did； and then my uncle killed him anyway just to teach him a lesson。〃
Roger was less sure about that than about Gobblers； but the story was too good to waste； so they took it in turns to be Lord Asriel and the expiring Tartars； using sherbet dip for the foam。
However； that was a distraction； Lyra was still intent on playing Gobblers； and she inveigled Roger down into the wine cellars； which they entered by means of the Butler's spare set of keys。 Together they crept through the great vaults where the College's Tokay and Canary； its Burgundy； its brantwijn were lying under the cobwebs of ages。 Ancient stone arches rose above them supported by pillars as thick as ten trees； irregular flagstones lay underfoot； and on all sides were ranged rack upon rack； tier upon tier； of bottles and barrels。 It was fascinating。 With Gobblers forgotten again； the two children tiptoed from end to end holding a candle in trembling fingers； peering into every dark corner； with a single question growing more urgent in Lyra's mind every moment： what did the wine taste like？
There was an easy way of answering that。 Lyra…over Roger's fervent protests…picked out the oldest； twistiest； greenest bottle she could find； and； not having anything to extract the cork with； broke it off at the neck。 Huddled in the furthest corner； they sipped at the heady crimson liquor； wondering when they'd bee drunk； and how they'd tell when they were。 Lyra didn't like the taste much； but she had to admit how grand and plicated it was。 The funniest thing was watching their two daemons； who seemed to be getting more and more muddled： falling over； giggling senselessly； and changing shape to look like gargoyles； each trying to be uglier than the other。
Finally； and almost simultaneously； the children discovered what it was like to be drunk。
〃Do they like doing this？〃 gasped Roger； after vomiting copiously。
〃Yes；〃 said Lyra； in the same condition。 〃And so do I；〃 she added stubbornly。
Lyra learned nothing from that episode except that playing Gobblers led to interesting places。 She remembered her uncle's words in their last interview； and began to explore underground； for what was above ground was only a small fraction of the whole。 Like some enormous fungus whose root system extended over acres； Jordan （finding itself jostling for space above ground with St。 Michael's College on one side； Gabriel College on the other； and the University Library behind） had begun； sometime in the Middle Ages； to spread below the surface。 Tunnels； shafts； vaults； cellars； staircases had so hollowed out the earth below Jordan and for several hundred yards around it that there was almost as much air below ground as above； Jordan College stood on a sort of froth of stone。
And now that Lyra had the taste for exploring it； she abandoned her usual haunt； the irregular alps of the College roofs； and plunged with Roger into this netherworld。 From playing at Gobblers she had turned to hunting them； for what could be more likely than that they were lurking out of sight below the ground？
So one day she and Roger made their way into the crypt below the oratory。 This was where generations of Masters had been buried； each in his lead…lined oak coffin in niches along the stone walls。 A stone tablet below each space gave their names：
SIMON LE CLERC； MASTER 1765…1789 CEREBATON
REQUIESCANT IN PACE
〃What's that mean？〃 said Roger。
〃The first part's his name； and the last bit's Roman。 And there's the dates in the middle when he was Master。 And the other name must be his daemon。〃
They moved along the silent vault； tracing the letters of more inscriptions：
FRANCIS LYALL； MASTER 1748…1765 ZOHARIEL
REQUIESCANT IN PACE
ICNATIUS COLE； MASTER 1745…1748 MUSCA
REQUIESCANT IN PACE
On each coffin； Lyra was interested to see； a brass plaque bore a picture of a different being： this one a basilisk； this a serpent； this a monkey。 She realized that they were images of the dead men's daemons。 As people became adult； their daemons lost the power to change and assumed one shape； keeping it permanently。
〃These coffins' ve got skeletons in 〃em！〃 whispered Roger。
〃Moldering flesh；〃 whispered Lyra。 〃And worms and maggots all twisting about in their eye sockets。〃
〃Must be ghosts down here；〃 said Roger； shivering pleasantly。
Beyond the first crypt they found a passage lined with stone shelves。 Each shelf was partitioned off into square sections； and in each section rested a skull。
Roger's daemon； tail tucked firmly between her legs； shivered against him and gave a little quiet howl。
〃Hush；〃 he said。
Lyra couldn't see Pantalaimon； but she knew his moth form was resting on her shoulder and probably shivering too。
She reached up and lifted the nearest skull gently out of its resting place。
〃What you doing？〃 said Roger。 〃You en't supposed to touch em。〃
She turned it over and over； taking no notice。 Something suddenly fell out of the hole at the base of the skull…fell through her fingers and rang as it hit the floor； and she nearly dropped the skull in alarm。
〃It's a coin！〃 said Roger； feeling for it。 〃Might be treasure！〃
He held it up to the candle and they both gazed wide…eyed。 It was not a coin； but a little disc of bronze with a crudely engraved inscription showing a cat。
〃It's like the ones on the coffins；〃 said Lyra。 〃It's his daemon。 Must be。〃
〃Better put it back；〃 said Roger uneasily； and Lyra upturned the skull and dropped the disk back into its immemorial resting place before returning the skull to the shelf。 Each of the other skulls； they found； had its own daemon…coin； showing its owner's lifetime panion still close to him in death。
〃Who d'you think these were when they were alive？〃 said Lyra。 〃Probably Scholars； I reckon。 Only the Masters get coffins。 There's probably been so many Scholars all down the centuries that there wouldn't be room to bury the whole of 'em； so they just cut their heads off and keep them。 That's the most important part of 'em anyway。〃
They found no Gobblers； but the catabs under the oratory kept Lyra and Roger busy for days。 Once she tried to play a trick on some of the dead Scholars； by switching around the coins in their skulls so they were with the wrong daemons。 Pantalaimon became so agitated at this that he changed into a bat and flew up and down uttering shrill cries and flapping his wings in her face； but she took no notice： it was too good a joke to waste。 She paid for it later； though。 In bed in her narrow room at the top of Staircase Twelve she was visited by a night…ghast； and woke up screaming at the three robed figures who stood at the bedside pointing their bony fingers before throwing back their cowls to show bleeding stumps where their heads should have been。 Only when Pantalaimon became a lion and roared at them did they retreat； backing away into the substance of the wall until all that was visible was their arms； then their horny yellow…gray hands； then their twitching fingers； then nothing。 First thing in the morning she hastened down to the catabs and restored the daemon…coins to their rightful places； and whispered 〃Sorry！ Sorry！〃 to the skulls。
The catabs were much larger than the wine cellars； but they too had a limit。 When Lyra and Roger had explored every corner of them and were sure there were no Gobblers to be found there； they turned their attention elsewhere…but not before they were spotted leaving the crypt by the Intercessor； who called them back into the oratory。
The Intercessor was a plump； elderly man known as Father Heyst。 It was his job to lead all the College services； to preach and pray and hear confessions。 When Lyra was younger； he had taken an interest in her spiritual welfare； only to be confounded by her sly indifference and insincere repentances。 She was not spiritually promising； he had decided。
When they heard him call； Lyra and Roger turned reluctantly and walked； dragging their feet； into the great musty…smelling dimness of the oratory。 Candles flickered here and there in front of images of the saints； a faint and distant clatter came f