The Golden Compass (Page 52)

And as she gazed, the image of a city seemed to form itself behind the veils and streams of translucent color: towers and domes, honey-colored temples and colonnades, broad boulevards and sunlit parkland. Looking at it gave her a sense of vertigo, as if she were looking not up but down, and across a gulf so wide that nothing could ever pass over it. It was a whole universe away.

But something was moving across it, and as she tried to focus her eyes on the movement, she felt faint and dizzy, because the little thing moving wasn’t part of the Aurora or

of the other universe behind it. It was in the sky over the roofs of the town. When she could see it clearly, she had come fully awake and the sky city was gone.

The flying thing came closer and circled the ship on outspread wings. Then it glided down and landed with brisk sweeps of its powerful pinions, and came to a halt on the wooden deck a few yards from Lyra.

In the Aurora’s light she saw a great bird, a beautiful gray goose whose head was crowned with a flash of pure white. And yet it wasn’t a bird: it was a daemon, though there was no one in sight but Lyra herself. The idea filled her with sickly fear.

The bird said:

“Where is Farder Coram?”

And suddenly Lyra realized who it must be. This was the daemon of Serafina Pekkala, the clan queen, Farder Coram’s witch friend.

She stammered to reply:

“I—he’s—I’ll go and get him….”

She turned and scampered down the companionway to the cabin Farder Coram occupied, and opened the door to speak into the darkness:

“Farder Coram! The witch’s daemon’s come! He’s waiting on the deck! He flew here all by hisself—I seen him coming in the sky—”

The old man said, “Ask him to wait on the afterdeck, child.”

The goose made his stately way to the stern of the ship, where he looked around, elegant and wild simultaneously, and a cause of fascinated terror to Lyra, who felt as though she were entertaining a ghost.

Then Farder Coram came up, wrapped in his cold-weather gear, closely followed by John Faa. Both old men bowed respectfully, and their daemons also acknowledged the visitor.

“Greetings,” said Farder Coram. “And I’m happy and proud to see you again, Kaisa. Now, would you like to come inside, or would you prefer to stay out here in the open?”

“I would rather stay outside, thank you, Farder Coram. Are you warm enough for a while?”

Witches and their daemons felt no cold, but they were aware that other humans did.

Farder Coram assured him that they were well wrapped up, and said, “How is Serafina Pekkala?”

“She sends her greetings to you, Farder Coram, and she is well and strong. Who are these two people?”

Farder Coram introduced them both. The goose daemon looked hard at Lyra.

“I have heard of this child,” he said. “She is talked about among witches. So you have come to make war?”

“Not war, Kaisa. We are going to free the children taken from us. And I hope the witches will help.”

“Not all of them will. Some clans are working with the Dust hunters.”

“Is that what you call the Oblation Board?” “I don’t know what this board may be. They are Dust hunters. They came to our regions ten years ago with philosophical instruments. They paid us to allow them to set up stations in our lands, and they treated us with courtesy.” “What is this Dust?”

“It comes from the sky. Some say it has always been there, some say it is newly falling. What is certain is that when people become aware of it, a great fear comes over them, and they’ll stop at nothing to discover what it is. But it is not of any concern to witches.”

“And where are they now, these Dust hunters?” “Four days northeast of here, at a place called Bolvangar. Our clan made no agreement with them, and because of our longstanding obligation to you, Farder Coram, I have come to show you how to find these Dust hunters.”

Farder Coram smiled, and John Faa clapped his great hands together in satisfaction.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” he said to the goose. “But tell us this: do you know anything more about these Dust hunters? What do they do at this Bolvangar?”

“They have put up buildings of metal and concrete, and some underground chambers. They burn coal spirit, which they bring in at great expense. We don’t know what they do, but there is an air of hatred and fear over the place and for miles around. Witches can see these things where other humans can’t. Animals keep away too. No birds fly there; lemmings and foxes have fled. Hence the name Bolvangar: the fields of evil. They don’t call it that. They call it ‘the station.’ But to everyone else it is Bolvangar.”

“And how are they defended?”

“They have a company of Northern Tartars armed with rifles. They are good soldiers, but they lack practice, because no one has ever attacked the settlement since it was built. Then there is a wire fence around the compound, which is filled with anbaric force. There may be other means of defense that we don’t know about, because as I say they have no interest for us.”

Lyra was bursting to ask a question, and the goose dasmon knew it and looked at her as if giving permission.

“Why do the witches talk about me?” she said.

“Because of your father, and his knowledge of the other worlds,” the daemon replied.

That surprised all three of them. Lyra looked at Farder Coram, who looked back in mild wonder, and at John Faa, whose expression was troubled.

“Other worlds?” John Faa said. “Pardon me, sir, but what worlds would those be? Do you mean the stars?”

“Indeed no.”