‘But now they’re being threatened …’ Asriel got up and went to the window to look at the few lights from the priory across the river.
‘Seems like it, sir. I mean your lordship.’
‘Sir will do. D’you think they’d let me see her?’
‘The nuns? Not if the Lord Chancellor had told them not to.’
‘And he has, eh?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir. What I think is they’d do anything to protect her. Specially Sister Benedicta. If they thought anyone or anything was a danger to her they’d … I suppose they’d do anything, like I said.’
‘So you know them well, these nuns.’
‘I’ve known ’em all my life, sir.’
‘And they’d listen to you?’
‘I suppose they would, yes.’
‘Could you tell them I’m here and I’d like to see my daughter?’
‘When?’
‘Right now. I’m being pursued. The High Court has ordered me not to go within fifty miles of her, and if I’m found here they’ll take her away and put her somewhere else where they aren’t so careful.’
Malcolm was torn between saying, ‘Well, you ought not to risk it then,’ and simple admiration and understanding: of course the man would want to see his daughter, and it was wicked to try and prevent him.
‘Well …’ Malcolm thought hard, and said, ‘I don’t think you could see her right now, sir. They go to bed ever so early. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all fast asleep now. In the morning they get up ever so early too. Maybe—’
‘I haven’t got that long. Which room have they made into a nursery?’
‘Round the other side, sir, facing the orchard.’
‘Which floor?’
‘All their bedrooms are on the ground floor, and hers is too.’
‘And you know which one?’
‘Yes, I do, but—’
‘You could show me then. Come on.’
There was no refusing this man. Malcolm led him out of the Terrace Room and along the corridor, and out on to the terrace before his father could see them. He closed the door very quietly behind them, and found the garden brilliantly lit by the clearest full moon there’d been for months. It felt as if they were being lit by a floodlight.
‘Did you say there was someone pursuing you?’ asked Malcolm quietly.
‘Yes. There’s someone watching the bridge. Is there any other way across the river?’
‘There’s my canoe. It’s down this way, sir. Let’s get off the terrace before anyone sees us.’
Lord Asriel went beside him across the grass and into the lean-to shelter where the canoe was kept.
‘Ah, it’s a proper canoe,’ said Lord Asriel, as if he’d been expecting a toy. Malcolm felt a little affronted on behalf of La Belle Sauvage, and said nothing as he turned her over and let her slip quietly down the grass and on to the water.
‘First thing,’ he said, ‘is we’ll go downstream a short way, so’s no one can see us from the bridge. There’s a way into the priory garden on that side. You get in first, sir.’
Asriel did so, much more capably than Malcolm had anticipated, and his leopard-dæmon followed, with no more weight than a shadow. The canoe hardly moved at all, and Asriel sat down lightly and kept still as Malcolm got in after him.
‘You been in a canoe before,’ Malcolm whispered.
‘Yes. This is a good one.’
‘Quiet now …’
Malcolm pushed off and began to paddle, staying close to the bank under the trees and making no noise whatsoever. If there was one thing he was good at, this was it. Once they were out of sight of the bridge, he turned the boat to starboard and made for the other shore.
‘I’m going to come up alongside a willow stump,’ he said very quietly. ‘The grass is thick there. We’ll tie her up and go back across the field, behind the hedge.’
Lord Asriel was just as good at getting out as he’d been at getting in. Malcolm couldn’t imagine a better passenger. He tied the boat to a stout willow branch growing from the stump, and a few seconds later they were moving along the edge of the meadow, under the shade of the hedge.
Malcolm found the gap he knew about, and forced his way through against the brambles. It must have been harder for the man, being bigger, but he didn’t say a word. They were in the priory orchard; the lines of plum trees and apple trees, of pear trees and damson trees, stood bare and neat and fast asleep under the moon.
Malcolm led the way round the back of the priory and came to the side where the window of Lyra’s nursery would be, if it hadn’t been hidden by the new shutters. They did look remarkably solid.
He counted once more to make sure it was the right one, and then tapped quietly on the shutter with a stone.
Lord Asriel was standing close by. The moon was shining full on this side of the building, so they would both be clearly visible from some way off.
Malcolm whispered, ‘I don’t want to wake any of the other nuns, and I don’t want to startle Sister Fenella, because of her heart. We got to be careful.’
‘I’m in your hands,’ said Lord Asriel.
Malcolm tapped again a little harder.
‘Sister Fenella,’ he whispered.
No response. He tapped a third time.
‘Sister Fenella, it’s me, Malcolm,’ he said.
What he was really worried about was Sister Benedicta, of course. He dreaded to think what would happen if he woke her, so he kept as quiet as he could while still trying to wake Sister Fenella, which was not easy.
Asriel stood still, watching and saying nothing.
Finally Malcolm heard a little stir inside the room. Lyra gave a quiet mew, and then it sounded as if Sister Fenella moved a chair or a small table on the floor. Her soft old voice murmured something, like a word or two of comfort to the baby.
He tried again, just a little louder. ‘Sister Fenella …’
A little exclamation of shock.
‘It’s me. Malcolm,’ he said.
A quiet noise, like the movement of bare feet on the floor, and then the click of the window catch.
‘Sister Fenella—’
‘Malcolm? What are you doing?’ Like him, she was whispering. Her voice was frightened and thick with sleep. She hadn’t opened the shutter.
‘Sister, I’m sorry, I really am,’ he said quickly. ‘But Lyra’s father’s here, and he’s being pursued by – by his enemies, and he really needs to see Lyra before … before he goes on somewhere else. To – to say goodbye,’ he added.
‘Oh, that’s nonsense, Malcolm! You know we can’t let him—’
‘Sister, please! He’s really in earnest,’ Malcolm said, finding that phrase from somewhere.
‘It’s impossible. You must go away now, Malcolm. This is a bad thing to ask. Go away before she wakes up. I daren’t think what Sister Benedicta—’
Malcolm didn’t dare think it either. But then he felt Lord Asriel’s hand on his shoulder, and the man said, ‘Let me speak to Sister Fenella. You go and keep watch, Malcolm.’
Malcolm moved away to the corner of the building. From there he could see the bridge and most of the garden, and watch as Lord Asriel leaned towards the shutter and spoke quietly. It was a whisper; Malcolm could hear nothing at all. How long Asriel and Sister Fenella spoke he couldn’t have guessed, but it was a long time, and he was shivering hard when he saw, to his amazement, the heavy shutter move slowly. Lord Asriel stood back to let it open, and then stepped in again, showing his open weapon-less hands, turning his head a little to let the moonlight fall clearly on his face.
He whispered again. Then there was a minute, two minutes perhaps, in which nothing happened; and then Sister Fenella’s thin arms held out the little bundle, and Asriel took it with infinite delicacy. His leopard-dæmon stood up to put her forepaws on his waist, and Asriel held the baby down so she could whisper to Lyra’s dæmon.
How had he persuaded Sister Fenella? Malcolm could only wonder. He watched the
man lift the baby again and walk away along the grass between one bare flower bed and the next, holding the bundle high so he could whisper to her, rocking her gently, strolling along slowly in the brilliant moonlight. At one point he seemed to be showing the moon to Lyra, pointing up at it and holding her so she could see, or perhaps he was showing Lyra to the moon; at any rate he looked like a lord in his own domain, with nothing to fear and all the silvery night to enjoy.
Up and down he strolled with his child. Malcolm thought of Sister Fenella waiting in fear – in case Lord Asriel didn’t bring her back, in case his enemies attacked, in case Sister Benedicta suspected something was up. But there was no sound from the priory, no sound from the road, no sound from the man and his baby daughter in the moonlight.
At one point the leopard-dæmon seemed to hear something. Her tail lashed once, her ears pricked, her head turned to face the bridge. Malcolm and Asta turned immediately, ears and eyes tight-focused on the bridge, every separate stone of which was clearly outlined in black and silver; but nothing moved, and there was no sound but the call of a hunting owl half a mile away.
Presently the leopard-dæmon’s statue-like stillness melted, and she moved away once more, lithe and silent. Malcolm realised that that was true of the man, as well: during their journey over the river and through the meadow, into the orchard and up to the priory wall, he had not heard the slightest sound of footsteps. Asriel might as well have been a ghost for all the sound he made.
He was turning now at the end of the walk and making for Sister Fenella’s window again. Malcolm watched the bridge, the garden, what he could see of the road, and saw nothing wrong; and when he turned, Asriel was handing the little bundle back up through the window, whispering a word or two, and silently swinging the shutter closed.
Then he beckoned, and Malcolm joined him. It was very difficult to make no noise at all, even on grass, and Malcolm watched to see how the man set his feet down: there was something leopard-like about it – something to practise himself anyway.
Back through the orchard, back to the hedge, through the brambles into the meadow, across to the willow stump –
Then a stronger, yellower light than the moon stabbed the sky. Someone on the bridge had a searchlight, and Malcolm heard the sound of a gas engine.
‘There they are,’ said Asriel quietly. ‘Leave me here, Malcolm.’
‘No! I got a better idea. Take my canoe and go down the river. Just get me back across the other side first.’ The plan occurred to Malcolm in the same moment he said it.
‘You sure?’
‘You can go downstream a long way. They’ll never think of that. Come on!’
He stepped in and untied the painter, holding the boat tight to the bank while Asriel got in too; then Malcolm paddled swiftly and as quietly as he could across to the inn garden, though the current wanted to whirl him out into the open water, where they’d be visible from the bridge.
Asriel caught hold of the fixed line on the little jetty as Malcolm got out, and then Malcolm held the boat while the man sat in the stern, took the paddle, and held out his hand to shake.
‘I’ll get her back to you,’ he said, and then he was gone, speeding with long powerful strokes down the river on the swollen current, the leopard-dæmon like a great figurehead at the prow. La Belle Sauvage had never gone so fast, Malcolm thought.
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First published in Great Britain by David Fickling Books 2008
This edition published by Doubleday 2018
Text copyright © Philip Pullman, 2008
Illustrations copyright © John Lawrence, 2008
Design copyright © Together Design Ltd, 2008
based on a concept by Trickett & Webb Ltd
Excerpt from Lyra’s Oxford: text copyright © Philip Pullman, 2003; illustrations copyright © John Lawrence, 2003
Excerpt from La Belle Sauvage copyright © Philip Pullman, 2017
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
ISBN: 978-1-407-09688-9
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Once Upon a Time in the North Page 9
