FIC: A Summertime Adventure, 1/6
Title: A Summertime Adventure
Wordcount: 1,106
Rating: PG
Summary: Takes place before the events of The Golden Compass. Lyra encounters something mysterious down by the river, and there could be an awfully big adventure in store.
Lyra threw another stone at the pigeons, huddled together like old women on the the rooftop. Used to her habitual abuse, they hardly stirred except to flap a wing wearily in vague protest.
The girl sighed. The truth was, she was bored. It was a bright, hot summer day, but Roger was stuck in the kitchen washing pots again, and she hadn’t anyone to run through the lower streets of Oxford with, or to make mischief in the catacombs of Jordan College. A mouse Pantalaimon crawled over her shoulder, and she absently reached up to stroke him.
“If you’re so bored, why don’t you go bother the gyptians?” he said, his whiskers tickling her ear.
“Aw, Pan, you know Ma Costa chased me off that last time,” she said moodily, sitting down on the edge of the roof, her browned legs swinging off into space. “I wish Roger wasn’t stuck down with that grump in the kitchen…” “Then break him out!” said Pan, who was nearly as bored as she was. “It’s something to do-we could create a diversion and he could escape. He must be nearly done now, anyway. Might as well…” Lyra’s face brightened at the prospect of such a daring maneuver, and she nearly leapt to her feet, teetering dangerously on the edge of the roof. “Yeah, Pan! You could turn into a leopard, and scare the servants’ daemons awfully, and then Roger could slip out, and we’d be out by the river in no time!”
She ran to the low door and came into the upper reaches of the Library of Jordan College. She blinked in the sudden darkness, soft light of the Library contrasting with the strong heat and light of the warm rooftop. As her vision accustomed to the dim light, she saw that one of the Masters was gently snoring, his balding head pillowed on a book. Guess the heat’s even affecting the Masters, she thought, being careful to tiptoe around him. She came quietly down the stairs, Pan as tabby cat padding silently by her side. She pushed open one of the double doors leading into the Library and wound her way through the corridors and stairwells til she came down to the kitchens.
Pan slinked into the shape of a ferret and draped himself around her neck, minding the place where she’d been sunburnt from their time out on the roof. Lyra flattened herself against the wall and Pan peered through the open doorway to try and spot Roger. Through the steamy, pot-clanging atmosphere, Pan saw him disappearing into the small bakery attached to the main kitchen. Secretly relieved that the Pan-becoming-a-leopard scheme wouldn’t be needed-what a scolding she would get if they failed to escape!-Lyra darted to the door of the bakery that opened onto the hallway, and in an instant she was inside, scaring Roger nearly out of his wits.
“Lyra!” In a second her hand was over his mouth, and she was dragging him outside into the hall with his moth-daemon fluttering nervously behind. But the scare soon wore off, and in a moment they laughing, clattering down the stairs and out the side door, into the bright sunlight.
“Cook’ll have my hide,” said Roger, without really meaning it, for he was breathing deeply of the summer air, a relief after the oppressive steam of the kitchens. But Lyra grabbed by the wrist, and said impatiently, “C’mon, Roger! Never mind about the cook.-he never even eats his own food ‘cause it’s too awful! We’re goin’ to the river, to catch crocodiles.”
Roger wasn’t quite sure what a crocodile was, and he was even less sure that they lived in their river, but he ran after the long-legged Lyra anyway as they flashed in and out of crowds, weaving in between the stalls and buyers and sellers of Market Street. Lyra called hello to various ragged children along the way, and a couple of them joined Lyra and Roger, eager to escape the heat with a jump in the river. Finally, they reached the red clay riverbank, and Lyra was the first to dive in, Pan the cat becoming a silver, shimmering trout in mid-dive to swim around Lyra’s legs as she surfaced, treading water. “Come in, all you! It’s lovely.” Roger jumped in, pleased with his loud splash, and his daemon shook into a water rat’s body to play-chase Pan the trout underwater. Pinky and Sparrow, their two town friends who’d tagged along, shed their tattered shirts and jumped in too, the group becoming a laughing, splashing, tangle.
Presently Lyra dove and hid under the reeds, using a hollow one to breathe. She couldn’t wait to see what they’d do when they couldn’t find her. Pinky, a lanky, shaggy-haired boy of twelve, was the first to notice her disappearance.
“‘Ey! Lyra’s gone!” he yelled over to Roger, who was standing in the shallows and engaging in a friendly shouting match with some gyptian kids on the opposite bank. Pinky dropped Sparrow, who he’d had in a headlock, sputtering into the water. “Where’s she gone, huh?” asked Roger, swimming over and flicking water at the oft-abused Sparrow, who was skinny and smaller than all of them. Sparrow shrugged. “I dunno,” he said, picking up his soaking wet rat daemon and letting her climb onto his arm. “Pinky said he knew where she was,” he added. “I never!” said Pinky indignantly. “I just said she’d gone.” “Well, let’s look then,” said Roger, and he headed over to the reeds, where he knew she was fond of hiding.
He dove under, and the green reeds waved like fingers in the clear blue river currents. He reached out to part the reeds, and something that wasn’t Lyra shot out, shooting past him in an explosion of bubbles all the way over in the direction of the deep hollows and pools of the opposite bank. The figure was instantly lost in the murky depths of the middle of the river, and Roger couldn’t be sure what it had been. Maybe some kind of large fish...? He kicked and broke the surface, blinking the water out of his eyes, and he saw Lyra come up from another clump of reeds, spitting out part of a hollow one she must have used to breathe with. Her eyes were as wide as his, and he knew she’d seen it. “What was it, Lyra?” he asked, a little fearfully. She pushed wet blonde hair back off her forehead and spat again to gt rid of the reed's bitter taste. “I dunno,” she said, thoughtfully. “Maybe it was a crocodile.”
Wordcount: 1,106
Rating: PG
Summary: Takes place before the events of The Golden Compass. Lyra encounters something mysterious down by the river, and there could be an awfully big adventure in store.
Lyra threw another stone at the pigeons, huddled together like old women on the the rooftop. Used to her habitual abuse, they hardly stirred except to flap a wing wearily in vague protest.
The girl sighed. The truth was, she was bored. It was a bright, hot summer day, but Roger was stuck in the kitchen washing pots again, and she hadn’t anyone to run through the lower streets of Oxford with, or to make mischief in the catacombs of Jordan College. A mouse Pantalaimon crawled over her shoulder, and she absently reached up to stroke him.
“If you’re so bored, why don’t you go bother the gyptians?” he said, his whiskers tickling her ear.
“Aw, Pan, you know Ma Costa chased me off that last time,” she said moodily, sitting down on the edge of the roof, her browned legs swinging off into space. “I wish Roger wasn’t stuck down with that grump in the kitchen…” “Then break him out!” said Pan, who was nearly as bored as she was. “It’s something to do-we could create a diversion and he could escape. He must be nearly done now, anyway. Might as well…” Lyra’s face brightened at the prospect of such a daring maneuver, and she nearly leapt to her feet, teetering dangerously on the edge of the roof. “Yeah, Pan! You could turn into a leopard, and scare the servants’ daemons awfully, and then Roger could slip out, and we’d be out by the river in no time!”
She ran to the low door and came into the upper reaches of the Library of Jordan College. She blinked in the sudden darkness, soft light of the Library contrasting with the strong heat and light of the warm rooftop. As her vision accustomed to the dim light, she saw that one of the Masters was gently snoring, his balding head pillowed on a book. Guess the heat’s even affecting the Masters, she thought, being careful to tiptoe around him. She came quietly down the stairs, Pan as tabby cat padding silently by her side. She pushed open one of the double doors leading into the Library and wound her way through the corridors and stairwells til she came down to the kitchens.
Pan slinked into the shape of a ferret and draped himself around her neck, minding the place where she’d been sunburnt from their time out on the roof. Lyra flattened herself against the wall and Pan peered through the open doorway to try and spot Roger. Through the steamy, pot-clanging atmosphere, Pan saw him disappearing into the small bakery attached to the main kitchen. Secretly relieved that the Pan-becoming-a-leopard scheme wouldn’t be needed-what a scolding she would get if they failed to escape!-Lyra darted to the door of the bakery that opened onto the hallway, and in an instant she was inside, scaring Roger nearly out of his wits.
“Lyra!” In a second her hand was over his mouth, and she was dragging him outside into the hall with his moth-daemon fluttering nervously behind. But the scare soon wore off, and in a moment they laughing, clattering down the stairs and out the side door, into the bright sunlight.
“Cook’ll have my hide,” said Roger, without really meaning it, for he was breathing deeply of the summer air, a relief after the oppressive steam of the kitchens. But Lyra grabbed by the wrist, and said impatiently, “C’mon, Roger! Never mind about the cook.-he never even eats his own food ‘cause it’s too awful! We’re goin’ to the river, to catch crocodiles.”
Roger wasn’t quite sure what a crocodile was, and he was even less sure that they lived in their river, but he ran after the long-legged Lyra anyway as they flashed in and out of crowds, weaving in between the stalls and buyers and sellers of Market Street. Lyra called hello to various ragged children along the way, and a couple of them joined Lyra and Roger, eager to escape the heat with a jump in the river. Finally, they reached the red clay riverbank, and Lyra was the first to dive in, Pan the cat becoming a silver, shimmering trout in mid-dive to swim around Lyra’s legs as she surfaced, treading water. “Come in, all you! It’s lovely.” Roger jumped in, pleased with his loud splash, and his daemon shook into a water rat’s body to play-chase Pan the trout underwater. Pinky and Sparrow, their two town friends who’d tagged along, shed their tattered shirts and jumped in too, the group becoming a laughing, splashing, tangle.
Presently Lyra dove and hid under the reeds, using a hollow one to breathe. She couldn’t wait to see what they’d do when they couldn’t find her. Pinky, a lanky, shaggy-haired boy of twelve, was the first to notice her disappearance.
“‘Ey! Lyra’s gone!” he yelled over to Roger, who was standing in the shallows and engaging in a friendly shouting match with some gyptian kids on the opposite bank. Pinky dropped Sparrow, who he’d had in a headlock, sputtering into the water. “Where’s she gone, huh?” asked Roger, swimming over and flicking water at the oft-abused Sparrow, who was skinny and smaller than all of them. Sparrow shrugged. “I dunno,” he said, picking up his soaking wet rat daemon and letting her climb onto his arm. “Pinky said he knew where she was,” he added. “I never!” said Pinky indignantly. “I just said she’d gone.” “Well, let’s look then,” said Roger, and he headed over to the reeds, where he knew she was fond of hiding.
He dove under, and the green reeds waved like fingers in the clear blue river currents. He reached out to part the reeds, and something that wasn’t Lyra shot out, shooting past him in an explosion of bubbles all the way over in the direction of the deep hollows and pools of the opposite bank. The figure was instantly lost in the murky depths of the middle of the river, and Roger couldn’t be sure what it had been. Maybe some kind of large fish...? He kicked and broke the surface, blinking the water out of his eyes, and he saw Lyra come up from another clump of reeds, spitting out part of a hollow one she must have used to breathe with. Her eyes were as wide as his, and he knew she’d seen it. “What was it, Lyra?” he asked, a little fearfully. She pushed wet blonde hair back off her forehead and spat again to gt rid of the reed's bitter taste. “I dunno,” she said, thoughtfully. “Maybe it was a crocodile.”