To make sure, he held it upside down. A single drop fell, then another, then none. He put 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 ago?
Resolved to wait longer this time, he turned his back on the jug and opened another bundle. This yielded a black box with rounded edges, one edge thicker than the others. It had no lid; it was open but not empty: the box was filled with a smooth bulge of glass or crystal in which he could see himself dimly reflected. If it was a mirror, it was a poor one. Down another aisle, he found many small bundles; he took one 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 incredulously. It was cheese—bland, with an unfamiliar flavor, but cheese all the same. He ate the whole piece in two bites, then opened another box, and another, and ate until he 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 again, more out of curiosity than thirst, and sat down with his back against one of the bales of cloth. The black box lay nearby on the floor; Thorinn lazily reached for it with his 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 this way and that, then circled the heap of treasure and peered behind the columns, looked down the aisles. He listened, heard nothing.
He went back to the box and stared at it dubiously. "Was that you?" he demanded. The voice spoke again, incomprehensibly. It was a quiet voice, calm and measured.
"Are you in there?" Thorinn asked, stooping 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 crouching 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 tunnel at the same tiny figure, with a column of stacked bundles behind it. It was like looking at oneself in a mirror of ice. Yet when he raised his sword in his right hand, the figure raised the 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?" 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, I know 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 do with some harmless and rather stupid spirit, 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.
"That's my hand."
"No, not yours—it's my hand."
"That's your hand."
"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?"
Thorinn squatted, touched the box. "This thing. This box. How did you get in there?" The crystal lighted, and he was looking at the box: a box inside the box. The box inside 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 an instant.
"No more talk," he said thickly. "Good night." The box said nothing. Thorinn rolled over onto a pile of folded cloth, pulled an edge of it over him, and was instantly asleep.
When he awoke, he had forgotten all that had happened, and at first he 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. If only he could get all this back to the Midworld, or even the thousandth part of it! Thinking deeply, he crawled through the opening in the wall to ease himself outside; came back and opened one of the boxes of cheese for his breakfast.
The box was silent and dark; it had said nothing since he had awakened, and that was odd, since it had been so garrulous before.
"Box, are you there?"
The crystal lighted. "I am here."
"Tell me, box, what is above this cave?"
"What is this cave?"
"This cave," Thorinn said, waving his arms. "This place here, where we are. What is above it?" He pointed upward as he spoke.
In the crystal, a brightly lighted little hollow shape appeared: it was like a long empty box with walls of glass. At one end of it there was a hollow worm: that must be the passage by which Thorinn had entered. Near the other end, a tiny thread connected the cave to a much larger tunnel above.
"Show me where that goes," said Thorinn, pointing.
In the crystal, the box-shape dwindled, receding, while more of the tunnel appeared. Presently the tunnel crossed a shaft as big as itself.
"And that? Where does it go?"
The picture shrank again; now he could see that the shaft met another tunnel, and above that the dark background ended.
"Is that the Midworld?"
"What is the Midworld?"
"The top of the earth, where there are no more caves."
"That is the Midworld."
Thorinn pointed again. "How far is it from here to the top?"
"What is how far?"
"How far," Thorinn said, waving his arms by way of explanation. "How many ells?"
"What are ells?"
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Thorinn sat down on the floor and stared at the box in exasperation. "Ells are—well, anybody knows that. Ells are how long something is." He spread his hands apart. "This is an ell." The box said, "How long are you?"
"You mean how tall. Two ells. I'm two ells tall."
In the crystal, two yellow marks appeared. "How many?"
"Two."
One of the marks vanished. "How many?"
"One."
Two more appeared. "How many?"
"Three."
Another mark. "How many?"
"Four."
The box, Thorinn realized, did not even know how to count.
So they went on until they got to twenty-one, and then the box said, "Two tens are twenty?"
"Yes, that's right, and three tens are thirty."
"And four tens?"
"Four tens are forty. Five tens are fifty, six tens are sixty." At a hundred and ten, the box stopped him again.
"Twenty tens are two hundred?"
"Yes."
"It is three hundred and thirty-two ells from here to the top." Thorinn sat awhile with his chin on his fist. The geas had never prevented him from going up when there was no other way to go; therefore he could surely get into the tunnel. Then, if he could but gain the Midworld, though the geas would be on him still, he need only keep away from pits and chasms, for no magic could make a man go down through the solid earth. But he could never climb that shaft against the geas; and the geas could be removed only by its maker, or by a greater magician. Struck by a thought, he said, "Box, can you do magic?"
"What is magic?"
"Magic is—well, for instance, a spell that makes something happen."
"What is a spell?"
"Well, suppose you want to find something." Thorinn picked up two jewels from the heap, a red one and a green; he tossed the red one over his shoulder, hearing it click and roll down the aisle. Then he picked up the green one and chanted three times, "Brother, find your brother." He threw the green jewel, marking where it went. When he found it, it lay beside the red one.
"You see, that was a spell—I found the red one by making the green one go to the same place."
"Not the spell. You found the red one."
Incredulous, Thorinn tried to explain again, but the box insisted that it knew nothing of spells, and he gave up. Perhaps the magician who had made the box had taken care to teach it no magic, for fear it would become greater than himself.
At any rate, why should he not attempt some magic of his own? Many times he had watched Goryat casting spells to keep wolves away, or to make sure the mares would come fresh in the spring and the foals be born alive. Supposing his spell worked but poorly, or that it lasted only a short time, still it might be enough for his purpose. He brooded over this awhile, then set aside certain articles from the heap—a tiny figurine of an old bearded man, who reminded him somewhat of Goryat; slender bits of wood painted with designs in red; a box full of a fine gray powder. These he wrapped carefully and put away in his wallet. Then he began to consider what else he could take and what he must leave behind.
The magic jug was a problem. He thought of hanging it from his belt, but that would be awkward, and unless he could contrive some sort of cover for it, the jug would be spilling water down his leg; whereas if he put it in his wallet, it would take up too much room. He could fill the jug with jewels, but then would the water run over?
He remembered that when he had first taken the jug from its wrapping, there had been no water in it, or at any rate only a drop. Was it being wrapped up that made the difference? He cut a piece of the transparent stuff, wrapped it around the jug after pouring the water out, and tied it tightly with strips of the same material. Later, when he came back from a trip to gather food, he opened it and it was still dry. He filled it to the brim with jewels, wrapped it again and put it in his wallet. The next thing was to be sure he knew how to find the exit from the cavern.
"Box, show me this cave again."
The crystal lighted; the same bright hollow shape appeared.
"How far is it from here to the hole in the roof?"
A short yellow line appeared across the width of the cavern. "It is two hundred and ninety-one ells—" A longer line, lengthwise, almost to the end. "—and eight hundred and thirty-eight ells."
"Eight hundred ells? How big is this cave?"
"It is eight hundred and fifty ells long, and fifteen ells tall, and three hundred and nineteen ells—"
"Three hundred and nineteen ells wide?"
"Yes, three hundred and nineteen ells wide."
Thorinn was silent in amazement. "Is it all like this—all full of things?"
"It is all full of things."
Thorinn tried to imagine that, and could not. "Box, who made this cave?"
"What is made?"
Thorinn tried to explain, and grew hot-faced with exasperation. "Well, look here," he said finally, and picked up his light-box. "I made this box. I cut these pieces of wood and glued them together, and I fitted the pieces of mica in here at the ends—well, one of them is gone now, I lost it in the river. Then I made the lid and put it on here, and then the box was made, you see. I made it." In the crystal, an image of Thorinn appeared, fitting little pieces of wood together. It was over in a moment, and the figure held a light-box in its hand.
"You made this box?"
"That's right. Now who made all this? Who made you?"
"A box made me."
"You mean you made yourself?"
"I mean I made me?"
"Well, did you?"
"A box made this box." In the crystal appeared a huge black engine, out of the end of which, one after another, were dropping little black boxes, each with a glint of crystal inside it. They floated away out of sight; it made Thorinn dizzy to watch them.
"You mean an engine. An engine made you—and all these other things?"
"Engines made me and all these other things."
"Well, but who made the engines?"
"Engines made the engines."
Thorinn gave it up. He made the box show him the picture of the cave again, then what was around it. In the new picture, the cave was a tiny bright shape at the top, while all around it other transparent passages ran off in every direction, some twisting, some straight, leading to other caverns. His idea had been to make sure there was no better way up to the Midworld than the one the box had showed him before, but as he asked the box to show him more and still more, he grew fascinated by the maze of passages, caverns, and shafts crisscrossing each other; there seemed to be no end to it. New lines kept floating into the picture while the old ones grew smaller and closer together. "How did it ever come to be like that?" he asked. "The whole Underworld?"
In the crystal, the network of lines vanished and a man's face appeared, brown and smiling; at least Thorinn supposed he was a man, though he was beardless. His black hair was cut short and combed back, exposing his ears and forehead. His lips moved. After a moment the box said, "This is the world." Behind the brown-faced man a big green and blue mottled ball was floating against a background of darkness. The man's lips went on moving, but no sound came. The ball receded, grew very small.
"What is he saying?" Thorinn asked. "Let me hear what he says." Now the man himself began speaking, but it was gibberish; Thorinn could not understand a word. The ball was tiny now, and to one side of it, over the man's head, a dot of yellow light appeared. It grew slowly; suddenly it was very big and bright, and Thorinn could see flames leaping from its surface. Then it all vanished, and instead he was looking at a green landscape dotted with men and women who were all standing looking up at something huge and flat and silvery that was receding slowly overhead, as if somehow they had brought the sky down, then raised it again. The man's voice was still speaking, but Thorinn could not see him. Now the sky was high overhead, where it belonged, and little dark engines were moving across it.
Then they w
ere underground, watching a huge engine that ate its way into the solid rock, leaving a bright round tunnel behind. Then there were scenes of great caverns full of engines and people, and floating egg-shaped things that crossed the caverns and darted along tunnels, up and down shafts, all brightly lit, shining... Then the brown man again, and behind him a picture like the drawing of the Underworld the box had showed him before, only that it was circular, with many rings one inside the other, and four straight lines radiating from the smallest circle of all, in the center. Then the circle changed into a ball again; this time it was white. Watching these pictures made Thorinn uneasy in a way he could not understand; it was like being afraid, and because there was nothing to be afraid of, that made him angry. The brown man was still speaking, the yellow point of light had appeared, and the silvery ball, shrunken to a dot, was crawling away toward a cloud of other bright dots. Now the other dots swung, came closer, darting forward like frostflakes in a storm until only one hung in the center of the crystal, growing larger and brighter.
"That's enough," Thorinn said. The crystal went dark. He had been watching so long that he had grown thirsty again, and had to unwrap the jug, let it fill, drink, and then wrap it up again. The smallest piece of cloth he had was far too bulky to carry, but he cut off a strip an ell wide and as long as he was tall. He spread this on the floor and rolled up his cheeseboxes and other things in it—clothing, shoes, the little figurines, tools and knives, the talking box, some leftover jewels—turning the ends in as he went. He did this twice over before he had the roll packed to his liking, with the heavier things in the middle, the food outside where it could be easily reached. He tied it with strips of cloth, and cut other strips to make loops which would fit over his shoulders. He changed the moss in his light-box, shouldered his burdens, and set off past the ends of the aisles, counting his paces. The tall columns marched past him with their heads buried in the darkness. Here and there small parcels had been knocked to the floor, and he conjectured that the earth-shock must have done that, when Snorri began to rumble; probably that was the cause, too, of the gap in the wall through which he had entered. Before that, the cavern must have been sealed up... how long?
World and Thorinn Page 7