“I think she knows what you can put up with. I shall tell her you’ve come, and give her your greetings, as I assume you’d like me to do.”
“Of course. Thank you,” said Lyra, hearing a hint of dismissal and gathering herself to stand; but the consul hadn’t finished.
“You know, it isn’t really surprising that there are things about ourselves that still remain a mystery to us,” he said. “Maybe we should be comforted that the knowledge is there, even if it’s withheld for a while.”
“There are lots of things we should be comforted by,” said Lyra, “but somehow it doesn’t feel very comforting.”
Nevertheless, she felt a little better as she said that, perhaps because she was pleased with herself for putting the thought neatly.
Dr. Lanselius smiled and stood up. “How is your dig progressing?” he asked, opening the parlour door. “Have you made many discoveries?”
“The Proto-Fisher people ate a lot of fish,” she told him, “apparently. But then people still do. The main thing the archaeologists have found out is about the sea level. It was even higher then than it is now.”
He tapped the barometer beside the door. “A depression is coming,” he said. “And I think it will snow.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes, it is. Things are returning to normal.”
Lyra knew without looking that Pan was about to leap on to her shoulder, and she reached up automatically to stroke him. Dr. Lanselius was stooping to pick up his dæmon, the serpent.
“Thank you,” Lyra said as she shook hands.
“Be sure to give my greetings to Farder Coram. I have a great respect for him.”
“I will. Goodbye!”
The first flurries of snow were swirling in the grey air as they found the tractor outside the General Post Office. Duncan Armstrong was looking at his watch, while his russet ferret-dæmon twitched her nose at Pantalaimon.
“I’m in time,” Lyra said. “Just.”
“I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. Wrap up warm; it’ll be a lot colder before we get to the camp.”
She clambered into the trailer and settled deep among the furs as Armstrong pressed the starter. The tough little tractor drew away bumpily over the rutted road.
Pantalaimon, coiled around Lyra’s neck, spoke closely by her ear to be heard over the roar of the engine.
“You know,” he said, “if you hadn’t said about us being like witches, he wouldn’t have known.”
“What? But he did!”
“Only when you told him.”
Lyra thought back to what she’d revealed. “Hmm,” she said. “But he knew already.”
“No he didn’t. Serafina never told him that.”
“How d’you know?”
“Because his dæmon told me.”
Lyra scoffed. “When?” she said. “You were outside all the time!”
“So was she.”
“No, she—” Lyra stopped. After she’d seen the little green serpent at the window, her attention had been focused entirely on Dr. Lanselius himself. Then she realised what this meant, and her jaw dropped.
“So they—”
“Like us. He’s done it too.”
“But she said— I mean, what Serafina told you before we found each other again—I thought it was only witches that had ever done it! Witches and us. I thought we were the only ones.”
Pan knew full well that we included Will.
“Well,” he said, “we weren’t. And I’ll tell you something else.”
“Wait. He didn’t tell me he’d done it, but she showed you.”
“Yes. So—”
“Maybe we should have done the same. Not told them.”
“Yes, just let them see. But the other thing—”
“God, Pan, we’ve been so stupid! It’s a good thing we can trust him! What other thing?”
“He’s Serafina’s lover.”
“What?” She twisted round to look at his face.
He looked defiantly back. “That’s right,” he said. “They’re lovers.”
“But he’s— I mean— Did she tell you?”
Lyra meant the serpent-dæmon, not Serafina Pekkala, but Pan knew that.
“No,” he said. “I just worked it out.”
“Oh, well,” Lyra said, blowing out her cheeks in scorn, “if you worked it out…”
“I’m right.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“I’m right.”
“But…he’s the consul of all the witches, not just Serafina’s clan.”
“So what?”
“Anyway,” Lyra added weakly, baffled, “he’s…sort of indoors.”
“Yeah, and he’s very clever and he’s very tough.”
“But I still don’t know how you know!”
“Just something I noticed.”
“What?”
“You remember Serafina’s crown? Those little scarlet flowers?”
“What about it?”
“Well, he was wearing one in his lapel. And it was fresh. And it’s the wrong season.”
“There might be all kinds of reasons…”
“No, it’s a token they have. Witches and their lovers.”
They were passing the last houses in the town: wooden buildings mostly one storey in height, with stone chimneys and corrugated iron roofs held down by cables against the winds. The tractor and the trailer swung from side to side through the ruts and potholes.
Lyra wedged herself in more tightly, and pulled the hood of her anorak down further around them both.
“Pan,” she said, “if I had something to tell you…I mean, if I knew something you didn’t…”
“I’d know,” he said confidently.
“You might not.”
“I would. Anyway, you wouldn’t be able to keep it to yourself.”
“We’ll see,” she said. “One day I’ll find a secret you’ll never know about.”
“And I bet I’ll know it within five minutes.”
“All right,” she said. “Try this. What was I talking to Dr. Lanselius about?”
“About the dig,” he said at once.
“And?”
“The fish bones.”
“And?”
“Some other stuff. I don’t know. The fact remains that you don’t notice anything, and I do.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re glad to hear it.”
“You better be.”
The note of the tractor engine changed as they began to climb the slope towards the forest. It wouldn’t be nightfall for some hours yet, but the clouds were low and heavy.
“All right back there?” Duncan Armstrong called.
“Fine,” she called back.
“It’s going to get cold.”
“Good!”
Pantalaimon settled more comfortably around her neck.
After a few minutes Lyra said, “You don’t know it’s a token at all. The flower.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “because he wasn’t wearing one anyway. I knew you
