“Better put it back,” said Roger uneasily, and Lyra upturned to its immemorial resting place before returning to ts oime companion still close to h.

    “ers get coffins. turies t t be room to bury t cut ts t important part of em anyway.”

    t tacombs under tory kept Lyra and Roger busy for days. Once sried to play a trick on some of tche wrong daemons.

    Pantalaimon became so agitated at t o a bat and fletering s sook no notice: it oo good a joke to e. S later, t top of Staircase t tood at ting to sumps  treat, backing ao tance of til all t c tened doo tacombs and restored to tful places, and he skulls.

    tacombs oo .

    o be found turned ttention else before tted leaving t by tercessor, ory.

    tercessor . It o preacaken an interest in ual o be confounded by ances. S spiritually promising, he had decided.

    urned reluctantly and , into t musty-smelling dimness of tory. Candles flickered  of images of ts; a faint and distant clatter came from t,  beckoned from try door.

    “o times noo?”

    one  accusatory. erested. ongue at them from her perch on his shoulder.

    Lyra said, “e ed to look do.”

    “ever for?”

    “ted to see all the coffins,” she said.

    “But why?”

    S  response when she was pressed.

    “And you,”  on, turning to Roger. Rogers daemon anxiously ail to propitiate s your name?”

    “Roger, Father.”

    “If youre a servant, wch you.”

    Roger turned and ran. Lyra dragged  from side to si