"Serafina Pekkala en't here, Your Ladyship." The Gyptian man with the crane dæmon bowed to Ramandu's daughter, who stood at the out-skirts of the Gyptian camps near Jordan College. "In fact, no disrespect, Miss, but I was rather a hoping you could tell your aunt to come some time, if it weren't no inconvenience. Farder Coram…he ain't himself lately…I think he's a pining for her, to tell you the truth."

Ramandu's daughter sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that, truly I am." She smiled wanly. "But I haven't come to see Serafina or Farder Coram. This time, I must speak with the alethiometrist, Edmund Belacqua. It is quite urgent, I'd not come otherwise. You see, my good Gyptian, there's something he must decide, and he must come to know of it."

"I think," said the Gyptian man, exchanging a somewhat puzzled glance with his crane, "that Alethiometrist Belacqua's just returned from Jordan not one hour ago. He 'ad some business there, I's told. I'll see if he can come here to speak with you."

"No," she stopped him, "it is too dangerous for an alethiometrist to come out of a protected area, Gyptian spies or no. I must go with you to his tent; I will speak with him there."

"Alright." The Gyptian nodded agreeably. "Follow me, then."

The Gyptian camp was quieter than usual, Ramandu's daughter noticed. From above, looking down, Gyptian camps often seemed merry, cheerful places of lit bonfires and stories of the sea told in thick accents; sometimes there was even dancing. Now, in this time of high political tension, even the Gyptians, out-casts, had become somber. Fires were put out as soon as everyone had eaten and was warm enough to venture back through the chill air to their tents.

A few of the young men hung about; some of them smoked, others talked gruffly amongst themselves. She noticed Lord Asriel and Stelmaria standing by a snuffed-out fire, brooding, looking like their usual, fierce, unapproachable selves.

As she came nearer, Ramandu's daughter nodded at them and, out of respect, Lord Asriel bowed once very quickly.

"The alethiometrist's tent is over here," the Gyptian directed her, gesturing at a generous-sized tent of midnight blue cloth laced with faded gold thread and frayed black fringes. "Will you be announ'sin your presence yourself, Lady? I may be needing to return to my post."

"Yes, I can take it from here," she assured him. "Thank you."

"twas nothin', Your Ladyship." He bowed before turning to leave; the crane-dæmon sort of bobbed.

Lifting up the edge of the tent's opening gingerly, Ramandu's daughter called, "Belacqua?"

"Yes?"

"It's Serafina Pekkala's niece," she said softly. "I need to speak with you."

"Fine, come in."

Stepping inside, she saw that Alethiometrist Belacqua was standing, rising up from his place and onto his feet, to greet her as was proper; but he looked weary.

"Oh," said Ramandu's daughter hastily, her eyes flickering sympathetically, "sit down, I'll join you. It'll take more than a moment; we don't have to stand, unless you would prefer it."

Ella clanked her beak as her master eased back down onto the cushions he'd been sitting on before the star's arrival. He had no wish to stand if Ramandu's daughter had no intention of insisting upon it.

"What is it?" he asked, after a pause.

"You know about Iorek Byrnison, don't you?"

Edmund sighed. "Only that he was prince of Svalbard once, and that he lost everything."

"Learn that from an alethiometer, did you?"

He shrugged.

"Do you have one with you?"

"Yes." He was dead-tired, thus his reason for being so monosyllabic. It had been a long night, what with all he'd had to do and then explaining his actions-and those of the others-to Gael; and now, entertaining important company.

"Let me see you read it."

Ella let out a frustrated whistle, showcasing her master's weary apprehension.

"If you're going to ask me the name of the Gyptian who was once your lover, I don't need the alethiometer for that."

Her bright, starry eyes darkened and narrowed, the slightest traces of a furrow appearing on her fair brow. "Funny," she replied, not as if she actually did think it all that funny in the least.

"I'm sorry," said the alethiometrist.

She forgave him. "It's all right. Now could I please see you read the alethiometer?"

He nodded and stood up, moving a thick, boiled-wool blanket which stood over a hole he'd dug in the middle of the tent earlier. From the hole he produced a bunch of scrap-cloth; peeling it back, he revealed the alethiometer.

"What should I ask it?"

The star thought for a moment before replying, "Ask it where Iorek Byrnison is right now."

Edmund opened the alethiometer and framed his question; pointing to-he hoped-the correct symbols. He waited for the needle to swing round and tell him the answer. This wasn't easy for him, nor smooth as it would have been for Lyra or Lucy, he had both to keep his head clear and to have it focused on the question at the same time.

Ramandu's daughter watched with a polite interest that clearly held precious little, if any, fascination. He figured, reflecting on the matter later, that she had probably, having lived for such a long time, seen an alethiometrist read a truth measure before-maybe even many times before.

"Not far from Trollesund," said Edmund, when he was as close to certain as he could be that he'd gotten it right. "It keeps pointing to another symbol every other time it goes around; I think it means that Lee Scoresby is still in Trollesund as well, or at least near it."

"That's right." She smiled faintly. "Now, Edmund," she said, addressing him by his name instead of his title or adopted surname, "there is something you have to know. Exactly what happened to Iorek; more than just what you could read and interpret. It 'runs deeper than that'. You don't realize it, but it may be closer to home than you ever imagined."

Alethiometrist Belacqua felt a shiver run up his spine, cold and quick, and wondered why he suddenly felt slightly vertigo, though he wasn't up high and had never been afraid of heights to begin with.

"Once," Ramandu's daughter began, taking care to speak-for which Edmund would later find himself grateful-like she was telling something as simple and unconnected to reality as a fairytale, not because it wasn't true, but, rather, for the sake of not overwhelming the alethiometrist with what it all meant, "Iorek, Crown Prince of the panserbjørne, loved a she-bear, Iseult Saoirse, and married her. Whether she loved him in return, no one knows, bears are not terribly affectionate by nature-in love or not-and humans-and even fairies or stars-are capable of misunderstanding them and their motives, though their recent humanizing of the court has made this proceeding statement less true as of late.

"Not long after their union, Iseult became, perhaps, discontented, and began to see a princeling bear, a cousin of Iorek's, and a cub resulted."

"Wait," Edmund interjected, sort of quietly. "The cousin-was it Ragnar Sturlusson?"

"No, it was Iofur Raknison; he was a cousin as well, but lower-ranking, and younger, than the usurper Ragnar. Although, it might as well have been Ragnar since Iofur was nothing more than a dense follower of Rangar's and would have jumped off an ice cliff if his cousin on that side told him it would befit him in some way."

"I see," he mused grimly.

"Anyway, the cub was born favoring, not Iorek but Iofur." Ramandu's daughter paused for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing by letting that sink in, or if she should have just kept going at a quicker pace and let the whole story wash over him later. "And so the she-bear Iseult pretended that the cub had died, while in reality she merely handed it over to Iofur's keeping, wanting nothing more to do with the matter, only to wipe her paws clean of the whole affair."

Ella shifted uncomfortably and Edmund felt his face twisting. This reminded him of something; something he didn't want to be reminded of.

"Iorek found out, and he decided to go and…" Ramandu's daughter's voice cracked and she fought the urge to bite her lower lip. "And he wasn't in his right mind, going to see Iofur…he was angry…I don't think he would have meant any harm to an innocent cub, not even back then when he was a much more headstrong bear than he is now, humbled by all the misfortune that has befallen him…but at the time he was in a frightful rage, he felt betrayed, and he wasn't reared to be human; he was a bear, a beast. He did what was natural. He went to defend Iseult's honour as well as his own claim to her as much as for his other reasons."

Edmund felt himself pulling his body further and further back against the cushions and the cloth-wall of the tent. This story was getting way too personal. Everything in it was beginning to remind him of the things he'd meant to erase when he changed his life, his occupation, and his surname. By becoming Edmund Belacqua, he meant to escape Edmund Coulter. But Edmund Coulter loved to come back and haunt him, even from beyond the grave, appearing in stories, however distantly told, and in the past of creatures he considered his friends. How could Iorek be like his father; and what did this mean? Why was Ramandu's daughter telling him all this now? He wasn't sure he wanted to hear another word, but he understood that Ramandu's daughter was a determined star and would not let him off easy. She would tell him, and she would explain why, he was sure, when the time was right; but, now, he must listen, painful or not.

"Iofur defended his cub, as could only be expected, and I think Iorek would have consented to there being an end to it if it had not been for his stubborn pride and Iofur's stupidity."

"How do you mean?" Edmund rubbed the back of one of his hands against Ella's left wing out of familiarity, or else because he desired comfort.

"They fought. But armoured bears have a sort of procedure: unless the fight is stated for political reasons and is approved by the king, they do not battle to death. They stop when it becomes clear which is the strongest. Iorek was stronger than Iofur, but Iofur wouldn't yield. He acted slow-wittedly and wouldn't perform the signs of surrender, of leaving Iseult to him from then on."

So this story ended differently from that of Edmund Coulter the first. Well, obviously, since Iorek was still alive and Edmund had died leaving Mrs. Coulter a prosperous widow. All the same, the notion of even the slightest difference was strangely reassuring, just as the way Ramandu's daughter told the story was not too close for comfort.

"Iorek ended up killing Iofur, didn't he?" Ella cawed, almost mournfully.

The star nodded, something like sadness for the bear clouding her light face momentarily.

"What happened?" Edmund asked.

She didn't answer.

"What happened?" He repeated himself.

"I think you know the answer to that," she said; "the old king died within the same hour as Iofur."

"And Ragnar challenged Iorek's rights…they dueled, and Iorek was sent away, banished for ever?"

"Yes. Some even think Ragnar told poor Iofur not to give in if Iorek came to him, there are even claims that he drugged him to make him slower than usual."

"He seems as rotten as any human," said Edmund, pensively, and a little hotly as well. "It was this usurper who introduced tricks to the court. Tricking Iofur, then the king, and even-without touching him directly, as he was too cowardly before it came to the combat itself-Iorek. Iorek might be the only bear prince who remembers that he is a bear and not a man with fur!"

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was that rotten current so-called king who encouraged Iseult to betray Iorek in the first place; she doesn't strike me as particularly non-humanized bear herself. I think they were all vulnerable and tainted," added Ella.

"I think the same," Ramandu's daughter admited.

"Can I ask you something?" Edmund clenched his fists and breathed deeply.

"Yes, of course."

"Why did you come all this way? Why are you telling me this?"

"Don't you understand?" She looked stern all of a sudden. "You've said it yourself, Belacqua! The bear king acts like a human, and he's taken bribes. He'll support the Ruling Powers as long as it suits him. And if they have any sense they'll see to it that it always will."

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" After all this time calmly handling his duty as an alethiometrist, Edmund finally hit the roof and blew up in a fit of frustrated rage. "I've been considered a heretic, lived in places I wish I had never even seen out of the corner of my eye-much less stayed in (made Lucy stay in, as she wouldn't leave me and I wouldn't abandon her), and I've been thrown in prison. I'm against the Ruling Powers with all I have! What am I supposed to do about a bear king? So what if he always supports the Ruling Powers? It's not my problem!"

She watched him rage and, once, very quickly, slam his hand against the side of the tent. Edmund's anger seemed to have little or no effect on her. If he was upset, he was upset. There was no point in her becoming upset, too. At least it meant he was starting to understand; there was more reason for her to be upset with him for not getting what she was trying to tell him than there was when he was angered as the frustrating realizations dawned on him.

It took a few moments, but after a bit the alethiometrist's reddened face returned to its normal colour and his eyes lightened, humbled by her serenity. It was hard to stay worked up when the person sitting across from you was calmer than the sea after a storm.

Then, Ramandu's daughter said, "If Iorek were king, he would never work with the Ruling Powers, or allow the bears to be tricked."

Edmund swallowed hard. "You want me-expect me-to put Iorek back on the throne of Svalbard?"

"Yes, that's it." She smiled blithely. "That's it exactly. I knew you were smart enough to figure it out."

"Supposing I don't?" he wanted to know. "What if I just went on with fighting the Ruling Powers the way I am already?"

"You might succeed anyway," she said. "Or you might fail when the ice bears come up against you. But if you liked the conditions in Svalbard's prison, far be it for me to stop you from ending up there again."

"It isn't just about me, is it?"

"No, it's about the part you play in the solution to the problem."

"I have to do this…"

"That's right."

He exchanged a defeated glance with his dæmon.

"It's getting close to dawn," Ramandu's daughter told him. "I must go now before the darkest part of the night is wasted and someone other than the Gyptians sees me leave."

"Wait a second." Edmund reached out and grabbed her arm. "How am I supposed to get the throne back for Iorek?"

"Trick the usurper, of course. Make it seem like you're giving him what he wants and Iorek returning is his idea; I can't give you any further advice beyond that. The rest is up to you."

He let go of her arm. "Goodbye, then."

"Don't look so grave." Ramandu's daughter tried to cheer him before leaving. "I'm sure it will come out all right in the end. Besides, you're not alone and you don't have to do it all by yourself."

"Will you come with me?" He wasn't sure why he asked that, only it seemed somewhat easier to have a star, a powerful being, as a guardian in Svalbard, to assist him in getting rid of King Ragnar, than to go up there with a group of ordinary humans and hope for the best outcome.

"Alethiometrist Belacqua," she said, almost-he thought-laughing, "I don't think I'm the one you want to take with you on this venture. Someone else might be of greater value."

"Who?"

"You'll figure it out."

"Yes, and even more quickly if you tell me," he replied, bordering on sarcasm.

"Goodbye, Belacqua."

He sighed. "All right, goodbye again."

"You may escort me out of the tent."

From the way she spoke, he knew it was an order, not a request, nicely as it was worded; and he followed her out.

Standing not far off, were Caspian, Lucy, and Lyra, all having heard that Ramandu's daughter was there.

Looking each of them in the face, but mostly speaking to Edmund still, she said, "Your future awaits you." Her eyes shifted away from Edmund and Lucy and, with greater reluctance, Caspian, then landed on Lyra as if-for a spilt second-she was attempting to remind them all of something to do with a matter concerning the Silvertongue girl.

Then, in a beam of bluish-white light, shooting up into the sky, she was gone.

"Lucy," said Edmund, once the star had vanished. "Can I speak with you in my tent for a bit?"

"I will wait outside to escort you back when you're ready to return to your own tent, Lucy," Caspian told her, a bit priggishly.

Lyra rolled her eyes. "No, I think not."

"What do you mean, 'you think not'?"

"I think you oughta give 'em some privacy," she said flat-out, never one to fear offending or being blunt. "Edmund ain't got two broken legs or nothin'; he can walk back with her himself. You just want more news of Ramandu's daughter and what she was saying to Ed. Lucy'll be fine, and you know it."

Caspian gave in and started back for his own tent for the time being, Lyra right behind him, looking over her shoulder at her half brother who mouthed, "Thanks."

An hour later, Lucy was sprawled across the cushions in Edmund's tent, on her stomach, thumbing through the book he'd taken from Svalbard (which he kept hidden in the same hole as his alethiometer), while Edmund himself laid flat on his back, staring up at the cloth-ceiling.

He had already explained everything to Lucy, and now he was trying to think of a plan, only his mind felt so blank. Every plan he could even half-consider seemed faulty and lame. How could he fight against an armoured bear? How was he going to get Iorek back on the throne? This was insanity; this was too much!

Reepicheep tried to say things that would be uplifting, mostly to Ella but once or twice to Edmund directly as well, but now even he was quiet and lost in thought along with his mistress.

"Lu," Edmund mused, "what do you think Ragnar really wants? Aside from being human, I mean?"

"A dæmon?" Lucy offered, turning a page before looking up at him over her shoulder.

"That might as well fall under the same category as being a human," mumbled Edmund. "I couldn't give him that; and he'd never believe me if I promised to, anyhow."

"Mmm," Lucy agreed, absently, moving so that she was on her back, too, and taking one of Edmund's hands in hers as she leaned her head on one of his shoulders.

"He has no reason to trust me," he went on, pausing to twist his neck and lightly kiss Lucy's forehead. "I wonder if he would listen to me even if my mother was alive and told him to-he was very fond of her."

"He was?" Reepicheep asked, speaking to Edmund, yet looking at Ella when he said it.

The owl-dæmon nodded. "Very," Edmund confirmed. "I think that's the main reason he chose to work with the Ruling Powers in the first place. He thought it would please her and he was too human-like by that point to see how stupid trusting her was."

"I'm surprised Mrs. Coulter didn't just tell him she would give him a dæmon somehow," Lucy commented.

Edmund jumped, nearly knocking her off of his shoulder by accident. "What did you say?"

She blinked, confused. "I said I was surprised your mother didn't say…"

"No, she didn't…But I could…" A grin of hope began to form on his face. "Sort of like Lyra did to Miraz, when she convinced him to fight Peter. Thanks to that, Caspian is back in rank. We could do the same with Iorek, Lu!"

"But you just said he wouldn't believe you," Lucy reminded him innocently.

"No," Edmund said, his grin wider now. "He wouldn't believe me, not in thirteen hundred years, he wouldn't…but I think I know somebody he just might."

AN: Please review.