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“Well, sir,” he said, “what have you come to tell me?”
“Three things. Please let me say them all before you speak. My name is Baruch. My companion Balthamos and I are of the rebels’ party, and so we were drawn to your standard as soon as you raised it. But we wanted to bring you something valuable, because our power is small, and not long ago we managed to find our way to the heart of the Clouded Mountain, the Authority’s citadel in the Kingdom. And there we learned . . .”
He had to stop for a moment to breathe in the smoke of the herbs, which seemed to steady him. He continued:
“We learned the truth about the Authority. We learned that he has retired to a chamber of crystal deep within the Clouded Mountain, and that he no longer runs the daily affairs of the Kingdom. Instead, he contemplates deeper mysteries. In his place, ruling on his behalf, there is an angel called Metatron. I have reason to know that angel well, though when I knew him . . .”
Baruch’s voice faded. Lord Asriel’s eyes were blazing, but he held his tongue and waited for Baruch to continue.
“Metatron is proud,” Baruch went on when he had recovered a little strength, “and his ambition is limitless. The Authority chose him four thousand years ago to be his Regent, and they laid their plans together. They have a new plan, which my companion and I were able to discover. The Authority considers that conscious beings of every kind have become dangerously independent, so Metatron is going to intervene much more actively in human affairs. They intend to move the Authority secretly away from the Clouded Mountain, to a permanent citadel somewhere else, and turn the mountain into an engine of war. The churches in every world are corrupt and weak, he thinks, they compromise too readily . . . He wants to set up a permanent inquisition in every world, run directly from the Kingdom. And his first campaign will be to destroy your Republic . . .”
They were both trembling, the angel and the man, but one from weakness and the other from excitement.
Baruch gathered his remaining strength, and went on:
“The second thing is this. There is a knife that can cut openings between the worlds, as well as anything in them. Its power is unlimited, but only in the hands of the one who knows how to use it. And that person is a boy . . .”
Once again the angel had to stop and recover. He was frightened; he could feel himself drifting apart. Lord Asriel could see the effort he made to hold himself together, and sat tensely gripping the arms of his chair until Baruch found the strength to go on.
“My companion is with him now. We wanted to bring him directly to you, but he refused, because . . . This is the third thing I must tell you: he and your daughter are friends. And he will not agree to come to you until he has found her. She is—”
“Who is this boy?”
“He is the son of the shaman. Of Stanislaus Grumman.”
Lord Asriel was so surprised he stood up involuntarily, sending billows of smoke swirling around the angel.
“Grumman had a son?” he said.
“Grumman was not born in your world. Nor was his real name Grumman. My companion and I were led to him by his own desire to find the knife. We followed him, knowing he would lead us to it and its bearer, intending to bring the bearer to you. But the boy refused to . . .”
Once again Baruch had to stop. Lord Asriel sat down again, cursing his own impatience, and sprinkled some more herbs on the fire. His dæmon lay nearby, her tail sweeping slowly across the oaken floor, her golden eyes never leaving the angel’s pain-filled face. Baruch took several slow breaths, and Lord Asriel held his silence. The slap of the rope on the flagpole above was the only sound.
“Take your time, sir,” Lord Asriel said gently. “Do you know where my daughter is?”
“Himalaya . . . in her own world,” whispered Baruch. “Great mountains. A cave near a valley full of rainbows . . .”
“A long way from here in both worlds. You flew quickly.”
“It is the only gift I have,” said Baruch, “except the love of Balthamos, whom I shall never see again.”
“And if you found her so easily—”
“Then any other angel may, too.”
Lord Asriel seized a great atlas from the map chest and flung it open, looking for the pages that showed the Himalaya.
“Can you be precise?” he said. “Can you show me exactly where?”
“With the knife . . .” Baruch tried to say, and Lord Asriel realized his mind was wandering. “With the knife he can enter and leave any world at will . . . Will is his name. But they are in danger, he and Balthamos . . . Metatron knows we have his secret. They pursued us . . . They caught me alone on the borders of your world . . . I was his brother . . . That was how we found our way to him in the Clouded Mountain. Metatron was once Enoch, the son of Jared, the son of Mahalalel . . . Enoch had many wives. He was a lover of the flesh . . . My brother Enoch cast me out, because I . . . Oh, my dear Balthamos . . .”
“Where is the girl?”
“Yes. Yes. A cave . . . her mother . . . valley full of winds and rainbows . . . tattered flags on the shrine . . .”
He raised himself to look at the atlas.
Then the snow-leopard dæmon got to her feet in one swift movement and leapt to the door, but it was too late: the orderly who had knocked had opened without waiting. That was the way things were done; it was no one’s fault; but seeing the expression on the soldier’s face as he looked past him, Lord Asriel turned back to see Baruch straining and quivering to hold his wounded form together. The effort was too much. A draft from the open door sent an eddy of air across the bed, and the particles of the angel’s form, loosened by the waning of his strength, swirled upward into randomness and vanished.
“Balthamos!” came a whisper from the air.
Lord Asriel put his hand on his dæmon’s neck; she felt him tremble, and stilled him. He turned to the orderly.
“My lord, I beg your—”
“Not your fault. Take my compliments to King Ogunwe. I would be glad if he and my other commanders could step here at once. I would also like Mr. Basilides to attend, with the alethiometer. Finally I want No. 2 Squadron of gyropters armed and fueled, and a tanker zeppelin to take off at once and head southwest. I shall send further orders in the air.”
The orderly saluted and, with one more swift uneasy glance at the empty bed, went out and shut the door.
Lord Asriel tapped the desk with a pair of brass dividers, and crossed to open the southern window. Far below, the deathless fires put out their glow and smoke on the darkling air, and even at this great height the clang of hammers could be heard in the snapping wind.
“Well, we’ve learned a lot, Stelmaria,” he said quietly.
“But not enough,” she replied.
There came another knock at the door, and the alethiometrist came in. He was a pale, thin man in early middle age; his name was Teukros Basilides, and his dæmon was a nightingale.
“Mr. Basilides, good evening to you,” said Lord Asriel. “This is our problem, and I would like you to put everything else aside while you deal with it . . .”
He told the man what Baruch had said, and showed him the atlas.
“Pinpoint that cave,” he said. “Get me the coordinates as precisely as you can. This is the most important task you have ever undertaken. Begin at once, if you please.”
stamped her foot so hard it even hurt her in the dream. “You don’t believe I’d do that, Roger, so don’t say it. I will wake up and I won’t forget, so there.”
She looked around, but all she could see were wide eyes and hopeless faces, pale faces, dark faces, old faces, young faces, all the dead cramming and crowding, close and silent and sorrowful.
Roger’s face was different. His expression was the only one that contained hope.
She said, “Why d’you look like that? Why en’t you miserable, like them? Why en’t you at the end of your hope?”
And he said, “Because
SIX
PREEMPTIVE ABSOLUTION
… Reliques, Beads,
Indulgences, Dispenses, Pardons, Bulls,
The sport of Winds …
• JOHN MILTON •
“Now, Fra Pavel,” said the Inquirer of the Consistorial Court of Discipline, “I want you to recall exactly, if you can, the words you heard the witch speak on the ship.”
