Lyra and her demon moved through the darkening hall, taking care to keep to one side,

out of sight of the kitchen.

The three great tables that ran the length of the hall were laid already,

the silver and the glass catching what little light there was, and the long benches were pulled

out ready for the guests. Lyra stopped beside the master's chair and flicked the biggest glass

gently with a fingernail. The sound rang clearly through the hall.

You're not taking this seriously, whispered her demon.

Behave yourself.

Her demon's name was Pantaliman, and he was currently in the form of a moth, a dark brown one,

so as not to show up in the darkness of the hall.

Crouching behind the high table, Lyra darted along and threw the door into the retiring room, where she stood up and looked around. She had lived most of her life in the college

but had never seen the retiring room before. Only scholars and their guests were allowed in here,

and never females. Even the maidservants didn't clean in here. That was the butler's job alone.

Panteliman settled on her shoulder.

Happy now? Can we go? He whispered.

Go be silly. I want to look around. What do you think they talk about?

Lyra said or began to say in her cockney accent.

Because before she'd finished the question, she heard voices outside the door.

Behind the chair, quick!

whispered Pantleiman, and in a flash Lira was out of the armchair and crouching behind it.

It wasn't the best one for hiding behind.

She'd chosen one in the very centre of the room. And unless she kept very quiet, the door opened. So,

...