pp.thegoldencompass-第41部分

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　　〃Perhaps　you　haven't　heard；〃　said　Mrs。　Coulter。　〃Lord　Asriel　is　under　suspended　sentence　of　death。　One　of　the　conditions　of　his　exile　in　Svalbard　was　that　he　give　up　his　philosophical　work　entirely。　Unfortunately；　he　managed　to　obtain　books　and　materials；　and　he's　pushed　his　heretical　investigations　to　the　point　where　it's　positively　dangerous　to　let　him　live。　At　any　rate；　it　seems　that　the　Vatican　Council　has　begun　to　debate　the　question　of　the　sentence　of　death；　and　the　probability　is　that　it'll　be　carried　out。　But　your　new　instrument；　Doctor。　How　does　it　work？〃
　　〃Ah…yes…sentence　of　death；　you　say？　Gracious　God　。　。　。　I'm　sorry。　The　new　instrument。　We're　investigating　what　happens　when　the　intercision　is　made　with　the　patient　in　a　conscious　state；　and　of　course　that　couldn't　be　done　with　the　Maystadt　process。　So　we've　developed　a　kind　of　guillotine；　I　suppose　you　could　say。　The　blade　is　made　of　manganese　and　titanium　alloy；　and　the　child　is　placed　in　a　partment…like　a　small　cabin…　of　alloy　mesh；　with　the　daemon　in　a　similar　partment　connecting　with　it。　While　there　is　a　connection；　of　course；　the　link　remains。　Then　the　blade　is　brought　down　between　them；　severing　the　link　at　once。　They　are　then　separate　entities。〃
　　〃I　should　like　to　see　it；〃　she　said。　〃Soon；　I　hope。　But　I'm　tired　now。　I　think　I'll　go　to　bed。　I　want　to　see　all　the　children　tomorrow。　We　shall　find　out　who　opened　that　door。〃
　　There　was　the　sound　of　chairs　being　pushed　back；　polite　expressions；　a　door　closing。　Then　Lyra　heard　the　others　sit　down　again；　and　go　on　talking；　but　more　quietly。
　　〃What　is　Lord　Asriel　up　to？〃
　　〃I　think　he's　got　an　entirely　different　idea　of　the　nature　of　Dust。　That's　the　point。　It's　profoundly　heretical；　you　see；　and　the　Consistorial　Court　of　Discipline　can't　allow　any　other　interpretation　than　the　authorized　one。　And　besides；　he　wants　to　experiment…〃
　　〃To　experiment？　With　Dust？〃
　　〃Hush！　Not　so　loud　。　。　。　〃
　　〃Do　you　think　she'll　make　an　unfavorable　report？〃
　　〃No；　no。　I　think　you　dealt　with　her　very　well。〃
　　〃Her　attitude　worries　me　。　。　。　。〃
　　〃Not　philosophical；　you　mean？〃
　　〃Exactly。　A　personal　interest。　I　don't　like　to　use　the　word；　but　it's　almost　ghoulish。〃
　　〃That's　a　bit　strong。〃
　　〃But　do　you　remember　the　first　experiments；　when　she　was　so　keen　to　see　thefn　pulled　apart…〃
　　Lyra；coutdn't　help　it：　a　little　cry　escaped　her；　and　at　the　same　time　she　tensed　and　shivered；　and　her　foot　knocked　against　a　stanchion。
　　〃What　was　that？〃
　　〃In　the　ceiling…〃
　　〃Quick！〃
　　The　sound　of　chairs　being　thrown　aside；　feet　running；　a　table　pulled　across　the　floor。　Lyra　tried　to　scramble　away；　but　there　was　so　little　space；　and　before　she　could　move　more　than　a　few　yards　the　ceiling　panel　beside　her　was　thrust　up　suddenly；　and　she　was　looking　into　the　startled　face　of　a　man。　She　was　close　enough　to　see　every　hair　in　his　moustache。　He　was　as　startled　as　she　was；　but　with　more　freedom　to　move；　he　was　able　to　thrust　a　hand　into　the　gap　and　seize　her　arm。
　　〃A　child！〃
　　〃Don't　let　her　go…〃
　　Lyra　sank　her　teeth　into　his　large　freckled　hand。　He　cried　out；　but　didn't　let　go；　even　when　she　drew　blood。　Pan…talaimon　was　snarling　and　spitting；　but　it　was　no　good；　the　man　was　much　stronger　than　she　was；　and　he　pulled　and　pulled　until　her　other　hand；　desperately　clinging　to　the　stanchion；　had　to　loosen；　and　she　half…fell　through　into　the　room。
　　Still　she　didn't　utter　a　sound。　She　hooked　her　legs　over　the　sharp　edge　of　the　metal　above；　and　struggled　upside　down；　scratching；　biting；　punching；　spitting　in　passionate　fury。　The　men　were　gasping　and　grunting　with　pain　or　exertion；　but　they　pulled　and　pulled。
　　And　suddenly　all　the　strength　went　out　of　her。
　　It　was　as　if　an　alien　hand　had　reached　right　inside　where　no　hand　had　a　right　to　be；　and　wrenched　at　something　deep　and　precious。
　　She　felt　faint；　dizzy；　sick；　disgusted；　limp　with　shock。
　　One　of　the　men　was　holding　Pantalaimon。
　　He　had　seized　Lyra's　daemon　in　his　human　hands；　and　poor　Pan　was　shaking；　nearly　out　of　his　mind　with　horror　and　disgust。　His　wildcat　shape；　his　fur　now　dull　with　weakness；　now　sparking　glints　of　anbaric　alarm　。　。　。　He　curved　toward　his　Lyra　as　she　reached　with　both　hands　for　him　。　。　。　。
　　They　fell　still。　They　were　captured。
　　She　felt　those　hands　。　。　。　。It　wasn't　allowed　。　。　。　。Not　supposed　to　touch　。　。　。　　Wrong　。　。　。　。
　　〃Was　she　on　her　own？〃
　　A　man　was　peering　into　the　ceiling　space。
　　〃Seems　to　be　on　her　own　。　。　。　。〃
　　〃Who　is　she？〃
　　〃The　new　child。〃
　　〃The　one　the　Samoyed　hunters　。　。　。　〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃You　don't　suppose　she　。　。　。　the　daemons　。　。　。　〃
　　〃Could　well　be。　But　not　on　her　own；　surely？〃
　　〃Should　we　tell…〃
　　〃I　think　that　would　put　the　seal　on　things；　don't　you？〃
　　〃I　agree。　Better　she　doesn't　hear　at　all。〃
　　〃But　what　can　we　do　about　this？〃
　　〃She　can't　go　back　with　the　other　children。〃
　　〃Impossible！〃
　　〃There's　only　one　thing　we　can　do；　it　seems　to　me。〃
　　〃Now？〃
　　〃Have　to。　Can't　leave　it　till　the　morning。　She　wants　to　watch。〃
　　〃We　could　do　it　ourselves。　No　need　to　involve　anyone　else。〃
　　The　man　who　seemed　to　be　in　charge；　the　man　who　wasn't　holding　either　Lyra　or　Pantalaimon；　tapped　his　teeth　with　a　thumbnail。　His　eyes　were　never　still；　they　flicked　and　slid　and　darted　this　way　and　that。　Finally　he　nodded。
　　〃Now。　Do　it　now；〃　he　said。　〃Otherwise　she'll　talk。　The　shock　will　prevent　that；　at　least。　She　won't　remember　who　she　is；　what　she　saw；　what　she　heard　。　。　。　e　on。〃
　　Lyra　couldn't　speak。　She　could　hardly　breathe。　She　had　to　let　herself　be　carried　through　the　station；　along　white　empty　corridors；　past　rooms　humming　with　anbaric　power；　past　the　dormitories　where　children　slept　with　their　dasmons　on　the　pillow　beside　them；　sharing　their　dreams；　and　every　second　of　the　way　she　watched　Pantalaimon；　and　he　reached　for　her；　and　their　eyes　never　left　each　other。
　　Then　a　door　which　opened　by　means　of　a　large　wheel；　a　hiss　of　air；　and　a　brilliantly　lit　chamber　with　dazzling　white　tiles　and　stainless　steel。　The　fear　she　felt　was　almost　a　physical　pain；　it　was　a　physical　pain；　as　they　pulled　her　and　Pantalaimon　over　toward　a　large　cage　of　pale　silver　mesh；　above　which　a　great　pale　silver　blade　hung　poised　to　separate　them　forever　and　ever。
　　She　found　a　voice　at　last；　and　screamed。　The　sound　echoed　loudly　off　the　shiny　surfaces；　but　the　heavy　door　had　hissed　shut；　she　could　scream　and　scream　forever；　and　not　a　sound　would　escape。
　　But　Pantalaimon；　in　answer；　had　twisted　free　of　those　hateful　hands…he　was　a　lion；　an　eagle；　he　tore　at　them　with　vicious　talons；　great　wings　beat　wildly；　and　then　he　was　a　wolf；　a　bear；　a　polecat…darting；　snarling；　slashing；　a　succession　of　transformations　too　quick　to　register；　and　all　the　time　leaping；　flying；　dodging　from　one　spot　to　another　as　their　clumsy　hands　flailed　and　snatched　at　the　empty　air。
　　But　they　had　daemons　too；　of　course。　It　wasn't　two　against　three；　it　was　two　against　six。　A　badger；　an　owl；　and　a　baboon　were　all　just　as　intent　to　pin　Pantalaimon　down；　and　Lyra　was　crying　to　them：　〃Why？　Why　are　you　doing　this？　Help　us！　You　shouldn't　be　helping　them！〃
　　And　she　kicked　and　bit　more　passionately　than　ever；　until　the　man　holding　her　gasped　and　let　go　for　a　moment…and　she　was　free；　and　Pantalaimon　sprang　toward　her　like　a　spark　of　lightning；　and　she　clutched　him　to　her　fierce　breast；　and　he　dug　his　wildcat　claws　into　her　flesh；　and　every　stab　of　pain　was　dear　to　her。
　　〃Never！　Never！　Never！〃　she　cried；　and　backed　against　the　wall　to　defend　him　to　their　death。
　　But　they　fell　on　her　again；　three　big　brutal　men；　and　she　was　only　a　child；　shocked　and　terrified；　and　they　tore　Pantalaimon　away；　and　threw　her　into　one　side　of　the　cage　of　mesh　and　carried　him；　struggling　still；　around　to　the　other。　There　was　a　mesh　barrier　between　them；　but　he　was　still　part　of　her；　they　were　still　joined。　For　a　second　or　so　more；　he　was　still　her　own　dear　soul。
　　Above　the　panting　of　the　men；　above　her　own　sobs；　above　the　high　wild　howl　of　her　daemon；　Lyra　heard　a　humming　sound；　and　saw　one　man　（bleeding　from　the　nose）　operate　a　bank　of　switches。　The　other　two　looked　up；　and　her　eyes　followed　theirs。　The　great　pale　silver　blade　was　rising　slowly；　catching　the　brilliant　light。　The　last　moment　in　her　plete　life　was　going　to　be　the　worst　by　far。
　　〃What　is　going　on　here？〃
　　A　light；　musical　voice：　her　voice。　Everything　stopped。
　　〃What　are　you　doing？　And　who　is　this　child…〃
　　She　didn't　plete　the　word　child；　because　in　that　instant　she　recognized　Lyra。　Through　tear…blurred　eyes　Lyra　saw　her　totter　and　clutch　at　a　bench；　her　face；　so　beautiful　and　posed；　grew　in　a　moment　haggard　and　horror…struck。
　　〃Lyra…〃　she　whispered。
　　The　golden　monkey　darted　from　her　side　in　a　flash；　and　tugged　Pantalaimon　out　from　the　mesh　cage　as　Lyra　fell　out　herself。　Pantalaimon　pulled　free　of　the　monkey's　solicitous　paws　and　stumbled　to　Lyra's　arms。
　　〃Never；　never；〃　she　breathed　into　his　fur；　and　he　pressed　his　beating　heart　to　hers。
　　They　clung　together　like　survivors　of　a　shipwreck；　shivering　on　a　desolate　coast。　Dimly　she　heard　Mrs。　Coulter　speaking　to　the　men；　but　she　couldn't　even　interpret　her　tone　of　voice。　And　then　they　were　leaving　that　hateful　room；　and　Mrs。　Coulter　was　half…carrying；　half…supporting　her　along　a　corridor；　and　then　there　was　a　door；　a　bedroom；　scent　in　the　air；　soft　light。
　　Mrs。　Coulter　laid　her　gently　on　the　bed。　Lyra's　arm　was　so　tight　around　Pantalaimon　that　she　was　trembling　with　the　force　of　it。　A　tender　hand　stroked　her　head。
　　〃My　dear；　dear　child；〃　said　that　sweet　voice。　〃However　did　you　e　to　be　here？〃
　　
　　
　　SEVENTEEN　
　　THE　WITCHES
　　
　　Lyra　moaned　and　trembled　uncontrollably；　just　as　if　she　had　been　pulled　out　of　water　so　cold　that　her　heart　had　nearly　frozen。　Pantalaimon　simply　lay　against　her　bare　skin；　inside　her　clothes；　loving　her　back　to　herself；　but　aware　all　the　time　of　Mrs。　Coulter；　busy　preparing　a　drink　of　something；　and　most　of　all　of　the　golden　monkey；　whose　hard　little　fingers　had　run　swiftly　over　Lyra's　body　when　only　Pantalaimon　could　have　noticed；　and　who　had　felt；　around　her　waist；　the　oilskin　pouch　with　its　contents。
　　〃Sit　up；　dear；　and　drink　this；〃　said　Mrs。　Coulter；　and　her　gentle　arm　slipped　around　Lyra's　back　and　lifted　her。
　　Lyra　clenched　herself；　but　relaxed　almost　at　once　as　Pantalaimon　thought　to　her：　We're　only　safe　as　long　as　we　pretend。　She　opened　her　eyes　and　found　that　they'd　been　containing　tears；　and　to　her　surprise　and　shame　she　sobbed　and　sobbed。
　　Mrs。　Coulter　made　sympathetic　sounds　and　put　the　drink　into　the　monkey's　hands　while　she　mopped　Lyra's　eyes　with　a　scented　handkerchief。
　　〃Cry　as　much　as　you　need　to；　darling；〃　said　that　soft　voice；　and　Lyra　determined　to　stop　as　soon　as　she　possibly　could。　She　struggled　to　hold　back　the　tears；　she　pressed　her　lips　together；　she　choked　down　the　sobs　that　still　shook　her　chest。
　　Pantalaimon　played　the　same　game：　fool　them；　fool　them。　He　became　a　mouse　and　crept　away　from　Lyra's　hand　to　sniff
　　timidly　at　the　drink　in　the　monkey's　clutch。　It　was　innocuous：　an　infusion　of　chamomile；　nothing　more。　He　crept　back　to　Lyra's　sho