"My child! My daughter! Where is she? What have you done? My Lyra, youd do better to tear the fibers from my heart, she was safe with me, safe, and now where is she?"

Mrs. Coulters cry resounded through the little chamber at the top of the adamant tower. She was bound to a chair, her hair disheveled, her clothing torn, her eyes wild; and her monkey daemon thrashed and struggled on the floor in the coils of a silver chain.

Lord Asriel sat nearby, scribbling on a piece of paper, taking no notice. An orderly stood beside him, glancing nervously at the woman. When Lord Asriel handed him the paper, he saluted and hurried out, his terrier daemon close at his heels with her tail tucked low.

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