"Dont forget your rucksack," he said, handing it to her.
It took an hour and a half to walk to Headington. Lyra led the way, avoiding the city center, and Will kept watch all around, saying nothing. It was much harder for Lyra now than it had been even in the Arctic, on the way to Bolvangar, for then shed had the gyptians and lorek Byrnison with her, and even if the tundra was full of danger, you knew the danger when you saw it. Here, in the city that was both hers and not hers, danger could look friendly, and treachery smiled and smelled sweet; and even if they werent going to kill her or part her from Pantalaimon, they had robbed her of her only guide. Without the alethiometer, she was .. .just a little girl, lost Limefield House was the color of warm honey, and half of its front was covered in Virginia creeper. It stood in a large, well-tended garden, with shrubbery at one side and a gravel drive sweeping up to the front door. The Rolls-Royce was parked in front of a double garage to the left.
"So thats where you have to go, and I dont care how you do it, but I want that knife. Bring it to me, and you can have the alethiometer. I shall be sorry to lose it, but Im a man of my word.
"What happened? Just tell me," he said.
Lyra felt tears shaken out of her eyes by the trembling of her body, and threw herself onto die sofa. Pantalaimon, his thick cats tail erect, stood on her lap with his blazing eyes fixed on the old man.
"Just... go there," he said. "Just go there and see him. Its no good asking your scholar to help us, either, not if the police have been to her. Shes bound to believe them rather than us. At least if we get into his house, well see where the main rooms are. Thatll be a start."
He turned his head to call for the servant.
Will sat still, watching, looking around, memorizing where everything was.
something to do with him, not with her. Presently he took a deep breath.
"Yeah," said Will. Tell me about that"
Lyra was hiding her face in her hands, pressing her head down against the pavement. Pantalaimon was flickering from shape to shape in his agitation: dog, bird, cat, snow-white ermine.
A minute later the car came to a silent halt outside a public library. The old man held open the door on his side, so that Lyra had to climb past his knees to get out. There was a lot of space, but somehow it was awkward, and she didnt want to touch him, nice as he was.
"Oh, but you are. You told me your name was Lizzie. Now I learn its something else. Frankly, you havent got a hope of convincing anyone that a precious piece like this belongs to you. I tell you what. Lets call the police."
He could see how devastated she was, but not why she should feel guilty. And then she said: "And, Will, please, I done something very bad. Because the alethiometer told me I had to stop looking for Dust—at least I thought thats what it said— and I had to help you. I had to help you find your father. And I could, I could take you to wherever he is, if I had it. But I wouldnt listen. I just done what / wanted to do, and I shouldnt...."
"That old man—he ent nothing but a low thief. He stole it, Will! He stole my alethiometer! That stinky old man with his rich clothes and his servant driving the car. Oh, I done such wrong things this morning—oh, I—"
And then he saw something so bizarre he thought he had imagined it Outof the sleeve of Sir Charless linen jacket, past the snowy white shirt cuff, came the emerald head of a snake. Its black tongue flicked this way, that way, and its mailed head with its gold-rimmed black eyes moved from Lyra to Will and back again. She was too angry to see it at all, and Will saw it only for a moment before it retreated again up the old mans sleeve, but it made his eyes widen with shock.
Without another word he went inside and put the letters under the pillow in the room hed slept in. Then, if he were caught, theyd never have them.
"Alethiometer," said Lyra hoarsely.
Far off across the water, children stopped what they were doing and shaded their eyes to see. Will sat down beside Lyra and shook her shoulder.
"Nor can I, but..."
"Is this the object you mean?" he said, and took a velvet cloth from a drawer in the desk. Lyra stood up. He ignored her and unfolded the cloth, disclosing the golden splendor of the alethiometer resting in his palm.
"Whats the use of that? I dont care if youre sorry or not You did it."
Hed seen her use it, and he knew it could tell her the truth. He turned away. She seized his wrist, but he broke away from her and walked to the edge of the water. The children were playing again across the harbor. Lyra ran up to him and said, "Will, Im so sorry—"
He shook his head, sadly and heavily, as if he were reproaching her and it was a sorrow to him, but he was doing it for her own good. "I think at the very least theres considerable doubt about the matter," he said.
"What we going to do then?" she said.
"You stole—" began Lyra hotly, but Will looked at her, and she stopped.
Pantalaimon said, "We went to the Scholar, and there was someone else there—a man and a woman—and they tricked us. They asked a lot of questions and then they asked about you, and before we could stop we gave it away that we knew you, and then we ran away—"
"Were going to get it back all right," she said "I can feel it."
He didnt answer. But it was we, for certain. He was bound to her now, whether he liked it or not.
But she fell silent. Will was just looking at her, and she quailed. She would have quailed in the same way if the armored bear had looked at her like that, because there was something not unlike lorek in Wills eyes, young as they were.
"But it isnt yours, Lizzie," he said. "Or Lyra, if thats your name."
"Wait here," he said. "Ill tell Sir Charles."
"You dont even know what it is you stole," Lyra stormed. "You seen me using it and you thought youd steal it, and you did. But you—you—youre worse than my mother. At leastshe knows its important! Youre just going to put it in a case and do nothing with it! You ought to die If I can, Ill make someone kill you. Youre not worth leaving alive. Youre—"
"Youre stupid."
"I never heard of those things," Lyra said. "We ent got em in my world. I couldnt know that, Will."
"But it is hers!" said Will. "Honesdy! Shes shown it to me! I know its hers!"
Steady footsteps came to the door, and then it opened again.
"Youre going to be so angry. I promised I wouldnt give you away, I promised it, and then ..." she sobbed, and Pantalaimon became a young clumsy dog with lowered ears and wagging tail, squirming with self-abasement; and Will understood that Lyra had done something that she was too ashamed to tell him about, and he spoke to the daemon.
Well, you see, the man who made that doorway has got a knife. Hes hiding in that other world right now, and hes extremely afraid. He has reason to be. If hes where I think he is, hes in an old stone tower with angels carved around the doorway. The Torre degli Angeli.
"I cant see how."
"Yes!" Lyra burst out, and reached for it But he closed his hand. The desk was wide, and she couldnt reach; and before she could do anything else, he swung around and placed the alethiometer in a glass-fronted cabinet before locking it and dropping the key in his waistcoat pocket.
"Well," he said, "might as well try."
"But, Will, we got to help each other, you and me, because there ent anyone else!"
"I never heard anything so stupid in my life," he said. "You think we can just go to his house and creep in and steal it? You need to think. You need to use your bloody brain. Hes going to have all kinds of burglar alarms and stuff, if hes a rich man. Therell be bells that go off and special locks and lights with infrared switches that come on automatically—"
"All right, then think of this: Hes got a whole house to hide it in, and how long would any burglar have to look through every cupboard and drawer and hiding place in a whole house? Those men who came to my house had hours to look around, and they never found what they were looking for, and I bet hes got a whole lot bigger house than we have. And probably a safe, too. So even if we did get into his house, wed never find it in time before the police came."
"Lyra? I dont know a Lyra. What an unusual name. I know a child called Lizzie. And who are you?"
"Thank you," she said.
She couldnt speak. All she could do was spit full in his face, so she did, with all her might.
"Come into my study," said Sir Charles, and held open another door off the hall.
Sensing Lyra beside him impatient and angry, Will said quickly, "Excuse me, but Lyra thinks that when she had a lift in your car earlier on, she left something in it by mistake."
"What? Whats the matter?"
Lyra was waiting on the terrace, with Pantalaimon perched on her shoulder as a sparrow. She was looking more cheerful.
Cursing himself for forgetting, Will said, "Im her brother. Mark."
He said nothing. They set off for the window.
Will took the card and read:
Between sobs and teeth grindings she told him what had happened: how the old man had seen her using the alethiometer in the museum the day before, and how hed stopped the car today and shed gotten in to escape from the pale man, and how the car had pulled up on that side of the road so shed had to climb past him to get out, and how he must have swiftly taken the alethiometer as hed passed her the rucksack....
"Its somewhere I cant go, but you can. Im perfectly well aware that youve found a doorway somewhere. I guess its not too far from Summertown, where I dropped Lizzie, or Lyra, this morning. And that through the doorway is another world, one with no grownups in it. Right so far?
"We want to see Sir Charles Latrom," Will said.
"However," he went on, "theres something I want even more. And I cant get it myself, so Im prepared to make a deal with you. You fetch the object I want, and Ill give you back the—what did you call it?"
They were both silent now. He hadnt finished. A great puzzlement was slowing Lyras heartbeat and making the room very still.
He closed the door. It was solid oak, with two heavy locks, and bolts top and bottom, though Will thought that no sensible burglar would try the front door anyway. And there was a burglar alarm prominently fixed to the front of the house, and a large spotlight at each corner; theyd never be able to get near it, let alone break in.
She turned and raced back to her rucksack, abandoned on the pavement, and rummaged through it feverishly.
"Did he see you come back through the window?"
He heard Lyras running footsteps from some way off. He put the letters in his pocket and stood up, and almost at once Lyra was there, wild-eyed, with Pantalaimon a snarling savage wildcat, too distraught to hide. She who seldom cried was sobbing with rage; her chest was heaving, her teeth were grinding, and she flung herself at him, clutching his arms, and cried, "Kill him! Kill him! I want him dead! I wish lorek was here! Oh, Will, I done wrong, Im so sorry—"
"Have you any control over yourself?" he said. "Go and sit down, you filthy brat."
"Lyra thinks she left something in your car," he said again. "Weve come to get it back."
"I think youd better listen to me instead of behaving in this uncontrolled way," he said. "You really havent any choice. The instrument is in my possession and will stay there. I want it. Im a collector. You can spit and stamp and scream all you like, but by the time youve persuaded anyone else to listen to you, I shall have plenty of documents to prove that I bought it. I can do that very easily. And then youll never get it back."
The door had an old-fashioned bell pull, like those in Lyras world, and Will didnt know where to find it till Lyra showed him. When they pulled it, the bell jangled a long way off inside the house.
"Alethiometer. How interesting. Alethia, truth—those emblems—yes, I see."
Everything Will could see spoke of wealth and power, the sort of informal settled superiority that some upper-class English people still took for granted. There was something about it that made him grit his teeth, and he didnt know why, until suddenly he remembered an occasion when he was very young. His mother had taken him to a house not unlike this; theyd dressed in their best clothes and hed had to be on his best behavior, and an old man and woman had made his mother cry, and theyd left the house and she was still crying....
Lyra saw him breathing fast and clenching his fists, and was sensible enough not to ask why; it was
"Big," said Lyras muffled voice, "and ever so strong, and pale eyes ..."
"I see. Hello, Lizzie, or Lyra. Youd better come in."
"What did the man look like?" said Will.
Will was reading his fathers letters again. He sat on the terrace hearing the distant shouts of children diving off the harbor mouth, and read the clear handwriting on the flimsy airmail sheets, trying to picture the man whod penned it, and looking again and again at the reference to the baby, to himself.
"You see, I think youd have to prove that," he said. "I dont have to prove anything, because its in my possession. Its assumed to be mine. Like all the other items in my collection. I must say, Lyra, Im surprised to find you so dishonest—"
"No, but..."
"No, wait—" said Will, before Sir Charles could speak, but Lyra ran around the desk, and from nowhere Pantalaimon was in her arms, a snarling wildcat baring his teeth and hissing at the old man. Sir Charles blinked at the sudden appearance of the daemon, but hardly flinched.
"Stop! Stop crying!" he said. "Tell me from the beginning. What old man? What happened?"
"lorek Byrnison would go there straightaway and rip his head off. I wish he was here. Hed—"
"Well, he wont know where we are, then."
"Ill see you again, I hope, Lizzie," he said. "Give my regards to your friend."
He walked up the drive, and Lyra followed close behind. They felt very exposed.
The man who opened the door was the servant whod been driving the car, only now he didnt have his cap on. He looked at Will first, and then at Lyra, and his expression changed a little.
His jaw was jutting as it had done last night facing the stone-throwing children by the tower. The servant nodded.
She stopped in midsentence, and a light came into her eyes.
Sir Charles calmly shook out a silk handkerchief and mopped himself.
"Sit down," said Sir Charles, and indicated a leather sofa. He sat at the chair behind his desk, and went on. "Well? What have you got to say?"
"Good-bye," she said, and lingered on the pavement till the car had turned the corner and gone out of sight before she set off toward the hornbeam trees. She had a feeling about that palehaired man, and she wanted to ask the alethiometer.
He walked to the waters edge, and back to the terrace, and back to the water again. He beat his hands together, looking for an answer, but no answer came, and he shook his head angrily.
"It is mine! Its my alethiometer!"
Thats what you have to do: bring me the knife."
Sir Charles moved to the window seat and calmly sat down, arranging the crease in his trousers.
"I know who he is! And where he lives! Look!" she said, and held up a little white card. "He gave this to me in the museum! We can go and get the alethiometer back!"
He stood aside. Neither Will nor Lyra was quite expecting this, and they stepped inside uncertainly. The hall was dim and smelled of beeswax and flowers. Every surface was polished and clean, and a mahogany cabinet against the wall contained dainty porcelain figures. Will saw the servant standing in the background, as if he were waiting to be called.
Will sat silent and puzzled. Sir Charles could have thrown them out long before this. What was he playing at?
"We could steal it. We could go to his house and steal it. I know where Headington is, theres a Headington in my Oxford too. It ent far. We could walk there in an hour, easy."
And she sobbed so passionately he thought that hearts really did break, and hers was breaking now, for she fell to the ground wailing and shuddering, and Pantalaimon beside her became a wolf and howled with bitter grief.
She hung her head. It was all true.
He was being courteous, even welcoming, but there was an edge to his manner that put Will on guard. The study was large and comfortable in a cigar-smoke-and-leather-armchair sort of way, and seemed to be full of bookshelves, pictures, hunting trophies. There were three or four glassfronted cabinets containing antique scientific instruments—brass microscopes, telescopes covered in green leather, sextants, compasses; it was clear why he wanted the alethiometer.
"Whats this thing you want?" said Will. "And where is it?"
SIR CHARLES LATROM, CBE LlMEFIELD HOUSE OLD HEADINGTON OXFORD "Hes a sir," he said. "A knight. That means people will automatically believe him and not us. What did you want me to do, anyway? Go to the police? The police are after me! Or if they werent yesterday, they will be by now. And if you go, they know who you are now, and they know you know me, so that wouldnt work either."
Will looked up at the face of this man who had so much that he wanted even more, and found him disconcertingly smooth and calm and powerful, not in the least guilty or ashamed.
"I ent dishonest!" Lyra cried.
"But the alethiometer!" she cried, and she sat up fiercely, her face rigid with emotion, like a Greek mask.
