Lyra and her daemon moved through the darkening hall, taking care to keep to one side, out of sight of the kit. The three great tables that ran the length of the hall were laid already, the silver and the glass catg what little light there was, and the long benches were pulled out ready for the guests. Portraits of former Masters hung high up in the gloom along the walls. Lyra reached the dais and looked back at the open kit door, and, seeing no oepped up beside the high table. The places here were laid with gold, not silver, and the fourtees were not oak benches but mahogany chairs with velvet cushions.
Lyra stopped beside the Masters chair and flicked the biggest glass gently with a fingernail. The sound rang clearly through the hall.
「Youre not taking this seriously,」 whispered her daemon. 「Behave yourself.」
Her daemons name antalaimon, 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.
「Theyre making too muoise to hear from the kit,」 Lyra whispered back.
「And the Steward doesnt e in till the first bell. Stop fussing.」
But she put her palm over the ringing crystal anyway, and Pantalaimon fluttered ahead and through the slightly open door of the Retiring Room at the other end of the dais. After a moment he appeared again.
「Theres no ohere,」 he whispered. 「But we must be quick.」
Croug behind the high table, Lyra darted along and through the door into the Retiring Room, where she stood up and looked around. The only light in here came from the fireplace, where a bright blaze of logs settled slightly as she looked, sending a fountain of sparks up into the ey. She had lived most of her life in the College, but had never seeiring Room before: only Scholars and their guests were allowed in here, and never females. Even the maidservants didnt in here. That was the Butlers job alone.
Pantalaimoled on her shoulder.
「Happy now? we go?」 he whispered.
「Dont be silly! I want to look around!」
It was a large room, with an oval table of polished rosewood on which stood various deters and glasses, and a silver smoking stand with a rack of pipes.
On a sideboard nearby there was a little chafing dish and a basket of poppy heads.
「They do themselves well, dont they, Pan?」 she said under her breath.
She sat in one of the greeher armchairs. It was so deep she found herself nearly lying down, but she sat up again and tucked her legs under her to look at the portraits on the walls. More old Scholars, probably; robed, bearded, and gloomy, they stared out of their frames in solemn disapproval.
「What dyou think they talk about?」 Lyra said, an to say, because before shed fihe question she heard voices outside the door.
「Behind the chair—quick!」 whispered Pantalaimon, and in a flash Lyra was out of the armchair and croug behind it. It wasnt the best one for hiding behind:
shed chosen one in the very ter of the room, and unless she kept very quiet...
The door opened, and the light ged in the room; one of the iners was carrying a lamp, which he put down on the sideboard. Lyra could see his legs, in their dark green trousers and shiny black shoes. It was a servant.
Then a deep voice said, 「Has Lord Asriel arrived yet?」
It was the Master. As Lyra held her breath, she saw the servants daemon (a dog, like all servants daemons) trot in and sit quietly at his feet, and then the Mast