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"Yes, here, man. And I shall need a screen and a projecting lantern, also here, also now."
The Butler could hardly prevent himself from opening his mouth in surprise,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but managed to suppress the question, or the protest.
"Wren, you're forgetting your place," said Lord Asriel. "Don't question me; just do as I tell you."
"Very good,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], my lord," said the Butler. "If I may suggest it, I should perhaps let Mr. Cawson know what you're planning,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], my lord, or else he'll be somewhat taken aback, if you see what I mean."
"Yes. Tell him, then."
Mr. Cawson was the Steward. There was an old and well-established rivalry between him and the Butler. The Steward was the superior, but the Butler had more opportunities to ingratiate himself with the Scholars, and made full use of them. He would be delighted to have this chance of showing the Steward that he knew more about what was going on in the Retiring Room.
He bowed and left. Lyra watched as her uncle poured a cup of coffee,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], drained it at once, and poured another before sipping more slowly. She was agog: cases of specimens? A projecting lantern? What did he have to show the Scholars that was so urgent and important?
Then Lord Asriel stood up and turned away from the fire. She saw him fully, and marveled at the contrast he made with the plump Butler, the stooped and languid Scholars. Lord Asriel was a tall man with powerful shoulders, a fierce dark face, and eyes that seemed to flash and glitter with savage laughter. It was a face to be dominated by, or to fight: never a face to patronize or pity. All his movements were large and perfectly balanced, like those of a wild animal, and when he appeared in a room like this, he seemed a wild animal held in a cage too small for it.