“What's your name?” she said.
“Jotham Santelia,” he replied. “I am the Regius Professor of Cosmology at the University of Gloucester. Who are you?”
“Lyra Belacqua. What have they locked you up for?”
“Malice and jealousy…Where do you come from? Eh?”
“From Jordan College,” she said.
“What? Oxford?”
“Yes.”
“Is that scoundrel Trelawney still there? Eh?”
“The Palmerian Professor? Yes,” she said.
“Is he, by God! Eh? They should have forced his resignation long ago. Duplicitous plagiarist! Coxcomb!”
Lyra made a neutral sound.
“Has he published his paper on gamma-ray photons yet?” the Professor said, thrusting his face up toward Lyra's.
She moved back.
“I don't know,” she said, and then, making it up out of pure habit, “no,” she went on. “I remember now. He said he still needed to check some figures. And…He said he was going to write about Dust as well. That's it.”
“Scoundrel! Thief! Blackguard! Rogue!” shouted the old man, and he shook so violently that Lyra was afraid he'd have a fit. His daemon slithered lethargically off his lap as the Professor beat his fists against his shanks. Drops of saliva flew out of his mouth.
“Yeah,” said Lyra, “I always thought he was a thief. And a rogue and all that.”
If it was unlikely for a scruffy little girl to turn up in his cell knowing the very man who figured in his obsessions, the Regius Professor didn't notice. He was mad, and no wonder, poor old man; but he might have some scraps of information that Lyra could use.
She sat carefully near him, not near enough for him to touch, but near enough for Pantalaimon's tiny light to show him clearly.
“One thing Professor Trelawney used to boast about,” she said, “was how well he knew the king of the bears—”
“Boast! Eh? Eh? I should say he boasts! He's nothing but a popinjay! And a pirate! Not a scrap of original research to his name! Everything filched from better men!”
“Yeah, that's right,” said Lyra earnestly. “And when he does do something of his own, he gets it wrong.”
“Yes! Yes! Absolutely! No talent, no imagination, a fraud from top to bottom!”
“I mean, for example,” said Lyra, “I bet you know more about the bears than he does, for a start.”
“Bears,” said the old man, “ha! I could write a treatise on them! That's why they shut me away, you know.”
“Why's that?”
“I know too much about them, and they daren't kill me. They daren't do it, much as they'd like to. I know, you see. I have friends. Yes! Powerful friends.”
“Yeah,” said Lyra. “And I bet you'd be a wonderful teacher,” she went on. “Being as you got so much knowledge and experience.”
Even in the depths of his madness a little common sense still flickered, and he looked at her sharply, almost as if he suspected her of sarcasm. But she had been dealing with suspicious and cranky Scholars all her life, and she gazed back with such bland admiration that he was soothed.
“Teacher,” he said, “teacher…Yes, I could teach. Give me the right pupil, and I will light a fire in his mind!”
“Because your knowledge ought not to just vanish,” Lyra said encouragingly. “It ought to be passed on so people remember you.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding seriously. “That's very perceptive of you, child. What is your name?”
“Lyra,” she told him again. “Could you teach me about the bears?”
“The bears…” he said doubtfully.
“I'd really like to know about cosmology and Dust and all, but I'm not clever enough for that. You need really clever students for that. But I could learn about the bears. You could teach me about them all right. And we could sort of practice on that and work up to Dust, maybe.”
He nodded again.
“Yes,” he said, “yes, I believe you're right. There is a correspondence between the microcosm and the macrocosm! The stars are alive, child. Did you know that? Everything out there is alive, and there are grand purposes abroad! The universe is full of intentions, you know. Everything happens for a purpose. Your purpose is to remind me of that. Good, good—in my despair I had forgotten. Good! Excellent, my child!”
“So, have you seen the king? lofur Raknison?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. I came here at his invitation, you know. He intended to set up a university. He was going to make me Vice-Chancellor. That would be one in the eye for the Royal Arctic Institute, eh! Eh? And that scoundrel Trelawney! Ha!”
“What happened?”
“I was betrayed by lesser men. Trelawney among them, of course. He was here, you know. On Svalbard. Spread lies and calumny about my qualifications. Calumny! Slander! Who was it discovered the final proof of the Barnard-Stokes hypothesis, eh? Eh? Yes, Santelia, that's who. Trelawney couldn't take it. Lied through his teeth. lofur Raknison had me thrown in here. I'll be out one day, you'll see. I'll be Vice-Chancellor, oh yes. Let Trelawney come to me then begging for mercy! Let the Publications Committee of the Royal Arctic Institute spurn my contributions then! Ha! I'll expose them all! “
“I expect lorek Byrnison will believe you, when he comes back,” Lyra said.
“lorek Byrnison? No good waiting for that. He'll never come back.”
“He's on his way now.”
“Then they'll kill him. He's not a bear, you see. He's an outcast. Like me. Degraded, you see. Not entitled to any of the privileges of a bear.”