"Will," said Lyra.
She spoke quietly, but he was startled all the same. She was sitting on the bench beside him and he hadnt even noticed.
"Where did you e from?"
"I found my Scholar! Shes called Dr. Malone. And shes got an ehat see Dust, and shes going to make it talk—"
"I didnt see you ing."
"You werent looking," she said. "You mustve been thinking about something else. Its a good thing I found you. Look, its easy to fool people. Watch."
Two police officers were strolling toward them, a man and a woman on the beat, in their white summer shirtsleeves, with their radios and their batons and their suspicious eyes. Before they reached the bench, Lyra was on her feet and speaking to them.
"Please, could you tell me where the museum is?" she said. "Me and my brother was supposed to meet our parents there a lost."
The poli looked at Will, and Will, taining his anger, shrugged as if to say, "Shes right, were lost, isnt it silly." The man smiled. The woman said: "Which museum? The Ashmolean?"
"Yeah, that one," said Lyra, and preteo listen carefully as the woman gave her instrus.
Will got up and said, "Thanks," and he and Lyra moved away together. They didnt look back, but the police had already lost i.
"See?" she said. "If they were looking for you, I put em off. Cause they wont be looking for someoh a sister. I better stay with you from now on," she went on scoldingly oheyd gone around the er. "You ent safe on your own."
He said nothing. His heart was thumping with rage. They walked along toward a round building with a great leaden dome, set in a square bounded by honey-colored stone college buildings and a churd wide-ed trees above high garden walls. The afternoon suhe warmest tones out of it all, and the air felt rich with it, almost the color itself of heavy golden wine. All the leaves were still, and in this little square everaffioise was hushed.
She finally became aware of Wills feelings and said, "Whats the matter?"
"If you speak to people, you just attract their attention," he said, with a shaking voice. "You should just keep quiet and still and they overlook you. Ive been doing it all my life. I know how to do it. Your way, you just—you make yourself visible. You shouldnt do that. You shouldnt play at it. Youre not being serious."
"You think so?" she said, and her anger flashed. "You think I dont know about lying and that? Im the best liar there ever was. But I ent lying to you, and I never will, I swear it. Youre in danger, and if I hadnt dohat just then, youdve been caught. Didnt you see em looking at you? Cause they were. You ent careful enough. If you want my opinion, its you that ent serious."
"If Im not serious, what am I doing hanging about waiting for you when I could be miles away? Or hiding out of sight, safe in that other city? Ive got my own things to do, but Im hanging about here so I help you. Dont tell me Im not serious."
"You had to e through," she said, furious. No one should speak to her like this. She was an aristocrat. She was Lyra. "You had to, else youd never find out anything about your father. You do for yourself, not for me."
They were quarreling passionately, but in subdued voices, because of the quiet in the square and the people who were wandering past nearby. When she said this, though, Will stopped altogether.
He had to lean against the college wall beside him. The color had left his fac