“Your dæmon has found plenty to occupy his curiosity,” he said. “He won’t hear what we say now unless you tell him. But be frank with me; ask me what you want to know.”
And Lyra remembered her previous visit to the consul, along with Farder Coram. The old gyptian’s guile was equal to the situation, and recalling now what Farder Coram had done, Lyra said:
“I haven’t got much time, Dr. Lanselius, and I don’t even know the best question to ask. So if you were me, and knowing what you do of what concerns me now, what question would you ask of the Consul of the Witches?”
He smiled, and said, “I remember the last time I was asked that question. How is the excellent Farder Coram?”
“He hasn’t been well. He nearly died of pneumonia, but he’s recovering. Tell me, Dr. Lanselius! Tell me what question I should ask.”
“You should ask the Consul of the Witches to tell you what Serafina Pekkala did in the same case as yours. She had the same doubts.”
“Did she?”
“Oh, yes. Her dæmon, Kaisa—and yours, and every witch’s—felt a great betrayal. But witches and their dæmons know that this is to come; they know they’ll be tested. You did not. For you and your dæmon it was worse. Nevertheless, Kaisa and Serafina Pekkala suffered too, and she thought his coldness to her afterwards was worse than the suffering of separation itself.”
“So what did she do?”
“She waited, and treated him kindly, and said nothing.”
“She didn’t ask? Even though she wanted to know what he’d done and how he’d managed and everything?”
“Not a word.”
“And…did he ever tell her?”
“No.”
“I thought there were no secrets between us and our dæmons,” said Lyra, feeling obscurely hurt.
“Then what are you doing in here, asking me this? Aren’t you trying to conceal this from your dæmon?”
“No! Not conceal…I just want to do what’s right. Because no one who isn’t a witch knows what it feels like…And I can’t ask anyone but you, because it’s a secret, a real deep secret, that Pan and I can do this. I trusted you, right, because you know the witches…But I’ve never told anyone else, in this world I mean, not even Farder Coram. And I do want to know what’s right, you see. I don’t want to put pressure on Pan if I shouldn’t. I’d ask Serafina Pekkala herself if I could, but…It’s so difficult.”
She’d been looking at the coffee pot, and at the floor, and at the tiled stove, and at the bookshelves, but now she looked at his broad and subtle face.
“Yes,” he said. “I see that. It’s not as if your position was a common one. And I haven’t got much comfort for you; all I can tell you is what those who have experienced the same thing have told me.”
“I just have to keep on not knowing,” Lyra said unhappily, “and knowing that he’s holding something back…And the one person I could really talk to about it, who’d really understand every little detail, I’ll never see again.”
“Not the only person.”
“Yes,” said Lyra firmly.
“Would you like me to pass on a message to Serafina Pekkala for you?”
“Yes…No. It’s not as if anything important depended on it. It’s just my doubt, that’s all. Just not knowing. I don’t think Serafina would be very impressed by me not being able to put up with that.”
“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.”