Free The Book of Dust: The Secret Commonwealth (Book of Dust, Volume 2) by Philip Pullman Page A

that parts of Central Asia had been traveled by the Romans, I wondered whether anything of their language had remained. I said in Latin: We intend no harm to you or your people. May we know what you are guarding in this place?
    Immediate recognition and understanding. The voluble one replied at once in the same language: What have you brought as payment?
    I said, We did not know payment was necessary. We are anxious because our friends have disappeared. We think they might have come here. Have you seen any travelers like us?
    We have seen many travelers. If they come akterrakeh, and they have payment, they can enter. One way only, not so. But if they enter, they may not leave.
    Then can you tell us whether our friends are inside that red building?
    In answer to which he said, If they are here, they are not there, and if they are there, they are not here.
    It sounded like a formula, a standard form of words that had been repeated so often its meaning had worn away. At least that told me that others had asked similar questions. I tried another.
    I said, You spoke of payment. Did you mean in exchange for roses?
    What else?
    Knowledge, perhaps.
    Our knowledge is not for you.
    What payment would be satisfactory?
    A life, was the disconcerting answer.
    One of us must die?
    We will all die.
    That was little help, of course. I tried another question. Why can we not grow your roses outside this desert?
    The only answer that received was a look of scorn. Then he walked away.
    I said to Chen, Do you know of anyone who has gone inside?
    He said, One man. He did not return. No one returns.
    Frustrated, Hassall and I retreated to our little shelter and discussed what to do. It was a fruitless, painful, repetitious discussion. We were hedged in by imperatives: it’s absolutely necessary to investigate these roses; it’s absolutely impossible to do so without going in and never returning.
    So we examined it again more deeply. Why is it necessary to investigate the roses? Because of what they show us about the nature of Dust. And if the Magisterium hears about what is here in Karamakan, they will stop at nothing to prevent that knowledge from spreading, and to do that, they will come here and destroy the red building and everything in it; and they have armies and armaments in plenty to do that. The recent trouble in Khulanshan and Akdzhar is their work—no doubt about that. They are coming closer.
    So we must investigate, and the inevitable consequence of that is that one of us must go in and the other must return with the knowledge we have gained so far. There’s no alternative, none. And we cannot do it.
    There is still no sign of our dæmons, and our store of food and water is diminishing. We can’t stay here much longer.
    A note at the end, in a different hand, said:
    Later that night Strauss’s Cariad arrived. She was exhausted, fearful, damaged. Next day she and Strauss went inside the red building, and I returned with Chen. Trouble coming closer. Ted Cartwright and I agreed that I should set off at once with what little knowledge we have. Pray God I find Strella, and that she will forgive me. R.H.
    Lyra put the pages on the table. She felt light-headed. She felt as if she’d caught a glimpse of a long-lost memory, something intensely important that was buried under thousands of days of ordinary life. What was it that had affected her so much? The red building—the desert around it—the guards who spoke in Latin—something buried so deeply that she couldn’t be sure if it was true, or a dream, or a memory of a dream, or even of a story she’d loved so much when she was a little child that she’d insisted on it again and again at bedtime, and then put away and forgotten entirely. She knew something about that red building in the desert. And she had no idea what it was.
    Pan was curled up on the table, asleep, or pretending. She knew why. Dr. Strauss’s description of separating