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you’d stand out otherwise.”
    Will was too angry to speak. He got up and walked twenty steps away through the soft, deep sand, and then stopped, for the heat and humidity were stunning.
    He turned around to see the two angels talking closely together, and then they came up to him, humble and awkward, but proud, too.
    Baruch said, “We are sorry. I shall go on my own to Lord Asriel and give him our information, and ask him to send you help to find his daughter. It will be two days’ flying time, if I navigate truly.”
    “And I shall stay with you, Will,” said Balthamos.
    “Well,” said Will, “thank you.”
    The two angels embraced. Then Baruch folded his arms around Will and kissed him on both cheeks. The kiss was light and cool, like the hands of Balthamos.
    “If we keep moving toward Lyra,” Will said, “will you find us?”
    “I shall never lose Balthamos,” said Baruch, and stepped back.
    Then he leapt into the air, soared swiftly into the sky, and vanished among the scattered stars. Balthamos was looking after him with desperate longing.
    “Shall we sleep here, or should we move on?” he said finally, turning to Will.
    “Sleep here,” said Will.
    “Then sleep, and I’ll watch out for danger. Will, I have been short with you, and it was wrong of me. You have the greatest burden, and I should help you, not chide you. I shall try to be kinder from now on.”
    So Will lay down on the warm sand, and somewhere nearby, he thought, the angel was keeping watch; but that was little comfort.
     
    get us out of here, Roger, I promise. And Will’s coming, I’m sure he is!”
    He didn’t understand. He spread his pale hands and shook his head.
    “I dunno who that is, and he won’t come here,” he said, “and if he does, he won’t know me.”
    “He’s coming to me,” she said, “and me and Will, oh, I don’t know how, Roger, but I swear we’ll help. And don’t forget there’s others on our side. There’s Serafina and there’s Iorek, and

THREE
    SCAVENGERS
    The knight’s bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;—
His soul is with the saints, I trust.
    • S. T. COLERIDGE •
    Serafina Pekkala, the clan queen of the witches of Lake Enara, wept as she flew through the turbid skies of the Arctic. She wept with rage and fear and remorse: rage against the woman Coulter, whom she had sworn to kill; fear of what was happening to her beloved land; and remorse . . . She would face the remorse later.
    Meanwhile, looking down at the melting ice cap, the flooded lowland forests, the swollen sea, she felt heartsick.
    But she didn’t stop to visit her homeland, or to comfort and encourage her sisters. Instead, she flew north and farther north, into the fogs and gales around Svalbard, the kingdom of Iorek Byrnison, the armored bear.
    She hardly recognized the main island. The mountains lay bare and black, and only a few hidden valleys facing away from the sun had retained a little snow in their shaded corners; but what was the sun doing here anyway, at this time of year? The whole of nature was overturned.
    It took her most of a day to find the bear-king. She saw him among the rocks off the northern edge of the island, swimming fast after a walrus. It was harder for bears to kill in the water: when the land was covered in ice and the great sea-mammals had to come up to breathe, the bears had the advantage of camouflage and their prey was out of its element. That was how things should be.
    But Iorek Byrnison was hungry, and even the stabbing tusks of the mighty walrus couldn’t keep him at bay. Serafina watched as the creatures fought, turning the white sea-spray red, and saw Iorek haul the carcass out of the waves and onto a broad shelf of rock, watched at a respectful distance by three ragged-furred foxes, waiting for their turn at the feast.
    When the bear-king had finished eating, Serafina flew down to speak to him. Now was the time to face her remorse.
    “King Iorek Byrnison,” she said, “please