nice to see you again. Come to gloat, I presume." He smiled nastily. "The whole Republic of Heaven thing was a total washout, but some woman from that brat Parry's world came up with an absolutely foolproof way of travelling between worlds and blew seven sorts of hell out of the Magisterium with an aircraft like nothing I've ever seen before. The pilot -David something or other, disagreeable bastard anyway- ended up in a cell with me for some bizarre reason. Then, no sooner than I've engineered a dazzlingly audacious escape from the clutches of the Church, I get gunned down by my own bloody DAUGHTER! Can you believe it?" Dr Grumman sighed, shaking his head.
"You ought to know something about me, Asriel. I'm not from your world. My real name is Johnathan Parry. The boy you described as 'that brat' happens to be my son." The look of blind panic in Asriel's eyes was a joy to behold. "I suspect that the man who you shared a cell with was a very good friend of mine."
"Oh, I see," Asriel replied in a rather strangled voice.
"And as for getting shot by... Lyra, yes? Well, that's what you get for fooling around with other people's wives, pal!"
Asriel groaned. An indefinite period with this man for company was far from a welcome prospect. He'd never really liked Grumman at the best of times, but this was worse.
John Parry couldn't help but agree. He was waiting for Elaine, and suspected (hoped) that he had pleny more time to wait. He calculated the chances of Asriel getting on the boat in the next few millenia as something like one in ten to the power of his overdraft, and decided to simply wait on the far bank. Since all that unpleasantness with the Magisterium it had been rather crowded around here, but John wasn't above jumping the queue to escape this idiot. And he'd always been a strong swimmer.
He hastily removed his clothes, and dived in. The boatman shouted something about how he wasn't supposed to do that, but John couldn't have cared less at that point. He reached the far bank, enjoying the appreciative glances from several teenage girls who'd just learned the hard way why narcotics and pedestrian crossings don't mix, and wished he'd thought of a way of carrying his clothing with him.
//Is the prospect of that idiot for company REALLY worse than spending the next God knows how many years standing around in my underwear?// he wondered. Fortunately for him, somebody took pity on him and put his clothes in the boat.
"Coming?" asked a nearby harpy.
"Not yet. I'm waiting for somebody, you see." He grimaced. "Unless that bugger Asriel turns up, of course."
While they waited, John filled her in on his life. In return, he got access to the expansive gossip network shared by the angels, harpies and Gallivespians.
"Oh, you can't be serious!" he groaned. "Dave? They put DAVE in charge of my son's upbringing? A man who I personally witnessed being thrown out of Stringfellows and then getting arrested for pouring soap powder into the fountains in Trafalgar Square?" He beat his head gently against a convenient tree. "In the name of God, why?"
After a little sober reflection, he decided that it wasn't all that bad after all. Any young boy would have worshipped a man like Dave. He was a pilot. He owned a motorbike. He'd been to Knebworth to see the finale of Queen's Magic Tour in 1986. He knew how to make his own fireworks.
It was the part about giving Will a gun that bothered him most, however. "ELAINE insisted? Evn if she did get institutionalised for paranoid delusions, surely she..." He gave up.
//Like it or not, John, it isn't your problem any more. I'm sure Elaine will be able to keep them both out of trouble...// He'd be lucky!