Selected Works by Philip Pullman
THE BOOK OF DUST
La Belle Sauvage
The Secret Commonwealth
HIS DARK MATERIALS
The Golden Compass
The Subtle Knife
The Amber Spyglass
HIS DARK MATERIALS COMPANION BOOKS
Lyra’s Oxford
Once Upon a Time in the North
The Collectors
The Golden Compass Graphic Novel
NONFICTION
Dæmon Voices: On Stories and Storytelling
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Philip Pullman
Cover art and interior illustrations copyright © 2020 by Tom Duxbury
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Simultaneously published in Great Britain by Penguin Random House UK in 2020.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-593-37768-0 (trade) — ISBN 978-0-593-37769-7 (ebook)
Ebook ISBN 9780593377697
The illustrations were created using lino-printing and ink.
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Contents
Cover
Selected Works by Philip Pullman
Title Page
Copyright
His Dark Materials: Serpentine
A Note from the Author
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Ever since Lyra Silvertongue and her dæmon, Pantalaimon, had been reunited, following their terrible parting on the shores of the world of the dead, Lyra had wanted to ask him about the time he’d spent away from her. But she had the obscure sense that she shouldn’t ask him directly; he would tell her when he wanted to. However, time went past, and still he didn’t, and it began to trouble her.
This feeling came to a head during a visit she paid to the northern lands, a year after the witch Yelena Pazhets had nearly killed her in Oxford: the time when Lyra had been saved by the birds.
The curse of Bolvangar had been lifted, but the northern lands had still not recovered from the climatic devastation Lord Asriel had caused. However, the retreat of the snows and the loosening of the permafrost meant that all kinds of archaeological work was possible, and Jordan College sponsored a dig in the region of Trollesund to investigate some recently discovered settlements of the Proto-Fisher people.
Naturally, Lyra demanded to go too; but they made her work. So she slept in a tent and spent days sifting through the squalid rubbish in a mud-filled midden, while Pantalaimon snapped at mosquitoes; and as soon as the chance came, she begged a ride on the weekly supply-run into the town. She wanted to look at the places she remembered: the sledge depot where she’d bargained with Iorek Byrnison, the dockside where she’d met Lee Scoresby, and the house of the witch consul Dr. Lanselius.
“Two hours, Lyra,” said Duncan Armstrong, the graduate student who was driving the tractor, as they drew up outside the General Post Office. “If you’re not here at three o’clock precisely, I’ll go without you.”
“You don’t trust us,” she said.
“Two hours.”
The sledge depot was empty and derelict, but she found Einarsson’s Bar, where in the yard next to the alley she’d had her first sight of an armoured bear, and watched Iorek swallowing a gallon of raw spirits and heard him speak of his captivity. The yard looked just the same, with a rusty shack leaning over in a sea of mud. The docks, though, looked very different: the buildings she remembered were half underwater, and new cranes and warehouses had had to be set up further back.
“It’s a mess,” said Pantalaimon severely.
“Everything’s a mess. Let’s see if Dr. Lanselius is in.”
The consul represented the interests of all the witch-clans, even those who were feuding. Lyra wasn’t sure if he’d remember their first meeting, and Pan scoffed.
“Not remember us?” he said. “Of course he will!”
“When we first came I’d have been sure no one could forget us,” she agreed. “But now…I’m not so sure about things.”
But he did. Dr. Lanselius was at his door, saying goodbye to a Muscovite amber merchant, and as soon as he saw Lyra and her dæmon he greeted her warmly and showed her into the narrow elegant wooden house.
“Lyra Silvertongue, you’re very welcome,” he said. “Yes, I know your new name. Serafina Pekkala told me everything about your exploits. Will you take some coffee?”
“Thank you,” she said. “She told you everything?”
“Everything she knew.”
“Like…me and Pan being able to…”
Dr. Lanselius smiled.
“Ah,” she said, and she and Pan relaxed. It was something they had to be on their guard about all the time. If Dr. Lanselius knew they could separate, there was no need for Pantalaimon to pretend he couldn’t leave Lyra’s side; and with the consul’s permission he leaped out through the open window to explore the garden.
Dr. Lanselius brought the coffee pot and cups into the little parlour, and Lyra asked at once, before Pan came back:
“You know when witches are young, and they do what Pan and I did, they go apart…”
“I know a little. Every witch has to go through it, or not live a full witch-life. There are some who can’t, or who won’t, and their sisters pity them, though those who can’t do it pity themselves more. Their lives are not happy.”
“What do they do? Where does
