AN EXTRACT FROM THE AMBER SPYGLASS

This is the eagerly awaited concluding part of His Dark Materials and follows
His Dark Materials I: Northern Lights and His Dark Materials II: The Subtle Knife.

An extract from Vodka, Chapter 8 of His Dark Materials III: The Amber Spyglass
by David Fickling Books an imprint of Scholastic.

Will walked into the outskirts of the scruffy little town, where the buildings leant even more perilously than the village, and where the flooding had left its mud-stains on the walls high above Will’s head. The edge of the town was deserted, but as he made his way towards the river, the noise of shouting, of screams, and of the crackle of rifle fire got louder.

And here at last there were people: some watching from upper floor windows, some craning anxiously around the corners of buildings to look ahead at the waterfront, where the metal fingers of cranes and derricks and the masts of big vessels rose above the rooftops.

An explosion shook the walls, and glass fell out of a nearby window. People drew back and then peered round again, and more cries rose into the smoky air.

Will reached the corner of the street, and looked along the waterfront. When the smoke and dust cleared a little, he saw one rusting vessel standing off shore, keeping its place against the flow of the river, and on the wharf a mob of

people armed with rifles or pistols surrounding a great

gun, which, as he watched, boomed again. A flash of fire, a lurching recoil, and near the vessel, a mighty splash.

Will shaded his eyes. There were figures in the boat, but - he rubbed his eyes, even though he knew what to expect: they weren’t human. They were huge beings of metal, or creatures in heavy armour, and on the foredeck of the vessel a bright flower of flame suddenly bloomed, and the people cried out in alarm. The flame sped into the air, rising higher and coming closer and shedding sparks and smoke, and then fell with a great splash of fire near the gun. Men cried and scattered, and some ran in flames to the water’s edge and plunged in, to be swept along and out of sight in the current.

Will found a man close by who looked like a teacher, and said:

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes, yes, indeed - "

"What is happening?"

"The bears, they are attacking, and we try to fight them, but is difficult, we have only one gun, and - "

The fire-thrower on the boat hurled another gout of blazing pitch, and this time it landed even closer to the gun. Three big explosions almost immediately afterwards showed that it had found the ammunition, and the gunners leapt away, letting the barrel swing down low.

"Ah," the man lamented, "it’s no good, they can’t fire - "

The commander of the boat brought its head round and moved in towards the shore. Many people cried out in alarm and despair, especially when another great bulb of flame burst into being on the foredeck, and some of those with rifles fired a shot or two and turned to flee; but this time the bears didn’t launch the fire, and soon the vessel moved broadside on towards the wharf, engine beating hard to hold it against the current.

Two sailors (human, not bears) leapt down to throw ropes around the bollards, and a great hiss and cry of anger rose from the townsfolk at these human traitors. The sailors took no notice, but ran to lower a gangplank.

Then as they turned to go back on board, a shot was fired from somewhere near Will, and one of the sailors fell. His dæmon - a seagull - vanished as if she’d been pinched out of existence like a candle flame.

The reaction from the bears was pure fury. At once the fire-thrower was re-lit and hauled around to face the shore, and the mass of flame shot upwards and then cascaded in a hundred spilling gouts over the rooftops. And at the top of the gangway appeared a bear larger than any of the others, an apparition of iron-clad might, and the bullets that rained on him whined and clanged and thudded uselessly, unable to make the slightest dent in his massive armour.

Will said to the man beside him, "Why are they attacking the town?"

"They want fuel. But we have no dealings with bears. Now they are leaving their kingdom and sailing up the river, who knows what they will do? So we must fight them. Pirates — robbers —"

The great bear had come down the gangway, and massed behind him were several others, so heavy that the ship listed; and Will saw that the men on the wharf had gone back to the gun, and were loading a shell into the breech.

An idea came, and he ran out on to the quayside, right into the empty space between the gunners and the bear.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop fighting. Let me speak to

the bear!"

There was a sudden lull, and everyone stood still, astonished at this crazy behaviour. The bear himself, who had been gathering his strength to charge the gunners, stayed where he was, but every line of his body trembled with ferocity. His great claws dug into the ground, and his black eyes glowed with rage under the iron helmet.

"What are you? What do you want?" he roared in English, since Will had spoken in that language.

The people watching looked at one another in bewilderment, and those who could understand translated for

the others.

"I’ll fight you, in single combat," cried Will, "and if you give way, then the fighting has to stop."

The bear didn’t move. As for the people, as soon as they understood what Will was saying, they shouted and jeered and hooted with mocking laughter. But not for long, because Will turned to face the crowd, and stood cold-eyed, contained, and perfectly still, until the laughter stopped. He could feel the blackbird-Balthamos trembling on his shoulder.

When the people were silent, he called out, "If I make the bear give way, you must agree to sell them fuel. Then they’ll go on along the river and leave you alone. You must agree. If you don’t, they’ll destroy all of you."

He knew that the huge bear was only a few yards behind him, but he didn’t turn; he watched the townspeople talking, gesticulating, arguing, and after a minute, a voice called, "Boy! Make the bear agree!"

Will turned back. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath and called:

"Bear! You must agree. If you give way to me, the fighting has to stop, and you can buy fuel and go peacefully

up the river."

"Impossible," roared the bear. "It would be shameful

to fight you. You are as weak as an oyster out of its shell.

I cannot fight you."

"I agree," said Will, and every scrap of his attention was now focused on this great ferocious being in front of him. "It’s not a fair contest at all. You have all that armour, and I have none. You could take off my head with one sweep of your paw. Make it fairer, then. Give me one piece of your armour, any one you like. Your helmet, for example. Then we’ll be better matched, and it’ll be no shame to fight me."

With a snarl that expressed hatred, rage, scorn, the bear reached up with a great claw and unhooked the chain that held his helmet in place.

And now there was a deep hush over the whole waterfront. No one spoke — no one moved. They could tell that something was happening such as they’d never seen before, and they couldn’t tell what it was. The only sound now was the splashing of the river against the wooden pilings, the beat of the ship’s engine, and the restless crying of seagulls overhead; and then the great clang as the bear hurled his

helmet down at Will’s feet.

Will put his rucksack down, and hoisted the helmet up on its end. He could barely lift it. It consisted of a single sheet of iron, dark and dented, with eye-holes on top and a massive chain underneath. It was as long as Will’s forearm, and as thick as his thumb.

"So this is your armour," he said. "Well, it doesn’t look very strong to me. I don’t know if I can trust it. Let me see."

And he took the knife from the rucksack and rested the edge against the front of the helmet, and sliced off a corner as if he were cutting butter.

"That’s what I thought," he said, and cut another and another, reducing the massive thing to a pile of fragments in less than a minute. He stood up and held out a handful.

"That was your armour," he said, and dropped the pieces with a clatter on to the rest at his feet, "and this is

my knife. And since your helmet was no good to me, I’ll have to fight without it. Are you ready, bear? I think we’re well matched. I could take off your head with one sweep

of my knife, after all."

Utter stillness. The bear’s black eyes glowed like pitch, and Will felt a drop of sweat trickle down his spine.

Then the bear’s head moved. He shook it and took a step backwards.

"Too strong a weapon," he said. "I can’t fight that. Boy, you win."

Will knew that a second later the people would cheer and hoot and whistle, so even before the bear had finished saying the word "win", Will had begun to turn and call out, to keep them quiet:

"Now you must keep the bargain. Look after the wounded people and start repairing the buildings. Then let the boat tie up and refuel."

He knew that it would take a minute to translate that and let the message spread out among the watching townsfolk, and he knew too that the delay would prevent their relief and anger from bursting out, as a net of sandbanks baffles and breaks up the flow of a river. The bear watched and saw what he was doing and why, and understood more fully than Will himself did what the boy had achieved.

Will put the knife back in the rucksack, and he and the bear exchanged another glance, but a different kind this time. They approached, and behind them the bears began to dismantle their fire-thrower, the other two ships manoeuvred their way to the quayside.

On shore, some of the people set about clearing up, but several more came crowding to see Will, curious about this boy and the power he had to command the bear. It was time for Will to become inconspicuous again, so he performed the magic that had deflected all kinds of curiosity away from his mother and kept them safe for years. Of course, it wasn’t magic, but simply a way of behaving. He made himself quiet and dull-eyed and slow, and in under a minute he became less interesting, less attractive to human attention. The people simply became bored with this dull child, and forgot him and turned away.

But the bear’s attention was not human, and he could see what was happening, and he knew it was yet another extraordinary power at Will’s command. He came close and spoke quietly, in his voice that seemed to throb as deeply as the ship’s engines.

"What is your name?" he said.

"Will Parry. Can you make another helmet?"

"Yes. What do you seek?"

"You’re going up the river. I want to come with you. I’m going to the mountains and this is the quickest way. Will you take me?"

"Yes. I want to see that knife."

"I will only show it to a bear I can trust. There is one bear I’ve heard of who’s trustworthy. He is the king of the bears, a good friend of the girl I’m going to the mountains to find. Her name is Lyra Silvertongue. The bear is called Iorek Byrnison."

"I am Iorek Byrnison," said the bear.

"I know you are," said Will.

The boat was taking fuel on board; the rail trucks were hauled alongside and tilted sideways to let coal thunder down the chutes into the hold, and the black dust rose high above them. Unnoticed by the townspeople, who were busy sweeping up glass and haggling over the price of the fuel, Will followed the bear-king up the gangway and aboard the ship.

Text copyright © Philip Pullman, 2000