"Living interments," repeated Rack heavily. "Buried alive. But you think he still lives?"
"I think so. Don't ask me why I simply do. The words burn my brain."
"What are the numbers?" asked a miner. "2067, the year 2054—what are they?"
"I don't know. Go on, Nirea."
"Instructions for opening the casket: spring back the locks along each bottom edge." She felt the chest where it rested on six legs on the floor. "Here are odd-shaped things—ooh!" She jerked her hand away. "They leap at me!"
Revel felt impatiently, said, "Those are the locks." He unsnapped fourteen altogether. "What next?"
"Run a knife along the seal two inches below the top."
"Here's the seal," said Rack. He took his pick, and thrusting the point of it into a soft metal strip that ran around the chest, tore it away with one long hard tug. The Mink finished the job on sides and back; "Read!" he said.
"Lift off the top." She glanced at Revel. "This is almost exactly like Orbish," she said. "Only those queer words—"
"Philosophize in the corner," he said, pushing her aside. "Rack, lend me your brawn." Together they lifted the top, which was about the weight of a woods lion, and with much groaning and puffing, hurled it clear.