Lyra blew on her coffee to cool it, frowning at herself as she puffed a little too hard and sent the golden liquid spilling over the edge and into her saucer. What was it that Malcolm liked to say about her? 'She had all the grace and delicacy of a blunt-bladed battleaxe'. Or something like that. She scowled as she tried to remember.
Then her ears pricked in alarm, as a crash sounded from the direction of Hermione's room.
Lyra went to leap up, but Pan leapt on her to keep her in place.
"What are you doing?!" Lyra shrieked, as quietly as she could manage while still staying angry with her dæmon.
"Stay where you are," Pantalaimon replied firmly.
"Hermione might need us!" Lyra hissed. "Didn't you hear -"
"That was just the bins being collected in the street," Pantalaimon dismissed, digging his claws painfully into Lyra's thigh. She grimaced, ground her teeth, but let out no sound.
"Let me just check …"
"Stay where you are!" Pantalaimon ordered in his sharpest pine-marten voice. "Let the girl sleep. All the stress and excitement of leaving home left Hermione exhausted last night."
"Exactly," Lyra agreed. "She needs rest. And if the bins woke her, she might be frightened and not able to get back to sleep. I think I'd better go and see her, just in case she needs me to help."
"If you try and move from that chair I will bite your ankles until you bleed," Pantalaimon warned. "Sit still."
"What is the matter with you, Pan?" Lyra protested. "What's got you so riled up this morning?"
"There's nothing wrong with me," Pantalaimon retorted. "It's you. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were broody."
Lyra froze in an instant. The problem was that no-one knew her better than Pan, her daemon, her love, her heart. She could hide nothing from him. More was the pity, for she was desperately keen to hide this.
So she tried anyway. "I … I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about."
"Rubbish!" Pantalaimon exclaimed derisorily. "You know full well what I mean."
"Full well what, then?" Lyra provoked back.
"The hair brushing, the running the bath, the barely sleeping in case Hermione needed something in the night," Pantalaimon returned triumphantly. "You're broody … you think she can become the daughter you always wanted to have."
Lyra opened her mouth to argue, but the words got lost somewhere on the way. How could she argue against that? It was impossible. Not when there was truth in every syllable.
"Okay, so maybe I do," Lyra huffed, seeing that it was futile to deny it. "But you have to admit that she's remarkable. If I could have fabricated a daughter, picked up some peat from the claybeds at Jericho and fired it in my oven or something, I cant imagine it would have come out any more perfect than her. She is the daughter I always dreamed of having."
"Only she isn't your daughter," Pantalaimon pointed out. "She belongs to those dentists back in Abingdon. I thought I knew what this was all about, what your scheme was right from the very beginning. But now, I'm not so sure."
"What nonsense are you spouting now?"
"I thought that this was about Will, of crossing worlds to find the boy you loved and lost all that time ago," Pantalaimon explained. "But I see I was wrong now. This isn't about Will at all. It's about Hermione. Or, more specifically, about you kidnapping Hermione. Taking her to another world and pretending to be her mother there."
"Well … that's just … it's …" Lyra flustered, casting around desperately for a defence against Pantalaimon's attack. But, of course, there wasn't one.
"It's called the truth," Pantalaimon scythed. "Lyra Belacqua - how could you?"
Lyra yielded and sighed deeply. "Okay, Pan, maybe there's a little bit of truth there. A tiny bit. About as big as an atom. Or what are those things smaller than atoms called?"
"Quarks."
"Yeah, one of those," Lyra nodded, jumping on the excuse. "But that's not the only reason. I do want to try and find Will."
"And are you going to be honest about why?" Pantalaimon frowned. "Remember, Lyra, that I already know the answer."
Lyra bit her lip guilty. She sighed. "So that I can see if he might want to be Hermione's Dad … so that we can start again. Be a little family where no-one knows us."
"Lyra!" Pantalaimon reprimanded. "That's a cruel and wicked scheme! It's a new low and, for you, that's actually saying something!"
"I'll help Hermione do all the things that she needs to do in this new world!" Lyra argued passionately. "But she will need someone to look after her, wont she? She cant go running around without supervision. There must be authorities and councils and ministries where we are going. If they see a young girl going around on her own they are bound to get suspicious, aren't they? So we'll have to pretend anyway."
"And that's how you justify this in your mercenary mind!" Pantalaimon yelped. "You are quite unbelievable sometimes! Actually, no, most of the time."
"Pan!" Lyra mewled, hurt. "Stop being so mean to me!"
"Then stop acting so irredeemably!" Pantalaimon shot back. "We have to take Hermione back home. Right this instant."
"Take me home? Why? Have I done something wrong?"
Lyra snapped her head towards the bedroom area, where Hermione was emerging from her room sleep-mussed and confused. She tugged on the tassels of her dressing-gown in her anxiety.
"Oh no, hon - Hermione," Lyra replied, fighting with the rampant urge to go to Hermione and comfort her. Pantalaimon was looking at her in just that threatening a way in that instant that she had no choice but to stay still. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"Then why do you want to take me back home?"
Lyra noticed that Hermione's little daemon, Papageno, had crawled nervously onto her shoulder as a little mouse, his tiny black eyes looking scared and lost as his whiskers trembled. Lyra's heart bled as she looked at them.
"Pan and I were just having a … disagreement, that's all," Lyra answered, offering what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "We know how difficult this all is for you, leaving your family and everything you know behind, to go in search of something in another world. Pan was just saying that it isn't fair on your mother and father and that you are too young for all of this."
"And that you should take me home?" Hermione queried, finishing Lyra's speech for her. Lyra nodded in confirmation.
Hermione padded across the room and, very bravely, addressed Pantalaimon directly. It was the first time that she'd ever spoken to Lyra's daemon in such a blatant way, and it promised to be a watershed moment for them.
"Thank you, Pantalaimon, for being so concerned for me," Hermione began in a near-whisper. "I'm touched, really I am. But this is my choice. I'm here because I need to be. No, that's not right. I'm here because I want to be. I want to go to this other world, and find this boy I'm supposed to fall in love with, and see if I can get him to fall in love with me too, and do all these wondrous things that the alethiometer says we're going to do together. I've never wanted anything so much in my whole life. And I know that it's weird and scary and a hundred types of strange. But it's what I want to do.
"Only, I cant do it by myself. I wouldn't have the faintest clue where to start. And I'd be ever so frightened to try and do it on my own. But I know that you and Miss Lyra will look after me. You've done this before, so you can show me the way I need to go. And you can find ways to keep me safe and make sure I don't do anything silly on the journey.
"I want to do this, but I need you to help me. I cant do it alone. So, please … don't send me away."
Pantalaimon blinked his pine-marten eyes in admiration of Hermione's fortitude. Then, in a move that almost stunned Hermione to her core, he moved very close to her. For a wild moment, she thought he was going to touch her - which, of course, was an incredibly taboo thing to do. But at the last moment, in a clear show of solidarity, he turned his head to touch noses with Papageno, who had become a sturdy stoat as Hermione's courage grew within her during her speech. Hermione puffed out a shy, relived breath, as Pantalaimon moved away and began preening himself in the large bay window overlooking the Thames.
"How about some breakfast?" Lyra chirped, jumping up brightly. "Eggs, sausage and smoked bacon sound good?"
"It sounds delicious!" Hermione beamed, smacking her lips at the very mention of food.
After breakfast, Lyra and Hermione headed back across London to the Royal Arctic Institute. This impressive building of glass and white marble was the very centre of Arctic-based research, debate and extreme anthropological record. There had been human settlements in those harsh environments for longer than there had been methods of documenting them, and they remained a topic of intense interest for scholars the world over.
Hermione looked around in wonder as Lyra gave her the grand tour. For aside from being a premier research institute, it was also a museum. Hermione was held in thrall by the hanging displays of walrus skeletons, of the huge open jaws of sharks and whales, and the detailed display recounting the hunting patterns of the Arctic fox.
Then there were photograms, including moving ones … which was a new technique being pioneered by engineers … that left Hermione jaw-droppingly mesmerised by the images her eyes were feasting on. She watched as a flight of atlantic puffins dived and swooped into the frozen sea in search of breakfast, and as a pack of orca arced and swept though the ocean, perhaps funning with the group of seals in the next image, who seemed content to simply play hide-and-seek amongst the ice drifts.
Then Hermione came to the next image … and promptly lost her breath.
"Is that …" she whispered in hushed tones.
Lyra grinned widely at her Apprentice's astonished expression. "Yes, Hermione … they are the panserbjorne."
Hermione blinked in startled wonder. "Wow. They are so much bigger than I imagined. And that armour looks as thick as a man's body."
"Thicker even than that," Lyra clarified. "And you wait till you see them up close. They are even more massive in person. Nothing makes you feel quite so small as when you're standing next to an Armoured Bear."
"It's funny though, isn't it?" Hermione queried. "How they are all standing around like that? It's almost as if they are posing for the camera."
Lyra laughed out loud. "Yes, I suppose you could say they look like that!"
"But aren't the bears really solitary creatures?" Hermione frowned. "I read about that in Lester's Guide to the Creatures of the North."
"And Nick Lester was quite right," Lyra nodded. "There's no word for socialise in bear-language. They only meet up to mate, or to pack-hunt when food is scarce, or for when the Bears go to war. Which isn't often, as there is rarely a war fought that they deem worthy of their mettle."
"But someone must have gotten them to stand still like that, mustn't they?" Hermione ploughed on. Lyra nodded. "That cant have been easy, can it?"
"No, you're quite right."
"That person must have been really powerful and important, I bet," Hermione enthused, wondering just what sort of magic-worker could have pulled off such a feat. "To order the panserbjorne about like that … that must have been someone really special."
Lyra looked down with twinkling eyes. "Well … I wouldn't say that I was special …"
Hermione goggled at Lyra in a state so awestruck that it bordered on hero-worship. It actually brought a tinge of pink to Lyra's cheeks, which was as astonishing a feat as any, for she was not a woman who was often taken to bouts of humility.
"You took that photogram?" Hermione hushed in deep reverence.
"I did, several years ago," Lyra confirmed with a smile. "It was on a trip to see my old friend, Iorek Brynison. That's his bear-clan in the picture."
"How did you manage to get them to pose for you?" Hermione asked.
"I asked for a favour," Lyra grinned. "Do you see that bear in the middle? The biggest, most gnarled one? That's Iorek, and he's the King of The Bears. We have a lifetime companionship that is deep and satisfying. I was testing out a new nitrate solution, one that picks up colour without needing to be tinted in a lab, when I was last in the North. So I paid a visit to Iorek, and obviously I just had to take his picture. It was mating season, so I just got him to get all the bears together so I could take the photogram of them all. Then I sold it to the Institute."
"And I fine one it is," said a deep voice from behind them. "Well worth the small fortune we paid for it!"
Hermione turned and saw a man of about sixty just behind Lyra's right shoulder. He was Deep African, his dark hair flecked with the grey of age, and his sharp eyes had a quick, clever expression where they flicked between the two women in front of him. Hermione wasn't sure whether to be afraid of him or not, until Lyra suddenly turned and snatched her arms around the man's neck.
"Didier!" Lyra cried out, pecking the man on the cheek. "How good to see you!"
"Likewise you, Madame Silvertongue," Didier responded warmly.
"Madame Silvertongue!" Lyra scoffed. "Are we on parade, Didi?"
"Well, I am working, so I should remain professional at all times," Didier grinned. "But enough play. How are you, Lyra?"
"Well, I'm not pregnant, so that's something," Lyra funned.
"And the world thanks you for it," Didier laughed in return. "And who might this be?"
Didier nodded down at Hermione, who took a shy step behind Lyra for protection. It was a move which warmed Lyra's thawing heart, and Pantalaimon had to subtly scratch her ankle with his claw to remind her of their conversation earlier.
"This might be Ceridwen, Keeper of the Magic Cauldron!" Lyra laughed, which made Didier smirk all the way to his startling eyes. "But it isn't. She's my new apprentice … Didier Sadyo-Mane - I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger."
Didier looked up in genuine surprise. "You? Lyra Silvertongue … have an apprentice? The woman who learned her famously solitary ways from the panserbjorne themselves … has a pup all of her own at last?"
Hermione piqued at that. There was an unusual stress on the last part … and Lyra did seem to get stressed by it. Hermione was pained to see it, but put the question aside for now.
"Now, now, Didi," Lyra retorted hastily. "She's more of a kitten than a pup! But she's bright as a button and I thought I'd show her around your fine establishment."
"An excellent choice!" Didier boomed heartily. "We'll make a mentor out of you yet, Lyra." He turned to Hermione. "Don't be shy, little one. You really are a tiny specimen, aren't you? My name is Didier, Curator of the Collection here at the RAI. How do you like the exhibition?"
Didier was kindly, grandfatherly. Hermione could see why Lyra liked him. And if Lyra liked him, Hermione thought she would like him, too. So she stepped forward briskly and offered her hand to shake, which Didier took with another roaring laugh.
"It's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed. "Truly wonderful! Thank you for letting me see it."
"It is our pleasure," Didier smiled. "I always wish we'd have more young people come to enjoy the place. We need the next generation to carry on the fine work laid down by others. It is truly unfortunate that, in the current climate, so many choose to focus their studies elsewhere."
"Is the North still a highly contested territory then?" asked Hermione, re-quoting Lyra's words as if they'd come from a textbook.
"More so than ever," Didier sighed heavily.
"Which is why you need to tell me all the latest news about it," Lyra cut in pointedly.
"Ah, so that's why you're here," Didier smirked, his eyes narrowing knowingly. "What are you up to this time, Lyra?"
"Oakley Street and I have business on Svalbard," Lyra replied in a cryptic tone.
Didier's demeanour changed in a heartbeat. His face lost it's warm affection and became guarded and granite-like in it's toughness. This sudden burst of seriousness made Hermione shudder where it caught her off guard. It was as if every particle of air had suddenly become charged with a prickly anbaric force.
"We can talk in my office," Didier muttered. Then he looked at Hermione. "But perhaps it would be best to do it alone. Even the Institute is not free from prying - and spying - eyes these days."
Lyra knelt down in front of Hermione. "The Curator and I need to have a conversation somewhere private. We wont be long."
"And what should I do?" Hermione asked, somewhat timidly. She felt saturated by the taut, dense atmosphere that had descended around them, and more than a little afraid at the tint of danger imbued within it.
"Why don't you head back down to the exhibition?" Lyra suggested. "There's an interactive map showing the entirety of the Northern lands. It will give you an idea of where we are going … perhaps you can even start plotting our route."
Hermione knew a dismissal when she heard one so, despite her anxiety over being left alone in this strange, new place, she gave an obedient little nod and pliantly trotted away and down the stairs, just as Lyra and Didier hurried off in another direction, the language switching to rapid Frankish as they did.
Lyra was gone for over half an hour. Hermione passed the time by making her way around the exhibition, half fascinated by the displays but all the time with half an eye on the stairs, waiting for Lyra's flop of dirty blonde hair to come bounding down them. The other half of Hermione's eye, however, soon became occupied by something else entirely …
For it didn't take long for Hermione to realise that she was being watched … or followed.
She couldn't have pinpointed the moment she became aware of it, as it just sort of happened in a snap of understanding, but suddenly she just knew. She could feel a pair of eyes on her as she passed from room to room, following her every movement. It was a sensation on the periphery of her vision and her awareness, and she felt sure that if she'd turned to look it would have been gone before her eyes reached it.
The sensation crossed Hermione like a winter chill, as though a blast of Arctic snow had come to life from one of the exhibits and slithered along her pimply flesh. She moved slowly, with deliberate choices on direction and speed, staying near to the biggest crowds and never straying out of sight of the stairs to the Curator's office.
But then her view was unceremoniously blocked.
Hermione looked up, in shocked surprise, as two large men stood directly in front of her. They were dressed in identical, black corduroy suits with wide-brimmed Trilby hats. Their complexions were so pale that they might have been phantoms, with expressions more dark and threatening than Hermione had ever seen on a human face before. One was tall and wiry, the other stocky and built like a bison. The dæmon of the second man was a lizard that sat slunk around his neck, it's forked tongue whipping out at Hermione as it looked at her. Papageno became an adder and spat back in brave response.
Hermione swallowed hard and tried to look her innocent best.
"C-can I help you?" she stuttered.
"You can come with us," the taller man hissed. "A coffee and a quiet chat is in order."
"I don't drink coffee. I'm only ten," Hermione tried to argue.
But then the stockier man reached out and grabbed Hermione's wrist, twisting it painfully as he tugged her close to him. When he spoke, he flecked Hermione's forehead with hot spit from his pursed lips.
"That wasn't a request," he scythed.
"Ouch! You're hurting me!" Hermione yelped, tears welling in her eyes. "Please let go."
"Come and have a seat," the man replied. "And if you make a noise I'll make your pain even greater than it already is."
Hermione whimpered pathetically as she allowed herself to be shunted towards the cafe at the front of the museum. She was pushed roughly into a booth and the stocky man slid in next to her, trapping her from escape. The other man sat opposite and addressed Hermione from over his long, interlocked fingers.
"We've been watching you for nearly an hour," he informed her, his voice almost a mechanical sort of grind. "The Royal Arctic Institute does not permit children to enter the exhibitions unattended. What are you doing here?"
These must be security guards, Hermione reasoned, and just doing their jobs investigating an anomaly, albeit with excessive force. Hermione calmed slightly and thought that the best way out of the situation was to tell the truth. Her wrist hurt so much that she wanted to cry. But she didn't think that's what Lyra would do, so she tried to be brave like her.
"I just came for the exhibition," Hermione twittered placidly. "I really like the North, you see."
"Do you now?" the stocky man sneered.
"Oh yes, all the bears and the seals and the ice," Hermione replied breezily. "I hope to see the Northern Lights someday, too. They are my absolute favourite."
"And who will take you there? It's very dangerous to get to the North. Did you know that?"
Hermione bit her lip yet more rapidly. She felt like she was in trouble, as if she were being interrogated. It sent a thrill of fear sweeping over her crawling skin.
"Who will take you there?" the wiry man pressed. He was growing more agitated now, Hermione could tell that. She grasped around for a plausible excuse.
"My … my m-mother," Hermione stuttered out.
"Your mother?" the man sneered back. "And how will she get you to the North? Who is she? A trader?"
"No, she's an explorer," Hermione invented. "She goes on expeditions to test out new photogram nitrates, even the new ones that move. Have you seen those? They are just upstairs if you want to have a look."
The stocky man practically growled at her, which made Hermione squeak in her throat.
"And where is your mother now? Is that who you are here with today?"
"Yes, but I don't know where she is," Hermione replied quietly. "She was taking some new photograms to the Curator, to see if he wanted to buy them from her for the collection. That's how she makes money, you see."
"Is that so? And what else does she do?"
"She gets very angry when she finds Agents of the Consistorial Court of Discipline harassing her daughter!"
Hermione felt a sort of anbaric charge shoot through ever particle of her body - she was saved! She looked up to see Lyra marching angrily across the floor, her expression white-hot and furious, utter hatred etched into every line of her face. Didier was struggling to keep up in her wake such was her mindless imperative to reach Hermione.
The stocky man baulked slightly as he stood to face Lyra. "You?"
"Me!" Lyra confirmed.
"This is your … your dau -"
"Never mind that!" Lyra hissed, slapping the Agent's hand down where he'd been gesturing towards Hermione. "How dare you interrogate her. How fucking dare you! Look at her … she's terrified! You've scared the life out of her. She's just a girl, just ten years old. Does it make you feel strong and tough to frighten small children? Does it turn you on, make you feel that there's something substantial to fill your codpiece, instead of the pathetic little appendage that you normally have dangling there?"
The Agent bristled and flushed, but kept his own ire in check.
"You want to hassle someone?" Lyra spat viciously, stepping close to eyeball the Agent. "Try hassling me."
Hermione felt a wave of heady energy cross over her. Lyra was so fierce, so protective, it made Hermione shiver with the force of it. Even Pantalaimon was primed for a fight. Every hair on his pine-marten body was alert and on-end, as if he too were charged with that same anbaric power that was sweeping off Lyra like a magnetic storm front. And his teeth were bared, ready to sink deep into the flesh of the lizard dæmon at the first sign of an aggressive move.
But the Agent was no coward. He faced up to Lyra as if they were two prize-fighters sizing each other up.
"Do you have the Magisterium's permission to be in London, Miss Silvertongue?"
Lyra responded with a shallow, mirthless laugh.
"No. But I went to a higher authority … I asked your God … and she said it was okay!" Lyra taunted viciously, causing Hermione to throw a hand to her mouth to catch a gasp that escaped there. For to suggest that God was female was considered an act of deep heresy by the Magisterium and it's members.
The Agent clenched his jaw but didn't take the bait.. "And what are you doing at the Royal Arctic Institute?"
"Funny you should ask that," Lyra provoked. "I'm working on a joint paper with some scholars in Hamburg, investigating the effects of trepanning on the absorption of Dust into the human psyche. I know you CCD-types don't have much time for Dust, so I wont bore you with the details. See what I did there … bore you? I'm such a comedienne.
"Anyway, my theorem is that bigger holes make for greater absorption, The Institute has a fine collection of Tartar skulls here with examples of standard hole size, so I'm comparing that with the drill bits I've been collecting, to see how big I need to go.
"And I'm always looking for volunteers, so if you gentleman want to do a service to science and the Magisterium, just let me know. It's quite possible I might end up contradicting all this Dust heresy by the end of my research. You would be heroes, martyrs in the name of Divine Providence. They'd name high schools after you, or aëroports. If you like, we can step into one of the labs here right now. I have all my equipment with me. I should warn you though, I've not done this very much, and I wouldn't want my hand to slip and drill too far down …"
The wiry Agent snickered and sneered at Lyra, his hyena dæmon poised on her haunches. Pantalaimon had his eyes on her juicy throat, his teeth dripping with saliva in readiness. The sight made Hermione tremble.
Then the wiry Agent took a step forward. "Subtle threats to Agents of the Consistorial Court is a serious offence, Miss Silvertongue. Obstructing an officer in the course of their duties can land you a hefty jail term."
"Then how about direct threats?" Didier stabbed. He pushed aside the flap of his suit jacket to reveal the long, shiny barrel of a loaded pistol aimed directly at the hyena dæmon. The wiry Agent eyed it warily. "The Magisterium has no authority here, and the CCD are intruders in these premises. I reserve the right to defend my property and my guests … with lethal force, if necessary."
The air was crackling with intensity now. Hermione felt it as though on the verge of a vicious thunderstorm. It caused her throat to seize up with the anxiety. The two groups squared off in a sort of energised silence, each waiting for the other to make a move. It was as though the thunder and the lightening of the storm had forgotten which one of them was supposed to happen first.
It was the CCD men who acted first … and the act was to back down.
"Your attitude has been noted, Curator," the stocky Agent growled out, his dangerous inference evident even for Hermione to understand. "We shall know how to act."
"We shall see you soon," the wiry Agent added. "Both of you."
"It's a date," Lyra growled back.
And then, with one last look at Hermione, the CCD Agents turned and left them quite alone. Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding as they disappeared from view. Lyra hurried to her quickly and began to asses her condition.
"Oh, Hermione, are you alright?" Lyra muttered, rapidly. "Did they hurt you?"
"Yes, they … they twisted my wrist," Hermione whimpered. She finally allowed herself to feel the pain fully, and the tears which it had threatened came soon after.
"Oh, my poor girl!" Lyra soothed, snatching Hermione into a hug. "I'm so, so sorry. That's the last time I let you out of my sight. I wont leave you alone again, I promise."
"Here, let me see that wrist," Didier added kindly. He had collected some ice from the cafe and wrapped it in a cloth. Hermione tenderly held out her arm, which was shivering slightly. The wrist was red-purple and the thick finger marks of the Agent were still visible in Hermione's flesh.
"Ow!" Hermione sobbed, as Didier pressed the makeshift ice-pack to the wound.
"Careful!" Lyra hissed. "She's still fragile. Here, give that to me."
Lyra pushed Didier's hand away and took ownership of Hermione's care, which she was glad of as her Mistress was far more gentle and considerate. But Hermione still hadn't forgotten her manners.
"Thank you," she mumbled to Didier. "I'm sorry to have brought trouble to you, Mr Sadyo-Mane."
"Hush now, don't worry yourself about that," Lyra cut in, dismissively.
"But the CCD Men were here for me," Hermione moaned. "They were watching me, they said. I've brought this trouble here."
"Watching you? Is that what they told you?" Lyra demanded, pausing in her ministrations a moment. Hermione nodded her confirmation. "What does that mean, Didi?"
"It means, Lyra, that not only is your presence in London now under the scrutiny of the Magisterium, but that this girl is now a Person of Interest to them. Your movements are being watched. Have you told anyone else about your plans?"
"Only those who will help us in them," Lyra replied.
"Hmm, well someone clearly knows something," Didier mused. "It wouldn't be the first time that Oakley Street has been infected by a double-agent. I think we must all proceed with even greater caution from now on."
"But will you still help us?" Lyra pressed. "Please, Didi, I need you now more than ever."
"Of course I will help, Lyra! I'm insulted that you'd even question it!" Didier cried. "I may be an old man now but I'm still Oakley Street through and through. Go home and lock your doors. Don't go anywhere unless it's essential or an emergency. I'll make all the arrangements for travel."
"And the guns?" Lyra quipped, earnestly.
Didier's eyes flashed brightly. "Especially with the guns. I know a man in Hackney … he'll kit you out with everything you need on that score. By the time Malcolm gets here, everything will be in place. When he arrives, send him straight to me."
Then Didier leaned over and stared at Hermione with the kindly expression back on his face. "Don't worry, little Apprentice, we'll get you to the North in one piece … then it'll be up to you to do the rest. Just keep your head down till then … we don't want the Magisterium cutting it off before you can become an annoyance to them."
Hermione gulped hard, unsure if Didier was joking or not. Then Lyra announced it was time to leave. Hermione leapt up in hearty agreement, keen to get as far away from the Royal Arctic Institute as possible. She very much hoped that she would soon be saying the very same thing about London and maybe this entire world, too … Malcolm simply couldn't get to them quickly enough.
