pp.thegoldencompass-第14部分

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　　〃What's　that　you've　got？〃　said　Mrs。　Lonsdale；　closing　the　battered　little　suitcase　with　a　snap。
　　〃The　Master　gave　it　me。　Can't　it　go　in　the　suitcase？〃
　　〃Too　late。　I'm　not　opening　it　now。　It'll　have　to　go　in　your　coat　pocket；　whatever　it　is。　Hurry　on　down　to　the　buttery；　don't　keep　them　waiting　。　。　。　。〃
　　
　　It　was　only　after　she'd　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　he'd　disappeared　to。　He　was　bound　to　turn　up　eventually。
　　And　now　she　was　on　her　way　to　London：　sitting　next　to　the　window　in　a　zeppelin；　no　less；　with　Pantalaimon's　sharp　little　ermine　paws　digging　into　her　thigh　while　his　front　paws　rested　against　the　glass　he　gazed　through。　On　Lyra's　other　side　Mrs。　Coulter　sat　working　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　and　Westminster。　Lyra　was　almost　more　fascinated　by　this　than　by　the　changing　landscape　below　the　airship。　What　Mrs。　Coulter　was　saying　seemed　to　be　acpanied　by　a　scent　of　grownupness；　something　disturbing　but　enticing　at　the　same　time：　it　was　the　smell　of　glamour。
　　
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　　The　landing　in　Falkeshall　Gardens；　the　boat　ride　across　the　wide　brown　river；　the　grand　mansion　block　on　the　Embankment　where　a　stout　missionaire　（a　sort　of　porter　with　medals）　saluted　Mrs。　Coulter　and　winked　at　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　masculine。　In　Jordan　College；　much　was　magnificent；　but　nothing　was　pretty。　In　Mrs。　Coulter's　flat；　everything　was　pretty。　It　was　full　of　light；　for　the　wide　windows　faced　south；　and　the　walls　were　covered　in　a　delicate　gold…and…white　striped　wallpaper。　Charming　pictures　in　gilt　frames；　an　antique　looking…glass；　fanciful　sconces　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　Lyra's　innocent　eye；　with　pretty　little　china　boxes　and　shepherdesses　and　harlequins　of　porcelain。
　　Mrs。　Coulter　smiled　at　her　admiration。
　　〃Yes；　Lyra；〃　she　said；　〃there's　such　a　lot　to　show　you！　Take　your　coat　off　and　I'll　take　you　to　the　bathroom。　You　can　have　a　wash；　and　then　we'll　have　some　lunch　and　go　shopping　。　。　。　。〃
　　The　bathroom　was　another　wonder。　Lyra　was　used　to　washing　with　hard　yellow　soap　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　thick　and　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　unlike　the　Lyra　she　knew。
　　Pantalaimon；　who　was　imitating　the　form　of　Mrs。　Coulter's　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。　She'd　left　the　coat　on　a　chair　in　the　other　room。　She'd　promised　the　Master　to　keep　it　secret　from　Mrs。　Coulter　。　。　。　。
　　Oh；　this　was　confusing。　Mrs。　Coulter　was　so　kind　and　wise；　whereas　Lyra　had　actually　seen　the　Master　trying　to　poison　Uncle　Asriel。　Which　of　them　did　she　owe　most　obedience　to？
　　She　rubbed　herself　dry　hastily　and　hurried　back　to　the　sitting　room；　where　her　coat　still　lay　untouched；　of　course。
　　〃Ready？〃　said　Mrs。　Coulter。　〃I　thought　we'd　go　to　the　Royal　Arctic　Institute　for　lunch。　I'm　one　of　the　very　few　female　members；　so　I　might　as　well　use　the　privileges　I　have。〃
　　Twenty　minutes'　walk　took　them　to　a　grand　stone…fronted　building　where　they　sat　in　a　wide　dining　room　with　snowy　cloths　and　bright　silver　on　the　tables；　and　ate　calves'　liver　and　bacon。
　　〃Calves'　liver　is　all　right；〃　Mrs。　Coulter　told　her；　〃and　so　is　seal　liver；　but　if　you're　stuck　for　food　in　the　Arctic；　you　mustn't　eat　bear　liver。　That's　full　of　a　poison　that'll　kill　you　in　minutes。〃
　　As　they　ate；　Mrs。　Coulter　pointed　out　some　of　the　members　at　the　other　tables。
　　〃D'you　see　the　elderly　gentleman　with　the　red　tie？　That's　Colonel　Carborn。　He　made　the　first　balloon　flight　over　the　North　Pole。　And　the　tall　man　by　the　window　who's　just　got　up　is　Dr。　Broken　Arrow。〃
　　〃Is　he　a　Skraeling？〃
　　〃Yes。　He　was　the　man　who　mapped　the　ocean　currents　in　the　Great　Northern　Ocean　。　。　。　。〃
　　Lyra　looked　at　them　all；　these　great　men；　with　curiosity　and　awe。　They　were　Scholars；　no　doubt　about　that；　but　they　were　explorers　too。　Dr。　Broken　Arrow　would　know　about　bear　livers；　she　doubted　whether　the　Librarian　of　Jordan　College　would。
　　After　lunch　Mrs。　Coulter　showed　her　some　of　the　precious　arctic　relics　in　the　institute　library…the　harpoon　with　which　the　great　whale　Grimssdur　had　been　killed；　the　stone　carved　with　an　inscription　in　an　unknown　language　which　was　found　in　the　hand　of　the　explorer　Lord　Rukh；　frozen　to　death　in　his　lonely　tent；　a　fire…striker　used　by　Captain　Hudson　on　his　famous　voyage　to　Van　Tieren's　Land。　She　told　the　story　of　each　one；　and　Lyra　felt　her　heart　stir　with　admiration　for　these　great；　brave；　distant　heroes。
　　And　then　they　went　shopping。　Everything　on　this　extraordinary　day　was　a　new　experience　for　Lyra；　but　shopping　was　the　most　dizzying。　To　go　into　a　vast　building　full　of　beautiful　clothes；　where　people　let　you　try　them　on；　where　you　looked　at　yourself　in　mirrors　。　。　。　And　the　clothes　were　so　pretty　。　。　。　。Lyra's　clothes　had　e　to　her　through　Mrs。　Lonsdale；　and　a　lot　of　them　had　been　handed　down　and　much　mended。　She　had　seldom　had　anything　new；　and　when　she　had；　it　had　been　picked　for　wear　and　not　for　looks；　and　she　had　never　chosen　anything　for　herself。　And　now　to　find　Mrs。　Coulter　suggesting　this；　and　praising　that；　and　paying　for　it　all；　and　more　。　。　。　
　　By　the　time　they'd　finished；　Lyra　was　flushed　and　bright…eyed　with　tiredness。　Mrs。　Coulter　ordered　most　of　the　clothes　packed　up　and　delivered；　and　took　one　or　two　things　with　her　when　she　and　Lyra　walked　back　to　the　flat。
　　Then　a　bath；　with　thick　scented　foam。　Mrs。　Coulter　came　into　the　bathroom　to　wash　Lyra's　hair；　and　she　didn't　rub　and　scrape　like　Mrs。　Lonsdale　either。　She　was　gentle。　Pantalaimon　watched　with　powerful　curiosity　until　Mrs。　Coulter　looked　at　him；　and　he　knew　what　she　meant　and　turned　away；　averting　his　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　gentle；　the　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　planets！　Lyra　lay　stiffly；　too　tired　to　sleep；　too　enchanted　to　question　anything。
　　When　Mrs。　Coulter　had　wished　her　a　soft　goodnight　and　gone　out；　Pantalaimon　plucked　at　her　hair。　She　brushed　him　away；　but　he　whispered；　〃Where's　the　thing？〃
　　She　knew　at　once　what　he　meant。　Her　old　shabby　overcoat　hung　in　the　wardrobe；　a　few　seconds　later；　she　was　back　in　bed；　sitting　up　cross…legged　in　the　lamplight；　with　Pantalaimon　watching　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。
　　〃An　alethiometer。〃
　　There　was　no　point　in　asking　what　that　meant。　It　lay　heavily　in　her　hands；　the　crystal　face　gleaming；　the　golden　body　exquisitely　machined。　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　finest　and　slenderest　sable　brush。　She　turned　the　dial　around　to　look　at　them　all。　There　was　an　anchor；　an　hourglass　surmounted　by　a　skull；　a　chameleon；　a　bull；　a　beehive　。　。　。　Thirty…six　altogether；　and　she　couldn't　even　guess　what　they　meant。
　　〃There's　a　wheel；　look；〃　said　Pantalaimon。　〃See　if　you　can　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　arrange　them　to　point　at　any　of　the　pictures；　and　once　they　had　clicked　into　position；　pointing　exactly　at　the　center　of　each　one；　they　would　not　move。
　　The　fourth　hand　was　longer　and　more　slender；　and　seemed　to　be　made　of　a　du