Lyra reluctantly slipped under the warm water and soaped herself while Pantalaimon perched on the curtain rail. They were both conscious that he mustn't be too lively, for the daemons of dull people were dull themselves. When she was washed and dry, the nurse took her temperature and looked into her eyes and ears and throat, and then measured her height and put her on some scales before writing a note on a clipboard. Then she gave Lyra some pajamas and a dressing gown. They were clean, and of good quality, like Tony Makarios's anorak, but again there was a secondhand air about them. Lyra felt very uneasy.
“These en't mine,” she said.
“No, dear. Your clothes need a good wash.”
“Am I going to get my own ones back?”
“I expect so. Yes, of course.”
“What is this place?”
“It's called the Experimental Station.”
That wasn't an answer, and whereas Lyra would have pointed that out and asked for more information, she didn't think Lizzie Brooks would; so she assented dumbly in the dressing and said no more.
“I want my toy back,” she said stubbornly when she was dressed.
“Take it, dear,” said the nurse. “Wouldn't you rather have a nice woolly bear, though? Or a pretty doll?”
She opened a drawer where some soft toys lay like dead things. Lyra made herself stand and pretend to consider for several seconds before picking out a rag doll with big vacant eyes. She had never had a doll, but she knew what to do, and pressed it absently to her chest.
“What about my money belt?” she said. “I like to keep my toy in there.”
“Go on, then, dear,” said Sister Clara, who was filling in a form on pink paper.
Lyra hitched up her unfamiliar skirt and tied the oilskin pouch around her waist.
“What about my coat and boots?” she said. “And my mittens and things?”
“We'll have them cleaned for you,” said the nurse automatically.
Then a telephone buzzed, and while the nurse answered it, Lyra stooped quickly to recover the other tin, the one containing the spy-fly, and put it in the pouch with the alethiometer.
“Come along, Lizzie,” said the nurse, putting the receiver down. “We'll go and find you something to eat. I expect you're hungry.”
She followed Sister Clara to the canteen, where a dozen round white tables were covered in crumbs and the sticky rings where drinks had been carelessly put down. Dirty plates and cutlery were stacked on a steel trolley. There were no windows, so to give an illusion of light and space one wall was covered in a huge photogram showing a tropical beach, with bright blue sky and white sand and coconut palms.
The man who had brought her in was collecting a tray from a serving hatch.
“Eat up,” he said.
There was no need to starve, so she ate the stew and mashed potatoes with relish. There was a bowl of tinned peaches and ice cream to follow. As she ate, the man and the nurse talked quietly at another table, and when she had finished, the nurse brought her a glass of warm milk and took the tray away.
The man came to sit down opposite. His daemon, the marmot, was not blank and incurious as the nurse's dog had been, but sat politely on his shoulder watching and listening.
“Now, Lizzie,” he said. “Have you eaten enough?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I'd like you to tell me where you come from. Can you do that?”
“London,” she said.
“And what are you doing so far north?”
“With my father,” she mumbled. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the gaze of the marmot, and trying to look as if she was on the verge of tears.
“With your father? I see. And what's he doing in this part of the world?”
“Trading. We come with a load of New Danish smokeleaf and we was buying furs.”
“And was your father by himself?”
“No. There was my uncles and all, and some other men,” she said vaguely, not knowing what the Samoyed hunter had told him.
“Why did he bring you on a journey like this, Lizzie?”
“ 'Cause two years ago he brung my brother and he says he'll bring me next, only he never. So I kept asking him, and then he did.”
“And how old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“Good, good. Well, Lizzie, you're a lucky little girl. Those huntsmen who found you brought you to the best place you could be.”
“They never found me,” she said doubtfully. “There was a fight. There was lots of 'em and they had arrows….”
“Oh, I don't think so. I think you must have wandered away from your father's party and got lost. Those huntsmen found you on your own and brought you straight here. That's what happened, Lizzie.”
“I saw a fight,” she said. “They was shooting arrows and that….I want my dad,” she said more loudly, and felt herself beginning to cry.
“Well, you're quite safe here until he comes,” said the doctor.
“But I saw them shooting arrows!”
“Ah, you thought you did. That often happens in the intense cold, Lizzie. You fall asleep and have bad dreams and you can't remember what's true and what isn't. That wasn't a fight, don't worry. Your father is safe and sound and he'll be looking for you now and soon he'll come here because this is the only place for hundreds of miles, you know, and what a surprise he'll have to find you safe and sound! Now Sister Clara will take you along to the dormitory where you'll meet some other little girls and boys who got lost in the wilderness just like you. Off you go. We'll have another little talk in the morning.”
Lyra stood up, clutching her doll, and Pantalaimon hopped onto her shoulder as the nurse opened the door to lead them out.