To make sure, he held it upside down. A single drop fell, then another, then no more. He set the jug down, sat by it and watched it awhile, but nothing happened. He picked it up, turned it over: water ran out, a thin stream that stopped almost at once. But how could there be any, when the jug had been dry a few moments since?
He put the jug down again and set himself to watch it, resolved to wait longer this time so that there could be no mistake. But he grew impatient and, telling himself that the jug would do well enough by itself, he turned his back on it and opened another bundle. This contained an engine of some sort — a gray box with rounded edges, one thicker than the others. It had no lid; it was open but not quite empty. The bottom of the box was filled with a smooth bulge of glass or crystal. It was well made, but not especially beautiful, and he had engines enough already. Perhaps it was time to go and look at the jug? No, he had left it alone longer the first time. He picked up his light-box and walked down an aisle he had not yet explored. There were many small bundles here. He took one at random and opened it. Inside the nest of gray dough-stuff there were dozens of little boxes with bright markings on them, green, violet, yellow, red. He found the trick of opening them — you put your thumbnail under one edge of the lid, and the box sprang apart. Inside was an oblong piece of some cheesy substance. Thorinn sniffed it, then tore off a crumb and tasted it. It was cheese — bland, with an unfamiliar flavor, but undeniably cheese. He ate the whole piece in two bites, then opened another box, and another, and ate until his belly was full. Weariness forgotten, he carried the rest of the boxes back to his treasure heap.
He picked up the little jug; it gurgled. He could not see inside it very well, but it seemed to be at least half full. He drank deeply, set the jug down. The water still remaining made a pleasant splash.
He sat down with his back against one of the bales of cloth. The box-shaped engine lay nearby on the floor. Thorinn lazily reached for it with one foot and hooked it nearer. It slid, checked on some irregularity in the floor, then tipped forward on its heavy edge and stood upright. Inside, the crystal seemed to flicker with colored light for an instant.
“Here, that’s odd,” said Thorinn, sitting up.
The box flickered again, and a voice spoke.
Thorinn was on his feet without knowing how he had got there. His sword was in his hand. He whirled, looked wildly this way and that, then circled the heap of treasure and peered behind the columns, looked down the aisles. He listened, heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart.
He went back to the box and stared at it dubiously. “Was that you?” he demanded.
The voice spoke again, incomprehensibly. It was a man’s deep voice, calm and measured; but where was it coming from?
“Are you in there?” Thorinn asked, stopping to peer into the box. The voice replied. The dark crystal lighted up. Thorinn saw a confused pattern of light and shadow; then part of it moved, and he saw a tiny crouched figure, dressed in stained leather, with a sword in its hand. When he moved, it moved.
“Is that me?” he cried.
The voice said, “That me?”
Thorinn looked at the box with deep distrust, withdrew a little and sat down facing it. The crystal Had gone dark; now it lighted up again, and he was looking as if down a long tunnel at the same figure, with a column of stacked bundles behind it. It was like looking at oneself in a mirror. Yet when he raised his sword in his right hand, the figure raised its sword in its right hand, not its left, as in a proper mirror.
“You,” said the voice.
“Yes, it’s me,” Thorinn replied. “How do you do that?”
The crystal went dark. “How do me do that?” said the voice.
“Yes, how do you do?” asked Thorinn impatiently. “What’s the matter? Why do you talk that way?”
“Why do me talk that way?” Thorinn felt baffled, “Yes, why do you talk that way?”
The crystal lighted again. “You talk.”
“Well, of course I talk. I talk much better than you.”
In the crystal, the tiny figure seemed to rush forward without moving until its face filled the box. Thorinn fell silent, but in the box he saw his own lips moving. “You talk?” asked the voice. The face rushed forward again, and now he saw only the mouth and chin. “You talk?”
Convinced now that He had to deal with an outlander or witling, Thorinn said, “Yes, I talk,” and gesturing toward his own mouth, he spoke with exaggerated clarity, opening his mouth wide with each word. “I — talk. Talk. You understand?”
“Talk,” said the voice. “I understand.” The crystal darkened, lighted again, and Thorinn saw a hand. It was his own hand, but when he moved his hand, the hand in the box did not move. “That’s my Hand,” he said.
“I said so didn’t I?”
“You said so. Talk.” In the crystal, now he saw only one finger; the rest of the hand had turned all misty.
“That’s my finger.”
“That’s your finger. Talk.” Now he saw his thumb, and he told the voice what that was called— and then his arm, his leg, his foot, his toes, his head, his ears, his eyes and so on until he lost patience and stood up. “You ask too many questions,” he said.
“You ask.”
“All right, who are you? How did you get in that box?”
“Box?”
“Yes, box.” Thorinn squatted, touched the box. “This thing. This box. How did you get in?”
The crystal lighted, and he was looking at the box. A box inside the box. The box was not lighted, and it stood on a yellow surface. “This box,” said the voice.
“Yes, the box. How did you get inside it?”
“I are this box. Talk.” The crystal glowed, and Thorinn saw a man in stiff scarlet robes, with a shimmer of green and gold behind him. “That’s a man. He must be rich.”
The man disappeared, and he saw a woman with fair hair, dressed in similar robes. “That’s a woman. Is it his wife?”
So they went on, and Thorinn told the box what a boy was called, a girl, a tree, a leaf, a branch; but sometimes the box showed him engines or other shapes he had never seen before, and he would say, “What’s that?” or “I don’t know what that is.” At last his head began to droop, and the pictures in the box grew so blurred that he could not make them out at all. “Talk,” said the box. His head came up with a painful jerk, and he realized that he had been asleep for just an instant.
“No more talk,” fie said thickly. “Good night.” The box said nothing. Thorinn, too dizzy to get up, rolled onto a pile of folded cloth, pulled an edge of it over him for a blanket and was instantly asleep.
II
When he awoke, he had forgotten all that had happened and at first did not know where he was. Then joy filled him when he saw his treasures. He pottered about among them for a while, examining this and that, drank from the magical jug, then crawled through the hole in the wall to relieve himself outside, came back, opened one of the boxes of cheese for His breakfast and began to plan what he should do next.
He would take only a few of the choicest things, and a supply of food, for his intention now was to try to come up into the Midworld as near as possible to the Highlands and to walk the rest of the distance, carrying his pack. Once there, he would sell some of his treasures to buy land and horses; later, he would come back to the cavern, taking care he was not followed; he would bring a pack train, and this time carry home enough treasure to keep him for the rest of his life. Thinking of this, he began to worry about brigands and to think that he would certainly have to be accompanied by some armed men. They would have to be trusted men, so that they would not rob him themselves; yet, even so, he would have to conceal from them the place where he went underground, so that they should net follow him. These thoughts gave him a headache and made Kim feel out of sorts, and he concluded that it was not easy to be rich.