AN: I'd like to send a shout-out to my two annon reviewers. Reviewer one (no name given), Yeah, Maugrim is cool when he's a good guy, I have a lot of fun writing for him in this context, thanks for commenting! Reviewer two (M), I don't know how many chapters this fanfic will have, I haven't settled on any offical number as of yet; I know where I'm going with this (pretty much, LOL) and I have a general notion of how I want the fanfic to end, but I don't know how many chapters it will take me to get to that point. If you want to know, you will just have to keep reading the updates and see for yourself whenever it ends.

Neither Lyra nor Lucy understood why Farder Coram made them wear head-scarves over their hair when the Narrowhaven harbor came into view; but, trusting and loving him as they did, they obeyed.

"I'll bet he's worried that yous got hair too light to be Gyptian," Billy Costa whispered to them while the others were too busy guiding the ship toward the docks, talking quietly about something they obviously didn't want Lyra and Lucy to be concerned about just yet. "Most Gyptians got dark hair, right? Yous both got light brown. Lyra's looks darker than it used to, but it's still too light for a Gyptian, I s'pose." Ratter twitched her whiskers pointedly.

"What does it matter if we're Gyptians?" Lucy wondered aloud.

"Theys probably think Farder Coram stoled yous from somewhere."

"We ain't little girls no more, Billy Costa!" huffed Lyra, with more contempt than was really called for.

"So? They'll still think you was stoled." He ran his fingers absently through his own, noticeably dark, hair. "Lyra, you got a child's nose, and Lucy's face looks younger than fourteen…I think it's cause it's so round and all."

They scowled at him dually, not sure who should take the most offence.

"Lee Scoresby didn't make me cover my hair in Trollesund," said Lucy a few moments later, when she had chosen to forgive Billy. "Why do think he didn't? When he was handing me over to a group of Gyptians and everything?"

"I dunno," said Billy Costa. "Maybe he just assumed everyone would think you was his daughter or sumthin'; and the Gyptians didn't keep you in the open too long anyways."

Reepicheep, sitting on Lucy's lap, cleared his throat and let out a light squeak as the ship came to a complete stop.

Narrowhaven was very like Trollesund or Norroway but-Lucy felt-somehow much less inviting; there was an air of touch-me-not about nearly everything in sight (from the houses nearest the cost, to the scaffold, to the neat little shops and surprisingly well kept up taverns) that was not present in the other port towns-or, at least, not so overtly present. One could believe that this had once been a place where folks went about their business and turned a blind eye to an abominable slave trade.

Feeling a bit sick, Lucy wished they could be at the Star Consul's house already.

Lyra may have been feeling the same, but she watered these nervous emotions down differently than her half-sister did. Whereas Lucy gawked and worried and clutched Reepicheep a little tighter, despite the fact that she knew he didn't like that as a general rule, Lyra became more talkative even than usual and pestered Farder Coram and Caspian with endless questions. How far was it to the Star Consul? Did the people at Narrowhaven always look so tight-faced as the few she saw going by? Was Billy Costa's guess about why they had to wear head-scarves correct or was there some other big secret going on that she didn't know about?

If Ma Costa had been there, she would have eventually said, "Be quiet, girl!" and let that be an end to it; but Farder Coram was a much more grandfather-like person, terribly prone to spoiling those he was fond of, and he put up with it beautifully, even managing to answer a question or two before another one came flying out of Lyra's over-excited mouth. She finally stopped when Pantalaimon bit her lightly on the ear, showing that they were more afraid than their prattling let on.

Thankfully, as they climbed down onto the wooden deck and strolled calmly into town, no one seemed to take much notice of them. If anybody thought it was odd that a dark-skinned manservant with a lynx dæmon was following a group of Gyptians and two young women with their heads covered, they didn't say anything about it to them.

At first, Lucy and Reepicheep thought the ground was pitching up and down; but that was only because that's how a person feels when they've been at sea for a bit and then come back to land, and soon enough walking on solid ground felt normal again.

Farder Coram was the one who was really guiding them and their direction, of course, but they seemed to be making it appear as if it were Drinian (really, his role in their navigation was mostly sea-wise).

"Do you s'pose," Lyra whispered to her white ermine, "that they think it'd be suspicious for someone as old as Farder Coram to be the leader? Cuz, it's him that knows where this Consul is-only him."

"I don't know," murmured Pantalaimon under his breath. "But we ought to play along. If they're worried about Narrowhaven, they must be trying to do something under-hand to protect us."

"Oh, look, Pan," said Lyra suddenly, holding back a gasp under the breath with which she was speaking. "Do you see which way we're going now? That's some sort of an alley, ain't it?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Farder Coram's saying something to Emeth now…He's lighting a lantern."

"It's dark in there," said Pantalaimon.

"Course it is." She sighed absently. "Come on, let's keep going, even Billy Costa is ahead of us now."

"Farder Coram's looking over his shoulder for you," Pan added sharply. "Go faster, you're making him anxious."

"Alright, alright," she snapped. "Don't boss at me like that, I can see for myself, and I'm going-so there. He's fine now, see?"

Lucy, meanwhile, had edged quite close to Farder Coram's side and now found herself pressed up against it, one of his arms around her shoulders protectively. (Caspian got a firm grip on one of Lyra's arms.)

Up ahead there was fog, lots of fog. Lucy thought it was sort of dirty, like smog from London. Reepicheep coughed; Ratter sneezed; Pantalaimon's breathing was slightly heavier. Then the atmosphere felt a little cleaner, though the fog hadn't lifted. The mist itself, however, surrounding them still as they turned another bend that neither of the girls nor Billy Costa would have even noticed if not for Farder Coram's direction, was noticeably whiter than it had been further back. And, ever so slowly, it seemed either to clear, or else they merely stepped out of it.

"This is the way Serafina took me before," said Farder Coram to Caspian, who was unfolding the map Rhince had given Emeth. "I'm sure of it. We don't need that just now. Roll it back up; save it for later."

Directly in front of them now were what seemed to be a few acres of beautifully manicured lawns of bluish-green grass and scattered hedges in round shapes that Lucy guessed where meant to be representations of planets or stars, and Lyra, who knew preciously little about outer-space in any world (aside from the bits Mrs. Coulter had been able to teach her during the short time she'd lived with her), registered merely as 'large circles'.

Further up and further in, there were other hedges, these shaped very like cocks.

"I bet they was dæmons," said Lyra; "someone who lived round 'ere once must've had a cock dæmon."

"You don't know that." Billy raised an eyebrow at her and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, I do," she insisted, her voice huffy. "Course you wouldn't, not having ever lived at Jordan." A silly childish distain for persons-and scholars-who did not know Jordan, had never been raised nor educated there, was peeking up like a sore thumb; and she sounded as if she thought herself-and Lucy-a bit superior to Billy because of it. "Theys got crypts underground if you lift a cellar door, right, and there's a whole lot of dead Masters buried down there with their dæmons carved into their caskets and coffins and all."

"That ain't a coffin," retorted Billy. "That's a large bush."

"I ain't stupid." She pouted at him. "I know a bush when I see one, I was only sayin' that-"

Caspian shook her arm-which he was still gripping-lightly. "Be quiet, Lyra, I do not think Farder Coram wants us to approach the Star Consul's house quarrelling."

She was sullen at having Caspian-who wasn't old enough (like Farder Coram was, for instance) to tell her what to do-giving her an order. Yet she still obeyed for whatever reason, pressing her lips tightly together and only speaking occasionally to Pantalaimon through her teeth when she had a thought or two she couldn't keep in.

Caspian's seagull dæmon flew over to one of the cock-hedges, landing on the figure's nose, waiting for his master and the others to catch up.

Finally, when Lucy was beginning to feel as if she were in a sort of dream walking through an endless haze where one gets sleepy but never actually tired, a living creature, peeking out from behind one of the cock-hedges, appeared.

It appeared to be a little bearded man-rather like a dwarf but somehow different, less intelligent looking than any dwarfs the Gyptians, Emeth, or the girls had ever met-with stupid, yet friendly, glinting eyes with dull black irises.

Looking downwards, Reepicheep noticed something. "He's only got one foot."

And so he had. He was as steady on his one large, mushroom of a foot as most persons are on their two feet. If he had no other apparent virtue, it could at least be said of him that he didn't look as if he were-in spite of his odd little shape-at all clumsy.

"Don't be afraid," Farder Coram said.

The girls weren't sure if that was directed towards them, or else towards the little man, and gathered, in the end, that it could have gone either way.

The little man stared very hard at Lucy and Lyra for a moment, then hopped off on his foot, making the ground shake as if he'd just hit it with a heavy sledge-hammer.

"Phew!" exclaimed Billy Costa, half-laughing. "Did yer ever see anythin' jump like that? Like a frog."

"Or grasshoppers," Caspian offered.

"What was it, Farder Coram?" asked Lyra. "It en't a dwarf…not like the dwarfs we're used to…can't be."

"It's a Dufflepud." Farder Coram smiled amusedly, shaking his head. "Harmless. Gave me a start the first time I saw 'em with Serafina, though."

"Them?" repeated Lucy in surprise. "There's more than one, you mean?"

"Oh, bless me, yes," he told her. "It's them that's in charge of the gardening and all. Employed by the Star Consul."

"They don't seem…" said Lucy, wanting to be honest but also not too cruel-sounding in the way she phrased her question. "…They aren't very...clever…are they?"

"Good lord, no." Farder Coram shook his head again. "No, no, of course they aren't. I was a wondering why Coriakin even put up with them; seems either that he'd feel guilty about throwing their kind to the wolves so to speak, seeing as they're too stupid to get employment elsewhere, or that he was inflicted with watching over them as some sort of punishment. Both, I shouldn't wonder."

"Oh, look!" cried Lucy, laughing so hard that she had to pull away from Farder Coram to hold her aching side. "The funnies!"

"Where-" began Lyra, but stopped because she saw them, too, within a second or so.

There was a group of Dufflepuds; about half of them were jumping around, looking not unlike small, ugly-faced children playing at ring-around-the-rosy, while the others were planting something much too large to be a seed.

"What they planting?" Billy wanted to know, straining his eyes to get a closer look without straying from the path as far as his foot-steps went.

"It could be some sort of big white bean," Lucy thought aloud.

"A coconut?" guessed Reepicheep, unsurely.

"It's not a bean," announced Caspian's seagull, flying close enough to get a good look without the Dufflepuds (who, like the dwarfs to which they were distantly related, had no dæmons of their own to sense his presence) noticing. "It's a peeled potato!"

"Why are they putting a perfectly good potato in the ground like that?" Caspian said, incredulous.

Farder Coram shrugged. "You know they ain't clever," was all he said in reply.

"They gonna stop us from getting into the house?" Billy asked.

"I shouldn't think so," said Drinian coolly. "If they're as dim-witted as Farder Coram says, why would it cross their minds to do so?" He added, glancing over at them as they dug another hole and ruined another perfectly good potato by burying it, "They seem rather pre-occupied."

"Where I came from," said Emeth quietly, almost startlingly since he hadn't spoken up in a while, "a lordship's servants wouldn't be permitted to act so. Not even under-guards or generals would be allowed to be so obviously lenient. Why, Lord Rabadash would have had me whipped within an inch of my life if I'd sat around burying freshly peeled potatoes-in front of guests I was meant to be showing to the door, no less!"

"Lord Rabadash seems like quite the cheerful fellow." Farder Coram spoke these words dryly, sardonically, meaning the exact opposite.

I hope, if he's still alive somewhere, thought Lucy, that he's forgotten about Susan; it would be dreadful if we had to deal with his stupidity and rage on top of settling the Ruling Powers and getting some human rights for the Gyptians organized.

The Star Consul's house, now only a few feet in front of them, appeared to be a cross between a white-walled multileveled inn and an old English countryside manor; two or three scattered towers branched off, twisting inwardly, unexpectedly, from the stone parapets, also briefly calling to mind a medieval castle that might have belonged to a duke or a viscount in olden days-in that world, and in some others.

They knew it would be pointless to wait and see if the Dufflepuds would realize they ought to show them in and tell their master (whom they were too idiotic to know for a star and so called, amongst themselves, sometimes with horror and other times with distain, 'the magician') company had arrived, so they went in unbidden.

"I say, Lucy," said Lyra in a small voice as she took in her surroundings, "I en't scared to be here, really I ain't. But I am glad we got Farder Coram with us; I dunno if I'd feel at all safe coming into a place-to meet a star we don't know-if he weren't 'ere to explain who we were."

"I should think not," agreed Lucy, glancing round.

Indeed, they had some excuse, if they found themselves gawking-or even cowering a bit (Pantalaimon had his sleek white head buried in his human's collar)-at catching sight of the interior. It was far darker and a great deal more sober than they'd expected, nearly every curtain-each a dense gray colour with a woolen texture to them-tightly drawn.

"This way," Farder Coram guided them. His cat-dæmon flicked her tail. "We ought to go towards the stairwell. It's no use to us being on the first floor; the Dufflepuds live down here." He pointed to a hollowed hallway to their right that made Lyra think of the deadened subway station she'd traveled into the Pevensies' world through so recently. "Serafina told me they've got their dinning hall and kitchen and pantry down there. Coriakin lives upstairs."

Such a staircase they came to! It wasn't made of marble or grayish stone; the steps were obviously simple, yet high-quality, polished wood over-laid with beautiful carpeting of a dark mustard-gold mixed with scattered, but not random, brown patterns. The railing was made of solid silver with smartly engraved runes in it, not only for decoration, but also to give it some traction to prevent possible accidents. (Only Farder Coram, who couldn't manage with his bad legs, actually used the railing as they climbed upstairs; the others felt too eerie, as if it were something sacred.)

Once on the second floor, they were in a hallway with carpeting of the same sort as the stairs. There were many doorways, some open and some closed.

"It'll be the last door," said Farder Coram. "On the left. The Consul has a study in there, I believe. That's where we a met him last time, at any rate."

"Do you hear ticking?" asked Billy's Ratter.

"Yeah," said Billy, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's coming from the grandfather clock we're getting near," Pantalaimon whispered to Ratter. "Looks a bit like the one at Jordan."

"Ahhh!" A scream erupted from Lucy.

"Are you all right?" everyone demanded at once.

She blinked and swallowed. The cause of her fright was, it turned out, a little looking-glass, the wood of which was carved in the shape of a beard so that when a person looked at themselves in the glass, their face fit into the fake beard. It was amusing, in context and once it was clearly identified as something 'harmless', but out of the corner of one's eye, just catching a little glimpse of a face with a wooden beard…well, it was unsettling.

Lyra stepped in front of the looking-glass, letting her own face fit into the wooden beard, laughed, and stuck out her tongue at her reflection.

That broke the nervous spell; everyone laughed together, knowing that nothing was wrong at all, everything was well, and now they were nearly at the last door on the left.

Stepping into the room Farder Coram ushered them to was like stepping out a lovely but also rather imposing museum and coming into the homiest library that ever existed. Massive, but not over-whelming, there were more books-even Lyra had to admit-here than at Jordan College; far, far, more than Lord Digory's held. All sorts of books; spines of gold, silver, copper, leather, card paper, and cloth filled the shelves that were built into the walls. There were stacks of books-the sort that have print as well as the sort that are for writing in-on the ground near a podium in the very middle of the room. Above the podium, on the ceiling, was an arch of the most peculiar design that eventually extended downwards in the shape of a great golden bell and hammer.

"Where is he?" Caspian asked, looking confused. The room was splendid, but there appeared to be no one in it besides themselves.

Suddenly Pantalaimon let out a short yelp; Reepicheep's mouth twisted into a grim expression; Caspian's gull flapped his wings in an unsettled manner; and Farder Coram's tabby let out a low, steadying sort of growl, telling them to be calm, that it was all right.

A few feet from where they were standing, a silver outline began to take shape. And coming into appearance the same way a man under an invisible spell does when he has been released of his enchantment and is becoming visible again, was the robed figure of Coriakin the Star Consul of Narrowhaven.

AN: Click the review button on your way out (please).