• The Golden Compass
    Act I: The Compass The antique dealer in Paris had the sort of smile that suggested he knew exactly what something was worth and was counting on you knowing less. Julian Ashworth knew this, which was why he kept his expression carefully blank as he turned the brass compass over in his hands. It was not a navigational instrument. That was the first thing Julian noticed. The compass face had no...
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  • The Golden Compass
    The party was everything Hank had been promised about New York: champagne towers that caught the light like frozen waterfalls, a jazz band playing in the corner that made the crystal glasses tremble, and women in dresses so short they seemed to have forgotten to put them on entirely. Hank O'Brien stood near the punch bowl and felt like a man who had taken a wrong turn at the end of the world....
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  • The Golden Compass
    The Golden Compass Arthur Pendelton stood in the rain outside St. Bartholomew's Hospital for fourteen minutes before he realised he had stopped counting. The rain in London did not fall so much as it lingered — a persistent, grey presence that seeped through wool and bone alike. He pulled his collar higher and walked the remaining three blocks to the lodging house on Dean Street, where the...
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  • The Golden Compass
    The compass didn't point north. It never had. Arthur knew this the moment he found it, pressed into the lining of his grandfather's leather greatcoat -- a brass disc no larger than a sovereign, its face scratched and clouded with oxidation, the needle frozen at an angle that made no astronomical sense. He had been clearing out his flat in Kensington for three days already, the kind of work...
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