The bells of Oxford chime, some high, some low, some near, some far. Lyra can name them all, usually, from their distance and their pitch, Magdalen Somerville St Edmund Jordan Merton Balliol St Sophia's. Today she is not listening to them at all. She stares at the empty half of the bench. "You're there. You must be."

"They're there," Pantalaimon agrees. "We just can't see them."

Lyra sets her hand gently on the other side of the bench, where Will and Kirjava must be sitting in that other universe. "Hello, Will," she says.

"Hello, Kirjava," echoes Pantalaimon.