t t tians er t to kno soo. Lyra feared Mrs. Coulter and t about en.
And ers daemon, talaimon , o s, and particularly t of ter.
And to be c o t, if nothing else.
But Mrs. Coulter. tians o stop and rest t all to s on Bolvangar. Jo Lee Scoresby migo fill ly) and go up to spy out t attended to tion of to be a fog; and sure enougopped, a t descended. Lee Scoresby kneent , t iculous order. t all, a volley of arro of the dark.
tian men do once, and died so silently t no one races or lay unexpectedly still did t men notice oo late, because more arro t irregular knocking sounds t came from up and doled into wood or frozen canvas.
t to come to s er of tiff limbs moved to obey as yet more arroraigipped h.
Lyra alaimon arget. Brus of o try and see y roar, and to t smaserror and roars of bearise.
But ians o defend t t (as even Lyra could see) made tter targets; and t easy to fire in gloves and mittens; ss, as against the ceaseless knocking rain of arrows.
And more and more men fell every minute.
O in anguis foresee t so t, for ty snarl from Pantalaimon, and sometled at of Lyra ing ifling tens, tossing o anot doo t s all at once. ill s togeto muffle ily:
“lorek! lorek Byrnison! help me!”
But could tell; s, cruso a o lurc reac it ing over rouged, moutifled, sobbing range voices spoke around her.
“Pan...”
“Im ill...”
ugged at til the frozen air.
“hey?” she whispered.
“tartars. I t John Faa.”
“No—”
“I satack. e kno.”
“But we scer!”
“end to be unconscious.”
t, Lyra could tell trained to tle, all s ance, and t pao hear.
“take us to the Gobblers,” she whispered.
to talaimon nestled close against her.
“Ill fight,” he said.
“So hem.”
“So h.”
“how far are we from Bolvangar?”
Pantalaimon didnt kno it han a days ride.
After time t Lyras body orment from cramp, ttle, and someone roughe hood.
S a broad Asiatic face, under a isfaction, especially of Lyras anorak to bare e ermine teeth in a hiss.
t Pantalaimon didnt flinch.
to a sitting position and propped t falling sideied beied togetead and released her hands.
t oo, ians .
t of course sood notried a different language . tried English.
“You name?”
Pantalaimon bristled once. So t knoer; so per in ter all.
“Lizzie Brooks,” she said.
“Lissie Broogs,” er ake you nice place. Nice peoples.”
“ho are you?”
“Samoyed peoples. ers.”
“aking me?”
“Nice place. Nice peoples. You have panserbjorne?”
“For protection.”
“No good! you anyway!”
rolled hing.
“, pointing back they had come.
“traders.”
“traders... trade?”
“Fur, spirits,” she said. “Smokeleaf.”
“they sell smokeleaf, buy furs?”
“Yes.”
o ime tably to try and see ly soo cold to peer out any longer, and lay doried to keep calm, but t of Jo o Farder Coram?
And o kill to track her down?
For t time, so feel a little sorry for herself.
After a long time, trip of dried reindeer meat to c oug s in it. After c, s a little better. So ill ser ill tin and slipped it doo . Pantalaimon crept in as a mouse and pus as far do under ttom of her reindeer-skin legging.
was done, sed, and soon so sleep.
Sion of t s dazzling above so pull t again. Siff and cold, but so pull enougo see t tly bete at ts and into a y marketplace or an arena for some game or sport. It ly flat and smoote, and about a al fence.
At ted. tside a loell, but s tunnels connected one part of tunnels one side a stout metal mast say reminded her of.
Before sake muc t rouged at to make till. A door opened in t came on overo find t.
Lyras captor t rop letting go, and said sometures: a Samoyed or a tartar. icularly at Pantalaimon.
to Lyra, “You speak English?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Does your daemon alake t form?”
Of all ted questions! Lyra could only gape. But Pantalaimon ans in t, Pantalaimon movement and spat as on s wings.
“I see,” said tone of satisfaction, as Pantalaimon returned to Lyras shoulder.
tant, and took off a mitten to reaco a pocket. ook out a draring purse and counted out a dozen o ters hand.
t carefully, eacaking a back in ted to te arena and into ts, gatil to the dark beyond.
the door again.
“Come in quickly,” s able. Dont stand out in t is your name ?”
any accent Lyra could name. of people s at Mrs. Coulters: smart and educated and important.
“Lizzie Brooks,” she said.
“Come in, Lizzie. ell look after you worry.”
side for far longer; ient to be in to play sloted and reluctant, and dragged as sepped over to the building.
t not too mucering in w seemed unbearable , and o pull open her furs and push back her hood.
t eig square, o t and left, and in front of of reception desk you migal. Everytly lit, of se surfaces and stainless steel. t a faint perpetual al-medical smell; and coming from t too loo of sound you o get used to or go mad.
Pantalaimon at upid and dim. Be really sloupid.”
Adults e coat, a woman in a nurses uniform.
“Englis man raders, apparently.”
“Usual ers? Usual story?”
“Same tribe, as far as I could tell. Sister Clara, could you take little, umm, and see to her?”
“Certainly, Doctor. Come ly followed.
t along a s corridor and a canteen on t, from as old as Mrs. Coulter, Lyra guessed, o stitc never to tell a story. of strange ciced) tle rotting dog (and after a moment s had chilled her).
“s your name, dear?” said t Lizzie?” “Lizzie Brooks.” “And how old are you?” “Eleven.”
Lyra old t sever t meant. It ed ance, but s s noo make Lizzie s, and stle as s into the room.