pp.thegoldencompass-第35部分

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ws。　And　more　and　more　men　fell　every　minute。
　　Oh；　John　Faa！　she　thought　in　anguish。　You　didn't　foresee　this；　and　I　didn't　help　you！
　　But　she　had　no　more　than　a　second　to　think　that；　for　there　was　a　mighty　snarl　from　Pantalaimon；　and　something…　another　daemon…hurtled　at　him　and　knocked　him　down；　crushing　all　the　breath　out　of　Lyra　herself；　and　then　hands　were　hauling　at　her；　lifting　her；　stifling　her　cry　with　foul…smelling　mittens；　tossing　her　through　the　air　into　another's　arms；　and　then　pushing　her　flat　down　into　the　snow　again；　so　that　she　was　dizzy　and　breathless　and　hurt　all　at　once。　Her　arms　were　hauled　behind　till　her　shoulders　cracked；　and　someone　lashed　her　wrists　together；　and　then　a　hood　was　crammed　over　her　head　to　muffle　her　screams；　for　scream　she　did；　and　lustily：
　　〃Iorek！　Iorek　Byrnison！　Help　me！〃
　　But　could　he　hear？　She　couldn't　tell；　she　was　hurled　this　way　and　that；　crushed　onto　a　hard　surface　which　then　began　to　lurch　and　bump　like　a　sledge。　The　sounds　that　reached　her　were　wild　and　confused。　She　might　have　heard　Iorek　Byrnison's　roar；　but　it　was　a　long　way　off；　and　then　she　was　jolting　over　rough　ground；　arms　twisted；　mouth　stifled；　sobbing　with　rage　and　fear。　And　strange　voices　spoke　around　her。
　　〃Pan　。　。　。　〃
　　〃I'm　here；　shh；　I'll　help　you　breathe。　Keep　still　。　。　。　〃
　　His　mouse　paws　tugged　at　the　hood　until　her　mouth　was　freer；　and　she　gulped　at　the　frozen　air。
　　〃Who　are　they？〃　she　whispered。
　　〃They　look　like　Tartars。　I　think　they　hit　John　Faa。〃
　　〃No…〃
　　〃I　saw　him　fall。　But　he　should　have　been　ready　for　this　sort　of　attack。　We　know　that。〃
　　〃But　we　should　have　helped　him！　We　should　have　been　watching　the　alethiometer！〃
　　〃Hush。　Pretend　to　be　unconscious。〃
　　There　was　a　whip　cracking；　and　the　howl　of　racing　dogs。　From　the　way　she　was　being　jerked　and　bounced　about；　Lyra　could　tell　how　fast　they　were　going；　and　though　she　strained　to　hear　the　sounds　of　battle；　all　she　made　out　was　a　forlorn　volley　of　shots；　muffled　by　the　distance；　and　then　the　creak　and　rush　and　soft　paw　thuds　in　the　snow　were　all　there　was　to　hear。
　　〃They'll　take　us　to　the　Gobblers；〃　she　whispered。
　　The　word　severed　came　to　their　mind。　Horrible　fear　filled　Lyra's　body；　and　Pantalaimon　nestled　close　against　her。
　　〃I'll　fight；〃　he　said。
　　〃So　will　I。　I'll　kill　them。〃
　　〃So　will　Iorek　when　he　finds　out。　He'll　crush　them　to　death。〃
　　〃How　far　are　we　from　Bolvangar？〃
　　Pantalaimon　didn't　know；　but　he　thought　it　was　less　than　a　day's　ride。
　　After　they　had　been　driving　along　for　such　a　time　that　Lyra's　body　was　in　torment　from　cramp；　the　pace　slackened　a　little；　and　someone　roughly　pulled　off　the　hood。
　　She　looked　up　at　a　broad　Asiatic　face；　under　a　wolverine　hood；　lit　by　flickering　lamplight。　His　black　eyes　showed　a　glint　of　satisfaction；　especially　when　Pantalaimon　slid　out　of　Lyra's　anorak　to　bare　his　white　ermine　teeth　in　a　hiss。　The　man's　daemon；　a　big　heavy　wolverine；　snarled　back；　but　Pantalaimon　didn't　flinch。
　　The　man　hauled　Lyra　up　to　a　sitting　position　and　propped　her　against　the　side　of　the　sledge。　She　kept　falling　sideways　because　her　hands　were　still　tied　behind　her；　and　so　he　tied　her　feet　together　instead　and　released　her　hands。
　　Through　the　snow　that　was　falling　and　the　thick　fog　she　saw　how　powerful　this　man　was；　and　the　sledge　driver　too；　how　balanced　in　the　sledge；　how　much　at　home　in　this　land　in　a　way　the　gyptians　weren't。
　　The　man　spoke；　but　of　course　she　understood　nothing。　He　tried　a　different　language　with　the　same　result。　Then　he　tried　English。
　　〃You　name？〃
　　Pantalaimon　bristled　warningly；　and　she　knew　what　he　meant　at　once。　So　these　men　didn't　know　who　she　was！　They　hadn't　kidnapped　her　because　of　her　connection　with　Mrs。　Coulter；　so　perhaps　they　weren't　in　the　pay　of　the　Gobblers　after　all。
　　〃Lizzie　Brooks；〃　she　said。
　　〃Lissie　Broogs；〃　he　said　after　her。　〃We　take　you　nice　place。　Nice　peoples。〃
　　〃Who　are　you？〃
　　〃Samoyed　peoples。　Hunters。〃
　　〃Where　are　you　taking　me？〃
　　〃Nice　place。　Nice　peoples。　You　have　panserbjorne？〃
　　〃For　protection。〃
　　〃No　good！　Ha；　ha；　bear　no　good！　We　got　you　anyway！〃
　　He　laughed　loudly。　Lyra　controlled　herself　and　said　nothing。
　　〃Who　those　peoples？〃　the　man　asked　next；　pointing　back　the　way　they　had　e。
　　〃Traders。〃
　　〃Traders　。　。　。　What　they　trade？〃
　　〃Fur；　spirits；〃　she　said。　〃Smokeleaf。〃
　　〃They　sell　smokeleaf；　buy　furs？〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　He　said　something　to　his　panion；　who　spoke　back　briefly。　All　the　time　the　sledge　was　speeding　onward；　and　Lyra　pulled　herself　up　more　fortably　to　try　and　see　where　they　were　heading；　but　the　snow　was　falling　thickly；　and　the　sky　was　dark；　and　presently　she　became　too　cold　to　peer　out　any　longer；　and　lay　down。　She　and　Pantalaimon　could　feel　each　other's　thoughts；　and　tried　to　keep　calm；　but　the　thought　of　John　Faa　dead　。　。　。　And　what　had　happened　to　Farder　Coram？　And　would　Iorek　manage　to　kill　the　other　Samoyeds？　And　would　they　ever　manage　to　track　her　down？
　　For　the　first　time；　she　began　to　feel　a　little　sorry　for　herself。
　　After　a　long　time；　the　man　shook　her　by　the　shoulder　and　handed　her　a　strip　of　dried　reindeer　meat　to　chew。　It　was　rank　and　tough；　but　she　was　hungry；　and　there　was　nourishment　in　it。　After　chewing　it；　she　felt　a　little　better。　She　slipped　her　hand　slowly　into　her　furs　till　she　was　sure　the　alethiometer　was　still　there；　and　then　carefully　withdrew　the　spy…fly　tin　and　slipped　it　down　into　her　fur　boot。　Pantalaimon　crept　in　as　a　mouse　and　pushed　it　as　far　down　as　he　could；　tucking　it　under　the　bottom　of　her　reindeer…skin　legging。
　　When　that　was　done；　she　closed　her　eyes。　Fear　had　made　her　exhausted；　and　soon　she　slipped　uneasily　into　sleep。
　　She　woke　up　when　the　motion　of　the　sledge　changed。　It　was　suddenly　smoother；　and　when　she　opened　her　eyes　there　were　passing　lights　dazzling　above　her；　so　bright　she　had　to　pull　the　hood　further　over　her　head　before　peering　out　again。　She　was　horribly　stiff　and　cold；　but　she　managed　to　pull　herself　upright　enough　to　see　that　the　sledge　was　driving　swiftly　between　a　row　of　high　poles；　each　carrying　a　glaring　anbaric　light。　As　she　got　her　bearings；　they　passed　through　an　open　metal　gate　at　the　end　of　the　avenue　of　lights　and　into　a　wide　open　space　like　an　empty　marketplace　or　an　arena　for　some　game　or　sport。　It　was　perfectly　flat　and　smooth　and　white；　and　about　a　hundred　yards　across。　Around　the　edge　ran　a　high　metal　fence。
　　At　the　far　end　of　this　arena　the　sledge　halted。　They　were　outside　a　low　building；　or　a　range　of　low　buildings；　over　which　the　snow　lay　deeply。　It　was　hard　to　tell；　but　she　had　the　impression　that　tunnels　connected　one　part　of　the　buildings　with　another；　tunnels　humped　under　the　snow。　At　one　side　a　stout　metal　mast　had　a　familiar　look；　though　she　couldn't　say　what　it　reminded　her　of。
　　Before　she　could　take　much　more　in；　the　man　in　the　sledge　cut　through　the　cord　around　her　ankles；　and　hauled　her　out　roughly　while　the　driver　shouted　at　the　dogs　to　make　them　still。　A　door　opened　in　the　building　a　few　yards　away；　and　an　anbaric　light　came　on　overhead；　swiveling　to　find　them；　like　a　searchlight。
　　Lyra's　captor　thrust　her　forward　like　a　trophy；　without　letting　go；　and　said　something。　The　figure　in　the　padded　coal…silk　anorak　answered　in　the　same　language；　and　Lyra　saw　his　features：　he　was　not　a　Samoyed　or　a　Tartar。　He　could　have　been　a　Jordan　Scholar。　He　looked　at　her；　and　particularly　at　Pantalaimon。
　　The　Samoyed　spoke　again；　and　the　man　from　Bolvangar　said　to　Lyra；　〃You　speak　English？〃
　　〃Yes；〃　she　said。
　　〃Does　your　daemon　always　take　that　form？〃
　　Of　all　the　unexpected　questions！　Lyra　could　only　gape。　But　Pantalaimon　answered　it　in　his　own　fashion　by　being　a　falcon；　and　launching　himself　from　her　shoulder　at　the　man's　daemon；　a　large　marmot；　which　struck　up　at　Pantalaimon　with　a　swift　movement　and　spat　as　he　circled　past　on　swift　wings。
　　〃I　see；〃　said　the　man　in　a　tone　of　satisfaction；　as　Pantalaimon　returned　to　Lyra's　shoulder。
　　The　Samoyed　men　were　looking　expectant；　and　the　man　from　Bolvangar　nodded　and　took　off　a　mitten　to　reach　into　a　pocket。　He　took　out　a　drawstring　purse　and　counted　out　a　dozen　heavy　coins　into　the　hunter's　hand。
　　The　two　men　checked　the　money；　and　then　stowed　it　carefully；　each　man　taking　half。　Without　a　backward　glance　they　got　in　the　sledge；　and　the　driver　cracked　the　whip　and　shouted　to　the　dogs；　and　they　sped　away　across　the　wide　white　arena　and　into　the　avenue　of　lights；　gathering　speed　until　they　vanished　into　the　dark　beyond。
　　The　man　was　opening　the　door　again。
　　〃e　in　quickly；〃　he　said。　〃It's　warm　and　fortable。　Don't　stand　out　in　the　cold。　What　is　your　name　？〃
　　His　voice　was　an　English　one；　without　any　accent　Lyra　could　name。　He　sounded　like　the　sort　of　people　she　had　met　at　Mrs。　Coulter's：　smart　and　educated　and　important。
　　〃Lizzie　Brooks；〃　she　said。
　　〃e　in；　Lizzie。　We'll　look　after　you　here；　don't　worry。〃
　　He　was　colder　than　she　was；　even　though　she'd　been　outside　for　far　longer；　he　was　impatient　to　be　in　the　warm　again。　She　decided　to　play　slow　and　dim…witted　and　reluctant；　and　dragged　her　feet　as　she　stepped　over　the　high　threshold　into　the　building。
　　There　were　two　doors；　with　a　wide　space　between　them　so　that　not　too　much　warm　air　escaped。　Once　they　were　through　the　inner　doorway；　Lyra　found　herself　sweltering　in　what　seemed　unbearable　heat；　and　had　to　pull　open　her　furs　and　push　back　her　hood。
　　They　were　in　a　space　about　eight　feet　square；　with　corridors　to　the　right　and　left；　and　in　front　of　her　the　sort　of　reception　desk　you　might　see　in　a　hospital。　Everything　was　brilliantly　lit；　with　the　glint　of　shiny　white　surfaces　and　stainless　steel。　There　was　the　smell　of　food　in　the　air；　familiar　food；　bacon　and　coffee；　and　under　it　a　faint　perpetual　hospital…medical　smell；　and　ing　from　the　walls　all　around　was　a　slight　humming　sound；　almost　too　low　to　hear；　the　sort　of　sound　you　had　to　get　used　to　or　go　mad。
　　Pantalaimon　at　her　ear；　a　goldfinch　now；　whispered；　〃Be　stupid　and　dim。　Be　really　slow　and　stupid。〃
　　Adults　were　looking　down　at　her：　the　man　who'd　brought　her　in；　another　man　wearing　a　white　coat；　a　woman　in　a　nurse's　uniform。
　　〃English；〃　the　first　man　was　saying。　〃Traders；　apparently。〃
　　〃Usual　hunters？　Usual　story？〃
　　〃Same　tribe；　as　far　as　I　could　tell。　Sister　Clara；　could　you　take　little；　umm；　and　see　to　her？〃
　　〃Certainly；　Doctor。　e　with　me；　dear；〃　said　the　nurse；　and　Lyra　obediently　followed。
　　They　went　along　a　short　corridor　with　doors　on　the　right　and　a　canteen　on　the　left；　from　which　came　a　clatter　of　knives　and　forks；　and　voices；　and　more　cooking　smells。　The　nurse　was　about　as　old　as　Mrs。　Coulter；　Lyra　guessed；　with　a　brisk；　blank；　sensible　air；　she　would　be　able　to　stitch　a　wound　or　change　a　bandage；　but　never　to　tell　a　story。　Her　daemon　（and　Lyra　had　a　moment　of　strange　chill　when　she　noticed）　was　a　little　white　trotting　dog　（and　after　a　moment　she　had　no　idea　why　it　had　chilled　her）。
　　〃What's　your　name；　dear？〃　said　the　nurse；　opening　a　heavy　door。　〃Lizzie。〃
　　〃Just　Lizzie？〃
　　〃Lizzie　Brooks。〃
　　〃And　how　old　are　you？〃
　　〃Eleven。〃
　　Lyra　had　been　told　that　she　was　small　for　her　a