FOUR - THE ALETHIOMETER-2

百度搜索 THE GOLDEN COMPASS 天涯 或 THE GOLDEN COMPASS 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.

    Something stirred iudy window and a glow of light sho for a moment. She remembered what she had to do and tapped on the glass door. It opened almost at once.

    “Good girl. e in quickly. We havent got long,” said the Master, and drew the curtain back across the door as soon as she had entered. He was fully dressed in his usual black.

    “Arent I going after all?” Lyra asked.

    “Yes; I t prevent it,” said the Master, and Lyra didnt notice at the time what an odd thing that was to say. “Lyra, Im going to give you something, and you must promise to keep it private. Will you swear to that?”

    “Yes,” Lyra said.

    He crossed to the desk and took from a drawer a small package ed in black velvet. When he unfolded the cloth, Lyra saw something like a large watch or a small clock: a thick disk of gold and crystal. It might have been a pass or something of the sort.

    “What is it?” she said.

    “Its ahiometer. Its one of only six that were ever made. Lyra, I urge you again: keep it private. It would be better if Mrs. Coulter didnt know about it. Your uncle—”

    “But what does it do?”

    “It tells you the truth. As for how to read it, youll have to learn by yourself. Now go—its getting lighter—hurry back to your room before anyone sees you.”

    He folded the velvet over the instrument and thrust it into her hands. It was surprisingly heavy. The his own hands oher side of her head and held her gently for a moment.

    She tried to look up at him, and said, “What were you going to say about Uncle Asriel?”

    “Your uncle prese <u>?９9ｌib?</u>to Jordan College some years ago. He might—”

    Before he could finish, there came a soft urgent kno the door. She could feel his hands give an involuntary tremor.

    “Quiow, child,” he said quietly. “The powers of this world are very strong.

    Men and women are moved by tides much fiercer than you  imagine, and they sweep us all up into the current. Go well, Lyra; bless you, child, bless you.

    Keep your own sel.”

    “Thank you, Master,” she said dutifully.

    Clutg the buo her breast, she left the study by the garden door, looking back briefly oo see the Masters daemon watg her from the windowsill. The sky was lighter already; there was a faint fresh stir in the air.

    “Whats that youve got?” said Mrs. Lonsdale, closing the battered little suitcase with a snap.

    “The Master gave it me. t it go in the suitcase?” “Too late. Im not opening it now. Itll have to go in your coat pocket, whatever it is. Hurry on down to the buttery; dohem waiting....”

    It was only after shed said goodbye to the few servants who were up, and to Mrs. Lonsdale, that she remembered Roger; and then she felt guilty for not having thought of him once since meeting Mrs. Coulter. How quickly it had all happened! But no doubt Mrs. Coulter would help her look for him, and she was bound to have powerful friends who could get him back from wherever hed disappeared to. He was bound to turn up eventually.

    And now she was on her way to London: sittio the window in a zeppelin, no less, with Pantalaimons sharp little ermine paws digging into her thigh while his front paws rested against the glass he gazed through. On Lyras other side Mrs. Coulter sat w through some papers, but she soon put them away and talked. Such brilliant talk! Lyra was intoxicated; not about the North this time, but about London, and the restaurants and ballrooms, the soirees at embassies or ministries, the intrigues between White Hall aminster. Lyra was almost more fasated by this than by the ging landscape below the airship. What Mrs. Coulter was saying seemed to be apanied by a st of grownupness, something disturbing but entig at the same time: it was the smell of glamour.

    * * * The landing in Falkeshall Gardens, the boat ride across the wide brown river, the grand mansion blo the Emba where a stout cbbr></abbr>ommissionaire (a sort of porter with medals) saluted Mrs. Coulter and wi Lyra, who sized him up expressionlessly.

    And then the flat...

    Lyra could only gasp.

    She had seen a great deal of beauty in her short life, but it was Jordan College beauty, Oxford beauty—grand and stony and mase. In Jordan College, much was magnifit, but nothing retty. In Mrs. Coulters flat, everything retty. It was full of light, for the wide windows faced south, and the walls were covered in a delicate gold-and-white striped aper. Charming pictures in gilt frames, an antique looking-glass, fanciful sces bearing anbaric lamps with frilled shades; and frills on the cushions too, and flowery valances over the curtain rail, and a soft green leaf-pattern carpet underfoot; and every surface was covered, it seemed to Lyras i eye, with pretty little a boxes and shepherdesses and harlequins of porcelain.

    Mrs. Coulter smiled at her admiration.

    “Yes, Lyra,” she said, “theres such a lot to show you! Take your coat off and Ill take you to the bathroom. You  have a wash, and then well have some lund go shopping....”

    The bathroom was another wonder. Lyra was used to washing with hard yello in a chipped basin, where the water that struggled out of the taps was warm at best, and often flecked with rust. But here the water was hot, the soap rose-pink and fragrant, the towels thid cloud-soft. And around the edge of the tinted mirror there were little pink lights, so that when Lyra looked into it she saw a softly illuminated figure quite uhe Lyra she knew.

    Pantalaimon, who was imitating the form of Mrs. Coulters daemon, crouched on the edge of the basin making faces at her. She pushed him into the soapy water and suddenly remembered the alethiometer in her coat pocket. Shed left the coat on a chair iher room. Shed promised the Master to keep it secret from Mrs. Coulter....

    Oh, this was fusing. Mrs. Coulter was so kind and wise, whereas Lyra had actually seen the Master trying to poison Uncle Asriel. Which of them did eyes modestly from these feminine mysteries as the golden monkey was doing. He had never had to look away from Lyra before.

    Then, after the bath, a warm drink with milk and herbs; and a new flannel nightdress with printed flowers and a seal loped hem, and sheepskin slippers dyed soft blue; and then bed.

    So soft, this bed! So gehe anbaric light on the bed side table! And the bedroom so cozy with little cupboards and a dressing table and a chest of drawers where her new clothes would go, and a carpet from one wall to the other, and pretty curtains covered in stars and moons and plas! Lyra lay stiffly, too tired to sleep, too ented to question anything.

    When Mrs. Coulter had wished her a soft goodnight and go, Pantalaimon plucked at her hair. She brushed him away, but he whispered, “Wheres the thing?”

    She k once what he meant. Her old shabby overcoat hung in the wardrobe; a few seds later, she was ba bed, sitting up cross-legged in the lamplight, with Pantalaimon watg closely as she unfolded the black velvet and looked at what it was the Master had given her.

    “What did he call it?” she whispered.

    “Ahiometer.”

    There was no point in asking what that meant. It lay heavily in her hands, the crystal face gleaming, the golden body exquisitely maed. It was very like a clock, or a pass, for there were hands pointing to places around the dial, but instead of the hours or the points of the pass there were several little pictures, each of them painted with extraordinary precision, as if on ivory with the fi and sle sable brush. She turhe dial around to look at them all. There was an anchor; an hlass surmounted by a skull; a chameleon, a bull, a beehive...Thirty-six altogether, and she couldnt even guess what they meant.

    “Theres a wheel, look,” said Pantalaimon. “See if you  wind it up.”

    There were three little knurled winding wheels, in fact, and each of them turned one of the three shorter hands, which moved around the dial in a series of smooth satisfying clicks. You could arrahem to point at any of the pictures, and ohey had clicked into position, pointily at the ter of eae, they would not move.

    The fourth hand was longer and more slender, and seemed to be made of a duller metal thaher three. Lyra couldnt trol its movement at all; it swung where it wao, like a pass needle, except that it didle.

    “Meter means measure,” said Pantalaimon. “Like thermometer. The Chaplain told us that.”

    “Yes, but thats the easy bit,” she whispered back. “What dyou think its for?”

    her of them could guess. Lyra spent a long time turning the hands to point at one symbol or another (angel, helmet, dolphin; globe, lute, passes; dle, thunderbolt, horse) and watg the long needle swing on its never-ceasing errant way, and although she uood nothing, she was intrigued and delighted by the plexity and the detail. Pantalaimon became a mouse to get closer to it, aed his tiny paws on the edge, his but<tt></tt>ton eyes bright black with curiosity as he watched the needle swing.

    “What do you think the Master meant about Uncle Asriel?” she said.

    “Perhaps weve got to keep it safe and give it to him.”

    “But the Master was going to poison him! Perhaps its the opposite. Perhaps he was going to say dont give it to him.”

    “No,” Pantalaimon said, “it was her we had to keep it safe from—”

    There was a soft kno the door.

    Mrs. Coulter said, “Lyra, I should put the light out if I were you. Youre tired, and well be busy tomorrow.”

    Lyra had thrust the alethiometer swiftly uhe blas.

    “All right, Mrs. Coulter,” she said.

    “Goodnight now.”

    “Goodnight.”

    She snuggled down and switched off the light. Before she fell asleep, she tucked the alethiometer uhe pillow, just in case.

百度搜索 THE GOLDEN COMPASS 天涯 或 THE GOLDEN COMPASS 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.