FOURTEEN - BOLVANGAR LIGHTS-2

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    She was half expeg questions about where she had e from and how she had arrived, and she reparing answers; but it wasnt only imagination the nurse lacked, it was curiosity as well. Bolvangar might have been oskirts of London, and children might have been arriving all the time, for all the i Sister Clara seemed to show. Her pert  little daemon trotted along at her heels just as brisk and blank as she was.

    In the room they ehere was a coud a table and two chairs and a filing et, and a glass cupboard with medies and bandages, and a wash basin. As soon as they were ihe ook Lyras outer coat off and dropped it on the shiny floor.

    “Off with the rest, dear,” she said. “Well have a quick little look to see youre nid healthy, no frostbite or sniffles, and then well find some nice  clothes. Well pop you in the shower, too,” she added, for Lyra had not ged or washed for days, and in the enveloping warmth, that was being more and more evident.

    Pantalaimon fluttered in protest, but Lyra quelled him with a scowl. He settled on the couch as one by one all Lyras clothes came off, to her rese and shame; but she still had the presenind to ceal it and act dull-witted and pliant.

    “And the money belt, Lizzie,” said the nurse, and u herself with strong fingers. She went to drop it on the pile with Lyras other clothes, but stopped, feeling the edge of the alethiometer.

    “Whats this?” she said, and unbuttohe oilcloth.

    “Just a sort of toy,” said Lyra. “Its mine.”

    “Yes, we wont take it away from you, dear,” said Sister Clara, unfolding the black velvet. “Thats pretty, isnt it, like a pass. Into the shower with you,” she went on, putting the alethiometer down and whisking back a coal-silk curtain in the er.

    Lyra relutly slipped uhe warm water and soaped herself while Pantalaimon perched on the curtain rail. They were both scious that he mustoo lively, for the daemons of dull people were dull themselves. When she was washed and dry, the ook her temperature and looked into her eyes and ears and throat, and then measured her height and put her on some scales before writing a note on a clipboard. Then she gave Lyra some pajamas and a dressing gown. They were , and of good quality, like Tony Makarioss anorak, but again there was a sedhand air about them. Lyra felt very uneasy.

    “These ent mine,” she said.

    “No, dear. Your clothes need a good wash.”

    “Am I going to get my own ones back?”

    “I expect so. Yes, of course.”

    “What is this place?”

    “Its called the Experimental Station.”

    That wasnt an answer, and whereas Lyra would have poihat out and asked for more information, she didnt think Lizzie Brooks would; so she assented dumbly in the dressing and said no more.

    “I want my toy back,” she said stubbornly when she was dressed.

    “Take it, dear,” said the nurse. “Wouldnt you rather have a nice woolly bear, though? Or a pretty doll?”

    She opened a drawer where some soft toys lay like dead things. Lyra made herself stand and pretend to sider for several seds before pig out a rag doll with big vat eyes. She had never had a doll, but she knew what to do, and pressed it absently to her chest.

    “What about my money belt?” she said. “I like to keep my toy in there.”

    “Go on, then, dear,” said Sister Clara, who was filling in a form on pink paper.

    Lyra hitched up her unfamiliar skirt and tied the oilskin pouch around her waist.

    “What about my coat and boots?” she said. “And my mittens and things?”

    “Well have them ed for you,” said the omatically.

    Then a telephone buzzed, and while the nurse answered it, Lyra stooped quickly to recover the other tin, the one taining the spy-fly, and put it in the pouch with the alethiometer.

    “e along, Lizzie,” said the nurse, putting the receiver down. “Well go and find you something to eat. I expect youre hungry.”

    She followed Sister Clara to the teen, where a dozen round white tables were covered in crumbs and the sticky rings where drinks had been carelessly put down. Dirty plates and cutlery were stacked on a steel trolley. There were no windows, so to give an illusion of light and spae wall was covered in a huge photogram showing a tropical beach, with bright blue sky and white sand and ut palms.

    The man who had brought her in was colleg a tray from a serving hatch.

    “Eat up,” he said.

    There was o starve, so she ate the stew and mashed potatoes wit<tt></tt>h relish. There was a bowl of tinned peaches and ice cream to follow. As she ate, the man and the alked quietly at aable, and when she had fihe nurse brought her a glass of warm milk and took the tray away.

    The man came to sit down opposite. His daemon, the marmot, was not blank and incurious as the nurses dog had been, but sat politely on his shoulder watg and listening.

    “Now, Lizzie,” he said. “Have you eaten enough?”

    “Yes, thank you.”

    “Id like you to tell me where you e from.  you do that?”

    “London,” she said.

    “And what are you doing so far north?”

    “With my father,” she mumbled. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the gaze of the marmot, and trying to look as if she was on the verge of tears.

    “With your father? I see. And whats he doing in this part of the world?”

    “Trading. We e with a load of New Danish smokeleaf and we was buying furs.”

    “And was your father by himself?”

    “No. There was my uncles and all, and some other men,” she said vaguely, not knowing what the Samoyed hunter had told him.

    “Why did he bring you on a journey like this, Lizzie?”

    “ Cause two years ago he brung my brother and he says hell bring me , only he never. So I kept asking him, and then he did.”

    “And how old are you?”

    “Eleven.”

    “Good, good. Well, Lizzie, youre a lucky little girl. Those huntsmen who found yht you to the best place you could be.”

    “They never found me,” she said doubtfully. “There was a fight. There was lots of em and they had arrows....”

    “Oh, I dont think so. I think you must have wandered away from your fathers party and got lost. Those huntsmen found you on your own and brought you straight here. Thats what happened, Lizzie.”

    “I saw a fight,” she said. “They was shooting arrows and that....I want my dad,”

    she said more loudly, a herself beginning to cry.

    “Well, youre quite safe here until he es,” said the doctor.

    “But I saw them shooting arrows!”

    “Ah, you thought you did. That often happens iense cold, Lizzie. You fall asleep and have bad dreams and you t remember whats true and what isnt. That wasnt a fight, dont worry. Your father is safe and sound and hell be looking for you now and soon hell e here because this is the only place for hundreds of miles, you know, and what a surprise hell have to find you safe and sound! Now Sister Clara will take you along to the dormitory where youll meet some other little girls and boys who got lost in the wilderness just like you. Off you go. Well have another little talk in the m.”

    Lyra stood up, clutg her doll, and Pantalaimon hopped onto her shoulder as the nurse opehe door to lead them out.

    More corridors, and Lyra was tired by now, so sleepy she kept yawning and could hardly lift her feet in the woolly slippers theyd given her. Pantalaimon was drooping, and he had to ge to a mouse ale inside her dressing-gown pocket. Lyra had the impression of a row of beds, childrens faces, a pillow, and then she was asleep.

    Someone was shakihe first thing she did was to feel at her waist, and both tins were still there, still safe; so she tried to open her eyes, but oh, it was hard; she had never felt so sleepy.

    “Wake up! Wake up!”

    It was a whisper in more than one voice. With a huge effort, as if she were pushing a boulder up a slope, Lyra forced herself to wake up.

    In the dim light from a very low-powered anbaric bulb over the doorway she saw three irls clustered around her. It wasnt easy to see, because her eyes were slow to focus, but they seemed about her own age, and they were speaking English.

    “Shes awake.”

    “They gave her sleeping pills. Mustve...”

    “Whats your name?”

    “Lizzie,” Lyra mumbled.

    “Is there a load more new kids ing?” demanded one of the girls.

    “Dunno. Just me.”

    “Whered they get you then?”

    Lyra struggled to sit up. She didnt remember taking a sleeping pill, but there might well have been something in the drink shed had. Her head felt full of eiderdown, and there was a faint pain throbbing behind her eyes.

    “Where is this place?”

    “Middle of nowhere. They dont tell us.”

    “They usually bring moren one kid at a time....”

    “What do they do?” Lyra mao ask, gathering her doped wits as Pantalaimon stirred into wakefulness with her.

    “We dunno,” said the girl who was doing most of the talking. She was a tall, red-haired girl with quick twitchy movements and a strong London at. “They sort of measure us and do these tests and that—”

    “They measure Dust,” said anirl, friendly and plump and dark-haired.

    “You dont know,” said the first girl.

    “They do,” said the third, a subdued-looking child cuddling her rabbit daemon.

    “I heard em talking.”

    “Theake us away one by one and thats all we know. No one es back,”

    said the redhead.

    “Theres this bht,” said the plump girl, “he res—”

    “Dont tell her that!” said the redhead. “Not yet.”

    “Is there boys here as well?” said Lyra.

    “Yeah. Theres lots of us. Theres about thirty, I re.”

    “Moren that,” said the plump girl. “More like forty.”

    “Except they keep taking us away,” said the redhead. “They usually start off with bringing a whole bunch here, and then theres a lot of us, and one by ohey all disappear.”

    “Theyre Gobblers,” said the plump girl. “You know Gobblers. We was all scared of em till we was caught....”

    Lyra was<bdo></bdo> gradually ing more and more awake. The irls daemons, apart from the rabbit, were close by listening at the door, and no one spoke above a whisper. Lyra asked their he red-haired girl was Ahe dark plump one Bella, the thin one Martha. They didnt know the names of the boys, because the two sexes were kept apart for most of the time. They werent treated badly.

    “Its all right here,” said Bella. “Theres not much to do, except they give us tests and make us do exercises and then they measure us and ta<var>?</var>ke our temperature and stuff. Its just b really.”

    “Except when Mrs. Coulter es,” said Annie.

    Lyra had to stop herself g out, and Pantalaimon fluttered his wings so sharply that the irls noticed.

    “Hes nervous,” said Lyra, soothing him. “They mustve gave us some sleeping pills, like you said, cause were all dozy. Whos Mrs. Coulter?”

    “Shes the one who trapped us, most of us, anyway,” said Martha. “They all talk about her, the other kids. When she es, you know theres going to be kids disappearing.”

    “She likes watg the kids, wheake us away, she likes seeing what they do to us. This boy Simon, he res they kill us, and Mrs. Coulter watches.”

    “They kill us?” said Lyra, shuddering.

    “Must do. Cause no one es back.”

    “Theyre always going on about daemons too,” said Bella. “Weighing them and measuring them and all...”

    “They touch your daemons?”

    “No! God! They put scales there and your daemon has to get on them and ge, and they make notes and take pictures. And they put you in this et and measure Dust, all the time, they op measuring Dust.”

    “What dust?” said Lyra.

    “We dunno,” said Annie. “Just something from spaot real dust. If you ent got any Dust, thats good. But everyos Dust in the end.”

    “You know what I heard Simon say?” said Bella. “He said that the Tartars make holes in their skulls to let the Dust in.”

    “Yeah, hed know,” said Annie sfully. “I think Ill ask Mrs. Coulter when she es.”

    “You wouldnt dare!” said Martha admiringly.

    “I would.”

    “Whens she ing?” said Lyra.

    “The day after tomorrow,” said Annie.

    A cold drench of terror went down Lyras spine, and Pantalaimo very close. She had one day in which to find Roger and discover whatever she could about this place, aher escape or be rescued; and if all the gyptians had been killed, who would help the children stay alive in the icy wilderness?

    The irls went on talking, but Lyra and Pantalaimoled down deep in the bed and tried to get warm, knowing that for hundreds of miles all around her little bed there was nothing but fear.

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