pp.thegoldencompass-第13部分

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　leap　at　you。〃
　　That　was　strange；　no　doubt；　but　neither　of　them　knew　what　to　make　of　it。
　　And　finally；　there　were　other　kinds　of　lessons　so　gently　and　subtly　given　that　they　didn't　feel　like　lessons　at　all。　How　to　wash　one's　own　hair；　how　to　judge　which　colors　suited　one；　how　to　say　no　in　such　a　charming　way　that　no　offense　was　given；　how　to　put　on　lipstick；　powder；　scent。　To　be　sure；　Mrs。　Coulter　didn't　teach　Lyra　the　latter　arts　directly；　but　she　knew　Lyra　was　watching　when　she　made　herself　up；　and　she　took　care　to　let　Lyra　see　where　she　kept　the　cosmetics；　and　to　allow　her　time　on　her　own　to　explore　and　try　them　out　for　herself。
　　
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　　Time　passed；　and　autumn　began　to　change　into　winter。　From　time　to　time　Lyra　thought　of　Jordan　College；　but　it　seemed　small　and　quiet　pared　to　the　busy　life　she　led　now。　Every　so　often　she　thought　of　Roger；　too；　and　felt　uneasy；　but　there　was　an　opera　to　go　to；　or　a　new　dress　to　wear；　or　the　Royal　Arctic　Institute　to　visit；　and　then　she　forgot　him　again。
　　When　Lyra　had　been　living　there　for　six　weeks　or　so；　Mrs。　Coulter　decided　to　hold　a　cocktail　party。　Lyra　had　the　impression　that　there　was　something　to　celebrate；　though　Mrs。　Coulter　never　said　what　it　was。　She　ordered　flowers；　she　discussed　canapes　and　drinks　with　the　caterer；　and　she　spent　a　whole　evening　with　Lyra　deciding　whom　to　invite。
　　〃We　must　have　the　archbishop。　I　couldn't　afford　to　leave　him　out；　though　he's　the　most　hateful　old　snob。　Lord　Boreal　is　in　town：　he'll　be　fun。　And　the　Princess　Postnikova。　Do　you　think　it　would　be　right　to　invite　Erik　Andersson？　I　wonder　if　it's　about　time　to　take　him　up　。　。　。　。〃
　　Erik　Andersson　was　the　latest　fashionable　dancer。　Lyra　had　no　idea　what　〃take　him　up〃　meant；　but　she　enjoyed　giving　her　opinion　nonetheless。　She　dutifully　wrote　down　all　the　names　Mrs。　Coulter　suggested；　spelling　them　atrociously　and　then　crossing　them　out　when　Mrs。　Coulter　decided　against　them　after　all。
　　When　Lyra　went　to　bed；　Pantalaimon　whispered　from　the　pillow：
　　〃She's　never　going　to　the　North！　She's　going　to　keep　us　here　forever。　When　are　we　going　to　run　away？〃
　　〃She　is；〃　Lyra　whispered　back。　〃You　just　don't　like　her。　Well；　that's　hard　luck。　I　like　her。　And　why　would　she　be　teaching　us　navigation　and　all　that　if　she　wasn't　going　to　take　us　north？〃
　　〃To　stop　you　getting　impatient；　that's　why。　You　don't　really　want　to　stand　around　at　the　cocktail　party　being　all　sweet　and　pretty。　She's　just　making　a　pet　out　of　you。〃
　　Lyra　turned　her　back　and　closed　her　eyes。　But　what　Pantalaimon　said　was　true。　She　had　been　feeling　confined　and　cramped　by　this　polite　life；　however　luxurious　it　was。　She　would　have　given　anything　for　a　day　with　Roger　and　her　Oxford　ragamuffin　friends；　with　a　battle　in　the　claybeds　and　a　race　along　the　canal。　The　one　thing　that　kept　her　polite　and　attentive　to　Mrs。　Coulter　was　that　tantalizing　hope　of　going　north。　Perhaps　they　would　meet　Lord　Asriel。　Perhaps　he　and　Mrs。　Coulter　would　fall　in　love；　and　they　would　get　married　and　adopt　Lyra；　and　go　and　rescue　Roger　from　the　Gobblers。
　　On　the　afternoon　of　the　cocktail　party；　Mrs。　Coulter　took　Lyra　to　a　fashionable　hairdresser's；　where　her　stiff　dark　blond　hair　was　softened　and　waved；　and　her　nails　were　filed　and　polished；　and　where　they　even　applied　a　little　makeup　to　her　eyes　and　lips　to　show　her　how　to　do　it。　Then　they　went　to　collect　the　new　dress　Mrs。　Coulter　had　ordered　for　her；　and　to　buy　some　patent…leather　shoes；　and　then　it　was　time　to　go　back　to　the　flat　and　check　the　flowers　and　get　dressed。
　　〃Not　the　shoulder　bag；　dear；〃　said　Mrs。　Coulter　as　Lyra　came　out　of　her　bedroom；　glowing　with　a　sense　of　her　own　prettiness。
　　Lyra　had　taken　to　wearing　a　little　white　leather　shoulder　bag　everywhere；　so　as　to　keep　the　alethiometer　close　at　hand。　Mrs。　Coulter；　loosening　the　cramped　way　some　roses　had　been　bunched　into　a　vase；　saw　that　Lyra　wasn't　moving　and　glanced　pointedly　at　the　door。
　　〃Oh；　please；　Mrs。　Coulter；　I　do　love　this　bag！〃
　　〃Not　indoors；　Lyra。　It　looks　absurd　to　be　carrying　a　shoulder　bag　in　your　own　home。　Take　it　off　at　once；　and　e　and　help　check　these　glasses　。　。　。　。〃
　　It　wasn't　so　much　her　snappish　tone　as　the　words　〃in　your　own　home〃　that　made　Lyra　resist　stubbornly。　Pantalaimon　flew　to　the　floor　and　instantly　became　a　polecat；　arching　his　back　against　her　little　white　ankle　socks。　Encouraged　by　this；　Lyra　said：
　　〃But　it　won't　be　in　the　way。　And　it's　the　only　thing　I　really　like　wearing。　I　think　it　really　suits…〃
　　She　didn't　finish　the　sentence；　because　Mrs。　Coulter's　daemon　sprang　off　the　sofa　in　a　blur　of　golden　fur　and　pinned　Pantalaimon　to　the　carpet　before　he　could　move。　Lyra　cried　out　in　alarm；　and　then　in　fear　and　pain；　as　Pantalaimon　twisted　this　way　and　that；　shrieking　and　snarling；　unable　to　loosen　the　golden　monkey's　grip。　Only　a　few　seconds；　and　the　monkey　had　overmastered　him：　with　one　fierce　black　paw　around　his　throat　and　his　black　paws　gripping　the　polecat's　lower　limbs；　he　took　one　of　Pantalaimon's　ears　in　his　other　paw　and　pulled　as　if　he　intended　to　tear　it　off。　Not　angrily；　either；　but　with　a　cold　curious　force　that　was　horrifying　to　see　and　even　worse　to　feel。
　　Lyra　sobbed　in　terror。
　　〃Don't！　Please！　Stop　hurting　us！〃
　　Mrs。　Coulter　looked　up　from　her　flowers。
　　〃Do　as　I　tell　you；　then；〃　she　said。
　　〃I　promise！〃
　　The　golden　monkey　stepped　away　from　Pantalaimon　as　if　he　were　suddenly　bored。　Pantalaimon　fled　to　Lyra　at　once；　and　she　scooped　him　up　to　her　face　to　kiss　and　gentle。
　　〃Now；　Lyra；〃　said　Mrs。　Coulter。
　　Lyra　turned　her　back　abruptly　and　slammed　into　her　bedroom；　but　no　sooner　had　she　banged　the　door　shut　behind　her　than　it　opened　again。　Mrs。　Coulter　was　standing　there　only　a　foot　or　two　away。
　　〃Lyra；　if　you　behave　in　this　coarse　and　vulgar　way；　we　shall　have　a　confrontation；　which　I　will　win。　Take　off　that　bag　this　instant。　Control　that　unpleasant　frown。　Never　slam　a　door　again　in　my　hearing　or　out　of　it。　Now；　the　first　guests　will　be　arriving　in　a　few　minutes；　and　they　are　going　to　find　you　perfectly　behaved；　sweet；　charming；　innocent；　attentive；　delightful　in　every　way。　I　particularly　wish　for　that；　Lyra；　do　you　understand　me？〃
　　〃Yes；　Mrs。　Coulter。〃
　　〃Then　kiss　me。〃
　　She　bent　a　little　and　offered　her　cheek。　Lyra　had　to　stand　on　tiptoe　to　kiss　it。　She　noticed　how　smooth　it　was；　and　the　slight　perplexing　smell　of　Mrs。　Coulter's　flesh：　scented；　but　somehow　metallic。　She　drew　away　and　laid　the　shoulder　bag　on　her　dressing　table　before　following　Mrs。　Coulter　back　to　the　drawing　room。
　　〃What　do　you　think　of　the　flowers；　dear？〃　said　Mrs。　Coulter　as　sweetly　as　if　nothing　had　happened。　〃I　suppose　one　can't　go　wrong　with　roses；　but　you　can　have　too　much　of　a　good　thing　。　。　。　。Have　the　caterers　brought　enough　ice？　Be　a　dear　and　go　and　ask。　Warm　drinks　are　horrid　。　。　。　〃
　　Lyra　found　it　was　quite　easy　to　pretend　to　be　lighthearted　and　charming；　though　she　was　conscious　every　second　of　Pantalaimon's　disgust；　and　of　his　hatred　for　the　golden　monkey。　Presently　the　doorbell　rang；　and　soon　the　room　was　filling　up　with　fashionably　dressed　ladies　and　handsome　or　distinguished　men。　Lyra　moved　among　them　offering　canapes　or　smiling　sweetly　and　making　pretty　answers　when　they　spoke　to　her。　She　felt　like　a　universal　pet；　and　the　second　she　voiced　that　thought　to　herself；　Pantalaimon　stretched　his　goldfinch　wings　and　chirruped　loudly。
　　She　sensed　his　glee　at　having　proved　her　right；　and　became　a　little　more　retiring。
　　〃And　where　do　you　go　to　school；　my　dear？〃　said　an　elderly　lady；　inspecting　Lyra　through　a　lorgnette。
　　〃I　don't　go　to　school；〃　Lyra　told　her。
　　〃Really？　I　thought　your　mother　would　have　sent　you　to　her　old　school。　A　very　good　place　。　。　。　〃
　　Lyra　was　mystified　until　she　realized　the　old　lady's　mistake。
　　〃Oh！　She's　not　my　mother！　I'm　just　here　helping　her。　I'm　her　personal　assistant；〃　she　said　importantly。
　　〃I　see。　And　who　are　your　people？〃
　　Again　Lyra　had　to　wonder　what　she　meant　before　replying。
　　〃They　were　a　count　and　countess；〃　she　said。　〃They　both　died　in　an　aeronautical　accident　in　the　North。〃
　　〃Which　count？〃
　　〃Count　Belacqua。　He　was　Lord　Asriel's　brother。〃
　　The　old　lady's　daemon；　a　scarlet　macaw；　shifted　as　if　in　irritation　from　one　foot　to　another。　The　old　lady　was　beginning　to　frown　with　curiosity；　so　Lyra　smiled　sweetly　and　moved　on。
　　She　was　going　past　a　group　of　men　and　one　young　woman　near　the　large　sofa　when　she　heard　the　word　Dust。　She　had　seen　enough　of　society　now　to　understand　when　men　and　women　were　flirting；　and　she　watched　the　process　with　fascination；　though　she　was　more　fascinated　by　the　mention　of　Dust；　and　she　hung　back　to　listen。　The　men　seemed　to　be　Scholars；　from　the　way　the　young　woman　was　questioning　them；　Lyra　took　her　to　be　a　student　of　some　kind。
　　〃It　was　discovered　by　a　Muscovite…stop　me　if　you　know　this　already…〃　a　middle…aged　man　was　saying；　as　the　young　woman　gazed　at　him　in　admiration；　〃a　man　called　Rusakov；　and　they're　usually　called　Rusakov　Particles　after　him。　Elementary　particles　that　don't　interact　in　any　way　with　others…very　hard　to　detect；　but　the　extraordinary　thing　is　that　they　seem　to　be　attracted　to　human　beings。〃
　　〃Really？〃　said　the　young　woman；　wide…eyed。
　　〃And　even　more　extraordinary；〃　he　went　on；　〃some　human　beings　more　than　others。　Adults　attract　it；　but　not　children。　At　least；　not　much；　and　not　until　adolescence。　In　fact；　that's　the　very　reason…〃　His　voice　dropped；　and　he　moved　closer　to　the　young　woman；　putting　his　hand　confidentially　on　her　shoulder。　〃…that's　the　very　reason　the　Oblation　Board　was　set　up。　As　our　good　hostess　here　could　tell　you。〃
　　〃Really？　Is　she　involved　with　the　Oblation　Board？〃
　　〃My　dear；　she　is　the　Oblation　Board。　It's　entirely　her　own　project…〃
　　The　man　was　about　to　tell　her　more　when　he　caught　sight　of　Lyra。　She　stared　back　at　him　unblinkingly；　and　perhaps　he　had　had　a　little　too　much　to　drink；　or　perhaps　he　was　keen　to　impress　the　young　woman；　for　he　said：
　　〃This　little　lady　knows　all　about　it；　I'll　be　bound。　You're　safe　from　the　Oblation　Board；　aren't　you；　my　dear？〃
　　〃Oh；　yes；〃　said　Lyra。　〃I'm　safe　from　everyone　here。　Where　I　used　to　live；　in　Oxford；　there　was　all　kinds　of　dangerous　things。　There　was　gyptians…they　take　kids　and　sell　'em　to　the　Turks　for　slaves。　And　on　Port　Meadow　at　the　full　moon　there's　a　werewolf　that　es　out　from　the　old　nunnery　at　Godstow。　I　heard　him　howling　once。　And　there's　the　Gobblers　。　。　。　。〃
　　〃That's　what　I　mean；〃　the　man　said。　〃That's　what　they　call　the　Oblation　Board；　don't　they？〃
　　Lyra　felt　Pantalaimon　tremble　suddenly；　but　he　was　on　his　best　behavior。　The　daemons　of　the　two　grownups；　a　cat　and　a　butterfly；　didn't　seem　to　notice。
　　〃Gobblers？〃　said　the　young　woman。　〃What　a　peculiar　name！　Why　do　they　call　them　Gobblers？〃
　　Lyra　was　about　to　tell　her　one　of　the　bloodcurdling　stories　she'd　made　up　to　frighten　the　Oxford　kids　with；　but　the　man　was　already　speaking。
　　〃From　the　initials；　d'you　see？　General　Oblation　Board。　Very　old　idea；　as　a　matter　of　fact。　In　the　Middle　Ages；　parents　would　give　their　children　to　the　church　to　be　monks　or　nuns。　And　the　unfortunate　brats　were　known　as　oblates。　Means　a　sac