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A darker speck than the sky was roving uncertainly back and forth, and then he found them and skimmed low to perch on a sill that was barred with an iron grille Lyra h for Pan to do it without alarrille beside him Lyra loved the way he did that: one fluent movement, utterly silent, his balance perfect

"Is it far now?" said the daemon shakily

"Not far," said Pantalaimon "But you haven't told us the whole truth What are you afraid of?"

The daemon-bird tried to fly away, but found in the sarasp of one strong paw Wings flapping hard, the dae, and cried out in the strange rattling cooing sound that had enraged the pigeons--and alain He struggled back up to the perch

Lyra was standing as close as she could

"If you don't tell us the truth, we ht lead you into trouble," she said "We can tell this is dangerous, whatever it is Your witch ought to know that If she was here, she'd oing to this man for?"

"I have to ask for so," the daemon said unhappily, with a wild quiver in his voice

"What? And you have to tell us"

"A medicine for my witch This man can make an elixir "

"How does she know that?"

"Dr Lanselius has visited him He knows He could vouch for it"

Dr Lanselius was the consul of all the witch-clans at Trollesund, in the far north Lyra remembered her visit to his house, and the secret she'd overheard--the secret which had had such momentous consequences She would have trusted Dr Lanselius; but could she trust what someone else claimed on his behalf? And as for an elixir

"Why does your witch need a huot all kinds of remedies of their own?"

"Not for this sickness It's a new kind Only the gold elixir can cure it"

"If she is sick," said Pan, "why are you healthy?"

The bird shrank back into the shadow A , ar back with curious eyes

"That is the sickness," came the shaky words from the shadow "It is a new kind, from the south Witches fade and die, and we daemons don't die with them I have known three of our clan-sisters fall sick with it, and their daemons are still alive--alone and cold"

Pantalaiave a little mew of distress and flowed onto Lyra's shoulder She put her hand up to hold him firmly

"Why didn't you say?" she said

"I was ashaht you would shunsickness That's why they attackues out of the way"

The poor thing looked so wretched, huddled there in the cold shadow; and the thought of his witch, waiting in the north in the faint hope that he'd bring back so to heal her, made tears come to Lyra's eyes Pan had told her she was too soft and too war her about it Since she and Will had parted two years before, the slightest thing had the power to move her to pity and distress; it felt as if her heart were bruised forever

"Then coet to Juxon Street It's not far now"

Shethoughts were passing over herover a cornfield on a breezy day, but there wasn't time to hold them back and examine

the down Little Clarendon Street, that row of fashionable dress shops and chic cafes, where the gilded youth of Lyra's Oxford passed the tireat classical bulk of the Fell Press on the left They were in Jericho now

Juxon Street was one of the little streets of terraced brick houses that ran down to the canal: the hole Ironworks behind the street, watermen and their families Beyond the canal, the open expanse of Port Meadow stretched almost as far as the hills and woods of White Haht bird out on the distant river

At the corner of the street Pantalaimon waited for Lyra to coain

"Where is he?" she whispered