Chapter 2 PART ONE OXFORD ONE-THE DECANTER OF TOKAY-2

“Not yet. Lord Asriel wouldn’t be dining here if it was going to break out in the next week or so.” “Thats what I thought. But later?” “Shh! Someones coming.” She sat up and put her eye to the crack of the door. It was the Butler, coming to trim the lamp as the Master had ordered him to. The common room and the library were lit by anbar-ic power, but the Scholars preferred the older, softer naphtha lamps in the Retiring Room. They wouldn't change that in the Masters lifetime. The Butler trimmed the wick, and put another log on the fire as well, and then listened carefully at the hall door before helping himself to a handful of leaf from the smoking stand. He had hardly replaced the lid when the handle of the other door turned, making him jump nervously. Lyra tried not to laugh. The Butler hastily stuffed the leaf into his pocket and turned to face the incomer.

"Lord Asriel!" he said, and a shiver of cold surprise ran down Lyras back. She couldn't see him from where she was, and she tried to smother the urge to move and look. “Good evening, Wren,” said Lord Asriel. Lyra always heard that harsh voice with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension. “I arrived too late to dine. Ill wait in here.” The Butler looked uncomfortable. Guests entered the Retiring Room at the Masters invitation only, and Lord Asriel knew that; but the Butler also saw Lord Asriel looking pointedly at the bulge in his pocket, and decided not to protest. “Shall I let the Master know you have arrived, my lord?”

“No harm in that. You might bring me some coffee.” “Very good, my lord.” The Butler bowed and hastened out, his daemon trotting submissively at his heels. Lyras uncle moved across to the fire and stretched his arms high above his head, yawning like a lion. He was wearing traveling clothes. Lyra was reminded, as she always was when she saw him again, of how much he frightened her. There was no question now of creeping out unnoticed: shed have to sit tight and hope. Lord Asriels daemon, a snow leopard, stood behind him. “Are you going to show the projections in here?” she said quietly.

"Yes. It'll create less fuss than moving to the lecture theater. They'll want to see the specimens too; Ill send for the Porter in a minute. This is a bad time, Stelmaria." "You should rest." He stretched out in one of the armchairs, so that Lyra could no longer see his face. “Yes, yes. I should also change my clothes. Theres probably some ancient etiquette that allows them to fine me a dozen bottles for coming in here dressed improperly. I should sleep for three days. The fact remains that—” There was a knock, and the Butler came in with a silver tray bearing a coffeepot and a cup.

“Thank you, Wren,” said Lord Asriel. “Is that the Tokay I can see on the table?” “The Master ordered it decanted especially for you, my I lord,” said the Butler. “There are only three dozen bottles left I of the 98.” “All good things pass away. Leave the tray here beside me. Oh, ask the Porter to send up the two cases I left in the Lodge, would you?” "Here, my lord?" “Yes, here, man. And I shall need a screen and a projecting lantern, also here, also now.” The Butler could hardly prevent himself from opening his mouth in surprise, but managed to suppress the question, or the protest.

"Wren, you're forgetting your place," said Lord Asriel. "Don't question me; just do as I tell you." “Very good, my lord,” said the Butler. “If I may suggest it, I should perhaps let Mr. Cawson know what you planning, my lord, or else hell be somewhat taken aback, if you see what I mean.” "Yes. Tell him, then." Mr. Cawson was the Steward. There was an old and well-established rivalry between him and the Butler. The Steward was the superior, but the Butler had more opportunities to ingratiate himself with the Scholars, and made full use of them. He would be delighted to have this chance of showing the Steward that he knew more about what was going on in the Retiring Room.

He bowed and left. Lyra watched as her uncle poured a cup of coffee, drained it at once, and poured another before sipping more slowly. She was agog: cases of specimens? A projecting lantern? was so urgent and important? Then Lord Asriel stood up and turned away from the fire. She saw him fully, and marveled at the contrast he made with the plump Butler, the stooped and languid Scholars. Lord Asriel was a tall man with powerful shoulders, a fierce dark face, and eyes that seemed to flash and glitter with savage laughter. It was a face to be dominated by, or to fight: never a face to patronize or pity. All his movements were large and perfectly balanced, like those of a wild animal, and When he appeared in a room like this, he seemed a wild animal held in a cage too small for it.

At the moment his expression was distant and preoccupied. His daemon came close and leaned her head on his waist, and he looked down at her unfathomably before turning away and walking to the table. Lyra suddenly felt her stomach lurch, for Lord Asriel had taken the stopper from the decanter of Tokyo, and was pouring a glass. "No!" The quiet cry came before she could hold it back. Lord Asriel heard and turned at once. "Who's there?" She couldn't help herself. She tumbled out of the wardrobe and scrambled up to snatch the glass from his hand. The wine flew out, splashing on the edge of the table and the carpet, and then the glass fell and smashed. and twisted hard.

"Lyra! What the hell are you doing?" "Let go of me and I'll tell you!" “Ill break your arm first. How dare you come in here?” “Ive just saved your life!” They were still for a moment, the girl twisted in pain but grimacing to prevent herself from crying out louder, the man bent over her frowning like thunder. “What did you say?” he said more quietly. “That wine is poisoned,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “I saw the Master put some powder in it.” He let go. She sank to the floor, and Pantalaimon fluttered anxiously to her shoulder. Her uncle looked down with a restrained fury, and she didnt dare meet his eyes.

"I came in just to see what the room was like," she said. "I know I shouldn't have. But I was going to go out before anyone came in, except that I heard the Master coming and got ^ trapped. The wardrobe was the only place to hide. And I saw him put the powder in the wine. If I hadnt…” There was a knock on the door. "That'll be the Porter," said Lord Asriel. "Back in the wardrobe. If I hear the slightest noise, I'll make you wish you were dead." She darted back there at once, and no sooner had she pulled the door shut than Lord Asriel called, “Come in.”

As hed said, it was the Porter. "In here, my lord?" Lyra saw the old man standing doubtfully in the doorway, and behind him, the corner of a large wooden box. "That's right, Shuter," said Lord Asriel. "Bring them both in and put them down by the table." Lyra relaxed a little, and allowed herself to feel the pain in her shoulder and wrist. It might have been enough to make her cry, if she was the sort of girl who cried. Instead she gritted her teeth and moved the arm gently until it felt looser. Then came a crash of glass and the glue of spilled liquid. "Damn you, Shuter, you careless old fool! Look what you've done!" Lyra could see, just. Her uncle had managed to knock the decanter of Tokyo off the table, and made it look as if the Porter had done it. The old man put the box down carefully and began to apologize. "I'm truly sorry, my lord—I must have been closer than I thought—" "Get something to clear this mess up. Go on, before it soaks into the carpet!" The Porter hurried out. Lord Asriel moved closer to the wardrobe and spoke in an undertone. “Since you are in there, you can make yourself useful. Watch the Master closely when he comes in. If you tell me something interesting about him, Ill keep you from getting further into the trouble you already in. Understand?” "Yes, Uncle." “Make a noise in there and I wont help you. Youre on your own.” He moved away and stood with his back to the fire again as the Porter came back with a brush and dustpan for the glass and a bowl and cloth. “I can only say once again, my lord, I do most earnestly beg your pardon; I dont know what—” "Just clear up the mess." As the Porter began to mop the wine from the carpet, the Butler knocked and came in with Lord Asriels manservant, a man called Thorold. They were carrying between them a heavy case of polished wood with brass handles. They saw what the Porter was doing and stopped dead. "Yes, it was the Tokyo," said Lord Asriel. "Too bad. Is that the lantern? Set it up by the wardrobe, Thorold, if you would. Ill have the screen up at the other end." Lyra realized that she would be able to see the screen and whatever was on it through the crack in the door, and wondered whether her uncle had arranged it like that for the purpose. Under the noise the manservant made unrolling the stiff linen and setting it up on its frame, she whispered: "See? It was worth coming, wasn't it?" “It might be,” Pantalaimon said austerely, in his tiny moth voice. “And it might not.” Lord Asriel stood by the fire sipping the last of the coffee and watching darkly as Thorold opened the case of the projecting lantern and uncapped the lens before checking the oil tank. “Theres plenty of oil, my lord,” he said. “Shall I send for a technician to operate it?” "No. Ill do it myself. Thank you, Thorold. Have they finished dinner yet, Wren?" “Very nearly, I think, my lord,” replied the Butler. “If I understand Mr. Cawson aright, the Master and his guests wont be disposed to linger once they know you here. Shall I take the coffee tray?” "Take it and go." “Very good, my lord.” With a slight bow, the Butler took the tray and left, and Thorold went with him. As soon as the door closed, Lord Asriel looked across the room directly at the wardrobe, and Lyra felt the force of his glance almost as if it had physical form, as if it were an arrow or a spear. Then he looked away and spoke softly to his dasmon. She came to sit calmly at his side, alert and elegant and dangerous, her tawny eyes surveying the room before turning, like his black ones, to the door from the hall as the handle turned. Lyra couldnt see the door, but she heard an intake of breath as the first man came in.