She soon found out.
Either Mrs. Coulter did not know the boil of feelings that her simple words had lanced, or she was monstrously clever. Her beautiful eyes watched mildly as Will reddened and shifted uncomfortably; and for a moment Mrs. Coulter looked uncannily like her daughter.
And Lyra said, "I'll
"Yeah. They must be."
Mrs. Coulter lay awake in the entrance to the cave. The golden monkey was restless, and frustrated: the bats had left the cave with the coming of darkness, and there was nothing to torment. He prowled about by Mrs. Coulter's sleeping bag, scratching with a little horny finger at the occasional glowflies that settled in the cave and smearing their luminescence over the rock.
"You should show some respect," the Chevalier said to Lyra. "You are a thoughtless, insolent child, and several brave men have died this evening in order to make you safe. You'd do better to act politely."
"Yes," she said, "that's what the alethiometer says. It's close to his fortress."