Part 5

“You did,” Cabot answered. “Why didn’t I put two and two together before? Then you are connected in some way with Arkilu?”

She laughed contemptuously. “How did you guess it?” she taunted. “Yes, one would rather say I am connected in some way with Arkilu; for I am her sister, set here to spy on you by connivance with the chief woman of Jud’s servants, who is an old nurse of ours. I am Quivven the Golden Flame, daughter of Theoph the Grim, and it is from _me_ that he learned of your mystic abilities. What do you think of _that_, beast?”

“I think,” Myles said noncommittally, “that although you truly are a golden flame, you ought to have been named ‘Quivven the Pepper Pot’.”

Whereat she suddenly burst into tears and rushed out of the room.

“Funny girl,” Myles commented to himself, as he laid aside the list prepared for his prospecting trip, and set about the concoction of some stage properties for his forthcoming command performance before the King.

It was a sulky Quivven who served his meal that evening, so much so that Cabot playfully accused her of putting poison in his stew. This did not render her any more gracious, however.

“If I did not love my sister very much,” she asserted, “I would not stand for you for one moment.”

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence during which Cabot had an idea.

So when the food had been cleared away he asked the aureate maiden, “Can you smuggle a note to your sister for me?”

“Yes,” she assented gloomily, “and I shall tell her how you are treating me.”

At which he could not refrain from remarking, “Do you know, Quivven, I believe that you are falling in love with me.”

“You beast!” she cried at him. “Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” And she turned her face to the wall.

“Come, come!” said Cabot soothingly. “I don’t mean to tease you, and we must both think of your sister. The note. How long will it take you to deliver it and return?”

“Shall I hurry?” she asked guardedly.

“Yes.”

“Then it will take me less than one-twelfth of a day.”

That would be quite sufficient for his plans. Accordingly he wrote:

Arkilu The Beautiful:

Send word how I can see you after the performance. But beware of Jud.

Cabot The Magician.

This note he folded up, placed it in the palm of Quivven, and closed her golden fingers over it.

Whereat she sprang back with, “Don’t you dare touch me like that!” and rushed out of the house, sobbing angrily.

Really, he must be more careful with this delicate creature; for although her intense hatred furnished him considerable amusement, yet it was possible to go too far. He must at least be polite to the sister of his benefactress.

But there was no time to be given over to worrying about Quivven’s sensitive feelings; for the note had been sent merely to give him a slight respite from her prying eyes, in order that he might sneak out for a conference with Jud; of course he had no intention of any secret tryst with Arkilu. Heaven forbid, when he loved his own distant Lilla so intensely!

So he hurried to the quarters of the Vairkingian noble, who received him gladly, being most interested in learning whether there was any rational explanation to be given to the various magic tricks of the evening before. But Myles blocked his inquisitiveness by the flat assertion that all were due to mystic spells and talismans alone, and then got rapidly down to business, for there was no time to be lost.

Myles told Jud of the note from Theoph the Grim requiring his presence at the royal palace, and how he suspected that Princess Arkilu was responsible. Also, he related his discovery that his maidservant was Quivven the Golden Flame; but he had the decency to refrain from implicating the head of Jud’s ménage.

“I shall have her removed at once,” the Vairking asserted.

“No, no,” Myles hastily interposed, “that would never do; for now that we know she is a spy, it will be easy to outwit her. But a new one we never could be sure of.”

Then he told how he had gotten rid of Quivven for the evening by sending her with a note to Arkilu. Jud’s brow darkened.

“But,” Myles insisted, “that note will serve a three-fold purpose; first, it has enabled me undetected to pay this visit to you; secondly, it will allay Arkilu’s suspicions; and thirdly, it will stir you to block my appearance before Theoph to-morrow.”

“Oh, I would have done that anyhow,” Jud insisted. “My plans are all made. I shall send a runner to Theoph, and warn him to search Arkilu’s room for your note. When he finds the note he will certainly cancel the arrangements for your performance. Thus will the note serve a _fourth purpose_.

“Return now to your quarters, and I will send you word of the outcome.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Myles admonished. “For a message from you would reveal to our fair young spy the fact of my secret interview with you this evening. Let Theoph himself send the word.”

“So be it. You may count on starting on your expedition to-morrow as planned. Good luck to you.”

“Good luck to _you_, Jud the Great, and may you win Arkilu the Beautiful.”

So the earth-man hastened back to his quarters, where Quivven, on her return, found him placidly reclining on a divan.

For a few minutes they chatted playfully together, and then she suddenly narrowed her eyelids, looked at him with a peculiar expression, and asked: “Aren’t you the least bit anxious to know what answer Arkilu made to your note?”

That was so; he _had_ written Arkilu a note; but now that it had served its purpose he had completely forgotten about it. How could he square himself with little Quivven? By flattery?

“Of course I’m anxious to know,” he asserted, “but I was so glad to have you come back again that for the moment I neglected to ask you.”

Quivven the Golden Flame pouted.

“Now you’re teasing me again,” she said, “and I won’t stand for it.”

“But I really want to know,” he continued with mock eagerness. “Please do tell me about your sister.”

“I gave her the note—”

Just then there came a loud pounding on the gate outside; so loud, in fact, that the sound penetrated within the house. Quivven stopped talking. She and Myles listened intently. The pounding continued.

“Evidently we are to have company this evening,” he remarked, glad to change the subject.

Quivven replied, “Such a racket at this time of night can mean naught but ill. Let us approach the gate with care, and question the intruders.”

So saying, she took down one of the hanging stone lamps and opened the outside door. It was a typical dark, silent, fragrant Porovian evening, except for the fact that the darkness was broken by the glare of the torches beyond the wall, and that the silence was broken by the pounding on the gate, and that the fragrance was marred by the smoke of Quivven’s lamp.

“Who is there?” Quivven called.

To this there came back the peremptory shout: “Open quickly, in the name of Theoph the Grim!”

The golden girl recoiled. Even Cabot himself shuddered as he realized the evident cause of the disturbance; his plot with Jud had produced results beyond what they had planned; and Theoph upon seizing the note, had decided not merely to cancel the sleight-of-hand performance, but also to place his daughter’s supposed sweetheart under arrest.

“I am afraid your father has intercepted my letter to your sister,” Cabot explained. “I tell you what! _You_ leave by the rear door, make your way quickly to Arkilu, and see if the two of you can intercede for me with your stern parent.”

So saying, he released her. The slim princess handed him the light, and sped into the interior of the house.

“Cease your noise!” he shouted. “For I, Myles Cabot the Minorian, come to unbar the gate in person!”

He strode down the path. Quickly he slid the huge wooden bolts, swung the gate open, and stepped outside, shielding the lamp with one hand to get a view of the disturbers. But his lamp was instantly dashed from him and his arms bound behind him.

His captors were about a dozen Vairking soldiers in leather tunics and helmets, some carrying wooden spears and some holding torches, while their evident leader was similarly clothed but armed with a sharp wooden rapier.

As soon as the prisoner was securely bound the guard hustled him roughly off down the street.

Thus were his plans rudely dashed to the ground. On the preceding night all had been arranged for his trip to secure the elements for the construction of a radio set with which to communicate with Cupia and his Lilla. That morning he had been forced to postpone his trip, in order to perform before Theoph the Grim. And this evening he was Theoph’s prisoner, slated for—what?

IX A PRISONER

The squad of Vairking soldiers, with Myles Cabot as their prisoner, had traversed nowhere near the distance to the palace, when they turned from the street through a gate.

“Where are they going to take me now?” Myles wondered.

This question was soon answered, for the party entered a building which was evidently a dwelling of the better class. The hall was well lighted, so that Miles blinked at the sudden glare.

The leader of the party placed himself squarely in front of his prisoner, with hands on his hips, and remarked with apparent irrelevance: “Well, we fooled Quivven, didn’t we?”

The prisoner stared at him in surprise. It was Jud! Jud, disguised as a common soldier.

Cabot laughed with relief.

“You certainly gave me a bad hundred-and-forty-fourth part of a day,” he asserted. “I didn’t recognize you in your street clothes. What is the great idea?”

“‘The great idea’,” the noble replied, “to quote your phrase, is that I did truly represent Theoph the Grim. He authorized me to arrest you in his name. The pretty little spy will report your capture to Arkilu, and her father will stonily refuse to reveal where you are imprisoned.

“Meanwhile I shall give the golden one time to escape, and shall then send a second squad to seize your effects. Your expedition will start immediately. Come, unbind the prisoner.”

As soon as his bonds were loosed, Myles warmly grasped the hand of his benefactor.

“You are all right!” he exclaimed. “You have completely succeeded without leaving anything to explain.”

“I _always_ succeed, and never have to explain anything!” Jud replied a bit coldly.

And so, late that night, the Radio Man, dressed in leather tunic and helmet, and armed with a tempered wood rapier, set out with his bodyguard for the western mountains. In silence, and with the minimum of lights, they threaded the streets of Jud’s compound and then the streets of the city until they came to the west gate, where a pass signed by Theoph the Grim gave them free exit. Thence they moved due westward across the plain, with scouts thrown out to guard against contact with any roving Roies.

By daybreak they had reached the cover of the wooded foothills, and there they camped for a full day of much needed rest. Finally, on the second morning following their stealthy departure from Vairkingi, their journey really started.

The commander of the bodyguard was an intelligent youth named Crota. During the meals at the first encampment, Myles described to Crota in considerable detail the particular form of copper pyrites which furnish the bulk of the copper used for electrical purposes on the continent of Cupia.

After listening intently to this description for about the fifth time, Crota smiled and said, “We Vairkings place no stock in pretty stones, except as playthings for our children, but I do recall the little golden cubes with which the children of one of the hill villages are accustomed to play tum-tum. This village, Sur by name, is only a day’s journey to the southward. Let us turn our steps thither and learn from the children where they get their toys.”

“‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,’” the earth-man quoted to himself.

And so they set out to the southward, following a trail which wound in and out between the fertile silver-green hills, which were for the most part scantily wooded.

Toward the close of the day, Crota’s scouts established contact with the outposts of the village which they were seeking; and after an exchange of communications by runner, the expedition was given free passage to proceed. Shortly thereafter they came in sight of the village itself.

From among the surrounding verdant rolling terrain there arose one rocky eminence with precipitous sides, and with a flat summit on which stood the village of Sur surrounded by a strong wooden palisade.

Up the face of the cliff there ran a narrow zigzag path, cut in the living rock, and overhung by many a bastion from which huge stones could be tumbled or molten pitch poured on any invaders so rash as to attempt the ascent.

Along this path the expedition crawled in single file with many pauses to draw their breath; and before they reached the summit Cabot realized full well how it was that Sur, the southernmost outpost of Vairkingian civilization, had so long and so successfully withstood the onslaughts of the wild and savage Roies.

The inhabitants, furry Vairkings, turned out in large numbers to greet the visitors and especially to inspect the furless body and the much overfurred chin of the earth-man. Guides led the expedition to a large public hall where, after a speech of welcome by the headman of the village, they were fed and quartered for the night.

Between the meal and bedtime the visiting soldiers strolled out to see the sights by the pale pink light of the unseen setting sun. Cabot and Crota together walked to the west wall to observe the sunset.

As the two of them leaned on the parapet, a rattling noise on the rocky walk beside them disturbed their reverie. Looking down, they saw three furry children rolling some small objects along the ground. With a slight exclamation of surprise and pleasure, the Vairking soldier swooped down upon the youngsters, scooped up one of the toys, and handed it to the earth-man.

“Tum-tum,” Crota laconically announced, and sure enough it was one of the small game-cubes, which he had described to his companion.

But before the latter had had the slightest opportunity to examine it, the bespoiled infant let out a howl of childish rage, and commenced to assail Myles with fists and teeth and feet.

“Stop that!” Crota shouted, grabbing him by one arm and pulling him away. “We don’t want to keep your tum-tum; we merely want to look at it. This gentleman has never seen a tum-tum.”

“Gentleman?” the boy replied from a safe distance. “Common soldier! Bah!”

But Myles Cabot was too engrossed to notice the insult. The small cube in his hand was undoubtedly a metallic crystal, but whether chalcopyrite or not he could not tell in the fading light. In fact, it might be the sunset which gave the stone its coppery tinge.

Taking a small flint knife from a leather sheath that hung from his belt, Myles offered it to the child in exchange for the toy, in spite of Crota’s gasping protest at the extravagance.

The boy eagerly accepted the offer, remarking: “Thank you, sir. You should take off those clothes.”

It was a very neat and subtle compliment. Gentlemen Vairkings never wore clothes. Cabot was impressed.

“Your name, my son?” he asked, patting the furry little creature on the head.

“Tomo the Brief,” was the reply.

“I shall remember it.”

Then he hurried back to the public hall, eager to examine his purchase by the light of the oil flares.

Sure enough, it turned out to be really pyrites, and by its deep color probably a pyrites rich in copper. To the Radio Man it meant the first tangible step toward the accomplishment of the greatest radio feat ever undertaken on two worlds; namely the construction of a complete sending and receiving set out of nothing but basic materials in their natural state without the aid of a single previously fabricated man-made tool, utensil, or chemical. To this day Myles wears this cube as a pendant charm in commemoration of that momentous occasion.

As he lay on the floor of the public building that night the earth-man reviewed the events of the day until he came to the episode of the purchase of the cubical pyrite crystal from little Tomo.

“Your name, my son?” Cabot had asked him.

“‘My son’,” thought Cabot. “I have a son of my own across the boiling seas on the continent of Cupia, and a wife, the most beautiful and sweetest lady in Poros. They are in dire danger, or were many months ago when I received the S O S which led me to return through the skies to this planet. Oh, how I wish that I could learn what that danger was, and what has happened to them since then!”

Thus he mused; and yet when he came to figure up the time since his capture he was able to account for less than three weeks of earth time. Perhaps there was still a chance of rescue, if he would but hurry.

The danger which had inspired his Lilla’s call for help was undoubtedly due to the return of Prince Yuri across the boiling seas. For all that Myles knew, Princess Lilla and the loyal Cupians were still holding out against their renegade prince.

The message which Cabot had ticked out into the ether from the radio station of the ants had been sent only a few days after the S O S. If received by Lilla or any of her friends, it had undoubtedly served to encourage them to stiffen their resistance to the usurper; and if received by Yuri, it had undoubtedly thrown into him the fear of the Great Builder.

Musing and hoping thus, the earth-man fell into a troubled sleep, through which there swirled a tangled phantasmagoria of ant-men, Cupians, whistling bees, and Vairkings, with occasional glimpses of a little blue-eyed blond head, sometimes surmounted by golden curls and two dainty antennae, but sometimes completely covered with golden fur.

Shortly after sunrise he awoke, and aroused Crota. No time must be lost! The Princess Lilla must be saved!

But there was nothing they could do until their hosts brought the food for the morning meal. From the bearers they now ascertained that the tum-tum cubes were gathered in a cleft in the rocks only a short distance from the village; and that, although the perfect cubes were rare and quite highly prized, the imperfect specimens were present in great quantities. In fact, hundreds of cartloads had been mined and picked over in search of perfect cubes, and thus all this ore would be available in return for the mere trouble of shoveling it into carts.

As soon as arrangements could be made with the headman of Sur, Cabot and his party, accompanied by guides, crept down the narrow zigzag path to the plain below the village, and proceeded up a ravine to the quarry, where they verified all that had been told them.

It was a beautiful sight; a rocky wall out of a cleft in which there seemed to pour a waterfall of gold.

But on close inspection, every cube was seen to be nicked or bent or out of proportion, or jammed part way through or into some other cube.

The soldiers, both those from Vairkingi and those from Sur, scrambled up the golden cascade and started hacking the crystals out of the solid formation, in search for perfect cubes, while their two leaders watched them with amusement from below.

All at once there came a shriek, and one of the Vairkings toppled the whole length of the pile, almost at Cabot’s feet, where he lay perfectly still, the wooden shaft of an arrow projecting from one eyeball.

“Roies!” Crota shouted.

Instantly every member of the party took cover with military precision behind some rock or tree.

They had not long to wait, for a shower of missiles from up the valley soon apprised them of the location of the enemy. So the Vairkings thereafter remained alert. Those who had bows drew them and discharged a flint-tipped arrow at every stir of grass or bush in the locality whence the missiles of the enemy had come.

“We know not their number,” Crota whispered to Cabot. “And since we have accomplished our mission let us return to Sur as speedily as possible.”

“Agreed,” the earth-man replied.

The withdrawal was accomplished as follows. Crota first dispatched runners to the village to inform the inhabitants of the situation. Then, leaving a small rear guard of archers and slingers to cover their retreat, he formed the remainder of the expedition in open order, and set out for Sur as rapidly as the cover would permit.

The enemy kept pretty well hidden, but it was evident from the increase of arrows and pebbles that their numbers were steadily augmenting. Noting this, Crota sent another runner ahead with this information.

It now became necessary to replenish and relieve the rear guard, of which several were dead, several more wounded and the rest tired and out of ammunition. This done, Crota ordered the main body of his force to leave cover and take up the double quick.

The result was unexpected. A hundred or more Roies charged yelling down the ravine through the Vairking rear guard, and straight at Cabot’s men, who at once ran to cover again and took deadly toll of the oncoming enemy.

But the Roies so greatly outnumbered the Vairkings that the tide could not be stemmed, and soon the two groups were mingled together in a seething mass. The first rush was met, spear on spear. Then the sharp wooden swords were drawn, and Cabot found himself lunging and parrying against three naked furry warriors.

The neck was the vulnerable spot of the Vairkings, and it was this point which the Roies strove to reach, as Cabot soon noted. That simplified matters, for guarding one’s neck against such crude swordsmen as these furry aborigines was easy for a skilled fencer such as he. Accordingly, one by one, he ran three antagonists through the body.

Just as he was withdrawing his blade from his last victim, he noted that Crota was being hard pressed by a burly Roy swordsman; so he hastened to his friend’s assistance. And he was just in time, for even as Cabot approached, the naked Roy knocked the leather-clad Vairking’s weapon from his hand with a particularly dexterous sideswipe, and thus had Crota at his mercy.

But before the naked one could follow up his advantage, the earth-man hurled his own sword like a spear, and down went the Roy, impaled through the back, carrying Crota with him as he fell.

Cabot paused to draw breath, and was just viewing with satisfaction the lucky results of his chance throw, when a peremptory command of “Yield!” behind him caused him to wheel about and confront a new enemy. The author of the shout was a massive furry warrior with a placid, almost bovine, face, which nevertheless betokened considerable intellect.

“And to whom would I yield, if I did yield?” Myles asked, facing unarmed the poised sword of his new enemy.

“Grod the Silent, King of the Roies,” was the dignified reply.

“I thought that Att the Terrible was king of your people,” the earth-man returned, sparring for time.

“That is what Att thinks too,” the other answered with a slight smile.

But the smile was short-lived, for Myles Cabot, having momentarily distracted his opponent’s attention by this conversation, stepped suddenly under the guard of the furry Grod, and planted his fist square on Grod’s fat chin. Down crashed the king, his sword clattering from his nerveless hand. In an instant Myles snatched up the blade and bestrode his prostrate foe.

Just as he was about to plunge its point into Grod’s vitals, there occurred to him the proverb of Poblath: “While enemies dispute, the realm is at peace.”

With Grod the Silent and Att the Terrible both contending for the leadership of the Roies, Vairkingia might enjoy a respite from the depredations of this wild and lawless race. He would leave the fallen Roy for dead, rather than put him actually in that condition. Accordingly, he sprang to the aid of his companions.