 I'll wager it wasn't here when Sacknessom passed this way, and what I say is this. If we don't smash it down somehow or other, we're not worthy to follow Sacknessom. We don't even deserve to reach the centre of the earth. Oh, hurry. Let us get to work with pickaxes and crowbars. Hans, the tools. Get the tools from the rock. A moment. If we work a thousand years, we shall never shift this rock with pickaxes. What then? What then? There is another way. We can blast the rock to smithereens. Come, Poulter. Yes. To work. To work.