It was in the days that followed the near-miss at the Royal Arctic Institute that Lyra Silvertongue had her first ever insight into what motherhood was all about. For even though Hermione wasn't actually her daughter, the rabid rise in Lyra's protective instinct for the child was the closest she had ever come to feeling anything like maternal emotion.
And she wasn't sure if she hated or loved the sensation.
For everything now tingled in her world. Small noises sparked defensive responses in her and she became a slave to Hermione's needs, constantly checking that she was warm enough and wishing that she'd learned to cook properly, so that she could prepare more nutritious meals for her young Apprentice. She found herself fretting at odd moments, when she'd randomly think how she would cope if anything bad ever happened to Hermione, and began to appreciate the enormity of what she'd done in taking the girl away from her actual parents in the first place.
Which got Lyra to thinking about Pantalaimon's recent admonishment of her, creating a well of guilt that she needed to absolve herself of before they could go on.
"Pan ... you don't really think it's kidnapping ... do you?"
Pantalaimon looked at Lyra inscrutably a moment, giving her the time to think it out and answer for herself.
Which she promptly did.
"I mean, I didn't steal her, did I?" Lyra argued, as much to herself as her dæmon. "You know, take her against her will, or anything? She came by her own choice."
"Perhaps, but that was a choice heavily influenced by you," Pantalaimon pointed out, picking a morsel of something from between his claws. "You know your name carries weight, especially to the star-struck girls of Jericho Prep. Those disciples of yours would be hard-pressed to deny you anything that you might deign to ask of them."
"You make it sound like hero-worship," Lyra huffed.
"It is," her dæmon replied flatly. "And you trade on it. You always have. You have your father's ego and it is a beast that always needs feeding."
"That isn't fair."
"Perhaps. But it is true. You used it to convince Hermione to take a curve away from her education to become your personal pupil ... this other thing that developed is just an added bonus."
"Hey, it wasn't me who told her she was going to fall in love in another world," Lyra rebuked hotly. "I didn't say that. I just told her it, passed on the message."
"But you did seek her out in the first place," Pantalaimon replied. "You set all of this in motion."
"I wanted to meet her," Lyra reminded her dæmon. "You know how we've been watching her progress at Jericho Prep."
"Of course I do, since I was the one you sent to do most of the watching," Pantalaimon quipped. "Or should I call it spying. I'm coming to think that much of what you do is laced with intrigue and subterfuge. How did I miss you becoming so artful?"
"Because I'm good at all this subterfuge," Lyra smirked.
"Yes, it would appear so," Pantalaimon replied, trying to keep an impressed sort of grin from behind his whiskers. "So ... the CCD."
"What about them?"
"What do you mean 'what about them'!" Pantalaimon cried, incredulously. "What are we going to do about them? We know they are watching us now."
"Pan, we knew that anyway," Lyra answered dismissively. "But the fact that they have an eye on Hermione, too, bothers me. We do need to be a bit more cautious, at least until Malcolm gets here."
"My my, is that a concession! From you!" Pantalaimon snickered. "Hermione must be having a positive influence on you. I take it all back ... let's run away with her right now. She might have taught you civility by Christmas!"
Lyra chuckled. "It's good to see you've got your imagination back, Pan!"
"In all seriousness, though, I think we need to start acting like we're here for innocent reasons," the dæmon went on. "London is far more shady than Oxford. Far more people that could be watching us. We don't want to give them any clue that we're up to something nefarious."
"You're right," Lyra agreed. "I think we need to wait for Mal to arrive, then have him handle our travel arrangements. He's better at moving about unseen than we are."
"A herd of stampeding wildebeest are better at moving around unseen than we are!" Pantalaimon joked.
Lyra laughed back. It was nice, to be sharing humour with Pan again. Lyra hoped he was starting to lighten up, that his chat with Hermione had made him more pliable to her schemes. It would be so much easier without him nagging her conscience all the time. Not that he could help it, considering that he was her conscience, after all.
"Have you had any thoughts about how we're going to get to the North?" Pantalaimon went on, which was a strange thing for a dæmon to ask of their human, as they normally knew all of each other's thoughts. But Separation in the World of the Dead had given Lyra and Pantalaimon the unique trait of being able to keep some thoughts - and some secrets - to themselves. "Like you said, it isn't as simple as just stepping onto any old boat. Have you considered asking the Gyptians for help?"
"They were my first thought, obviously," Lyra returned. "But I've imposed on them enough for one lifetime. I don't want to bring more trouble to them than I already have. Besides, since Ma Costa died, we don't have many friends left among the water-folk."
"We could contact Dick Orchard, he must have his own boat by now," Pantalaimon suggested. "He might help us."
Lyra blushed. "Yes, maybe ... but I have a feeling his name may also be his fee ... if you know what I mean."
"You are as coarse as heavy-duty sandpaper, do you know that?" Pantalaimon snorted, crinkling his pine-marten eyes in mock disgust.
"I've been called worse!" Lyra laughed. "In any case, I'd rather pay for transit with money, rather than my modesty."
"You'd have to find that before you could sell it!" Pantalaimon sniggered. "So, if not the Gyptians, who then?"
"I'm thinking of going far more legitimately," Lyra confessed. "Hiding in plain sight, you know."
"And how do you intend to do that?"
"Well, once Mal gets here, there will be three of us," Lyra elaborated coyly. "Two adults, one child. I'm thinking a family ticket on some cruise liner or another ..."
"Lyra ..." Pantalaimon argued tiredly.
"Hey, it's an innocent plan!" Lyra protested. "It wont raise suspicion. I was thinking we could just book a trip to The Fjord Islands or something. The CCD will be expecting us to skulk about in the shadows and take the back roads to the North. That's where they will be looking. I'm thinking we might just be able to sneak out right under their noses."
"But we know they've already seen us!"
"Ah yes, Pan dear, but they've seen us and Hermione," Lyra replied smugly. "They wont be looking for a party of three, now will they?"
"I don't think this is going to work, Lyra ..."
Pantalaimon didn't think that Malcolm would agree to this foolhardy scheme. In truth, Lyra didn't either. But Mal actually thought it was quite a creative solution to the problem.
Which was both a surprise and a relief to them both.
Two days after arriving in London, Malcolm had arranged for their cabin on a cruise, which would take in Osloe, the Fjords and parts of northern Daneland. That's where Lyra, Mal and Hermione would leave the cruise and head out into the dangerous wastelands of the frozen North.
But before they could do that, Mal was determined to take care of the Consistorial Court of Discipline Agents who had been assigned to trail them.
"I saw their carriage parked down the street," Malcolm informed Lyra less than five minutes after shedding his coat in the flat. "They are watching to see where you go."
He peered out of the curtain and pointed towards the darkness of the Thames. There were several of these new horseless carriages, which were powered by anbaric motors, idling on the embankment as the tramcars passed in either direction, trundling towards Battersea or Whitehall with the trick-trock of their wheels below and the buzz of the power lines above. The lights of their cabins reflected ethereally off the shiny paint of the horseless carriages, one of which hid the CCD Men within its shadows.
Lyra could barely see through the mists of the evening, but trusted Malcolm when he warned that eyes were on them, and bristled like a wild-cat with this new understanding. Hermione, sat with her legs curled beneath her on an armchair nearby, gripped her mug of hot chocolatl tightly, aware that the tension had tautened in the room, as Papageno had crawled into her lap as a puppy and was trembling violently.
"How long have they been aware of your presence in London?" Malcolm demanded.
"Five days, maybe six," Lyra replied. "They made a move for Hermione when we visited Didier at The Institute."
"A move?" Malcolm frowned, looking sympathetically at Hermione, which made her shrink and blush at the same time. "What does that mean?"
"Two Agents accosted her," Lyra growled. "They might have tried to take her if Didi and I hadn't spotted them in time."
"Are you alright?" Malcolm asked, kindly.
"They hurt her wrist where they restrained her," Lyra spat, answering for Hermione and pointing at the bandage she was still wearing over the wound. "They were not gentle."
Malcolm ground his jaw. "And apart from physically? That must have been frightening for you, Hermione. Are you sleeping alright?"
"Yes ... mostly, Dr Polstead," Hermione answered in a meek voice. "I have had a nightmare or two about it, but not many."
Lyra felt as if her heart had broken. "You didn't say anything about that!" she breathed in distress.
"I didn't want to bother you," Hermione muttered shyly.
"You should have told me straight away!" Lyra yelped, crossing to Hermione and smoothing her hair. "Promise me you will, if you have any of these nightmares again. I can make you some warm milk with nutmeg then sit with you till you fall asleep again. I'm going to protect you, Hermione ... I wont let anyone hurt you, not even the CCD. So promise me that you'll tell me about things like this in the future."
Hermione smiled weakly. "Okay. I promise."
"Good girl," Malcolm nodded approvingly. "But I still want to deal with the source of the problem."
"And how will you do that?" Lyra pressed.
"By visiting a friend before we take our little cruise tomorrow," Malcolm replied, his tone dark and loaded. "He'll give us the tools we need to look after ourselves."
Malcolm's friend was a Flemish man named Yuri van Ruud. He was statuesque and balding, and greeted them into his heavily perfumed flat wearing a full-length smoking robe. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of him at first, but was positively terrified of him as soon as he started talking.
"The ship to the North is called The HMSS Harmony, and you will board at the Port of Teddington," Yuri informed them, as Mal, Lyra and Hermione waited patiently in his living room. Hermione was wearing a cute white and yellow bonnet that Lyra had bought for her from the haberdashers, to hide her tell-tale bushy hair, and she was keen that it didn't get blown away in the gutsy blasts of sea wind later, as she had grown quite covetous of it.
But speaking of getting blown away ...
"Take this," Yuri muttered, sliding a pistol into Malcolm's hand, which he promptly hid in his pocket. "It's loaded with twelve rounds, and I have packed more in this valise. The Magisterium do not want your party leaving London. They will try to stop you."
Hermione gulped hard at the stark warning, but Malcolm seemed steeled by it. He took the valise from Yuri's outstretched hand. "Advice?"
"Stick to the crowds at St. Pancras," Yuri replied. "Hide within them. If you make the train to Teddington you will have even odds. The port is full of alcoves, nooks and crannies, as you Brytish call them. If I was going to kill a man, I would do it here, in one of these alcoves. This is your best chance to board the boat without resistance."
Hermione prickled with terror. The casual way that Yuri discussed murder disquieted her, and Malcolm's ease at accepting the task ratcheted the sensation up even further.
"We will make it to Teddington," he vowed, darkly. "If we hit any problems, we will need a clean up operation."
"Oakley Street will take care of it," Yuri assured them. "Now be on your way. I would wish you luck, but I do not believe in fate, Dr Polstead. Take matters into your own hands and leave nothing to destiny."
It was with this stark warning ringing in their ears that the party left Yuri's flat and headed into central London. They boarded a tramcar packed with people and took a short ride to St. Pancras train station. Lyra was on high-alert, looking left and right as they hurried through the concourse, never once loosening her tight grip on Hermione's shoulder. Pantalaimon and Asta flanked them as dæmon sentries, and Papageno tried to be equally as brave, becoming a starling to scout for enemies from above, though he never went more than a few feet away from his human.
"The train to Teddington leaves from Platform Nine at eleven-twenty," Malcolm told them as he consulted a timetable board. "That gives us ten minutes. Come on, the platform is this way."
Lyra and Hermione hurried along obediently. Hermione noticed that Mal had one hand in his jacket pocket, no doubt gripping his gun in case he needed a quick draw. She baulked at the sight and fought to steady her racing nerves. She busied herself by checking over the little ticket in her hand, stowing it safely as they passed through the barriers and onto the crowded platform. Then she turned to studying the people bustling all about her.
And that's when she saw him ... the Agent who had hurt her wrist so badly at the Royal Arctic Institute.
"Lyra, look!" Hermione hushed in a trembly voice. "It's him!"
Lyra swung her head to look where Hermione was nodding. Her expression darkened as she saw the fixed jaw bristling back at her, the Agent's eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
"They know we are here," Lyra muttered to Mal. "We cant have them track us to Teddington."
Malcolm frowned in agreement. Then his expression hardened as he decided something. "I have an idea. The next train at Platform Ten is about to arrive. When it does, we board it but stay near the door. Then we wait until the train is about leave before jumping off at the last minute. With a bit of luck, the Agents will follow and get taken away as the train moves off."
"That's risky," Lyra grimaced. "What if we time it wrong and get trapped?"
"The train doors open for ninety seconds to allow passengers to board and disembark," Malcolm thought aloud. "When we board, we count to eight-five before diving off."
"That's cutting it close," Lyra replied.
"Okay, well what if we stagger getting off?" Malcolm suggested. "I'm the tallest, so as long as the Agents can see me they'll think we are still aboard. We'll time it for thirty seconds then Hermione jumps off. You'll go after a minute, Lyra, then I'll get off last once I'm sure the Agent is still on the train."
"I ... I don't want to be left alone," Hermione whimpered in a small voice.
"It'll only be for thirty seconds," Lyra promised softly.
"I thought you said you wouldn't leave me?" Hermione grumbled.
"Pan will come with you. He'll show you a good place to hide and I wont let you out of my sight till I get back to you."
Hermione bit her lip, but Pantalaimon seemed anbarically charged by his mission and this stoked Hermione's own courage. So she gave a little nod as she agreed.
"Right, here comes the train," Malcolm announced, moving them to Platform Ten. "Get ready."
"He's followed us, he's taking the bait," Lyra muttered lowly, her eyes glancing along the platform to where the Agent was now positioning himself.
"Then you two get on first," Malcolm instructed. "As soon as we see him getting on, we'll know the ruse is on."
So they did. Malcolm hung back a moment, his eyes pinned on the CCD Agent, as Hermione allowed Lyra to guide her aboard the train as it pulled up.
"Right, start counting to thirty," Lyra whispered. "One ... two ... three ..."
Hermione took over the counting in her mind, her limbs getting ever more shaky as the numbers went up. When she passed twenty she was quivering like the surface of pond when caught by a breeze.
And then, before Hermione was really prepared, Lyra was pushing her back onto the platform, with Pantalaimon darting between the legs of other passengers to guide her to safety. But then, quite suddenly, he leapt up and sunk his teeth into the fingers of a hand that was an inch away from grabbing the bushy hair still visible beneath Hermione's bonnet.
It was the second CCD Agent from The R.A.I ... the wiry one who hadn't spoken much and seemed somehow more menacing from his silence.
The next thing Hermione heard was Lyra's voice calling out to her in panic. "Hermione! Run! Find somewhere to hide! Stay there until I come to find you!"
Hermione didn't even bother to think, or to look back. She just took off down the platform with Papageno taking flight as an owl again beside her. As she raced along, dodging angry commuters and confused guards, she glanced up at the train carriages on Platform Ten ... and saw the enraged first CCD man scrambling to get through the crowds as he tried to leave the train. But he was too late, and Hermione saw him mouth curses at her as the train chuffed out of the station.
"Well, that's one gone," Papageno cried as he landed on Hermione's shoulder. "I just hope Lyra is alright."
"I'm sure she is, she's as tough as old leather," Hermione panted hard, clutching at a stitch in her side. "And she has Malcolm, and he looks like he knows his way around a fight. We just have to find somewhere to sit still until they come and find us. But where?"
She glanced around wildly, as if vainly hoping that a hiding spot would be signposted for her. But all she saw was the big central arch between Platforms Nine and Ten. There was an alcove there, partly shaded by a luggage trolley nearby. It wasn't the best hiding place, but it might do in a pinch, which is exactly what Hermione was in. So, gulping at the inference that Yuri van Ruud had made about such nooks and crannies, Hermione hurried to the archway and ducked down into the recessed section of the brickwork, before pulling the luggage trolley closer by to obscure any view of her.
Then she leaned back against the wall to rest and catch her breath ... and promptly fell through and into another world.
Now quite how Hermione was sure that this was another world she couldn't have said, but she just did. There was just that something about the quality of the light, which was at once familiar to her yet alien at the same time. The difference was subtle, but just enough to tell Hermione that this was not the sunlight she knew. Despite this, she felt its warmth on her face and was comforted by it. Wherever this place was, it had the impression of somewhere safe, which was a welcome change to where she had just been.
Startled and surprised, Hermione stood up and took in her surroundings. She was still on a train platform, but this one was completely deserted and seemed connected to no other or even a wider station that Hermione could see. It was as if the platform had been built and the rest of the station just completely forgotten. Despite that, the air was awash with energy, as if calming down having been recently thronging with people.
That soft sun was shining brightly, whereas the world she had come from was more overcast today, and it's light glinted off a sign just above a large clock halfway down the platform.
"King's Cross," Hermione read aloud. "Is that where we are, Pap?"
"I have no idea where we are," Papageno fretted. "How did we even get here?"
Hermione looked back at the arch behind her. An old sign, that was in dire need of a new coat of paint, read Exit high above a recessed alcove identical to the one Hermione had fallen through at St. Pancras station. Then it hit her ... she knew what this was.
"It's a barrier between worlds!" she hushed in a marvel-tinged voice, smoothing the brickwork and feeling a breeze through the mortar, the swirling eddies of the train leaving Platform Ten back in her world. "It's almost as if this platform has been built in this world between Platforms Nine and Ten in ours."
"Ah, sort of like Platform Nine-and-a-Half?" Papageno mused.
"Something like that," Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "I wonder where the train that stops here goes?"
"I don't. I think we should just head straight back," Papageno urged.
"Not yet. I want to have a little look around first."
And Hermione found herself walking before her dæmon could complain. They made their way along the platform, which was quite dirty with bird droppings and sweet wrappers. Hermione picked one up as the breeze carried it to her feet.
"Honeydukes Caramel Crunch," Hermione read from the wrapper. "What's Honeydukes, do you think?"
But before Papageno could answer they heard a shuffling just ahead, and looked up to see a hunched man in a long, luminous yellow robe sweeping the detritus from the platform floor. After considering his very strange attire, they were even more surprised when he suddenly looked up and spoke ... and they understood him.
"Oh, hello. Are you lost, dear? Have you come to get the train? M'afriad you've just missed it if you have, Miss."
"You speak Anglish?" Hermione gasped in wonder.
"English, y'mean," the man corrected as if talking to a tourist.
"Yes, that," Hermione nodded, deciding it best not to argue with the first person from another world that she'd ever met. It wouldn't be the most polite start. Then she tried for some information. "Did I really miss the train? Oh, bother! When's the next one?"
The man gave her a toothy, slightly sarcastic smile. "Ooh there should be one along in, say, four months!"
"Four months!" Hermione scoffed. "I'm not waiting four months for a train. How ridiculous!"
"Not if you want to get to school, it isn't," the man chuckled. "Unless you know a way to fly up there."
"I don't like flying," Hermione huffed. "But I suppose I'll just have to find another way. Do I get off the platform the same way I got on?"
"Just through the barrier, Miss," the man confirmed, gesturing back to the arch. "And you'd better get through in double-quick time, too. It'll be closing soon and you'll have no choice but to wait for the next train then!"
Hermione yelped and span on her heel, before hurrying back to the exit. She took a steadying breath as she reached the arch, leant against it gently at first just to test the barrier, then fell softly through as easily as if passing between rooms in a house.
"Oi, watch it!" a startled passenger cursed as Hermione popped out of nowhere and nearly collided with them. She was back at St. Pancras station once more, and watched as the surprised commuter swerved away from her, muttering angrily under his breath as he went.
Then she heard another voice, one far more pleased to see her.
"Hermione! There you are. We've been so worried," Lyra cried as she sprinted up to Hermione and clobbered her with a hug. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, Miss Lyra, you're never going to believe it!"
Then Hermione was off, explaining all about King's Cross and the other station just yards away from them through the archway. Malcolm examined the barrier, but found nothing but solid stone.
"Are you sure you didn't just imagine it?" Malcolm asked.
Hermione planted a hand on her hip. "Imagine it? All that? No, Dr Polstead, it was very real. You believe me, don't you, Mistress?"
Hermione looked up imploringly. Even if she hadn't believed her Apprentice, Lyra would have lied with Hermione looking at her like that. But as it was, she was prepared to suspend her disbelief.
"I do," Lyra nodded. "Perhaps only you can pass through it. Give it another try."
So Hermione scurried back to the archway and pressed her hand against it. Nothing happened. Disappointed, but not deterred, she placed her ear to the stone and listened hard. And, to her surprise, she found she could hear a soft whooshing, perhaps from the breeze of the other world, perhaps from the man in the robe sweeping near the archway.
"It's closed," Hermione whined, sadly. "The man on the other side said that it would. But it really was there, Miss Lyra, I swear that it was."
"I believe you, Hermione," Lyra assured her. "I've been through enough crossings between worlds to know that they exist. But one that opens and closes like that, it's new on me."
"For me also," Malcolm agreed. "Perhaps the Scholars in the North, or maybe the witches, can tell us if they've ever come across such a bridge before. But come on now, here's our train to Teddington and we don't want to miss it."
Malcolm nodded to Platform Nine on the left, where a smoky grey engine was just pulling in. Hermione followed Malcolm and Lyra and took a seat next to a window. Then a thought occurred to her.
"Lyra ... what happened to the other CCD Man?"
Lyra and Mal exchanged dark looks. Then Lyra answered without looking at Hermione at all.
"Let's just say that there are a lot of nasty accidents at train stations ... you'd be amazed at how often someone can be caught trying to cross the tracks ..."
And that was all she would say on the matter.
Less than an hour later and the three of them were standing in the Port of Teddington looking for the ship that would carry them to the North. Hermione was shuddering in the frequent gusts of wind from the Thames, trying hard to keep her bonnet on her head, though keeping her thoughts steady after all that had happened that day was significantly harder.
"Why is it called the HMSS Harmony?" Hermione asked in a would-be-breezy voice, looking up sweetly between Malcolm and Lyra and trying to make the first conversation since the talk about the CCD Agent aboard the train from St. Pancras.
"It stands for His Majesty's Steam Ship," Malcolm explained. "And there she is."
He pointed to a large vessel moored just at the end of long gangway. It was painted midnight black for the most part, with pumpkin-orange livery in the many windows and also on it's three funnels. Malcolm gathered up his suitcase, and Lyra's too, which also contained the few items of clothing that Hermione had brought with her. They had decided that they were just going to buy her a whole new set of cold-weather things once they'd reached the North, rather than over pack a case with unsuitable clothes.
It also added a level of plausible deniability to their family ruse, for if they were stopped and searched, it would be far easier to lie their way out than if they were packed to the gills with thermals, snow-shoes and oilskins.
All seemed to be going well, and then there was another anxious moment during boarding, as a zealous boy, new to the job, tried to query the fake passports that Malcolm had procured for them from his friends at Oakley Street.
"I'm not sure I like the look of these," he stated. "Seem too new ... like you had 'em done today. I think I'd better check with me Chief."
But Lyra had many arts and skills in her armoury. She stepped forwards, batted her long eyelashes, smiled vampishly, then whispered some words of filth into the boy's ear. He was young, stupid and powerless against a woman like Lyra, who could list the role of siren as one of her many incarnations. He folded under her words and let them board without a single other protest.
The witches had taught Lyra well how to manipulate the weaknesses of men.
Then they were unpacking in their cabin as the ship left port, and for the first time let go of some of the tension they'd all been carrying. At first, the three of them simply stood for a pregnant moment looking at the sleeping quarters. There was a double bed, and a settee that folded out to become another single bunk. Lyra blinked at Malcolm, who took a bracing breath.
"You take the bed, Hermione can have the roll-out one," he declared decisively. "I'll find a comfy bit of floor, or hunker down in the bath. Just throw me one of those pillows. You don't need all four."
"Don't be ridiculous, Mal!" Lyra scoffed. "I'm sure we can show enough restraint to share a bed! We are grown adults, after all."
"Yeah ... and that's the problem," Malcolm replied cryptically, not realising he was in the presence of a child prodigy in Hermione Granger, who decoded his meaning in an instant and blushed brightly as she tried to fight off a sudden attack of the giggles. Malcolm noticed and slowly began to laugh too, which set Lyra off as a result.
"I just don't want to listen to her snore, Hermione," was Malcolm's feeble attempt at an excuse through his warm grin, a sight that thawed Hermione's caution around him. "That's something you'll have to put up with, I'm afraid."
"Do you snore, Miss Lyra?" Hermione giggled.
"Yes, she does. Like a warthog!"
"Shut up, Pan!" Lyra chortled.
After unpacking, Lyra and Malcolm took Hermione up onto the deck of The Harmony. She'd never been on a proper ship before, and she instantly decided that this was her favourite way to travel. She was in love with it already. And in that moment she shyly wished to herself that the boy she was going to be in love with could have been with her, too. It would have been so romantic to meet in such a way, like something from one of those paperbacks that her father liked so much, but always insisted were her mother's, even until he was blue in the face.
The weather picked up as they moved away from London and it soon became a nice and warm day, tempting lots of passengers up onto the deck. Lyra insisted that they get some much needed sun, as Hermione was as milky as the moon in her words, so Malcolm went to the bar and ordered two cold beers for himself and Lyra, and an iced lemonade for Hermione. As the adults flopped down onto deckchairs, Hermione ambled around close by, sipping her lemonade and watching a couple of older men playing a very bizarre version of chess at the next table.
Now, Hermione knew that it was chess, for she recognised the size and shape of the board. She even recognised the funny way that the knight moved around when it was his turn to be used. Only it wasn't a knight, or at least not the kind that she was used to. And, as she looked closer, she noticed that it wasn't just the knight ... all of the pieces were very strange indeed.
And, her curiosity ever-insatiable, Hermione couldn't help herself.
"Excuse me, I'm so sorry to interrupt," she began meekly. "But that is a very unusual chess set, isn't it? I've never seen anything like that before."
One of the men, who must have been nearly seventy, grinned a toothy smile at her.
"No, it isn't, is it?" he replied, his voice the gruff-tenor of an old Norseman. "Do you know what these pieces are?"
"No," Hermione began, before correcting herself. "Well, I know what they are. You know, pawns and bishops and rooks and things. But I've never seen them made like that before."
She pointed at the board, which was full of small, oval pebbles with different, complex markings etched into them. These were the pieces being used instead of a horse, a castle and a row of knobbly pawns.
"What are they? And how do you know which piece is which?" Hermione went on, brazenly stealing a seat from a table nearby and plopping herself down for the lesson she felt certain she was about to receive.
"This is a Runic chess set," the other elderly man replied, his voice a croaky crackle. "Do you know what runes are?"
Hermione shook her head in the negative.
"Powerful old language," the man replied. "Language of our Norse gods and heroes. Full of magic and mysticism."
"Ah!" Hermione exclaimed, fascinated already. "So they are like letters?"
"No, not like letters," the first man clarified. "The runes have a meaning, but they are so much more than mere letters. They are divine symbols, and understanding them can take a lifetime."
"Maybe more," his friend added, his eyes alight with fervour. Hermione felt something ignite within herself at their zeal.
"Then, do you know what they mean?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Of course," the older of the two stepped in. "This rune, for example, the sowilo rune," he held up a pebble displaying a classic depiction of a lightening bolt etched in gold, "is the rune of the Sun, the most majestic of all runes. So, it fulfils the role of King on the chess board, as it is seen by many as the king of the runes.
"If you ever meet someone blessed by sowilo, young maiden, you'd do well to stick close to them, for they will lead you to the light ... a light they create. Remember that, for such people are rare and powerful."
"I will, I promise," Hermione hushed reverently, her breath oddly taken a moment. It was if an important truth had settled on her, and she was determined that it was one she shouldn't forget. "But what are the others?"
"And what should I tell you?" The Vyking replied in a cryptic tone. "Their names? Their meanings? ... or all that can be achieved if you understand them?"
Hermione puffed out her chest and bent in close. "Tell me everything. I want to know it all."
The older Vyking laughed. "You know what? It would be easier to explain as you play."
He stood up and offered Hermione his seat, as his friend reset the board, lining up his blood red pieces opposite to Hermione's silver ones. Once the board was set, the older Vyking urged her to begin.
"You must start, on this journey to victory and enlightenment," he grinned benignly. "For in chess, the White Queen always makes the first move ..."
