Kim the names and properties of many native drugs, as well as the formulæ proper to recite when you administer them. And in the evenings he wrote charms on parchment—elaborate pentagrams crowned with the names of devils—Murra and Awan, the Companion of Kings—all fantastically written in the corners. What was more to the point, he advised Kim as to the care of his own body, the cure of fever-fits, and simple remedies of the road. A week before it was time to go down, Colonel Creighton Sahib—this was unfair—sent Kim a written examination paper that concerned itself solely with rods and chains and links and angles.
Next holidays he was out with Mahbub, and here, by the way, he nearly died of thirst, plodding through the sand on a camel to the mysterious city of Bikaneer, where the wells are four hundred feet deep, and lined throughout with camel-bone. It was not an amusing trip from Kim's point of view, because—in defiance of the contract—the Colonel ordered him to make a map of that wild, walled city; and since Mohammedan horse-boys and pipe-tenders are not expected to drag survey-chains round the capital of an independent native state, Kim was forced to pace all his distances by means of a bead rosary. He used the compass for bearings as occasion served—after dark chiefly, when the camels had been fed—and by the help of his little survey paint-box of six colour-cakes and three brushes, he achieved something not remotely unlike the city of Jeysalmir. Mahbub laughed a great deal, and advised him to make up a written report as well, and in the back of the big account-book that lay under the flap of Mahbub's pet saddle Kim fell to work.
'It must hold everything that thou hast seen or touched or considered. Write as though the Jung-i-lat Sahib himself had come by stealth with a vast army outsetting to war.'
