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            “And what are you really doing?”

            “Not now. Perhaps another time. You must go.”

            He showed them out, and told them how to loosen the gate between the ironworks and the canal path, and then close it again from outside. On the path they could make their way along to Walton Well Road, and from there it was only ten minutes' walk back to the school, and the open pantry window, and their Latin.

            “Thank you,” she said to Mr. Makepeace. “I hope you feel better soon.”

            “Good night, Lyra,” he said.

            Five minutes later, in the University Park, Pan said: “Listen.”

            They stopped. Somewhere in the dark trees, a bird was singing.

            “A nightingale?” Lyra guessed, but they didn't know for certain.

            “Maybe,” Pan said, “the meaning—you know…”

            “Yeah. … As if the birds—and the whole city—”

            “Protecting us? Could it be that?”

            They stood still. Their city lay quietly around them, and the only voice was the bird's, and they couldn't understand what it said.

            “Things don't mean things as simply as that,” Lyra said, uncertainly. “Do they? Not like mensa means table. They mean all kinds of things, mixed up.”

            “But it feels like it,” Pan said. “It feels as if the whole city's looking after us. So what we feel is part of the meaning, isn't it?”

            “Yes! It is. It must be. Not the whole of it, and there's a lot more we don't even know is there, probably…. Like all those meanings in the alethiometer, the ones we have to go deep down to find. Things you never suspect. But that's part of it, no question.”

            The city, their city—belonging was one of the meanings of that, and protection, and home.

            Very shortly afterward, as they climbed in through the pantry window with the loose latch, they found the remains of an apple pie on the marble worktop.

            “We must be lucky, Pan,” Lyra said, as they carried it upstairs. “See, that's another thing it means.”

            And before they went to bed, they put the crumbs out on the windowsill, for the birds.

            THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A KNOPF

            This is a work of fiction Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the

product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

            Text copyright © 2003 by Philip Pullman

            All rights reserved

Published in the United States of America by Alfred A Knopf,

an imprint of Random House Children's Books,

a division of Random House, Inc, New York

            KNOPF, BORZOI BOOKS, and the colophon are

registered trademarks of Random House, Inc

www randomhouse com/teens

            Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at

www randomhouse.com/teachers

            Pullman, Philip

Lyra's Oxford / Philip Pullman, engravings by John Lawrence

SUMMARY Lyra and Pantalaimon (now a pine-marten) are back at Oxford,

but their peace is shattered by Ragi, the daemon of the witch Yelena,

who is searching for a healing elixir to cure his witch

eISBN: 978-0-307-48781-0

PZ7 P968 Ly 2003 [Fie]— 22 2003273903

v3.0

Table of Contents

Cover

Other Books By This Author

Title Page

Chapter 1 - Lyra and the Birds

Copyright