FIFTEEN - THE DAEMON CAGES-1

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    It wasnt Lyras way to brood; she was a sanguine and practical child, and besides, she wasnt imaginative. No oh much imagination would have thought seriously that it ossible to e all this way and rescue her friend Roger; or, having thought it, an imaginative child would immediately have e up with several ways in which it was impossible. Being a practiced liar doesnt mean you have a powerful imagination. Many good liars have no imagination at all; its that which gives their lies such wide-eyed vi.

    So now that she was in the hands of the Oblation Board, Lyra didnt fret herself into terror about what had happeo the gyptians. They were all good fighters, and even though Pantalaimon said hed seen John Faa shot, he might have been mistaken; or if he wasnt mistaken, John Faa might not have been seriously hurt. It had been bad luck that shed fallen into the hands of the Samoyeds, but the gyptians would be along soon to rescue her, and if they couldnt ma, nothing would stop lorek Byrnisetting her out; and then theyd fly to Svalbard in Lee Scoresbys balloon and rescue Lord Asriel.

    In her mind, it was as easy as that.

    So  m, when she awoke in the dormitory, she was curious and ready to deal with whatever the day would bring. And eager to see Roger—in particular, eager to see him before he saw her.

    She didnt have long to wait. The children in their different dormitories were woken at half-past seven by the nurses who looked after them. They washed and dressed a with th<s>?9９ｌｉb?</s>e others to the teen for breakfast.

    And there was Roger.

    He was sitting with five other boys at a table just ihe door. The line for the hatch went right past them, and she was able to pretend to drop a handkerchief and crouch to pick it up, bending low o his chair, so that Pantalaimon could speak ters daemon Salcilia.

    She was a chaffinch, and she fluttered so wildly that Pantalaimon had to be a cat and leap at her, pinning her down to whisper. Such brisk fights or scuffles between childrens daemons were on, luckily, and no oook muotice, but Roger went pale at once. Lyra had never seen anyone so white. He looked up at the blank haughty stare she gave him, and the color flooded bato his cheeks as he brimmed over with hope, excitement, and joy; and only Pantalaimon, shaking Salcilia firmly, was able to keep Roger from shouting out and leaping up to greet his best friend, his rade in arms, his Lyra.

    But he saw how she looked away disdainfully, and he followed her example faithfully, as hed done in a hundred Oxford battles and campaigns. No one must know, of course, because they were both in deadly danger. She rolled her eyes at her new friends, and they collected their trays of flakes and toast and sat together, an instant gang, excluding everyone else in order to gossip about them.

    You t keep a large group of children in one place for long without giving them plenty to do, and in some ways Bolvangar was run like a school, with timetabled activities such as gymnastid “art.” Boys and girls were kept separate except for breaks aimes, so it wasnt until midm, after an hour and a half of sewing directed by one of the hat Lyra had the ce to talk ter. But it had to look natural; that was the difficulty.

    All the children there were more or less at the same age,<big></big> and it was the age when most boys talk to boys and girls to girls, each making a spicuous point of ign the opposite sex.

    She found her  the teen again, when the children came in for a drink and a biscuit. Lyra sent Pantalaimon, as a fly, to talk to Salcilia on the wall o their table while she and Roger kept quietly in their separate groups.

    It was difficult to talk while your daemons attention was somewhere else, so Lyra preteo look glum and rebellious as she sipped her milk with the irls. Half her thoughts were with the tiny buzz of talk between the daemons, and she wasnt really listening, but at one point she heard anirl with bright blond hair say a hat made her sit up.

    It was the name of Tony Makarios. As Lyras attention soward that, Pantalaimon had to slow down his whispered versation with Rogers daemon, and both children listeo what the girl was saying.

    “No, I know why they took him,” she said, as heads clustered close nearby. “It was because his daemon didnt ge. They thought he was older than he looked, or summing, and he werent really a young kid. But really his daemon never ged very often because Tony hisself hought much about anything. I seen her ge. She was called Ratter...”

    “Why are they so ied in daemons?” said Lyra.

    “No one knows,” said the blond girl.

    “I know,” said one boy whod been listening. “What they do is kill your daemon and then see if you die.”

    “Well, how e they do it over and over with different kids?” said someone.

    “Theyd only o do it once, wouldnt they?”

    “I know what they do,” said the first girl.

    She had everyotention now. But because they didnt want to let the staff know what they were talking about, they had to adopt a strange, half-careless, indifferent manner, while listening with passionate curiosity.

    “How?” said someone.

    “ Cause I was with him when they came for him. We was in the linen room,” she said.

    She was blushing hotly. If she was expeg jeers and teasing, they didnt e. All the children were subdued, and no one even smiled.

    The girl went on: “We was keeping quiet and then the nurse came in, the oh the soft voice. And she says, e on, Tony, I know youre there, e on, we wont hurt you....And he says, Whats going to happen? And she says, We just put you to sleep, and then we do a little operation, and then you wake up safe and sound. But Tony didnt believe her. He says—”

    “The holes!” said someohey make a hole in your head like the Tartars! I bet!”

    “Shut up! What else did the nurse say?” someone else put in. By this time, a dozen or more children were clustered arouable, their daemons as desperate to know as they w<var></var>ere, all wide-eyed and tense.

    The blond girl went on: “Tony wao know what they was gonna do with Ratter, see. And the nurse says, Well, shes going to sleep too, just like when you do.

    And Tony says, Yonna kill her, ent yer? 1 know you are. We all know thats what happens. And the nurse says, No, of course not. Its just a little operation. Just a little cut. It wont even hurt, but we put you to sleep to make sure.

    All the room had gone quiet now. The nurse whod been supervising had left for a moment, and the hatch to the kit was shut so no one could hear from there.

    “What sort of cut?” said a boy, his voice quiet and frightened. “Did she say what sort of cut?”

    “She just said, Its something to make you mrown up. She said everyone had to have it, thats why grownups daemons dont ge like ours do. So they have a cut to make them one shape forever, and thats how you get grown up.”

    “But—”

    “Does that mean—”

    “What, all grownupsve had this cut?”

    “What about—”

    Suddenly all the voices stopped as if they themselves had been cut, and all eyes turo the door. Sister Clara stood there, bland and mild and matter-of-fact, and beside her was a man in a white coat whom Lyra hadnt seen before.

    “Bridget M,” he said.

    The blond girl stood up trembling. Her squirrel daemon clutched her breast.

    “Yes, sir?” she said, her voice hardly audible.

    “Finish your drink and e with Sister Clara,” he said. “The rest of you run along and go to your classes.”

    Obediently the children stacked their mugs oainless-steel trolley before leaving in sileno one looked at Bridget M except Lyra, and she saw the blond girls face vivid with fear.

    The rest of that m ent in exercise. There was a small gymnasium at the station, because it was hard to exercise outside during the long pht, and each group of children took turns to play in there, uhe supervision of a hey had to form teams and throw balls around, and at first Lyra, who had never in her life played at anything like this, was at a loss what to do. But she was quid athletid a natural leader, and soon found herself enjoying it. The shouts of the children, the shrieks and hoots of the daemons, filled the little gymnasium and soon banished fearful thoughts; which of course was exactly what the exercise was inteo do.

    At lunchtime, when the children were lining up once again in the teen, Lyra felt Pantalaimon give a chirrup nition, and turo find Billy Costa standing just behind her.

    “Roger told me you was here,” he muttered.

    “Your brothers ing, and John Faa and a whole band of gyptians,” she said.

    “Theyre going to take you home.”

    He nearly cried aloud with joy, but subdued the cry into a cough.

    “And you got to call me Lizzie,” Lyra said, “never Lyra. And you got to tell me everything you knht.”

    They sat together, with Roger close by. It was easier to do this at lunchtime, when childre more time ing and goiweeables and the ter, where bland-looking adults served equally bland food. Uhe clatter of knives and forks and plates Billy and Roger both told her as much as they knew. Billy had heard from a hat children who had had the operation were often taken to hostels further south, which might explain how Tony Makarios came to be wandering in the wild. But Roger had something even more iing to tell her.

    “I found a hiding place,” he said.

    “What? Where?”

    “See that picture...” He meant the big photogram of the tropical beach. “If you look iht er, you see that ceiling panel?”

    The ceiling sisted of large regular panels set in a framework of metal strips, and the er of the panel above the picture had lifted slightly.

    “I saw that,” Roger said, “and I thought the others might be like it, so I lifted em, and theyre all loose. They just lift up. Me and this boy tr<s>藏书网</s>ied it one night in our dormitory, before they took him away. Theres a space up there and you  crawl inside....”

    “How far  you crawl in the ceiling?”

    “I dunno. We just went in a little way. We reed when it was time we could hide up there, but theyd probably find us.”

    Lyra saw it not as a hiding place but as a highway. It was the best thing shed heard since shed arrived. But before they could talk any more, a doctor banged on a table with a spoon and began to speak.

    “Listen, children,” he said. “Listen carefully. Every so often we have to have a fire drill. Its very important that we all get dressed properly and make our way outside without any panic. Soing to have a practice fire drill this afternoon. When the bell, rings you must stop whatever youre doing and do what the  grownup says. Remember where they take you. Thats the plaust go to if theres a real fire.”

    Well, thought Lyra, theres an idea.

    During the first part of the afternoon, Lyra and four irls were tested for Dust. The doctors didnt say that was what they were doing, but it was easy to guess. They were taken one by oo a laboratory, and of course this made them all very frightened; how cruel it would be, Lyra thought, if she perished without striking a blow at them! But they were not going to do that operation just yet, it seemed.

    “We want to make some measurements,” the doctor explained. It was hard to tell the differeween these people: all the men looked similar in their white coats and with their clipboards and pencils, and the women resembled one aoo, the uniforms and their strange bland calm manner making them all look like sisters.

    “I was measured yesterday,” Lyra said.

    “Ah, were making different measurements today. Stand oal plate—oh, slip your shoes off first. Hold your daemon, if you like. Look forward, thats it, stare at the little green light. Good girl...”

    Something flashed. The doade her face the other way and then to left and right, and each time something clicked and flashed.

    “Thats fine. Now e over to this mae and put your hand into the tube.

    Nothing to harm you, I promise. Straighten your fingers. Thats it.”

    “What are you measuring?” she said. “Is it Dust?”

    “Who told you about Dust?”

    “One of the irls, I dont know her name. She said we was all over Dust. I ent dusty, at least I dont think I am. I had a shower yesterday.”

    “Ah, its a different sort of dust. You t see it with your ordinary eyesight. Its a special dust. Now ch your fist— thats right. Good. Now if you feel around in there, youll find a sort of hahing—got that? Take hold of that, theres a good girl. Now  you put your other hand over this way—

    rest it on this brass globe. Good. Fine. Now youll fee<tt>藏书网</tt>l a slight tingling, nothing to worry about, its just a slight anbaric current....”

    Pantalaimon, in his most tense and wary wildcat form, prowled with lightning-eyed suspi around the apparatus, tinually returning to rub himself against Lyra.

    She was sure by now that they werent going to perform the operation on her yet, and sure too that her disguise as Lizzie Brooks was secure; so she risked a question.

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