Lee gave the horse its head as they rode through the forest, trusting the animal to find a safe route through the eerie landscape. The valiant horse jogged along as requested, until they reached the edge of the woods. There was no sound of pursuit, and Lee pulled on the reins, slowing the puffing, sweating beast to a walk. They emerged into farmland, a grassy field sloping down before them to a winding road that curved round a hillside, pointing to the lights of Oxford in the distance.

'Looks like we made it,' Lee remarked, bringing the horse to a halt and dismounting. The girl did likewise but far less gracefully, her shorter legs dangling before she worked up the nerve to let go of the saddle and drop to the ground.

'We've made it,' the girl agreed. 'I don't hear anyone following.' She hesitated, staring at Lee as he stooped to let Hester down.

'Thank you, for helping me,' she said, averting her eyes. 'Those hunters are cruel. They skin everything they catch. They wouldn't have shown me no mercy.'

'You're welcome, young lady,' Lee answered. 'They wouldn't have shown me any mercy, either. Now, care to tell me your name?'

'Lizzie,' the girl said promptly. Lee raised a sceptical eyebrow.

'Don't try to hustle a hustler, kid,' he said, voice dry. 'I heard your daemon there calling you "Lyra."'

The girl rolled her eyes.

'Thanks, Pan,' she said gruffly. Her daemon, in the form of a mouse, hunkered on her shoulder and tried to look as if he weren't in trouble. 'All right, fine. My name's Lyra, and this is Pantalaimon.'

'Lee Scoresby at your service, and this is Hester,' replied the aeronaut, indicating Hester with a jerk of his head. 'What the hell were you doing in the woods in the middle of the night, Lyra? Especially with hunters around. If it were during the day, I'd guess you were trespassing, same as me, but this is different.'

'Why'd you care?' Lyra asked, guardedly, her large dark eyes shining with suspicion.

'Well, I reckon I just helped save you from a whole heap of trouble, and that kind of makes us kindred spirits, you and me,' Lee remarked, leaning against the horse's flank as he regarded her. 'If you don't believe that, then say you owe me one, for hauling you out of the frying pan.'

Lyra nodded, seeing the fairness in this.

'I live in the forest,' she said without preamble. 'With my father. He's a woodsman. He went out to hunt last evening and he's late coming back. I went out to look for him and fell in the pit.'

Lee nodded.

'So, whereabouts in the forest do you live?' he asked. Lyra backed up a step or two, and Lee sighed.

'Kid, I'm not gonna hurt you. But I can't in good conscience let you go running around those woods by yourself. Not with those men wreaking havoc. You might not be so lucky next time.'

'I'll be all right,' Lyra answered, with what seemed to Lee to be unmerited confidence. 'I've lived in the woods for ages, I know how to keep out of trouble. I just got took by surprise tonight, they're setting traps all over.'

'You say your father's missing,' Lee persisted. 'What if he needs help? What if you need help?'

'I'll be fine,' Lyra repeated obstinately. Pantalaimon, in sparrow form, fluttered on her shoulder. 'Honestly, I will. I got friends nearby.'

Lee wasn't a hundred percent sure he believed her but knew that pressing the matter would be useless. With a sigh, he made to put his coat – which he was still carrying – back on, but his left arm was smarting damnably from his exertions, and he hissed in pain.

Lyra was by his side in an iota, gazing at his arm. She'd moved so fast Lee had barely registered it.

'You're hurt,' she said, concerned. 'Here, let me look –'

She unwrapped the crude bandage before Lee could make any protest and frowned at the wound.

'A bite,' she muttered. Pantalaimon pecked at her ear.

'Yeah, a wolf tried to take a chunk out of me,' Lee told her. 'It wasn't his fault, I startled him.'

Lyra didn't answer. She placed a grubby palm atop the injury and closed her eyes. On her shoulder, Pantalaimon turned into a crow, and peered down at where her hand rested.

'Kid, what are you –' Lee began, and then forgot what he had been going to say. He forgot he knew any words at all.

Lyra's hand was glowing. It shone with a light that evoked thoughts of autumn, of the gentle gilded light that slanted down on September evenings. It was warm, the heat building until it was at the very limit of what was bearable. The golden light swirled, curling around her hand and Lee's arm, and then with a flare that had Lee blinking as if his torch had been shone right in his eyes, winked out.

'There, that's sorted,' said Lyra.

She took away her hand and Lee's eyes – his brain was taking a while to catch up with events – saw that the bite-mark was healed. No blood, no angry red scratches, no swollen flesh and the pain had gone. Only a couple of faint scars, where the bite had been deepest, remained, and Lee had a weird feeling that even they would vanish soon.

'I'll be jiggered,' said Hester, stunned, and the sound of her voice brought Lee back to himself.

'How did you…' he began, but Lyra shook her head.

'I just can. It's something I do,' she said. 'Thank you for your help, Mr Scoresby.'

With that, she turned and ran back into the forest, her daemon taking the form of a fox and sprinting after her.

'No, wait!' Lee cried, running after her. But within a few paces, Lyra and Pan had disappeared into the gloaming, camouflaged by the shifting shadows and dark trees. Lee scanned the wood, ears straining for sounds of her footsteps, but he could discern nothing.

Defeated, he slouched back to the horse, which seemed to Lee to regard him with a sympathetic eye.

'What now?' he asked Hester.

'Let's get this fella home and get some rest,' she told him. 'There's nothing more we can do tonight. 'Sides, I ain't sure chasing after a baby witch is the best idea, even if she did do you a good turn.'

Lee saw the sense in this, even though something deep inside ached at leaving that girl all alone in the woods, irrespective of whether she was magic. He caught hold of the horse's bridle and began leading him down the hill.

'I don't think she's a witch, Hester,' he said as they loped along. 'We've met witches, and she's nothing like them.'

'Then what would you call her?' Hester asked.

'I'm not sure,' answered Lee. 'But not a witch.'

#

Lee left the horse tied up in a farmyard near a water trough, and made his way back to the barn where his balloon was stored just as the dark was diminishing into the grey light that heralded the approach of dawn. He hunkered down in the basket, and slept, a light and troubled sleep invaded by powerful dreams.

He dreamt he was back in the forest, and the wolves were howling, singing their sad lullabies to the moon. They sounded so sad and so beautiful that Lee's heart clenched. And then he felt a hand in his, and he looked down and saw Lyra, the wild girl.

'They want us to sing with them,' she told him. And she tilted her head back and howled.

Lee woke then, stirred into consciousness by the sounds of the farmhands going about their business. Hester, curled up on his chest, nipped gently at his chin.

'Rise and shine,' she said to him. 'Let's get back to Oxford and get ourselves looking respectable.'

'Respectable? Me?' Lee yawned.

'Fair point. At least, looking as though you didn't spend the night traipsing through the woods and dodging hunters. If we must go looking for trouble, let's not get caught doing it.'

Lee murmured assent, and after they'd escaped unnoticed from the barn they set off through a cool, damp morning back to Oxford.

Despite undergoing a busy night, being bitten by a wolf and running on a few hours of broken sleep and no breakfast, Lee didn't feel rough. In fact, he felt quite energetic, sucking in great lungfuls of fresh country air and his legs tingling with the urge to walk swiftly, or even run back to town. Hester scampered alongside him, sharing in his bout of joie de vivre, although she did glance at him askance when Lee began whistling an off-key tune for the hell of it.

After he'd found a decent boarding house, paid for a week's board, cleaned himself up, eaten a late breakfast, and purchased a few handkerchiefs and a new shirt to replace the one he'd shredded, Lee was feeling remarkably cheerful as he and Hester wandered the streets of Oxford, searching for (preferably legal) work. He didn't obtain any guaranteed jobs, but he gave his name and place of residence at a couple of courier services and the clerks were reassuring, saying there were bound to be urgent deliveries to be made within a couple of days. He nabbed a few delivery forms as he left, sure they would come in handy.

He was strolling past one of the ancient colleges, planning to while the afternoon away in one of the local drinking establishments, when Hester stopped as though struck, and sat with her nose quivering in surprise.

'What?' Lee exclaimed, hand groping for his carefully concealed revolver.

'It's Iorek,' Hester exclaimed. 'What the hell is he doing here?'

Lee followed her gaze down a narrow, crooked little alley, a relic of the city's medieval past, to where Iorek Byrnison was hunkered beside some bags of rubbish and kitchen refuse. As Lee made his careful way up the tiny street, he realised Iorek was trying to peer into a cellar window, so caked with dirt it was probably letting in less light than the wall.

Iorek reared up with a disgusted grunt as they made their way towards him.

'Afternoon, Iorek,' Lee nodded. 'Whatcha doing?'

'Trying to gather information,' the bear answered after only a moment's hesitation.

'About what?' Lee queried.

'I do not wish to say,' Iorek said stiffly.

Lee raised an eyebrow.

'Okay, then I'll guess,' he drawled. 'Something that's in this college. And they won't tell you what it is, or let you in to take a look, what with you being an armoured bear and all.'

'Yes,' Iorek snapped. Lee considered this for an instant.

'Too bad someone can't go in and take a look for you,' he said pleasantly.

'You're crazy,' Hester grumbled.

'Are you offering to do so?' Iorek asked at once.

'Depends,' Lee said, turning serious. 'What would I be looking for?'

Iorek paused, but only for a moment.

'An animal. A wolf, specifically. I believe some scholars are conducting experiments on one within the grounds of this college. Confirmation of its presence would be… useful.'

'What's an armoured bear want with a wolf?' Hester asked bluntly. 'This something to do with the Council and their wolf hunt?'

Even as she asked the question, Lee recalled the golden wolf, how it had been utterly unafraid of him, how drawn he had felt towards it.

'It's nothing to do with the wolf hunt,' he said, and the conviction in his voice was such that Hester jumped and Iorek's gaze turned from speculative to approving. 'This is to do with the wolves themselves, cause there's something special about them. Something you need, Iorek, and something the Council wants to destroy.'

The great bear made a huff that might have been a laugh.

'I might have known you would puzzle out my intent sooner or later,' Iorek said. 'Yes, Lee Scoresby, I am in Oxford because of the wolves who live in Badbury Forest. And I believe there is one being held in this college. But I would rather not explain my true purpose to you in public.'

'Fair enough,' Lee shrugged. 'All right, Iorek, I'll make you a deal. I'll do a little investigating for you on the condition that you tell me what you're doing here and what you want with these wolves.'

'Accepted,' Iorek said at once. 'I will go and wait for you in my forge. Be careful when you investigate, Lee. The Council is merciless when it comes to these wolves. They will show you no mercy, either.'

'You're the second person to tell me that,' Lee sighed. 'Okay, come on Hester. We've got some preparations to make.'

#

Lee's 'preparations' involved purchasing a box, brown paper and string, filling out one of the purloined courier forms with Hester's guidance, stowing his hat and coat under a crate in the alley, and 'borrowing' an unremarkable black coat from a careless under-scholar who'd left it slung over a bench while he and his compatriots argued about the theories of Dr Something versus the theories of Professor Or Other. The under-scholar was expounding on the recent research on the nature of the human soul done by Dr Van Buskirk of Jordan College, the college Lee was about to go poking round, and he tucked the name away in his memory, ready for when he needed it.

Moments later he was walking into Jordan College at a brisk pace, most unlike his usual confident saunter, parcel in hand. Hester folded her ears along her back and did her best to look unassuming.

Luck was with them – there was one porter on duty, and he was white-haired, rather deaf and struggling to remain awake. His spaniel daemon was snoozing at his feet and didn't wake even when Hester prodded at him with her foreleg. The poor man readily accepted Lee's story of a special delivery from Texas for Dr Van Buskirk, to be taken to his office per special instruction, and waved him through the college gates.

Lee and Hester hurried along at first, not wanting to dawdle and get accosted by some officious servant or well-meaning under-scholar. Once they'd travelled a safe distance into the grounds, Lee paused, assessing where to go next. The college was vast, and he realised there was nothing for it but to choose somewhere to spy on and hope for the best. It was Hester who took charge, loping over to a small archway tucked between two great oak doors.

'Down here,' she whispered, and Lee saw a twisting stone staircase presumably leading down to the cellars where whatever had intrigued Iorek was located.

They made their way down to the base of the stairs without running into anyone. The stairs ended in a passageway, constructed from cool slabs of stone and with anbaric lights strung at intervals, the wires dangling rather than hidden behind plaster. There were no windows, and Lee guessed they were below ground level. To their left and right, the corridor stretched away. Doors were set into the opposing wall at regular intervals.

'Left, or right?' Hester asked.

'Right,' Lee decided at random, and they started down the corridor.

It was a long corridor. Lee estimated it ran the full length of the building. He tried a couple of doors. One was locked, the other opened onto a storage room filled with unremarkable filing cabinets and a desk creaking beneath mounds of paperwork. He was just about to turn on his heel and go in the opposite direction when Hester's ears twitched.

Lee heard it a moment later: raised voices, having what sounded like a well-mannered argument, or at least an unfriendly conversation. He slowed his pace to a crawl, hugging the wall, until he came to the door the voices were emanating from.

It was helpfully open – just. A sliver of light crept into the corridor, and Lee could hear what was being said, although not who was speaking. It was a man, and he was agitated.

'What you're asking me to do, is not only illegal, but unethical,' the man was saying, words barbed with anger. 'If the Magisterium were to become aware –'

'The principle of scholastic sanctuary was established for just this kind of situation,' a woman answered, her voice sweetness underlaid with steel. Lee realised with a gut-punch of surprise that it was Mrs Coulter from the Council.

'That principle will be worthless if the Magisterium find out about what you're proposing. We'll both disappear some dark night and never be heard from again. Have you ever heard of Professors Lawrence and Hall? No? That's because their names are never mentioned in scholastic circles. One found dead, the other missing, their essay banned, and all copies destroyed.'

'Their work was heretical. It argued that same-sex love was not against the will of God,' Mrs Coulter said smoothly. Lee could just picture the little smile on her face as she said it.

'Yes, and in theory they should have been protected by scholastic sanctuary. Which is becoming just that – theoretical.'

'Oh, come now, Dr Van Buskirk,' Mrs Coulter purred. 'Your work is already causing consternation among the more conservative elements in our church and parliament. Suggesting that the human soul is capable of transfiguration, that it does not mirror our Creator's image… you're not afraid of controversy.'

'Maybe not,' Dr Van Buskirk answered. 'I seek what all scholars seek – knowledge, and truth. But what you're – demanding, that's not truth. That's corruption. I want no part of it.'

Silence. Some silences are absences, and others are presences. The quiet that followed Dr Van Buskirk's declaration was the latter.

It seemed to linger for a very long time. It was Mrs Coulter who broke it. Her tone was all cream and roses, but the words made Lee wince.

'Have it your way, Doctor. I won't compel you to participate. I will, however, require copies of all your research to date, including the records you keep hidden in that secret compartment in your desk. Oh, and copies of the correspondence you've been sending to your sister in New Amsterdam. It won't take long for our best men to divine your cipher. A shame about your sister, though. The authorities in that part of the world aren't as… civilised.'

Dr Van Buskirk said something too faint for Lee to make out, but he could guess at its meaning.

'Now, now, Doctor, cursing is the sign of an uneducated mind,' Mrs Coulter said. 'Assist me in this endeavour, and scholastic sanctuary will be extended to both yourself and your sister.''

'What would you have me do?' Dr Van Buskirk asked, sounding weary. 'I am not an experimental theologian. My work is strictly theoretical.'

'I have theologians to carry about the practical aspects of these… experiments,' Mrs Coulter answered. 'All I need is your research into these creatures. And for you to observe the wolf and its daemon. To establish if their relationship supports or contradicts your hypothesis. I'll be leaving guards with you to monitor your progress and ensure there are no unlucky… escapes.'

A wolf with a daemon? Lee was shocked rigid by her words. Animals didn't have daemons… not even the panserbjørne had daemons. Their souls resided in their armour. What Mrs Coulter was implying wasn't just radical, but heresy of the most blatant, threatening sort.

He was roused from his stunned state by a sharp nip to his ankle. He glanced down at Hester, who jerked her head towards the stairs. Lee nodded, and began to move away as silently as possible, no longer caring about appearing inconspicuous, only wanting to escape the danger lurking in that room.

They were a few steps away from safety when Lee heard a door creak open. He leapt for the stairs, and swung himself around the corner, heart thudding until it was almost painful. Hester had managed the jump with much more grace, and hunkered at his feet, trembling with adrenaline, as they waited to see if they were in the clear.

'Did you hear something?' they heard Mrs Coulter ask.

'No, except those shoes you're wearing,' Dr Van Buskirk grumbled.

Lee snickered silently to himself, and he and Hester began to sidle upstairs, making their stealthy escape.

Author's Notes:

Dr Van Buskirk - Peter De Jersey

The unfortunate Professors, Lawrence and Hall, are named after the authors D. H. Lawrence and Radclyffe Hall, who wrote 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' and 'The Well of Loneliness' respectively in the 1920s. These are two of the most famous works to be banned in the UK - the former for explicit depictions of sex, the latter for its portrayal of love between two women. Hall's book was reprinted several years after her death with no legal challenges. 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' was reprinted in 1960 and the publisher stood trial for obscenity. They won and the book was legally available afterwards (though the prosecution didn't help its case by demanding of the jury 'is it a book you would want your wife or servants to read?')

Till next time, dear readers...