The Book of Dust: The Secret Commonwealth (Book of Dust, Volume 2) by Philip Pullman Read Free Book Online

so.”
    “Then look again. Look harder.”
    The young man waved a hand languidly as if shooing the idea away. He was frowning, his eyes half closed, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his white forehead.
    “Are you unwell?” said Delamare.
    “You know how the new method affects me. It puts a severe strain on the nerves.”
    “You are paid very well to put up with that sort of thing. In any case, I’ve told you not to use this new method. I don’t trust it.”
    “I’ll look, yes, all right, I’ll look, but not now. I need to recover first. But I can tell you one thing: there was someone watching.”
    “Watching the operation? Who was that?”
    “No idea. Couldn’t tell. But there was someone else there who saw it all.”
    “Did the mechanics realize?”
    “No.”
    “That’s all you can tell me about it?”
    “That’s all I know. All it’s possible to know. Except…”
    He said no more. The Secretary General was used to this mannerism and kept his patience. Eventually the young man went on:
    “Except I think maybe it could have been her. That girl. I didn’t see her, mind. But it could have been.”
    He was looking closely at Delamare as he said that. His employer sat at the desk and wrote a sentence or two on a piece of headed paper before folding it and capping his fountain pen.
    “Here you are, Olivier. Take this to the bank. Then have some rest. Eat properly. Keep up your strength.”
    The young man opened the paper and read it before putting it in his pocket and leaving without a word. But he’d noticed something he’d seen before: at the mention of the girl, Marcel Delamare’s mouth trembled.
----
    * * *
    Lyra put the rucksack down on the floor and sank into the old armchair.
    “Why did you hide when Dr. Polstead came through?” she said.
    “I didn’t,” said Pantalaimon.
    “You did. You shot under my coat as soon as you heard his voice.”
    “I just wanted to be out of the way,” he said. “Let’s open this and have a look.” He was peering closely at the rucksack and lifting the buckles with his nose. “It’s certainly his. Same smell. Not the sort of cologne that Miriam’s father makes.”
    “Well, we can’t do it now,” she said. “We’ve got twenty minutes to get back to St. Sophia’s and see Dr. Lieberson.”
    It was a meeting that each undergraduate had with her tutor near the end of term: an appraisal, a warning to work harder, a commendation for good work done, suggestions for vacation reading. Lyra had never missed such a meeting yet, but if she didn’t hurry…
    She got up, but Pan didn’t move.
    “We’d better hide this,” he said.
    “What? No one comes in here! It’s perfectly safe.”
    “Seriously. Think of the man last night. Someone wanted this enough to kill him for it.”
    Lyra saw the point, and pulled back the worn carpet. Under the floorboards there was a space where they’d hidden things before. It was a tight squeeze, but they got the rucksack in and pulled the carpet back. As Lyra ran downstairs, she heard the Jordan clock chime for eleven-forty-five.
----
    * * *
    They made it with a minute to spare, and had to sit hot and red-faced through Dr. Lieberson’s appraisal. Apparently Lyra had worked well and was beginning to understand the complexities of Mediterranean and Byzantine politics, though there was always the danger of thinking that a superficial mastery of the events was as good as a fundamental understanding of the principles at work underneath. Lyra agreed, nodding hard. She could have written it herself. Her tutor, a young woman with severely cut blond hair and a goldfinch dæmon, looked at her skeptically.
    “Make sure to do some reading,” she said. “Frankopan’s good. Hughes-Williams has a very good chapter on Levantine trade. Don’t forget—”
    “Oh, trade, yes. Dr. Lieberson, the Levantine trade—sorry to interrupt—did it always involve roses and perfumes and things like that?”
    “And smokeleaf, since it was