Sitting at the edge of the cool, silver-and-sea-green, marble-and-tile English garden fountain on Professor Kirke's college estate, Lyra let out a heavy, unladylike yawn, not even bothering to bring her hand to her mouth to cover it.
To be fair, her hands were currently busy; one was stroking Pantalaimon's white fur up the wrong way, causing the hairs on the back of her own neck to stick up, and the other was dragging along the bone-dry bottom of the fountain. She had to lurch a bit, leaning diagonally in order for her fingertips to actually touch it, but this didn't faze her-or anyone else-in the least since she usually had bad posture anyway, slumping whenever she could get away with it.
Peter, Susan, Professor Kirke, and Lord Asriel were sitting close-by (easily within ear-shot of the fountain) on iron-backed garden chairs, the kind that aren't particularly comfortable and have no arms on the sides of the hard metallic seats.
The Professor and Lord Asriel were both huffing pretty heavily on their pipes. Lord Asriel had offered some tobacco-though it hadn't been his to offer-to Peter, but he said no thanks.
"He knows I'd rather he didn't," Susan told them. She looked quite prim as she said this, she didn't mean to, but she did; it was hard to talk civilly in Lord Asriel's presence-he just made her feel so angry all the time.
Beside her chair, Maugrim licked irritatedly at his teeth before shooting a short glower in Stelmaria's direction and lowering his head down onto his paws.
"Whipped," muttered Lord Asriel, loud enough so that Peter could hear him.
Peter smiled tightly. "And your point is?"
"People don't think highly of gentleman who just do whatever their wives tell them, men without back-bones."
"Oh?" Peter's brow went up. "Well, they don't think highly of men who can't be faithful to their wives, either. Men without morals."
It would have taken much more than that to make a truly distraught expression crease into Lord Asriel's face, and he didn't so much as blink as the impact of the words hit him, but, all the same, the moment the words were out of his mouth, Peter wished he could take them back. Lord Asriel hid his emotions remarkably well, but the implications did strike a little 'below the belt' so to speak. And of course Lord Asriel deserved to be talked to like that, after all he'd done in his life. Yet, somehow, it felt a mite too mean in context.
Peter's cheeks reddened; he looked down, unable to meet Asriel's gaze again.
Susan reached over and squeezed her husband's hand reassuringly, which made him feel a little better.
Professor Kirke did nothing either to excuse or condemn what Peter said. Lord Asriel, for whatever reason, didn't seem to be planning on making any sort of reply to him-at least not at the moment-so it was easier to just pretend no one had said anything at all to begin with.
"What we could try doing," said the professor, "is filling up the fountain and see what happens; then we can discern whether or not-"
"We don't have the energy," Lord Asriel cut him off, one of his hands resting tensely on Stelmaria's head, the fingers on that hand tightening around the rigid white fur. "Without the power charge that splitting a child from its dæmon releases, how can we possibly be sure of getting through safely? Hoping it opens, and opens so than the matter that makes up the human body can cross it in once piece at that, is wishful thinking at best. If only we-"
"Look," said Susan, addressing Peter, "I've put up with a lot since he got here, but this…his constant obsession with cutting…" She shook her head, frustrated. To Asriel, she added, "Honestly, maybe you and my mother deserved each other."
For a few moments no one made a sound. Everyone sat still as statues, Maugrim and Stelmaria's fur on-end and Professor Kirke's robin-dæmon's feathers ruffled, uncertain of how any of them were supposed to react.
The blood rushed to Susan's cheeks. If Peter had over-stepped a line, she had, in turn, leapt over it, landing on the other side with both feet, unsure of how to go back. She wasn't even sure she wanted to. She was a gentle person, and as a common rule she hated being unkind, but there was so much history here. In truth, she wasn't even sure if she was sorry, or just flushed and over-tired.
"I didn't join you to be insulted," said Lord Asriel, finally, his eyes flashing threateningly with an expression that used to make Lyra Belacqua very nearly wet herself.
"Let's just do what we have to do," Peter sighed, trying to let that be an end to it. "Lord Asriel doesn't like us, and we don't like him. That's hardly the point. We have to get to Lucy and Edmund, though. So, getting back to that fountain, I think the professor is right; remember, Lucy's first portal-through the wardrobe-was not forced by energy, she stumbled upon it by accident."
"Too much depending on luck," Lord Asriel said dryly. "There's too much at stake for us to be going about this haphazardly." He looked over at Susan. "Oh, and I wouldn't concern myself with me and your mother if I were you. Marisa's dead; she was a beautiful, incredible woman, but she's gone. Worry about yourself; there has to be something of her in you. You never know where that might take you, Pevensie's wife."
There was something scornful in the way he said 'Pevensie's wife' this time, almost like he was implying something-and not something good, either.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Maugrim stood up and bared his teeth.
"Simply," he said coldly, taking another puff on the pipe he held between his strongest fingers, clutching it in a manner reminiscent of a person cracking walnuts, "that you shouldn't have your nose so far up in the air that you don't see your own possibilities for a fall. You might think you're too perfect to make her mistakes. You're not like her, you might tell yourself, you don't even look that much like her-you take after your father." He let out an ironic snort. "Well, hear this, sweetheart: your father was just as bad, if not worse. He would have killed both of my children as soon as breathed near them."
Susan felt her jaw tense up; she could make no reply to that. She hated Asriel, hated him. She knew her father's choices in life hadn't been good, but she loved him-even missed him-for all that was worth. His wife had been unfaithful, it would have been a strain on any man.
There were, of course, a lot of unanswered questions. If Lord Asriel hadn't shown up, would Edmund Coulter really have gone through with it and killed baby Lyra? Would he have spared Lucy, or would he have been cold-blooded enough by that point to kill her, too? And Ma Costa? Ma Costa had been there. Mr. Coulter wouldn't have reached those precious baby girls except over her dead body…if he had been in earnest about his intentions…no, Susan couldn't think about that. It was all moot anyway. Lord Asriel had done what he had to do, protecting his children, and he'd suffered consequences for that in different ways. Killing her father was not one of the things Susan hated Asriel for, she understood why he'd done that.
"You think you're so far above your mother and her sins?" Lord Asriel went on mercilessly. "Wait until something you really want comes along, something you can't have, before you make your hasty judgments on a dead woman. You're young, young enough still for other men besides your husband to notice you. You might have a lover one day, just like she did. And you'll excuse it for whatever reasons you can invent in your mind, never thinking that she might have had her own reasons. Daughters never forgive their mothers, but they always forgive themselves for being like them-denying it when the burden gets too heavy."
Hot, angry tears started to blur Susan's vision, but she refused to let them fall lest Lord Asriel think he had moved her to tears. She wasn't moved, she was furious! The very thought of anything Lord Asriel was saying being true was repulsive. She would never, ever treat Peter the way her mother had treated Edmund Coulter-never! How dare he say that?
For some reason, it didn't make her want to jump up and fling back her chair confrontationally like what he said about Christian did. No, it made her want to get up and run and run and run as far as her legs would carry her and never see Lord Asriel or think about anything in her mother's past again.
But her feet felt heavy, like melting metal fusing to the floor, making her stay unwaveringly in the garden chair.
Peter reached over and lightly touched the small of her back. He could tell that what Lord Asriel said had cut her deep. All the self-disappointment he felt for what he'd said earlier to the nobleman was gone. Foolish of him not to recall that Lord Asriel could defend himself without assistance, without people feeling sorry for him. Pity, was something Lord Asriel could do without. Not for nothing was his strong, powerful dæmon shaped like a snow leopard.
Lyra was being uncharacteristically quiet. Indeed, she hadn't said a word through the whole debate even though, from where she was sitting, she could undoubtedly hear every word. And if she had missed a word or two here and there per-chance, there was no missing the tension and anger. Lyra Silvertongue was not at all the sort of girl who kept her opinions to herself. There were some things she could be discreet-sly-about; she remained something of a practiced liar in spite of Susan's occasional attempts to make a more truthful, polite lady out of her, and it was odd that she hadn't spoken up.
"Where's Lyra?" Maugrim voiced what everyone was thinking just then.
Susan twisted in her chair, looking over to the fountain. Lyra wasn't there anymore. "Lyra?" She stood up, her feet no longer feeling heavy. With Lyra missing, her hatred of Lord Asriel came in second in her thoughts, if at all.
"Blast," muttered Peter, starting to look for her as well. "We have to watch her every minute!"
"Good heavens!" Professor Kirke exclaimed suddenly. "The fountain!"
Susan whipped her head round from the bushes she and Maugrim had begun to search through.
Peter and Susan glanced at each other and simultaneously said, "Lyra."
It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened. Evidently Lyra had gotten tired of listening to them grouse and shoot icy glowers back and forth and, upon hearing-perhaps only in passing-what the professor had said about starting up the fountain just to see what happened, took matters into her own hands.
No one present was sure if they wanted to embrace her for it, or smack her. Lord Asriel mostly felt the latter, but he, too, hide it as he did, was curious about what would become of the fountain once the water started pouring back into it; he took a few steps forward, Stelmaria treading soundlessly at his side.
The others came forward, too, watching the tinkling water bubble up, falling down onto the tiles like thousands of glass raindrops.
Lyra and Pan appeared at their side. If they were waiting for praise or a reprimand, they showed no outward signs of it; their eyes were as focused on the quickly-filling fountain as everybody else's.
"Gosh, Pan," Lyra whispered, "it's beautiful, ain't it?"
The ermine nodded.
The air in the garden was warm, nearly hot but not quite, and there were no students or scholars present. It made Lyra feel a little bit like being back at Jordan, a pricking, hot feeling pressing against her; it was like she knew she wanted to do something that wasn't allowed, and knew she was going to do it anyway. The water looked so cool. How lovely to dive in and feel the soft beads of wetness on her skin!
Peter caught wind of what she was about to do first. He realized Lyra's full impulsive intentions before the professor even had a chance to question whether or not the fountain was a portal or if it looked like it was going to become one as the water continued spilling down into the smooth bottom.
"No, don't!" There was nothing else for it, Peter reached out and tried to grab her from the lower waist so as to pull her backwards, away from the fountain.
Lyra was too quick; Peter lurched. Instead of pulling her back, he lost his own balance and fell in a few seconds after she and her ermine-dæmon hit the water.
"Peter!" Susan shouted, plunging herself down onto her knees and thrusting her hand into the water, trying to get a-hold of her husband to pull him out of there.
There was that smell again, the one Maugrim had smelled at the window when Peter and Susan had seen Dust. There were no visible signs of Dust just then, but somehow, whether it was the shock of everything, the smell itself, the frightened eyebrows of the professor shooting up that Susan caught a glimpse of out of the corner of her eye, Lord Asriel's sudden running leap towards the fountain, or simply mere intuition, common knowledge was that it had become a portal-hopefully into that other world.
Peter's fingers wrapped around the tips of Susan's, trying to get a firmer grip. He couldn't manage and she lost his hand in the end. Not only that, but her own balance wavered, and she fell in despite the lord professor's attempts to pull her to safety. Maugrim jumped in after her because he could feel the tug of separation from his human pulling at his heart. If he stayed there while she fell, maybe even into another universe, he might burst into Dust, go out like a light, himself while she died. It wouldn't have been at all pleasant to arrive back in one's birth world as a corpse.
Lyra was the first to reach the bottom of the fountain; it didn't look like tile, rather, it was white and sort of gauzy. Swimming, trying to hold Pantalaimon close to her heart with one arm, keeping them both together, she reached out with her free hand and pulled at it like she was tearing back a curtain.
Bright blue light engulfed her and for a moment she seemed to be breathing underwater-that is, if it really was water, for it didn't feel wet. Then it was definitely wet, without shadow of doubt. Lyra's couldn't breathe then; she could see the air bubbles coming out of her nose from the labored effort.
She was cold, very cold, but she ignored that and tried to keep her head. Kicking her feet, she tried to make a break for the surface, which was father up than she would have liked. She had to stretch out her arms and let go of Pan, praying that he would be able to swim alongside her. He couldn't; Lyra had to dive lower still and scoop him up again, slinging him around her shoulders before spreading out her arms again and kicking her legs with all her might.
When would they reach the surface? How long had she been underwater? Had it been a long, long time? Or was that just her perception of the matter? Where was Peter? Susan? Anyone?
Then, just as she was about to break out onto the top of a great wave, there was a splash from above and someone was swimming alongside her.
His face, even under the water, was familiar, and she thought she saw a flicker of recognition in his dark blue-black eyes. But his name didn't come to her mind right away. Finally, when they'd both broken the surface and were staring at each other, a wave suddenly coming and smacking them both across their already drenched faces with sea-spray, she knew him.
"Billy," she gasped, coughing out salt water. "Billy Costa!"
"Lyra?" Billy phrased it like a question, but not one that needed to be answered; he knew who she was without being told.
Pan opened his weary eyes, shivering miserably on his human's shoulders, and started looking around for Ratter. Ratter was on the deck of John Faa's ship, the Dawn Treader, only a little ways away from them. It was so close that Billy jumping off without her hadn't caused even the remotest symptoms of human/dæmon separation.
Billy put an arm around Lyra's waist. With the help of some others on-board, he dragged a dripping, sneezing, cursing Lyra on deck.
Caspian, with his seagull dæmon, was there with a blanket for her shoulders at once; then came Ma Costa, Farder Coram, the imposing Lord John Faa, and Lucy Pevensie.
For one horrible moment, Lyra thought her alethiometer might have been damaged because it had been in her pocket the whole time she'd been underwater. She cursed herself for not thinking about that before jumping into the fountain so recklessly. It turned out to be all right, through; as far as she could tell, it still worked fine. The real concern, the one that pushed everything else out of the way, washed over her next as a returning thought.
"Did you pull Peter up, too?" Lyra wasn't sure if Susan had actually fallen in, even though she had some inclination that she might have, and she knew nothing at all regarding what Lord Asriel or Professor Kirke had done once the portal opened, but she knew Peter must have come through with her.
"Peter's here?" Lucy asked, sounding both excited and alarmed, Reepicheep scurrying back and forth across the deck as if to search for his human's brother.
"But he must've got through, too," Lyra murmured in shock. "He must've."
They all looked to Billy, but he said he'd only seen one person-who'd turned out to be Lyra-in the water, no one else.
"He must've," Lyra repeated brokenly, pulling Pan down from her shoulders and into her lap. "He must've."
AN: Reviews always welcome.