The Golden Compass (His Dark Materials 1)

“I should like that very much.”

She fished inelegantly in the oilskin pouch and handed him the velvet package. He unfolded it and held it up with great care, gazing at the face like a Scholar gazing at a rare manuscript.

“How exquisite!” he said. “I have seen one other example, but it was not so fine as this. And do you possess the books of readings?”

“No,” Lyra began, but before she could say any more, Farder Coram was speaking.

“No, the great pity is that although Lyra possesses the alethiometer itself, there's no means of reading it whatsoever,” he said. “It's just as much of a mystery as the pools of ink the Hindus use for reading the future. And the nearest book of readings I know of is in the Abbey of St. Johann at Heidelberg.”

Lyra could see why he was saying this: he didn't want Dr. Lanselius to know of Lyra's power. But she could also see something Farder Coram couldn't, which was the agitation of Dr. Lanselius's daemon, and she knew at once that it was no good to pretend.

So she said, “Actually, I can read it,” speaking half to Dr. Lanselius and half to Farder Coram, and it was the consul who responded.

“That is wise of you,” he said. “Where did you obtain this one?”

“The Master of Jordan College in Oxford gave it to me,” she said. “Dr. Lanselius, do you know who made them?”

“They are said to originate in the city of Prague,” said the consul. “The Scholar who invented the first alethiometer was apparently trying to discover a way of measuring the influences of the planets, according to the ideas of astrology. He intended to make a device that would respond to the idea of Mars or Venus as a compass responds to the idea of North. In that he failed, but the mechanism he invented was clearly responding to something, even if no one knew what it was.”

“And where did they get the symbols from?”

“Oh, this was in the seventeenth century. Symbols and emblems were everywhere. Buildings and pictures were designed to be read like books. Everything stood for something else; if you had the right dictionary, you could read Nature itself. It was hardly surprising to find philosophers using the symbolism of their time to interpret knowledge that came from a mysterious source. But, you know, they haven't been used seriously for two centuries or so.”

He handed the instrument back to Lyra, and added:

“May I ask a question? Without the books of symbols, how do you read it?”

“I just make my mind go clear and then it's sort of like looking down into water. You got to let your eyes find the right level, because that's the only one that's in focus. Something like that,” she said.

“I wonder if I might ask to see you do it?” he said.

Lyra looked at Farder Coram, wanting to say yes but waiting for his approval. The old man nodded.

“What shall I ask?” said Lyra.

“What are the intentions of the Tartars with regard to Kamchatka?”

That wasn't hard. Lyra turned the hands to the camel, which meant Asia, which meant Tartars; to the cornucopia, for Kamchatka, where there were gold mines; and to the ant, which meant activity, which meant purpose and intention. Then she sat still, letting her mind hold the three levels of meaning together in focus, and relaxed for the answer, which came almost at once. The long needle trembled on the dolphin, the helmet, the baby, and the anchor, dancing between them and onto the crucible in a complicated pattern that Lyra's eyes followed without hesitation, but which was incomprehensible to the two men.

When it had completed the movements several times, Lyra looked up. She blinked once or twice as if she were coming out of a trance.

“They're going to pretend to attack it, but they're not really going to, because it's too far away and they'd be too stretched out,” she said.

“Would you tell me how you read that?”

“The dolphin, one of its deep-down meanings is playing, sort of like being playful,” she explained. “I know it's the fifteenth because it stopped fifteen times and it just got clear at that level but nowhere else. And the helmet means war, and both together they mean pretend to go to war but not be serious. And the baby means—it means difficult—it'd be too hard for them to attack it, and the anchor says why, because they'd be stretched out as tight as an anchor rope. I just see it all like that, you see.”

Dr. Lanselius nodded.

“Remarkable,” he said. “I am very grateful. I shall not forget that.”

Then he looked strangely at Farder Coram, and back at Lyra.

“Could I ask you for one more demonstration?” he said. “If you look out of this window, you'll see a shed with forty or more sprays of cloud-pine hanging on the wall. One of them has been used by Serafina Pekkala, and the others have not. Could you tell which is hers?”

“Yeah!” said Lyra, always ready to show off, and she took the alethiometer and hurried out. She was eager to see cloud-pine, because the witches used it for flying, and she'd never seen any before.

The two men stood by the window and watched as she kicked her way through the snow, Pantalaimon bouncing beside her as a hare, to stand in front of the wooden shed, head down, manipulating the alethiometer. After a few seconds she reached forward and unhesitatingly picked out one of the many sprays of pine and held it up.

Dr. Lanselius nodded.

Lyra, intrigued and eager to fly, held it above her head and jumped, and ran about in the snow trying to be a witch. The consul turned to Farder Coram and said: “Do you realize who this child is?”

“She's the daughter of Lord Asriel,” said Farder Coram.

“And her mother is Mrs. Coulter, of the Oblation Board.”

“And apart from that?”

The old gyptian had to shake his head. “No,” he said, “I don't know any more. But she's a strange innocent creature, and I wouldn't have her harmed for the world. How she comes to read that instrument I couldn't guess, but I believe her when she talks of it. Why, Dr. Lanselius? What do you know about her?”

“The witches have talked about this child for centuries past,” said the consul. “Because they live so close to the place where the veil between the worlds is thin, they hear immortal whispers from time to time, in the voices of those beings who pass between the worlds. And they have spoken of a child such as this, who has a great destiny that can only be fulfilled elsewhere—not in this world, but far beyond. Without this child, we shall all die. So the witches say. But she must fulfill this destiny in ignorance of what she is doing, because only in her ignorance can we be saved. Do you understand that, Farder Coram?”

“No,” said Farder Coram, “I'm unable to say that I do.”

“What it means is that she must be free to make mistakes. We must hope that she does not, but we can't guide her. I am glad to have seen this child before I die.”

“But how did you recognize her as being that particular child? And what did you mean about the beings who pass between the worlds? I'm at a loss to understand you, Dr. Lanselius, for all that I judge you're an honest man….”

But before the consul could answer, the door opened and Lyra came in bearing a little branch of pine.

“This is the one!” she said. “I tested 'em all, and this is it, I'm sure. But it won't fly for me.”

The consul said, “Well, Lyra, that is remarkable. You are lucky to have an instrument like that, and I wish you well with it. I would like to give you something to take away with you….”

He took the spray and broke off a twig for her.

“Did she really fly with this?” Lyra said.

“Yes, she did. But then she is a witch, and you are not. I can't give you all of it, because I need it to contact her, but this will be enough. Look after it.”

“Yes, I will,” she said. “Thank you.”

And she tucked it into her purse beside the alethiometer. Farder Coram touched the spray of pine as if for luck, and on his face was an expression Lyra had never seen before: almost a longing. The consul showed them to the door, where he shook hands with Farder Coram, and shook Lyra's hand too.

“I hope you find success,” he said, and stood on his doorstep in the piercing cold to watch them up the little street.

“He knew the answer about the Tartars before I did,” Lyra told Farder Coram. “The alethiometer told me, but I never said. It was the crucible.”