Lyra and Roger patted down the great stone hall, making sure to keep close to the side curtains in case they needed to duck for cover. Their daemons understood, so Pantalaimon took the form of a moth, Salcilia the form of a small grey mouse. "It's just up ahead," said Lyra "Make sure the bags are unfolded before we git there, I en't want to make too much noise." Pantalaimon whispered in her ear, "This is a bad idea, Lyra. We don't know who or what is in the crypts. You heard what the Master said." At this Lyra smirked, this wouldn't be the first— or the last— time Lyra goes against the Master's rules. She had lived at Jordan college her whole life, and knew how to get away with bloody murder. She came back to the mission. The Gyptian kids teamed up with kids from the other colleges and had been causing trouble for the Jordan kids all too frequently recently. Lyra wanted to take a souvenir from database of artifacts kept by the scholars to give them a scare, maybe a "cursed" dagger or a preserved rat. Roger almost crashing into her, she banked around one of the corners in the maze leading to the halls below the college. "There's nothing but old, dusty things that the scholars have collected. They bring them to Jordan, and when they get bored of them, they put them down here in the crypts. Now we're going to put good use to 'em," she said, laughing at the thought of tossing a dead rodent in front of one of the Gyptians and claiming the Gobblers got a kid's daemon. As they turned into the hall of the crypts, the air was clouded with dust motes that hung in the dry air. Had there been a window, beams of light would appear solid because of how thickly they sat in the hall.
In front of them was a rose colored door, sitting heavy on its stiff hinges, with intricate, bronze decorations trailing from the top to the knob. Behind this door lay years of secrets even some of the scholars couldn't fathom, Lyra thought to herself. "I'm not so sure we should be doing this, Lyra, really," pleaded Roger. Up until this point he was quiet, loyal to Lyra's wishes to create misconduct under the Scholars' watch. He, too, wanted to see what was inside, but because he was a simple kitchen boy, his punishment would be much more severe than Lyra's if they were caught. The last time they were caught on the roofs of Jordan, he was scraping burnt bread crumbs out from under the nails of his sore hands for over a month. Lyra didn't intend to get caught this time; they waited until the sun started to set before they snuck down into the crypts. At this Roger also worried, there were ghosts and ghouls rumored to roam the halls that ran under the college, preying upon lost servant boys and girls that happened to turn a wrong corner.
Lyra scoffed at this notion and tugged on the knob, but it wouldn't budge. Instead it offered a creek that sounded old, and slow-moving, an ancient portal to whatever secrets the scholars hid away. After managing to pull the door open, a dark tunnel opened before the two. Pantalaimon took the form of a polecat to better his night vision in case there was some hidden assailant. Salcilia took her usual form as a beagle and turned her ear towards the tunnel, but all she heard was the listless abundance of unmoving air, accompanied by a cool, rank breeze that emanated from somewhere deep in the crypt. Lyra strolled determinedly into the mouth of the hall, equipped with a naphtha lamp, which created a bubble of light around their small party. As soon as the ancient door closed behind them, Roger felt insignificant compared to the vast darkness that surrounded them. They walked down the hall and saw nothing, bare walls flanked their sides. They'd been walking for awhile, coming across nothing but their own desolate shadows. "Don't go too far in front of me, Lyra," said Roger. She stood adamantly, puffed her chest out, and spit into the dark. As soon as it disappeared, a loud metal clang answered from just beyond the lamp's reach. Both of the children and their daemon's turned in surprise. Because the hallway they had been traveling in had been no wider than six feet, she hadn't realized they entered a large chasm.
As she held the lamp up in the direction they received the clang, Lyra saw more polished bronze artifacts like those that littered the dining halls and the scholars' studies. Sheaths of bows and arrows and swords mounted the walls, glinting as Lyra ran the soft glow of the naphtha across the room. Below were footed glass tables with trinkets and instruments littering the insides. Roger peered into the cases, careful not to touch anything, but he stood no chance once Lyra saw the untold treasures that were held in every nook and cranny. She lifted up measurement tools like old scales and rulers and odd globes that didn't seem to have any real purpose but when you rolled it in your palm, its weight would shift and roll in a direction you didn't expect. There were preserved specimen of insects that she'd never even imagine, their jewel-like wings splayed and tacked down and what looked like clockwork joints sprawled on the red velvet of their joined casket. She was digging amongst the queer stash when she heard Roger let out a yelp, stepping back with his hands cover his mouth. She had set the naphtha lamp down on the floor to free her hands, but on the edge of its glow she saw exactly what she had been looking for. There on a wax shelf cast in silver sat three skulls, the one in the middle propped up above the others on what appeared to be a folded robe, but all three sharing the same amiable smile that covered whatever ominous motive they had. It wasn't until Lyra moved the light closer to the sinewless faces that she identified who they were— Tartars, wild men of the North. She overheard the Master talking about them once in a lecture. They drilled holes in the tops of their skulls as some form of practice, but she didn't really care, they were perfect to scare the Gyptian kids off of Jordan's grounds. Lyra thought she saw one of the skulls wink at her, but it was just a trick of the light. Roger held the lamp now, shaking in fear of what Lyra intended to do. He spent more time inside than she did, and overheard a great deal more about the hauntings that occurred in Jordan college. He watched Lyra cautiously lay a hand on the skull on the left, and he, too, half expected it to crumple into dust on contact. But it didn't. "It's cold. And… dry," said Lyra "Here, Roger, put this one in the bag first." Roger felt every muscle collapse. "But I en't want to! You put it in, you're already holding it!" he exclaimed. Lyra rolled her eyes and set it carefully in the bag. Pantalaimon sat on the floor next to her, tentatively watching the skull move from shelf to bag. In went the next one, this one a little heavier and covered in thin webs that were invisible even in the light. Lyra brushed her hands on her dress and stockings before she went in for the top skull. "I wonder what's so special about this guy. He en't look all that important. He's even missing most of his teeth!" she laughed, and even Roger let out a half hearted laugh. But something about this last skull seemed off. The way that its face looked, as though it just heard a joke that was funny to everyone except the owner of this cranium perched on the shelf, sitting in the dark for what seems like the beginning of time. Five inches from the skull, Lyra's hand caught a cold draft and froze like a hand reaching out of water one last time before going under forever. She felt uncertain of what happened to the air, but she had two skulls so far and wasn't about to leave the third in fear of looking like a baby in front of Roger, although she knew he wouldn't give her grief about it. As her hand reached closer to the skull, that same chill pierced her skin, numbing her finger tips. This body-deafness tickled from her fingertips up to her shoulders and straight down her spine. In one quick motion she swooped it up and, unlike the other two which she carefully lowered, plopped it into the bag so as to rid of whatever came over her. "What did you do that for? Nearly broke the lot of them, ya did!" cried Roger. She didn't believe in ghosts, but she did believe in revenge, which she set out to do with their new acquaintances. "That last one was just too heavy is all. Come on, Roger, you're not scared of some dead guys' heads are you? They're just like balls now, but this time the Gyptians are on the receiving end. I've got dibs on Billy Costa. Last time, he got me right in me eye with a mud ball. Rocks in it and everything." On their way out, Lyra and Roger ran, throwing their weight against the maroon door to throw it open. They quickly ascended out of the thick air into the larger common halls of the college. The party of seven, the two children and their daemons, plus the three skulls, set out on Jordan's lawns to pay a visit to the Gyptians.