Chapter Text
The tin can felt too light. Mrs. Coulter gave it a shake. There was a small noise as something hit against the inside, then a furious buzzing began and grew stronger, the can vibrating in Mrs. Coulter’s hand. Mrs. Coulter rose from the bed and turned her back on Lyra. She set the agitated can carefully on her desk.
“Lyra, good relationships between mothers and daughters require trust, and that means we need to be honest with each other.”
Lyra’s knuckles were white as she gripped the bedsheet, tears were in her eyes and she looked ready to spring from the bed. Pan peered out from under the blanket, cat-formed. His ears were pressed flat against his head and he hissed at Mrs. Coulter and let out a low meow which was somehow both pitiful and intimidating.
Mrs. Coulter towered over Lyra, acutely aware of her power, the way a falling building must feel looking at an ant. She sat down on the bed carefully, as the golden monkey paced the room.
“Lyra,” she said in her gentle motherly tone, a tone that could smother a wildfire. She took the girl’s small, sweaty hand.
Lyra’s lip trembled and the tears finally burst forth.
“Cry has much as you need to, darling.”
Terror wracked Lyra’s body and she clung onto Pan, letting out wailing sobs of pure despair. She hadn’t wanted Mrs. Coulter to see any of this. She thought she could hold it back long enough. The spy-fly had been her last chance. The Gyptians would come, they would save the children, but they wouldn’t save her. Roger would tell them it was too late, that she had been taken, that she was gone.
Mrs. Coulter watched the display with fascination. She felt her own body softening, and the golden monkey came to sit at her feet. He reached up a hand. Mrs. Coulter squeezed it briefly, then nudged him away with her foot.
Eventually, Mrs. Coulter felt the need to calm her child. She reached a hand out to lightly stroke Lyra’s shoulder. Lyra recoiled from the touch and shot Mrs. Coulter a look of such hatred that Mrs. Coulter pulled away quickly, as if she had pushed the golden monkey’s paw into boiling water.
Mrs. Coulter could feel her patience running thin. The golden monkey wanted to seize Pan and shake him, so she pressed her toes into his tail. She closed her eyes and the image of Lyra screaming from the chamber cut through her like the intercision blade was splitting her in half. If she lost Lyra she lost her soul.
“Lyra, in order for me to be able to keep you and Roger safe, you must tell me where the alethiometer is.”
Poor little Parslow was turning out to be the most valuable card in Mrs. Coulter’s possession. Sure enough, Lyra sniffed, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand and looking at her mother contemplatively. Pan, ermine-formed, gave Mrs. Coulter one last glance then slid back under the blankets reluctantly.
Lyra sighed. “I lost it. I thought you’d be angry.” She kept her voice intentionally small. Underneath the blanket, Pan licked at her fingers dutifully, soothing her. Together, they could get through this, together, they could get through anything.
“But you kept the spy-fly?”
“It was a present from you, mother.” Lyra gave a little mocking smile.
Lyra saw light and burned as the hand viciously slapped her across the face. The golden monkey sprang onto the bed and snarled at all three of them.
Lyra was shocked but only for an instant. Her father had a temper after all, and she was used to him slapping her around on occasion. She spit in Mrs. Coulter’s face and flung herself from the bed, landing on all fours. She made to run for the door, but the golden monkey already had Pan’s face pressed into the mattress, body pinning him down, paws clasped around his throat.
Lyra clawed at the carpet. “You can’t do this to me!”
“Here again, Lyra? I thought I already taught you about disobedience.”
The golden monkey dug his claws into Pan’s ear and Lyra screamed.
“Please! Don’t! Please!”
The cries cut through Mrs. Coulter uncomfortably and for a moment she felt unsteady. The golden monkey released Pan and stepped back, but Lyra stayed in her position on the floor, as Mrs. Coulter had expected.
Mrs. Coulter bent her knees and reached down to run her hand over Lyra’s face, to smooth her messed hair. “Shhh, darling.” Lyra was shaking. Pan had become a moth and was flying in agitation beside her face. “So long as you do as you’re told, you’ll stay under your mother’s protection.” Of course she would never let anyone else harm Lyra regardless of her behavior, but it wouldn’t due to give Lyra the idea that her actions would not have consequences. Lyra was far more stubborn and wild than Mrs. Coulter could have anticipated, and wild things needed to be broken.
“I-I’ll give you the alethiometer,” Lyra said, panting in fear. “If you promise to keep Roger safe.” The Gyptians would come, the Gyptians would have to come. Lyra just needed to find a way to escape Mrs. Coulter.
“I have no intention of harming you or Roger,” Mrs. Coulter said in that singsong tone wrapped around a laugh, the tone Lyra was coming to understand meant her mother was lying.
Lyra looked up at her mother helplessly. When Mrs. Coulter smiled like that, like she was doing now, all of her features became soft and inviting. And her voice—there was nothing more that Lyra wanted than to believe that voice, and she almost did. Its charming power was like a heavy yet painless blow to the head—making her see stars, disorienting her.
Lyra sat up, carefully drawing her legs under her. Her movements were slow, in an effort to ward off another attack. “What do you need it for, anyway? What questions will you ask?”
The golden monkey perched on the bed, staring down at her sternly. Pan instinctively moved behind Lyra’s head so that if the monkey decided to jump, he would have to go through Lyra to get to him. Pan didn’t think the golden monkey would break the great taboo to do this, but Lyra wasn’t so sure.
“Lyra, darling. An alethiometer is not a toy. It is a highly valuable instrument, meant only to be used by those authorized to do so.”
“I can read it,” Lyra said, hoping the satisfaction didn’t show on her face when she saw that the monkey perked up in interest.
“I’ve asked you not to lie to me.”
“I en’t lying,” Lyra said truthfully. “How do you think I figured out that you’re my mother?” A misleading question instead of an outrightly factually false statement.
Mrs. Coulter’s face was slackening with uncertainty, her eyes piercing.
“It wasn’t god who told me, it was the alethiometer.”
Lyra dodged the blow this time, having anticipated it. She backed away from Mrs. Coulter slowly, pressing her legs against the side of the bed. If there was a struggle, it would be a soft place to roll across, at least.
“Don’t let me hear you speak about the Authority in such a disrespectful way again. And do not speak about the Authority in such a way outside of my hearing either.” Mrs. Coulter’s eyes were blazing but Lyra could see that she was fighting to restrain herself. It took all of Lyra’s self-control not to say something that would provoke her. If she could just get outside the room, if she could just get to the fire alarm—in the chaos, perhaps, she could escape.
Mrs. Coulter took a breath and her entire demeanor seemed to ripple and change. She moved towards Lyra and Lyra pressed her legs into the bed hard, trying to stop her knees from shaking.
Mrs. Coulter placed her hand on Lyra’s chin in a cold mockery of a motherly gesture, and Lyra forced herself not to look away from those eyes.
“It’s with my clothes. Under Lizzie Brooks.” Lyra hated how small her voice suddenly sounded. Fantasies she had imagined back in London were rising to the surface of her mind, even as she tried to push them down. Images of Mrs. Coulter falling in love with her Uncle Asriel—they would adopt her and explore the ice together, charting never before seen caverns, killing cliff-ghasts and escaping armoured bears. Those things her mind had created to fill her with hope and joy had turned cruel inside of her, like a favorite vase breaking and then turning invisible to ensure that the glass shards would be stepped on later.
Mrs. Coulter stroked her cheek then let her go. She turned towards the door.
“Can I come with you?” Lyra asked. Pan became a fluffy white cat and leaped into her arms. “I don’t want to be alone.” Lyra hated that when she spoke the words, she found them to be true. She wanted to believe that she only wanted to come with Mrs. Coulter so she could escape, so Mrs. Coulter wouldn’t lock her in the room. She reasoned that anyone would want the companionship of their mother after nearly losing their soul, but the thought wasn’t as comforting as it could have been.
Mrs. Coulter softened. “I’ll send someone for them in the morning. You should rest, Lyra.”
She pulled back the blankets and Lyra allowed herself to be guided into bed. Her body suddenly felt as heavy as though all of her muscles had turned to stone. A sob tore itself out of her as much as she tried to strangle it away, and so she clutched Pan (who was now in his artic fox form) tightly.
Mrs. Coulter was stroking the back of her hair, and Lyra shuddered. She wanted to get away, but she also didn’t want it to stop, and she found herself comforted in spite of her efforts to resist her mother’s control.
Mrs. Coulter hesitated a moment before sliding into the bed and wrapping her arms around Lyra tightly. Lyra tensed then found herself relaxing into the safety of the embrace. The golden monkey groomed Pan’s fur, gently and thoroughly. Without realizing it, Lyra stopped crying, and found herself drifting to sleep.
Mother and daughter slept through the battle, and when they awoke, a third of the children at Bolvanger had escaped with the Gyptians.
Lyra sat up in her mother’s bed to the sight of Mrs. Coulter sitting at her desk, a strikingly familiar golden object in her hands. Lyra ached at the sight of it, holding back tears.
Mrs. Coulter looked at her with a warm smile, and Lyra felt comforted against her will.
“Why don’t you show me how to read it, since you know so much about it.”
Lyra sighed with relief when the alethiometer was placed in her hands. This was the one thing she could do well, and losing it would perhaps be the second or third worst thing on her list of horrible things she could lose—though that list was growing to include things she had never imagined were possible to lose before.
“What are you asking?” Mrs. Coulter said softly as Lyra moved the dials eagerly.
“About Roger,” Lyra was too excited to be quiet. “It says he’s with the Gyptians!”
“He must have been one of the children who escaped!” Mrs. Coulter said, but she radiated cheerfulness. “I must say they put up a good fight, not too good of course. Dr. Cooper was finally competent for once and managed to hold them off.”
Lyra frowned at the alethiometer as it answered her second question: how can I keep Roger safe? The alethiometer said that if she left Mrs. Coulter, Roger would die.
“What are you asking it now?”
“About Lord Asriel,” Lyra lied. “It says he’s taking a bath for the first time in a month.”
Mrs. Coulter laughed. “So you really can read the alethiometer? How extraordinary! All this time I was harboring a prodigy, but I shouldn’t be surprised.” Mrs. Coulter stroked Lyra’s face fondly. “You’ll have to teach me how to read it someday.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t allowed.”
“Well, for most people, it isn’t. I just happen to work in a part of the magisterium that the Authority has allowed a little more intellectual exploration. Of course, for you it wouldn’t be allowed, but since you’re my daughter I think an exception can be made.”
Lyra had never actually asked the alethiometer if Mrs. Coulter was really her mother, but she did so now. The answer was like a shot in the chest. She hadn’t quite prepared herself for the shock of the confirmation of a truth she had already been told. It was different when the alethiometer spoke, because words, verbal “truths” could all be twisted. But if the alethiometer said that Mrs. Coulter was her mother, then there was no way to escape it.
“Let me ask about Dust,” Lyra said.
Mrs. Coulter seemed suddenly uninterested, as if she had been indulging a child in a silly game.
She brought over some tea and eggs and urged Lyra to eat. Lyra refused, too intent on the alethiometer. The alethiometer was telling her all sorts of fascinating things about Dust, but she couldn’t quite translate the ideas into words. It was like she was going on a ride into the stars, but when her feet touched back on the ground, she couldn’t figure out how to process what she had understood so clearly in the air.
When the golden monkey started to tug the alethiometer out of Lyra’s hands (being careful not to touch her of course) Lyra finally relented and did her best to eat the food her mother provided.
“I’m starting my journey back to London today,” Mrs. Coulter said. “Would you like to join me? You could always stay here of course. I’m sure what you’re learning about Dust could be useful to the researchers.”
Lyra caught an edge of mocking in her voice. The thought of being left at Bolvanger made her shiver. Years of anxiety and abandonment rose to her chest, making her tense. She knew there were other children she needed to save, but the alethiometer had said that the Gyptian forces had been wounded badly. They had saved enough children to consider their mission a general success—or at least a compromise. They wouldn’t be back soon.
The alethiometer said that if she escaped Mrs. Coulter and went to the Gyptians now, she would be a hero, but Roger would die.
“Can I go with you?” Lyra’s voice was small again, weighed down by all the years Asriel had promised to be with her but had left—it was as though all of the buildings she had climbed over in Jordan College were now pressing down on her throat, cutting off the blood supply to Pan’s ermine tail.
“Actually, Lyra, I think it would be better if you stayed here. Your knowledge about Dust could prove to be essential to the researchers. And when the intercision machine is finally safe, it would be wonderful if you could use it before Pan settles.”
Her voice had that quality—as if a laugh were swimming through it, just contained. Lyra realized this was the first time she had heard Mrs. Coulter use her daemon’s name.
Lyra couldn’t help but gawk at her. Pan jumped onto her shoulder and curled around her neck and Lyra closed her mouth, biting the inside of her lip. The alethiometer slid out of her hands and onto the blankets she had shared with her mother the night before. She could stay here, then she could escape, then she could...freeze to death in the snow? She could find Iorek Byrnison. Lord Asriel. She imagined his surprise, anger, that she had defied him, that she had made it to the north. But he would have to be proud of her as well.
Pan shivered and became a mouse. If she didn’t escape in time, he could be cut from her. If only he could settle right now, right this instant. But Pan became a wasp, and stung her neck, he changed into a variety of insects in rapid succession before flopping onto her lap as a fish. He couldn’t breathe, Lyra suddenly wanted them both to drown. Then he became a leopard cub and started purring.
“Don’t take Pan from me,” Lyra felt as if she were hearing someone else say this.
“Well, you see, the closer you are to sin, Lyra, the more necessary intercision becomes. If you can keep away from Dust...”
And Lyra understood. It was as if someone else had jumped inside of her body and was suddenly pushing the alethiometer away from her.
“I don’t know anything about Dust,” Lyra said dumbly, fear stealing away her power. “I don’t know how to read the alethiometer either, it was just a silly story. I overheard you talking to one of the doctors this morning, I was only pretending to be asleep, see.”
“Darling, I don’t like this habit you have of lying.”
The golden monkey snapped the alethiometer shut and carried it to Mrs. Coulter with alarming speed. Lyra flinched automatically.
Mrs. Coulter went into her closet and returned with Lyra’s furs, dumping them on the bed and wrinkling her nose at the smell.
“Get changed, darling. We leave in an hour.”
~~~
Lyra sat tense and alert in the seat of the zeppelin, all of her senses straining yet processing little. Mrs. Coulter began to talk to her, and Lyra felt soothed by the stories of the north, even if she couldn’t focus enough to catch their full meaning. It was as though the fragile identity that was beginning to form along her journey north had frozen over—a snowflake trapped inside the ice of an immobilized ocean. Pan kept shifting forms, unable to get comfortable. The golden monkey stared out the window, refusing to look at either of them.