The Book of Dust, Volume 1

by Philip Pullman

  “This way,” snapped the duty teacher, and they looked forward again before Malcolm could make out who the extra person was.

  A moment later she was walking out in front of the class lines with the headmaster, and he recognized her at once as the woman who’d come to the priory, and who’d frightened Lyra with her harsh voice. She wore the same dark blue suit, had the same tightly rolled hairstyle.

  “Listen carefully,” said the headmaster. “When you go in, in a few moments, you will not go to your classes. You will go into the hall, just as you do for morning assembly. Go in as usual, sit down quietly, and wait. Anyone making a noise will find themselves in trouble. Class Five, lead off.”

  Malcolm could hear whispers around him: “Who’s she? What’s going to happen? Who’s in trouble?”

  He watched the woman closely without seeming to. She was scanning all the classes in front of her, her cold eyes raking through them as they stood and moved off in their lines. When her head turned his way, he made sure he was standing behind Eric, who was a little taller.

  The hall was where the lunch ladies set out the tables for school lunch, and the aroma hung around all afternoon. That day, boiled cabbage had featured prominently on the menu, and not even the jam roll that had come after it did anything to dispel the heavy atmosphere. The hall was also where they had gym classes, and underneath the food smell there was an aromatic reminder of several generations of sweaty children.

  As his class entered the hall, Malcolm looked at the line of teachers sitting along the back. Their faces were expressionless for the most part, as if this wasn’t unusual at all but some quite normal part of a normal day, except that Mr. Savery, the math teacher, was scowling, with a look of deep disgust. And then in the instant before he sat, Malcolm saw the face of Miss Davis, the music teacher, because it caught the light, and it did that because her cheeks were wet with tears.

  Malcolm noted all these things and imagined himself writing them down, as he would later, to tell Dr. Relf.

  When all the children were sitting and still and silent, all the more quiet because of their sense that something unusual was happening, the headmaster came in and everyone stood up. The woman was with him.

  “All right, sit down,” he said.

  When everything was quiet again, he said, “This lady is Miss Carmichael. I’ll let her explain what she’s doing.”

  Then he sat, gathering his gown around him, his crow dæmon in her usual position on his left shoulder. And Malcolm had something else to write later, because his face was as thunderous as Mr. Savery’s. The woman couldn’t see that, or else she ignored it; she waited for absolute silence, and then she began.

  “You know, children, how our Holy Church has many different parts within it. Together they make up what we call the Magisterium, and they all work together for the good of the Church, which is the same as the good of every one of us.

  “The part I represent is called the League of St. Alexander. I expect some of you have heard of St. Alexander, but perhaps your lessons haven’t got that far yet, so I’ll tell you his story.

  “He lived in North Africa with his family a long time ago. It was a time when the Holy Church was still struggling against the pagans, those who worshipped evil gods, or those who believed in no god at all. And the little boy Alexander’s family was one of those who worshipped an evil god. They didn’t believe in Jesus Christ, they had an altar in the cellar under their house where they made sacrifices to the evil god they worshipped, and they mocked those who were like us, who worship the true God.

  “Well, one day Alexander heard a man talking in the marketplace. He was a missionary. He had braved all the dangers of land and sea to take the story of Jesus Christ and the message of the true religion to the lands around the Mediterranean Sea, the lands where Alexander and his family lived.

  “And Alexander was so interested in what the man said that he stayed and listened. He heard the story of Jesus’s life and death, and how he rose from the dead, and how those who believe in him will have eternal life, and he went up to the preacher and said, ‘I would like to be a Christian.’

  “He wasn’t the only one. A lot of people were baptized that day, including the governor of the province, who was a wise man called Regulus. Regulus ordered that all his officials should become Christians, and they all did.

  “But there were a lot of people who didn’t. A lot of people liked the religion they knew and didn’t want to change. Even when Regulus made laws forbidding the pagan religion and compelling people to be Christian for their own good, they kept to the old wicked ways.

  “And Alexander saw that he could do something to serve God and the Church. He knew some people who pretended to be Christian but really still worshipped the old gods, the evil gods. His own family, for instance. They had given shelter to a number of pagan people down in their cellar, people who were wanted by the authorities, people who had wickedly refused to hear the holy word of the Scriptures, the sacred word of God.

  “So Alexander knew what he must do. Very bravely he went to the authorities and told them about his family and the pagans they were sheltering, and the soldiers went to the family’s house in the middle of the night. They knew which house it was because Alexander took a lamp up onto the flat roof and signaled to them. The family was arrested, the pagans in the cellar were taken captive, and the next day they were all put to death in the marketplace. Alexander was given a reward, and he went on to become a great hunter of atheists and pagans. And after his death many years later, he was made a saint.

  “The League of St. Alexander was set up in memory of that brave little boy, and its emblem is a picture of the lamp he carried up onto the roof to signal where to come.

  “Now, you might think that those days are long ago. We don’t have pagan altars in our cellars anymore. We all believe in the true God. We all cherish and love the Church. This is a Christian country in a Christian civilization.

  “But there are still enemies of the Church, new ones as well as old ones. There are people who say openly that there is no God. They become famous, some of them; they make speeches and write books, or even teach. But they don’t matter very much. We know who they are. More important are the people we don’t know about. Your neighbors, your friends’ parents, your own parents, the grown-ups you see every day. Have any of them ever denied the truth about God? Have you heard anyone mocking the Church or criticizing it? Have you heard anyone telling lies about it?

  “The spirit of little St. Alexander lives on today in every boy or girl who is brave enough to do what he did and tell the Church authorities about anyone who is working against the true faith. It’s vital work. It’s the most important thing you could ever do. And it’s something that every child ought to think about.

  “You can join the League of St. Alexander today. You’ll get a badge, like the one I’m wearing, to wear yourself and show what you think is important. It doesn’t cost anything. You can be the eyes and the ears of the Holy Church in the corrupt world we live in. Who would like to join?”

  Hands went up, many hands, and Malcolm could see the excitement on the faces all around him; but the teachers, apart from one or two, looked down at the floor or gazed expressionlessly out the windows.

  Eric’s hand went up at once, and so did Robbie’s, but they both looked at Malcolm to see what he was going to do. The fact was that Malcolm would have liked one of those badges very much. They looked very handsome, but all the same, he’d rather not join this league. So he kept his hand down, and seeing that, the other two dithered. Eric’s hand came down and then went up again less certainly. Robbie’s came down and stayed down.

  “I’m so pleased,” said Miss Carmichael, looking around the hall. “God will be very happy to know that so many boys and girls are eager to do the right thing. To be the eyes and ears of the Authority! In the streets and the fields, in the houses and the playgrounds and the classrooms of the world, a league of little Alexanders watching and list
ening for a holy purpose.”

  She stopped there, turned to the table next to her, and picked up a badge and a sheet of paper.

  “When you go back to your classes in a minute, your teachers will have these forms. They will tell you how to fill them in. When you’ve done that, they’ll give you a badge. And you’ll be a member of the League of St. Alexander! Oh, and there’s one other thing you’ll be given. This little booklet”—she held one up—“is very important. It tells the story of St. Alexander, has a list of the rules of the league, and has an address to write to if you see anything wrong, anything sinful, anything suspicious, anything you think the Holy Church would like to know.

  “Now put your hands together and close your eyes….Dear Lord, let the spirit of your blessed St. Alexander enter our hearts, that we may have the clear sight to perceive wickedness, the courage to denounce it, and the strength to bear witness, even when it seems most painful and difficult. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.”

  A murmur of “amen” followed from most of the children. Malcolm lifted his head and looked at the woman, who seemed to be looking straight back at him, so he felt horribly uneasy for a moment; but then she turned to the headmaster.

  “Thank you, Headmaster,” she said. “I leave it in your hands.”

  She walked out. The headmaster stood up, stiffly and wearily.

  “Lead off, Class Five” was all he said.

  On Saturday, Malcolm had a lot to tell Hannah. He told her about Eric’s father and his guess that the murdered man had been a spy; he told her about the woman in the priory, and about everything she’d said on that strange afternoon in the school hall, and about how many of his classmates had signed up for the League of St. Alexander.

  “And the next day, when they all came to school with their badges on, the headmaster talked about them in assembly. He said they had never allowed badge wearing in the school, and he wasn’t going to start now. Everyone wearing a badge had to take it off. What they did at home was their own business, but no one was allowed to wear one at school. And he said the form they’d signed had no legal something—no legal force or something—and it meant nothing. Some people tried to argue with him, but he punished them and took their badges away.

  “And then some of the kids who had joined the league said they were going to report him, and they must have done, because on Thursday the head wasn’t at school, nor yesterday. Mr. Hawkins—he’s the deputy, and he was in favor of the league—he took the assembly yesterday, and he said that Mr. Willis had made a mistake, and that people could wear the badges if they wanted to. He found the box of badges in the headmaster’s study and gave them all out again.”

  “What do the other teachers think of this league?”

  “Some like it and some don’t. Mr. Savery, the math teacher, hates it. Someone asked him during a lesson what he thought about it, and they must have guessed he was against it because he said he thought the whole thing was disgusting, it was a celebration of a nasty rotten little sneak who got his parents killed. I think one or two people saw it differently after that and they took their badges off when no one was looking and pretended they’d lost ’em. No one actually said they agreed with Mr. Savery ’cause then they’d get reported themselves.”

  “But you haven’t joined?”

  “No. I suppose about half the kids have and the other half haven’t. I didn’t like her—that was one reason. Another was I didn’t…Well, if I thought my parents were doing something wrong, I still wouldn’t want to tell on ’em. And…I suppose I reckon this league has got something to do with the CCD.”

  It had occurred to Malcolm already, and it came back to him now, that what he was doing in talking to Dr. Relf was very like what St. Alexander was celebrated for. What was the difference? Only that he liked and trusted Dr. Relf. But he was no less a spy for that.

  He felt uncomfortable, and she noticed.

  “Are you thinking—”

  “I’m thinking that I’m sneaking to you, really.”

  “Well, it’s true in a way, but I wouldn’t call it sneaking. I have to report the things I find out, so I’m doing the same sort of thing. The difference is that I think the people I work for are good. I believe in what they do. I think they’re on the right side.”

  “Against the CCD?”

  “Of course. Against people who kill and leave bodies in the canal.”

  “Against the League of St. Alexander?”

  “One hundred percent against it. I think it’s a loathsome idea. But what about those forms you said people had to sign? Didn’t they have to take them home for their parents to look at?”

  “No, because she said that this was a matter just for children, and if St. Alexander had had to ask his parents, they’d have said no. Some of the teachers didn’t like it, but they had to go along with it.”

  “I must try and find out about this league. It doesn’t sound good to me at all.”

  “I don’t know why she came to the priory to see Lyra. She’s too young to join anything.”

  “It’s interesting, though,” said Dr. Relf, getting up to make some chocolatl. “But we’ll talk about books now. How are you getting along with the quantum one?”

  —

  Hannah had been busy in the past few days seeking out a number of new left-luggage boxes. Once she’d found half a dozen, she went to Harry Dibdin at the Bodleian Library with another cataloging query.

  “Glad you came,” he said. “They’ve found you another insulator.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Well, things are hotting up. You must have noticed.”

  “Actually, I had. Anyway, if there’s an insulator in place, I can use these new boxes straightaway. Harry…you’ve got children at school, haven’t you?”

  “Two of them. Why?”

  “Have they heard of the League of St. Alexander?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it. I said no.”

  “They came home and asked?”

  “They were full of it. I told them it was a horrible idea.”

  “D’you know where it started? Who’s behind it?”

  “I imagine the usual sources. Why?”

  “It’s something new. I’m just curious. You said things were hotting up—this is part of it. In your children’s school, was there a woman called Carmichael involved?”

  “I don’t know. They just said it had been announced. I don’t get told details.”

  She told him what had happened at Ulvercote Elementary School.

  “And this is your young agent reporting?” he said.

  “He’s very good. But he’s worried now that he’s doing that very thing—spying on people and telling me.”

  “Well, he is.”

  “He’s very young, Harry. He’s got a conscience.”

  “You have to look after him.”

  “I know,” she said. “No one can advise me, but I have to advise him. No, don’t get up. Here’s the list of my new drops. Bye, Harry.”

  —

  The report she wrote took up four sheets of the special India paper she used, even cramming her writing as tightly as she could and using a super-sharp hard pencil. It wasn’t easy to fold it small enough to fit inside the acorn, but she got it in eventually, and then went for a walk in the Botanic Garden, where a space under a particular thick root inside one of the hothouses was the first left-luggage box.

  Then she went back to the work she should have been doing with the alethiometer. She had fallen behind; it was beginning to look as if she’d hit an obstacle, or had fallen out of sympathy with the instrument. She would have to be careful. There was a monthly meeting of the alethiometer research group coming up, when they compared results and discussed lines of approach, and if she had nothing to say, her privileges might be withdrawn.

  —

  Malcolm’s headmaster, Mr. Willis, was still away on Monday, and on Tuesday Mr. Hawkins, the deputy head, announced that Mr. Willis wouldn’t be coming back,
and that he would be in charge himself from then on. There was an intake of breath from the pupils. They all knew the reason: Mr. Willis had defied the League of St. Alexander, and now he was being punished. It gave the badge wearers a giddy sense of power. By themselves they had unseated the authority of a headmaster. No teacher was safe now. Malcolm watched the faces of the staff members as Mr. Hawkins made the announcement: Mr. Savery put his head in his hands, Miss Davis bit her lip, Mr. Croker, the woodwork teacher, looked angry. Some of the others gave little triumphant smiles; most were expressionless.

  And there was a sort of swagger among the badge wearers. It was rumored that in one of the older classes, the Scripture teacher had been telling them about the miracles in the Bible and explaining how some of them could be interpreted realistically, such as Moses’s parting of the Red Sea. He told them that it might just have been a shallow part of the sea and that a high wind would sometimes blow the water away, so it was possible to walk across. One of the boys had challenged him and warned him to be careful and held up his badge, and the teacher had backed down and said that he was only telling them that as an example of a wicked lie, and the Bible was right: the whole deep sea had been held apart for the Israelites to cross.

  Other teachers fell into line as well. They taught less vigorously and told fewer stories, lessons became duller and more careful, and yet this seemed to be what the badge wearers wanted. The effect was as if each teacher was being examined by a fierce inspector, and each lesson became an ordeal in which not the pupils but the teachers were being tested.

  The badge wearers began to put pressure on the other children too.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a badge?”

  “Why haven’t you joined?”

  “Are you an atheist?”

  When Malcolm was challenged, he just shrugged and said, “Dunno. I’ll think about it.” Some children said that their parents hadn’t let them join, but when the badge wearers smiled with triumph and wrote down their names and addresses, they became frightened and took a badge when they were told to.