More corridors, and Lyra was tired by now, so sleepy she kept yawning and could hardly lift her feet in the woolly slippers they'd given her. Pantalaimon was drooping, and he had to change to a mouse and settle inside her dressing-gown pocket. Lyra had the impression of a row of beds, children's faces, a pillow, and then she was asleep.
Someone was shaking her. The first thing she did was to feel at her waist, and both tins were still there, still safe; so she tried to open her eyes, but oh, it was hard; she had never felt so sleepy.
“Wake up! Wake up!”
It was a whisper in more than one voice. With a huge effort, as if she were pushing a boulder up a slope, Lyra forced herself to wake up.
In the dim light from a very low-powered anbaric bulb over the doorway she saw three other girls clustered around her. It wasn't easy to see, because her eyes were slow to focus, but they seemed about her own age, and they were speaking English.
“She's awake.”
“They gave her sleeping pills. Must've…”
“What's your name?”
“Lizzie,” Lyra mumbled.
“Is there a load more new kids coming?” demanded one of the girls.
“Dunno. Just me.”
“Where'd they get you then?”
Lyra struggled to sit up. She didn't remember taking a sleeping pill, but there might well have been something in the drink she'd had. Her head felt full of eiderdown, and there was a faint pain throbbing behind her eyes.
“Where is this place?”
“Middle of nowhere. They don't tell us.”
“They usually bring more'n one kid at a time….”
“What do they do?” Lyra managed to ask, gathering her doped wits as Pantalaimon stirred into wakefulness with her.
“We dunno,” said the girl who was doing most of the talking. She was a tall, red-haired girl with quick twitchy movements and a strong London accent. “They sort of measure us and do these tests and that—”
“They measure Dust,” said another girl, friendly and plump and dark-haired.
“You don't know,” said the first girl.
“They do,” said the third, a subdued-looking child cuddling her rabbit daemon. “I heard 'em talking.”
“Then they take us away one by one and that's all we know. No one comes back,” said the redhead.
“There's this boy, right,” said the plump girl, “he reckons—”
“Don't tell her that!” said the redhead. “Not yet.”
“Is there boys here as well?” said Lyra.
“Yeah. There's lots of us. There's about thirty, I reckon.”
“More'n that,” said the plump girl. “More like forty.”
“Except they keep taking us away,” said the redhead. “They usually start off with bringing a whole bunch here, and then there's a lot of us, and one by one they all disappear.”
“They're Gobblers,” said the plump girl. “You know Gobblers. We was all scared of 'em till we was caught….”
Lyra was gradually coming more and more awake. The other girls' daemons, apart from the rabbit, were close by listening at the door, and no one spoke above a whisper. Lyra asked their names. The red-haired girl was Annie, the dark plump one Bella, the thin one Martha. They didn't know the names of the boys, because the two sexes were kept apart for most of the time. They weren't treated badly.
“It's all right here,” said Bella. “There's not much to do, except they give us tests and make us do exercises and then they measure us and take our temperature and stuff. It's just boring really.”
“Except when Mrs. Coulter comes,” said Annie.
Lyra had to stop herself crying out, and Pantalaimon fluttered his wings so sharply that the other girls noticed.
“He's nervous,” said Lyra, soothing him. “They must've gave us some sleeping pills, like you said, 'cause we're all dozy. Who's Mrs. Coulter?”
“She's the one who trapped us, most of us, anyway,” said Martha. “They all talk about her, the other kids. When she comes, you know there's going to be kids disappearing.”
“She likes watching the kids, when they take us away, she likes seeing what they do to us. This boy Simon, he reckons they kill us, and Mrs. Coulter watches.”
“They kill us?” said Lyra, shuddering.
“Must do. 'Cause no one comes back.”
“They're always going on about daemons too,” said Bella. “Weighing them and measuring them and all…”
“They touch your daemons?”
“No! God! They put scales there and your daemon has to get on them and change, and they make notes and take pictures. And they put you in this cabinet and measure Dust, all the time, they never stop measuring Dust.”
“What dust?” said Lyra.
“We dunno,” said Annie. “Just something from space. Not real dust. If you en't got any Dust, that's good. But everyone gets Dust in the end.”
“You know what I heard Simon say?” said Bella. “He said that the Tartars make holes in their skulls to let the Dust in.”
“Yeah, he'd know,” said Annie scornfully. “I think I'll ask Mrs. Coulter when she comes.”
“You wouldn't dare!” said Martha admiringly.
“I would.”
“When's she coming?” said Lyra.
“The day after tomorrow,” said Annie.
A cold drench of terror went down Lyra's spine, and Pantalaimon crept very close. She had one day in which to find Roger and discover whatever she could about this place, and either escape or be rescued; and if all the gyptians had been killed, who would help the children stay alive in the icy wilderness?