was he certain, after all, that he was not leaving two perfectly good
friends in the lurch?
XXII
FLIGHT
There must be _something_ in the airship in which he could swathe
himself for the trip across the boiling seas. With this in view he made
a frantic search of the entire cockpit. Doggo’s rifle and the ammunition
were still there, but his own he had left in his room on his hurried
departure. Here, too, was the little stone lamp, by the light of which
they had watched their instruments beneath the kayack covering. Even
some of their provisions were left.
Finally he came upon some boxes which he did not recognize. A rank smell
became evident upon closer examination. Gingerly he opened one of those
boxes.
It contained flesh, finely ground and putrid. And in this carrion there
wriggled and swarmed scores of small white grubs! The last of Cabot’s
doubts vanished. These were the devil-souls which he and Doggo and
Quivven had been expected to carry to Cupia, to found there a new empire
of Whoomangs. Evidently his hosts had expected some possible trouble
from him, and therefore had prepared the plane for a quick get-away by
Doggo and Quivven.
Indignantly the lonely earth-man emptied out box after box onto the
ground, and mashed the contents into the dirt with his sandaled feet.
By this time it was nearly pitch dark, but of course, this would make no
difference while flying through steam clouds, for visibility under such
circumstances would be impossible even in daylight. If he only had some
covering for the cockpit to keep out the steam, he could fly just as
well at night as by day, except for one danger; how could he be warned
of flying too high, passing through the circumambient cloud envelope,
and being shriveled to a crisp by the close proximity of the sun.
In despair the earth-man sat beside his beached airship, as the velvet
blackness crept out of the east and enveloped the planet. So near, and
yet so far! He had successfully transmitted himself through millions of
miles of space from the earth to Poros. He had escaped the clutches of
the Formians and the Roies.
He had built a complete radio set out of nothing, and had talked with
Cupia across the boiling seas. He had traversed those seas once without
accident. He had eluded the machinations of the Whoomangs, with their
moth grub “souls”. And yet here he was, with only a few miles of ocean
separating him from his loved ones, and, nevertheless, blocked
effectually by the lack of a few yards of cloth. What fate!
As the last purple flush died on the western horizon, Myles suddenly
jumped to his feet, and laughed aloud. The solution was so obvious that
it had completely escaped him until now. It was the setting sun that had
suggested the escape from his dilemma.
There is no sun at night!
Of course not!
Therefore why not soar straight up, pierce the cloud envelope and fly
above it to Cupia, letting the clouds protect him from the heat of the
boiling seas, as they normally protect the planet from the light and
heat of the sun? At any rate, it was worth trying. To remain where he
was would mean either eventual starvation, or recapture by the terrible
Whoomangs.
So, by the light of his little Vairking stone lamp, he made a hasty
lunch from his few remaining provisions, and then took his stand at the
levers for a new experiment in Porovian navigation.
Up, up, he shot through the dense blackness, up to a height which in
earth would have filled his blood with air bubbles, and have suffocated
his lungs. But on Poros, with its thicker atmospheric shell and its
lesser gravity, the change was not so evident.
Far to the eastward he saw the lights of Yat, the city of the beasts;
but this was his only landmark. There was nothing but his gyro-compass
to tell him exactly which was north, and south, and east, and west;
nothing but his clinometer to indicate whether he was going up or down;
nothing but his altimeter to indicate his approximate height above the
surface of the planet. And these instruments he must read by the
flickering light of a primitive open wick stone lamp on the floor of the
cockpit.
What if this faint illuminator should become extinguished? He certainly
could not leave the controls for long enough to use flint and steel to
rekindle it.
During the early part of his stay in Vairkingi he had always gone to
some one of the constantly burning lamps which were the primitive fire
source of the furry Vairkings. Later he had found several pieces of
flint, when investigating a small chalk deposit as a possible
alternative for limestone in his smelting operations. After the
manufacture of steel had begun he had practiced striking a light in this
more modern method, and thereafter had always carried flint and steel
and tinder with him in one of the pouch pockets of his leather tunic. It
was with these crude implements that he had kindled his oil lamp for the
present flight.
But this fire source would avail him little if a gust of wind should
extinguish his primitive lamp. In such event, what could he do?
This question was immediately put to the test, for his ship struck a
small air pocket and dipped. Out went the light! Now he could no longer
read his compass nor his altimeter, but—happy thought—he could determine
the inclination of the plane from time to time by _touching_ his
clinometer. So, on upward he kept.
Presently he found it difficult to breath, and this difficulty was soon
increased by a damp fog, which choked his nostrils and windpipe, causing
him to cough and sneeze. The water condensed on the airship, and dropped
off the rigging onto the matted hair and beard of the earth-man. Yet
still he kept on up.
Finally he breathed clear air once more. He pushed back the dripping
locks from his forehead, and wiped out his water-filled eyes with the
back of one wrist. All was still jet darkness, yet in front of him and
above him there glowed some tiny points of light. Rubbing his eyes, he
looked again. Stars! The first stars he had ever seen on Poros—a sky
full of stars!
With some surprise Myles Cabot noted that above him were swung the same
constellations with which he had been familiar on earth, among them the
two dippers, Orion and Cassiopea.
He strove to recall the inclination of the axis of Venus to the
ecliptic, but all that he could remember was that it did not differ
appreciably from that of the earth. This information was enough for his
present purposes, however, for it meant that the star which we call the
pole star on earth was approximately north on Poros, and that its
altitude above the northern horizon would give approximately the
latitude of the location of the observer.
The pole star, which he readily identified by means of the two pointers
of the great dipper, now hung about twenty degrees above the horizon,
thus showing that Cabot was opposite the southern tip of that part of
the continent of Cupia which formerly was Formia; so he leveled out the
plane and, turning its nose northwest by the stars, scudded along above
the cloud envelope of the planet.
It was not long before he noticed a quite appreciable increase of
temperature. Gusts and swirls of hot vapor assailed him from below; so
that if it had not been for the gyroscopic steadying apparatus, he must
surely have foundered. Even as it was, it took all his efforts to
control the ship. He suffered fearfully from the heat, but it was not
absolutely unbearable.
Navigation so compelled his entire attention that he lost all track of
time; he struggled on as in a dream, and had not the slightest idea
whether he had been flying for hours or only for minutes.
On and on he drove through the terrific heat until at last he got so
used to it that it actually seemed cooler. By Jove, he could almost
believe that the air really was cooler!
So cautiously he tipped the nose of the plane downward, and entered the
clouds below him. Feeling his way at a low rate of speed, and ever ready
to slam on the full force of his trophil engines and shoot upward once
more, he gradually penetrated the cloud envelope which surrounds the
planet. Yet the heat did not increase.
At last he was through. And below him twinkled lights, the lights of a
small city or town. Throwing the plane level once more, he hovered down
in true Porovian fashion.
The light of the town showed closer. Cabot’s heart beat fast, there was
a lump in his throat, and his hands trembled at the controls. Was this
Cupia, his own kingdom of Cupia at last? Was he home?
Or—and his heart sank within him—was this some still new continent, with
other nightmare beasts, and horrible adventures?
Whichever it was, he ought not to land too near the town. His
trophil-motor was making a loud racket, but he was not afraid of being
heard, for Cupians have no ears, and their antennae can receive only
radio waves. So he skimmed low over the houses, straining his eyes to
try and make out their style of architecture. But it was no use; the jet
blackness of Porovian night obscured all below. Accordingly he planned
to land about half a stad from the village, and then reconnoiter at
daybreak.
This was to be accomplished as follows. His distance from the ground he
could gauge from the lights of the houses. Therefore he would hold his
craft as nearly as possible level, and hover softly down, taking a
chance of landing on some bush or tree.
The plan worked to perfection. After just about the expected drop, he
felt the skids grate on solid ground. Land once more, after his
sensational flight above the clouds! Exhausted and relaxed, he shut off
his motor, and proceeded to crawl over the edge of the cockpit.
Of course he could not even see his own machine in the intense darkness.
As he started to clamber out the plane suddenly tilted a bit under his
weight, then gave a lurch, and slid out from under him, dislodging him
as it did so.
He struck the ground, but it crumbled beneath him, and he felt himself
slipping and sliding down a steep gravel bank until finally some sort of
a projection stopped his descent. To this projection he frantically
clung. During his slide he had heard the loud splash of the airplane
below him, so he knew that there was water there.
As he hung to the projection on the side of the steep sand bank, he
looked about him in the jet black night; and, as he looked, he noticed
the edge of the bank above him, just showing against the sky. The edge
became more and more distinct. The sky above turned to slate, then
purple, then red, then pink, then silver. Day had come once more.
Cabot found himself clinging to a sharp spur of rock which stuck out
from the bank. So he hauled himself into a comfortable position upon it
and stared around at his surroundings.
His location was halfway down the precipitous side of a craterlike hole
about a quarter of a stad in diameter and three parastads deep, the
banks of which were of coarse black sand. At the bottom a clear pool of
water reflected the silver sky. There was no sign of either his rifle,
his cartridge belt, or his plane. He possessed nothing save his leather
tunic, his wooden Vairking sword, a steel sheath knife which he had made
in his foundries at Vairkingi, and the contents of his pockets.
Even his leather helmet was gone. He espied it, floating like a little
boat, far out upon the pond; but even as he looked, some denizen of the
deep snapped at it, and it disappeared beneath the surface. This was a
forewarning of what might happen to Myles if he should have the
misfortune to slip into the pool below.
Well, he must risk it in an attempt to get out, for even a sudden death
beneath the waters was preferable to starvation on a rocky perch. So,
carefully and laboriously, he attempted the ascent. Many times he
slipped back, losing nearly all that he had gained; but fortunately the
bank was rather firm in spots and was dotted with large jagged rocks
which afforded a good handhold, so that eventually Myles reached the
top.
Here he found a flat plateau, flanked by a continuous hedge of bushes
about thirty paces from the edge. These bushes were too high to see
over, and grew so thickly together that Myles was unable to penetrate
them. Round and round the top of the pit he walked, repeatedly trying to
force his way out, but with no success.
The day wore on. Myles became tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and
disgusted. By placing a small pebble in his mouth, he relieved the
thirst for awhile, but this had no effect on his other symptoms. Finally
even his thirst returned.
The thirst was aggravated by the presence, almost at his feet, of the
clear pool of water within the pit. He almost decided to slide down and
try it, until he remembered what had happened to his leather hat.
So instead he began systematically to hack at the bushes with his knife
and tear them up by the roots at one given spot. At the end of an hour
he had progressed only about a yard, so he gave this up, too. He sat
down, wrapped his arms around his knees, gazed at the silver sky, and
thought of nothing for a while.
Then he thought of Lilla and the Baby Kew. Here he was, presumably in
Cupia, perhaps within a few stads of them; and yet what good did it do
him?
It seemed to him as though the nearer he got to his loved ones, the more
effectually he was separated from them. On the Farley farm, in
Edgartown, Massachusetts, when he had received the S O S message from
the skies, it had appeared but a simple matter to step within the
coordinate axes of his matter-transmitting apparatus, and throw a lever,
in order to materialize on Poros.
In Vairkingi there had been the more difficult task of securing an ant
plane, before essaying to cross the boiling seas. In the land of the
Whoomangs, he had been confronted with the almost insuperable lack of
swathing materials for such a flight. And now, in Cupia at last, he was
hemmed in by an impenetrable wall of trees.
Yet, he reflected, he had surmounted in turn each of these successively
more difficult difficulties; so why not this? With renewed determination
he arose, and resumed his grubbing operations. Another hour passed and
another yard of path had been completed. This was encouraging, and yet
he had no means of knowing how much farther there still remained for him
to go.
As he paused for breath, he heard a crashing noise almost directly
across the pit. Concealing himself as well as he could in the recess
which he had formed in the bushes, he watched expectantly. Presently the
thick growth on the other side parted neatly, and the sharp edge of a
wedge appeared. This wedge continued to divide the bushes until finally
it came completely through. All curiosity to see what was pushing the
wedge, Myles craned forward, but there was _nothing_ behind it; it had
been pushing itself.
As the bushes slowly closed together again, the wedge stood up on six
sturdy legs and trotted around the top of the pit, until it came to a
stop directly opposite the hiding place of the earth-man. This gave him
a good opportunity to observe it.
Apparently it was some sort of insect. Its head came to a sharp cutting
edge in the front about five feet high; and lateral projections extended
diagonally backward from the edge, like the wings on a snow-plow, to a
point well beyond the rear end of the animal.
These two sides were covered with stiff backward-pointing bristles,
which evidently served to catch on the bushes through which the creature
passed, and thus to hold whatever gains it made. Its eyes, like those of
a crab, were located on long jointed arms, which it could raise whenever
it wanted to look around. The lower edge of the sides of the wedge were
serrated, and Myles soon learned what this was for. After wiggling its
eyes about for a while, the creature walked to the edge of the bank,
thus giving the watcher a good view of the body and legs within the
projecting wedge, and slid off into the pit, where a splashing sound
indicated that it was probably drinking.
Soon it reappeared over the top of the pit. Evidently the saw teeth on
its sides were to hold its progress up the face of the sand bank in much
the same way as its spines held its progress through the bushes.
The wedge insect, upon topping the bank, made a beeline for the edge of
the clearing, thrust its nose between two saplings, furled its eyes,
braced it feet against the ground, and started forcing its way through.
Quick as a flash, Myles Cabot darted from his hiding place and followed.
The creature, rolling its eyes to the rear, saw him and tried to back
out; for what purpose he could not tell, but probably either to attack
him or at least to prevent him from attacking its vulnerable body. But
it was already in too far, and its spines held it securely.
It tried to kick at him, whereat he followed not quite so close. Then it
stubbornly stopped moving, pulled in its eyes and its legs and lay down
within its projecting head-piece, whereat he gave it a prick in the tail
with his Vairking sword. The effect was immediate and sudden. The
creature leaped to its feet and tore its way through the trees like a
cyclone, plunging high in air like a frantic horse. This left such an
erratic and only partially spread path that the earth-man had difficulty
in following, and soon fell far behind.
But just as he was about to despair, the branches which he parted ahead
of him revealed a meadow of silver-green sward. He had reached the end
of the wood.
Beyond the field was a grove of gray-branched lichen trees, through
which he could see the steep red-tiled roofs of a village. Just short of
the grove there grazed a herd of those pale-green aphids, the size of
sheep, which the Cupians call “anks,” and which Myles was wont to call
“green cows.” Close by his right hand was a large shrub with
heart-shaped leaves, unmistakably a tartan bush.
Steep red roofs, gray lichen trees, anks and tartans! This must be
Cupia! He was home!
Myles quoted aloud:
“Breathes there a man with soul so dead
Who never to himself has said
‘This is my own, my native land’?”
Cupia might not be his _native_ land, but it was his _own_, the land of
his wife and child, the land of which his son was rightful king, the
land whose armies he had twice led to victory. And now he had returned
to lead them yet again.
Drawing a deep breath of Cupian air into his lungs, Myles raced across
the meadow to the shelter of the grove of trees. From that point of
vantage he inspected the village. The architecture was undoubtedly
Cupian. In fact, its character was so clear he was even able to judge by
it just what part of Cupia he was in, for this architecture was typical
of the southeastern foothills of the Okarze Mountains, a thousand stads
or so north of Kuana, the capital city.
These foothills held, among other spots of interest, Lake Luno, on an
island of which he and Lilla had built their country home. And the
inhabitants of these mountains had always been intensely loyal to the
earth-man, his golden-haired wife, and royal son.
On the outskirts of the village Cabot could see figures moving—figures
in white togas with colored edges, figures with tiny vestigial wings
projecting from their backs, figures with butterflylike antennae rising
from their foreheads. These were Cupians, his own adopted countrymen.
Yet they never would recognize him in his present condition, with shaggy
hair, massive beard, and leather tunic, and without the artificial wings
and antennae which he had been accustomed to wear among them. Therefore
he could not yet reveal himself. He must first restore his appearance to
normal and also find and put on one of the small portable radio sets
which he had contrived years ago in his laboratories of Mooni, in order
to talk with these folk who have neither ears nor voice.
So, turning his back on the alluring village, he made a meal of the
green milk of the grazing anks, and then set out to circle the
settlement and find a road.
When he did reach the road he recognized it. And now he knew exactly
what village that was. For the moment he could not recall its name; but
he knew it to be a little town which he and Lilla had often visited,
scarcely twenty stads from Luno Castle.
As he strode on toward Luno Castle, his thoughts raced ahead of him,
sometimes picturing a happy homecoming with Lilla and Baby Kew standing
in the great arched doorway to greet him, and sometimes desolation and
destruction with Prince Yuri, the murderer of the baby king, and the
kidnaper of Princess Lilla.
What would Myles Cabot find on the beautiful island in Lake Luno?
XXIII
LUNO AND BEYOND
With no weapons except a steel knife and wooden rapier, the unkempt and
bearded earth-man set out resolutely along the twenty-stad road which
led to Lake Luno. All the rest of the afternoon he tramped along,
avoiding the towns, and taking cover whenever a kerkool approached.
Night fell—the velvet, fragrant, tropic-scented night of Poros; yet,
still he kept on, for he knew the road.
As he trudged along he tried to picture to himself the state of affairs
in Cupia. Back in Vairkingi, when at last he had succeeded in getting
the Princess Lilla on the air, she had mentioned the whistling bees,
just before Prince Yuri had cut her off.
These bees were called “whistling” because of the heterodyne squeal with
which they appeared to converse; but Myles had discovered, by means of
the greater range and selectivity of his own artificial radio
speech-organs, that this whistle was due to the bees sending
simultaneously on two interfering wave lengths, for signal purposes.
When simply talking they used a wave length beyond the range of Cupian
speech!
Cabot had been able to adjust his portable set to this wave length, and
had talked with the bees. As a result of this conversation an alliance
had been formed between Cupia and the Hymernians—as the bee-people
called themselves—which had driven Yuri and his ants from the continent.
Thereafter the bees had lived at peace with the Cupians, a special
ration of green cows being bred for their benefit.
What, wondered Cabot, had the returned Yuri done to disturb this state
of affairs? If Portheris, the king of the bees, still lived, Cabot could
not imagine him siding with Yuri.
But, whatever had happened, it was clear that the bees were at the
bottom of it. Time would tell very speedily.
Traveling on foot at night on the planet Poros is necessarily slow and
tedious, for the blackness of the Porovian night is dense beyond
anything conceivable on earth. On earth even the light of a few stars
would enable a man to distinguish between a concrete road and the
adjoining fields and woods and bushes, but on Poros no stars are
visible. Accordingly Myles had to feel his way with his feet, and fell
off the road many times before he reached his destination. Due to the
mountainous character of the country, most of these falls were extremely
painful, and some were positively dangerous.
Yet on he kept, and before long the lights of Luno village loomed ahead.
Even here it would not do to reveal himself in his present state of
appearance, so he skirted the town and made his way down the steep path
which led to the shore of the lake.
If his island dwelling had been disturbed, he half expected to find that
his boats were gone from this landing place; but upon groping about in
the dark he came across several of them, tied up just where they ought
to be. This cheered him immensely.
But when he stared across toward the island and saw no sign of any light
there, his spirits fell again. It was not the custom at Luno Castle to
go through the night totally unillumined.
He would soon find out what the trouble was. So stepping into one of the
boats he cast off, and paddled vigorously toward the middle of the lake.
Keeping his bearings was difficult in the jet-black darkness, but he was
guided somewhat by the faint illumination sent skyward by the little
village.
Finally he bumped against the rocky and precipitous sides of the island,
but misjudging his location he had to paddle nearly clear around the
island before he came to the landing beach. This gained, he pulled his
craft ashore, and groped his way up the narrow path to the summit,
thence across the lawns, which sloped gently down toward the center of
the island, where lay a little pond with Luno Castle standing beside it.
Myles ran into several shrubs, got completely mixed up as to his
directions, and finally fell into the pond. This gave him a new starting
point from which to orient himself. Walking around its edge, with one
foot in the water, he would diverge outward from time to time, until at
last his groping hand touched a wall of masonry. It was his castle! He
was home! But what did that home hold? His heart beat tumultuously with
anticipation.
Feeling his way along the wall, he came to the steps, and crawled up
them to the great arched doorway. The door was closed, but not locked.
Myles flung it open softly, and entered, closing it behind him. Then
closing his eyes, he turned an electric switch, flooding the hall with
the light of many vapor-lamps.
Gradually opening his eyelids, he glanced around him. Everywhere was the
musty odor of unoccupancy. He had expected either his family or a sacked
and ruined castle; he had found neither.
It would not do for the surrounding populace to discover his return
until he was ready; so he hastily found a flashlight, and then switched
off the vapor-lamps again.
Flash-light in hand, he made a tour of the castle. Everything was in
perfect order. Lilla was a good housekeeper, and had evidently been
given plenty of time by Yuri to prepare for her departure. This spoke
volumes for her safety and that of the baby king.
Myles even found his own rooms undisturbed. This surprised him greatly.
He had not expected this much consideration from Yuri. But then he
reflected that Yuri must have been pretty sure that he would not return
from the earth, and had wanted to do nothing to antagonize Lilla any
more than absolutely necessary. This time Yuri had been playing the game
of love-and-empire with a little more finesse than usual.
Myles, in his own dressing room, switched on the light; this was safe,
as its windows opened only onto the courtyard. Then he bathed, shaved,
trimmed his hair, and donned a blue-bordered toga, in place of his
leather Vairking tunic. On his head he placed a radio headset of the
sort which he had devised shortly after his first advent on Poros, to
enable him to talk with the earless and voiceless Cupians and Formians.
Artificial antennae projected from his forehead. His earphones and ears
were concealed by locks of hair, his tiny microphone—between his
collar-bones—by a fold of his toga. Artificial wings strapped to his
back protruded through slits in his garment. Around his waist, beneath
his gown, was the belt which carried his batteries, tubes, and the
sending and receiving apparatus itself.
Thus equipped, he surveyed himself complacently in the glass. Barring
the absence of a sixth finger on each hand and a sixth toe on each foot,
he looked a Cupian of the Cupians.
Then he proceeded to the radio room. The long distance radio-set was in
perfect condition, but there was nothing on the air. One of the
three-dialed Porovian clocks showed the time to be 1025; that is, a half
hour after midnight, earth time. There was nothing further he could do
before morning; so he lay down for a few hours of much needed rest.
When he awoke it was broad daylight, 310 o’clock. The pink flush of
sunrise was just fading from the eastern sky. Less than three parths—six
hours—of sleep! And then he realized that he must have slept the clock
around, and more. A day’s growth of beard confirmed this. It was now the
beginning of his _third_ day in Cupia. He had been dead to Poros for
fifteen parths.
So he shaved, bathed, and breakfasted on some dried twig knobs—which was
all he could find in the house. The courtyard garden was full of weeds.
The lawns which surrounded the castle and the pond were uncut.
Everything bespoke an abandonment many sangths ago.
After a complete tour of the premises Myles hastened to the radio room,
and tuned-in the palace at Kuana. The result was the voice of the
usurper Yuri, testily calling the ant-station in New Formia, far across
the boiling seas. From time to time there would be silence, during which
the prince was evidently waiting for a reply; but none came. Otto the
Bold had done his work of destruction too well.
Myles chuckled. Yuri’s frantic voice, coming in over the air, was a
radio program much to Cabot’s liking. Even the best earth-station of
Columbia, National or Mutual could not surpass it. The only thing he
would rather hear would be his own sweet Lilla.
His recollection of Otto the Bold led him to wonder how the battle for
Vairkingi had progressed. Roies and Vairkings on one side against Roies
and ants on the other. It was a toss-up.
It seemed years since he had left the land of the furry ones—Otto, Grod,
Att, Jud, Theoph, Crota, Arkilu. They all resembled mere shadows of a
dream. The only real feature that stood out in his memory was the radio
set which he had fabricated.
Then his thoughts flew to Yat, the city of the Whoomangs, with its
strange assortment of creatures, including Boomalayla, the winged
dragon, and Queekle Mukki, the serpent. Cabot shed a tear for Doggo and
little golden furred Quivven, and then came down to the present with a
jerk.
He was back in Cupia, clean, clothed, shaved, equipped, fed, and rested.
It was now up to him to rescue the Princess Lilla from her traitor
cousin. First he must find firearms. But of these the castle had been
looted; for not a trace of a rifle, an automatic, or even a single
cartridge could he find, though he searched high and low. So reluctantly
he strapped on merely his Vairking sword and knife, and ran down the
path to the beach.
In the boat once more, he paddled rapidly toward the shore. At the
landing place, sitting on one of the boats was a Cupian, but as this man
seemed to be unarmed, Cabot approached him without fear. As he came
within antennae-shot the man sang out: “Welcome back to Cupia, Myles
Cabot, defender of the faith!”
Myles shaded his eyes from the silver glare of the sky. “Nan-nan!” he
exclaimed; for the Cupian before him was none other than the young
cleric of the lost religion who had helped rebuild his radio head-set in
the Caves of Kar during the Second War of Liberation.
As the boat grated on the beach the earth-man leaped out, and the two
friends were soon warmly patting each other’s cheek.
These greetings over, Cabot asked: “What good fortune brings you here?”
He found it easy to slip back again into the language of this continent.
“The Holy Leader detailed two of us,” Nan-nan replied, “to watch Luno
Castle, for you know he must be kept informed of everything, as he waits
within his caves for the promised day. Night before last my colleague
saw lights for a night, so this morning I decided to reconnoiter.”
“Is Owva still Holy Leader?” Myles asked politely.
“Yes,” the cleric replied. “The grand old man still lives.”
“The Builder be praised! But,” changing the subject, “how are my
family?”
“Both well,” Nan-nan answered, “though for the past six or nine days the
princess has not been permitted to communicate with anyone.”
Myles smiled. “Why?” he innocently asked.
“I know not,” the young cleric admitted.
Myles laughed. “I thought that the Holy Leader knew everything,” he
said. “Well, as it happens, _I_ can tell _you_. It is because I
communicated with her a few days ago and informed her that I was about
to return. Has no news of this got out from the palace?”
“No,” Nan-nan replied, “but it explains why Yuri has kept a large
squadron of whistling bees patrolling the eastern coast all day long
every day. How did you get by them?”
“Came over at night,” the earth-man answered. “But what about the bees?”
“I’ll tell you,” Nan-nan said. “Shortly after you left on your visit to
your own planet Minos, Prince Yuri flew back alone from his exile with
the Formians beyond the boiling seas. This was the first that we of
Cupia had known that any of them survived.
“Yuri kept his return a secret for some time, but got in touch with some
old supporters of his. First he contrived to cut off the allowance of
anks which are doled out to the bees for food. Then he stirred up
trouble among the bees because of this.
“The bees imprisoned Portheris, their king, and, under promise of an
increased allowance of food, seized the arsenal at Kuana, the air base
at Wautoosa, and Luno Castle. As you know, the air navy has been
practically disbanded, because there was nothing for it to fight. The
rifles of the marching clubs had fallen into disuse because other newer
games had superseded archery. Most of the rifles were stored at various
central places, which the bees succeeded in seizing.
“Some of the hill towns still had arms, but they surrendered these under
threat of Yuri to kill the Princess Lilla and the little king.
“All the arms are now stored in the arsenal at the capital under guard
of Yuri’s most trusted henchmen. A new treaty was made with the bees,
giving them an increase in food. But even so they are restive and are
held in check merely by fear of the anti-aircraft guns at Kuana.
“The general belief of the populace is that you are dead. Yuri is ruling
strictly, and has dissolved the Popular Assembly. The pinquis everywhere
are his personal appointees. These facts and the burden of supplying
anks to the Hymernians irk the people; but they are impotent. ‘Can a
mathlab struggle in the jaws of a woofus?”
“Lilla he treated well. If he had not done so, the populace would rise
against him, bees or no bees. And he has promised the succession to
little Kew, if Lilla will marry him. But your dot-dash message many
sangths ago stopped that, for it showed that you still lived and had
returned to Poros, although not to this continent.
“That is all. Now tell me of your adventures.”
But before complying with this request, the earth-man asked: “What has
become of the loyal Prince Toron and my chief of staff, Hah Babbuh, and
Poblath the Philosopher, and all my other friends and supporters?”
“Every one of them, so far as I know, is safe,” the young cleric
replied. “Most of than are hiding in the hill towns. Yuri has not risked
the wrath of the populace by molesting them, and in fact has given
notice that so long as they behave they will be let alone.”
Then Cabot related all that had occurred to him from the time he
transmitted himself earthward through Poros down to the present date.
When he concluded he remarked: “That will be an antenna-full for the
Holy Leader. But now to get to work. On whom can I best depend in this
vicinity?”
“On Emsul, the veterinary,” Nan-nan replied. “He lives in the village
now. Return to the island, and I will bring him to you.”
Myles did so, and in a short time the three were in conference in the
castle. It seemed to Myles that the first thing to do was to recover his
airplane, rifle, and ammunition from the waters of the pit, but Emsul
demurred.
Said he: “Huge dark-green water-insects inhabit the pool. They are very
like the red parasites which cling to the sides of the anks, and which
we roast for food, but they are much larger and the bite of their claws
means death.”
The parasites to which the veterinary alluded had always tasted to Cabot
exactly like earth-born lobsters. The description of these new beasts
were further suggestive of lobsters. He asked Emsul for a more detailed
description, and found that this tallied still further with the earthly
prototype.
This reminded Myles of an interesting experiment which he had seen tried
in the Harvard zoological laboratory, and which he now hoped to put to a
practical use.
So he asked: “Have these creatures a gravitational sense organ?”
“Yes,” the Cupian veterinary replied, “although it is unlike ours. We
Cupians, and I suppose you Minorians, have inside the skull on each side
of the head, a group of three tubes like the spirit levels of a
carpenter.
“The corresponding organ of the scissor-clawed beast is different,
although serving the same end. On each side of the thorax of these
creatures there is a spherical cavity, with a small opening to the
outside. This opening is just large enough to admit a grain of sand at a
time.
“The membrane which lines the cavity, exudes a liquid cement which
unites into a little ball the grains of sand which enter. The cavity is
lined with nerve ends; and, as the ball always rolls to the bottom side
of the cavity, the beast is able to tell which direction is up, and
which is down.”
Cabot clapped his hands in glee. This was exactly as in the case of
earth-born lobsters.
“They won’t know which is up and which is down when I get through with
them,” he exclaimed cryptically.
It was quickly arranged that Nan-nan should go at once to the village
near the lobster pool, and engage a gang of Cupian men to cut a swath
through the thick woods which hem in the pool. When this was completed,
he was to send a messenger to Luno Castle to summon Cabot, who,
meanwhile, would be engaged in preparing certain mysterious electrical
apparatus. For the present, the earth-man’s return was a secret.
The plan worked to perfection. Only one day was consumed in chopping the
path through the woods. On the second day after his meeting with Nan-nan
and Emsul, Myles proceeded to the lobster pool by the kerkool, with his
electrical equipment and several boats.
XXIV
THE LOBSTEROID CIRCUIT
Myles could not help comparing his present ease of passage down the
swath cut by the Cupians with his difficult grubbing through the shrubs
a few feet an hour, or even with forcing his way behind the wedge-faced
insect.
Upon his arrival at the brink of the abyss, his first act was to test
the black sand with an electric coil. As he had expected, it was
magnetite, the only iron ore which will respond to a magnet. It was the
same ore as he had used in his crucibles while making his radio set in
Vairkingi.
This preliminary disposed of, cables were quickly stretched back and
forth across the pit, and from these cables large electro-magnets were
hung close to the surface of the water. Wires were run from the lighting
system of the near-by town to a master controller at the top of the
cliff.
When all was in readiness, the earth-man threw the current into all the
circuits. The result was immediate. To the surface of the water there
floated bottom side up, a score or more of lobsterlike creatures, each
the size of a freight car. Poor beasts!
The pellets of sand and cement, in the cavities of their gravity-sense
organs, were composed of magnetite; and this being attracted upwardly by
the suspended electro-magnets, gave the poor creatures the impression
that up was down, and down was up. Consequently, reversing their
position and floating to the surface, they imagined—with what little
imagination their primitive brains were capable of—that they were
resting peacefully at the bottom of the lake.
Next there were turned on, in place of the suspended magnets, a number
of magnets lying against the steep side of the pit near the surface of
the water; and instantly all the lobsteroids rolled over, with their
bellies toward that side of the pit. The experiment was a complete
success.
Grappling hooks and blocks and tackle were then brought, and dragging
was begun for the airplane, the ant-rifle, and the bandoleer of
cartridges which Myles had lost on the night of his landing in Cupia.
The radio man himself, stationed at his switchboard, manipulated the
instruments. Presumably all three of the sought articles were near the
bank where Cabot had landed, so fishing was begun at that point, while
energized magnets, across the pond, drew the huge crustaceans away. Even
so, several of them swam back and snapped at the grappling hooks.
This gave Myles an opportunity to practice his controls. Whenever one of
the monsters of the deep would approach any of the dredging apparatus,
the radio man would close the switch which controlled some near-by
magnet, whereat the bewildered beast would be thrown completely off his
balance, and would require several paraparths before he could orient
himself to the new lines of force. By the time that this had been
accomplished, Cabot would have switched on some other magnet, thus again
upsetting the beast’s equilibrium.
It was truly a weird and novel tune which this electrical genius of two
worlds played upon his keyboard, while huge green shapes moved at his
command.
Finally Myles got so expert at this strange game, that it became safe
for his workmen to descend into the pit without fear of the denizens of
the deep. At last the ropes were securely fastened to the ant-plane, and
it was drawn up the bank to safety. The fire-arm and ammunition followed
shortly thereafter.
The forces of the true king—Baby Kew—were now armed with one small
airship, one rifle, and one bandoleer of cartridges.
“You must attack at once!” Nan-nan asserted.
The earth-man looked at the Cupian in surprise.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because,” the young cleric explained, “if you don’t some one of this
village is going to get word to Prince Yuri of your return. Although no
announcement has yet been made of your identity, this feat of yours of
overcoming the scissor-beasts is as good as a verbal introduction.
Runners will soon be notifying the usurper.”
“Why runners?” Myles asked. “Why not radio?”
“Because,” Nan-nan replied. “I took the precaution to throw an
adjusting-tool into the local motor-generator set early this morning.
One of the solenoids is hopelessly jammed, and it will take several days
and nights of steady work to restore it.”
“Great are the ramifications of the lost religion,” Cabot murmured
approvingly.
But the young cleric pouted, in spite of the tone of approval. Said he:
“There were no ramifications to _this_ accomplishment. I did it all
myself.”
“Have it your own way,” Myles returned conciliatorily. “But to get back
to what we were discussing, how am I to attack the usurper with no
troops, and only one plane, and one rifle?”
“But you _must_ attack!” Nan-nan objected. “As for planes, every plane
in the kingdom, save only yours, is under lock and key at Wautoosa, the
old naval air base, which now is the headquarters of the whistling bees.
Every firearm, save two, your rifle and Prince Yuri’s automatic, is
under heavy guard at the Kuana arsenal. Only the pretender himself and
the arsenal guards—who are trusted henchmen of his—are permitted to be
armed.”
“And I suppose,” the earth-man interjected, with a shrug, “that you
expect me, alone and single-handed, to seize the Kuana arsenal, and
distribute arms to my people.”
“Not exactly,” the priest replied. “You see—”
At which point the conversation was interrupted by a body of troops,
four abreast, which came marching toward them down the aisle which had
been cut through the trees.
Cabot stepped back aghast. Trapped! The soldiers swung along in the
perfect cadence which had been taught them by generations spent in the
marching clubs—or “hundreds”—of Cupia. True, they were unarmed, but what
could one armed human do against such numbers? Cabot glanced down the
path, and saw hundred after hundred turn into it at the farther end.
There was only one possibility of escape, his plane. But the plane was
still dripping from its submergence in the pond. Would its
trophil-engine start while wet? Had enough water leaked into the alcohol
tanks to damage the fuel? He would see.
Shouting to Nan-nan and Emsul to follow, he started toward his craft;
but the young cleric blocked his way. Treachery.
No. For the young priest cried: “Fear not, defender of the faith. These
be friends! They are the armies which you are to lead against Yuri. They
are marching clubs of the loyal hill towns, which have been called
together here, ostensibly for an athletic tournament.”
Cabot stopped his mad scramble of retreat, and smiled. With such men he
would reconquer Cupia, Yuri or no Yuri, bees or no bees!
The foremost hundred debouched and formed in company-front. Then from
the ranks there stepped a Cupian, who snatched off his blond wig,
revealing ruddy locks beneath. Onto his own right breast he pinned a red
circle, the insignia of Field Marshal. It was Hah Babbuh, Chief of Staff
of the Armies of Cupia, who had been Cabot’s right-hand man in the two
wars of liberation.
Facing the troops he gave a crisp command. Up shot every left hand.
Then, wheeling about, he held his own hand aloft and shouted: “Yahoo,
Myles Cabot! We are ready to follow where you lead!”
“Yahoo!” the troops echoed in unison.
Then, giving his men the order “at ease,” Hah strode up to the
earth-man. Warmly, the two friends patted each other on the cheek. It
was many sangths since they had seen each other, and much had happened
in the meantime.
A council of war was immediately held between Myles, Hah, Nan-nan, and
Emsul, at the plane.
“Won’t this gathering come to the attention of Yuri?” Myles asked. “And
won’t he at once suspect its cause, in view of its nearness to Luno
Castle, and in view of my recent radio announcements from Vairkingi?”
“I doubt it,” the Babbuh replied, “for we have wrecked every radio set
in the vicinity.”
But, this did not reassure the earth-man as much as it might.
“It would seem to me,” he asserted, “that this very fact would put
Prince Yuri on his guard.”
“Possibly so,” Nan-nan ruefully admitted, “but it will take four days
for investigators to cover the thousand stads from Kuana to here by
kerkool, two days by bee.”
“And in the meantime,” Myles countered, “it will take our plane two days
to reach Kuana, and our kerkools four.”
“Then,” Emsul suggested, “had we not better march openly and at once?”
This suggestion was accepted, with the reservation, however, that the
return of Cabot and the existence of their plane were to be kept as
secret as possible.
Accordingly the main body of the troops were put on the march toward
Kuana, under Emsul, with instructions to requisition every available
kerkool, wreck every radio set, and place every settlement under martial
law. The kerkools, as fast as seized, were to be manned by the best
sharpshooters, and sent ahead.
The local village and the lobster pond were placed under heavy guard,
and the earth-man with his plane and rifle remained under cover.
That night, just at sunset, he started forth. The airship had been
stripped to its lightest, and in it were crowded Myles Cabot, Hah
Babbuh, Nan-nan, and half a dozen sharpshooters. Long before morning,
they came up with the lights of the foremost kerkools, and so were
forced to cease their advance, whereupon they landed, and encamped for
the rest of the night and the following day.
All day long, kerkools passed them on the road, stopping to report as
they passed. Apparently a surprising number of these swift two-wheeled
Porovian autos had been captured.
The following night the plane again took wing, and continued until it
caught up once more with the advance guard of the “taxi-cab army.” These
men reported that, at the last radio station seized, they had learned
that Prince Yuri had put censorship on the air, thus showing
conclusively that the usurper had learned something of what was going
on. Then the kerkools swept ahead, and Cabot encamped as before. He was
now halfway to Kuana, his loved ones, and Prince Yuri.
Toward the end of the day which followed, the advancing kerkools met a
bombing squadron of whistling bees, and were forced to halt and take
cover as best they could. Most of the men escaped, but many of the
machines had to be left on the road, where they were demolished by the
bombs of the enemy.
During all this confusion, a kerkool from the capital, bearing crossed
sticks as a flag of truce, drew up at the vanguard, with the following
message: “King Yuri cannot but regard the steady procession of kerkools
toward Kuana as a menace directed against him. If it is not so intended,
then let a delegation in one kerkool proceed under crossed sticks to
convince him of your sincerity. From now on, if more than one kerkool
advances, it will be taken as a hostile act, and Prince Kew, the heir to
the throne, will be sacrificed as a hostage.”
Upon receiving this message, Emsul at once directed his followers to
stay where they were until Myles Cabot should catch up with them. Then,
with a picked body of men, in one kerkool, under crossed sticks, he took
up the road toward Kuana, preceded by the delegation which had brought
the message from Yuri.
Not a word would he give them as to the purpose of the advance.
“Your message was from Prince Yuri,” he said, “and therefore to Prince
Yuri shall be the reply. But it does seem a bit thoughtless of the
Hymernians to drop bombs on our men, before even attempting to ascertain
whether or not our advance was intended to be peaceful.”
To this, they in turn made no answer.
About midnight, Myles Cabot, in his airplane, reached the point where
the kerkools had halted. He found the Cupians confused and more or less
leaderless. He, as they, was horrified at the threat which the usurper
Yuri held over the head of the little king.
But while he and Nan-nan and Hah Babbuh were conferring on the
situation, word was brought in, by a party who had just demolished a
near-by radio set, that they had picked the following unaddressed and
unsigned message out of the air:
Fear not. Baby Kew has been kidnaped from the palace, and is safe.
Somehow this news carried conviction. The longer they considered it, the
more authentic it appeared. Certainly, it could not have emanated from
Yuri, for he could have no possible object in deceiving them into
thinking that the little king was safe, and thus encouraging them to
proceed with whatever they might have afoot.
But they could not imagine who was their informant. It might be any one
of a number of the leaders in Cabot’s two wars of liberation, Poblath
the Philosopher, mango of the Kuana jail; Ja Babbuh, Oya Buh, and Buh
Tedn, professors at the Royal University; Count Kamel of Ktuh, the
ex-radical; or even the loyal Prince Toron, Yuri’s younger brother, whom
Cabot had left in charge as regent, upon embarking on his ill-fated
visit to the earth.
All these loyal Cupians had been driven into hiding, when the renegade
Yuri had returned across the boiling seas and had usurped the throne
with the aid of the Hymernians. Where they now were, no one knew. This
message might be from any one of them—or it might not.
Anyhow, it served to hearten Cabot and his two companions.
Said Myles: “Undoubtedly there were some of Yuri’s Cupian henchmen on
the backs of the bees which bombed our kerkools. These have probably
reported by wireless that our advance has stopped. I do not believe that
Yuri yet knows that we have a plane; accordingly, he will not expect
immediate trouble, so long as our vanguard remains here, four hundred
stads from Kuana.
“You, Hah Babbuh, remain here in charge of our troops. I seriously doubt
if the usurper will attack you, for he does not dare trust enough
Cupians with rifles for that purpose. Nan-nan and I and our
sharpshooters will proceed as rapidly as possible in the plane, until
daybreak, when we will encamp as usual.
“To-morrow afternoon, send scouts ahead to destroy the wireless and
start your whole kerkool army on the move at sunset. Bend every effort
to join me as soon as possible at the capital, where I expect to arrive
some time to-morrow night. Beyond that, I have no definite plans. May
the Great Builder speed our cause.”
Then he said good-night, and took off once more in his plane. As he
soared aloft with his noisy trophil-motor, earth-men would have heard it
for stads in every direction, but these Cupians were earless and hence
possessed no sense of hearing as we know it. The noisy plane could make
no impression upon their antenna-sense, for its engines being of the
trophil variety—or Diesel, as we call a somewhat similar device on
earth—had no electrical ignition.
Throughout the remainder of the night the plane sped southward,
deviating from its course only when whistling sounds warned them of the
presence of bees. With the first faint tinge of pink in the east, they
landed and hid their airship at the edge of a wood, two hundred and
sixty stads from Kuana.
A small town lay near by. To it went several of the crew in search of
food and information, while the rest took turns guarding the plane and
sleeping.
During Cabot’s turn at watch, he noted a figure slinking across a
neighboring field. There was something strangely familiar about this
figure, so Myles hid himself in a tartan bush and awaited its approach.
It walked with a peculiar limp, very much like that which had
characterized Buh Tedn, ever since he recovered from the shell wound
which he had received in the Second War of Liberation. But the face and
the hair of the approaching Cupian bore no resemblance to that of
Professor Tedn. Nevertheless, Cabot took a chance.
Stepping suddenly from his place of concealment, he shouted: “Buh Tedn!”
Thereat, the Cupian emitted a shriek of terror from his antennae, and
started running away across the fields.
“Stop!” the earth-man called. “I am Myles Cabot.”
The fleeing man halted abruptly and peered at Myles inquisitively; then
he smiled and snatched off his wig, and straightened out his expression.
It was none other than Buh Tedn!
“So you are the cause of all the rumpus,” he ejaculated, returning and
patting his friend warmly on the cheek.
“What rumpus?” Miles inquired with interest.
“Wireless won’t work,” the other replied, “and no messages on the air
anyhow. Nothing but bees; the air is full of _them_ anyhow—also full of
vague rumors of all sorts. As Poblath would say: ‘Where there’s wind,
there’s a storm’.”
“Speaking of Poblath,” Myles said, “where _is_ the philosopher?”
“Kuana, the last I heard,” Buh Tedn replied. “Ja Babbuh and Oya Buh are
somewhere in the west. Prince Toron has disappeared completely. Hah
Babbuh and Emsul are supposed to be in the northern part of the Okarze
Mountains. Kamel Bar-Sarkar has gone over to Yuri. I am here. That about
completes the list of our former leaders.”
“Hah Babbuh is in charge of my unarmed forces one hundred and sixty
stads north of here,” Cabot answered. “Emsul is on his way to Yuri under
crossed sticks. I am here in a plane, with one rifle, Nan-nan the
cleric, and six unarmed sharpshooters.”
“What is the idea?” Tedn asked.
“The idea is to fly to Kuana to-night,” the earth-man replied, “and
raise as much rough-house as possible for Prince Yuri. Will you come
with us? There is one vacant place in the plane.”
The Cupian looked at him admiringly, and said: “You are still the same
old Myles Cabot! You propose to capture Kuana practically without arms
and single-handed. And the joke is that you will probably succeed. How
_do_ you do it?”
“It’s a gift!” Myles laughed. “But ‘trees have antennae’, as Poblath
would say. Let us proceed to the plane and wait for evening.”
At the plane, Cabot awakened one of the Cupians to take his place on
guard. Then, in low tones, he and Buh Tedn each related to the other all
that had occurred since the matter-transmitting apparatus had shot the
radio man earthward.
Along toward night the absentees returned from the village, bringing
provision, but scarcely any news except that the place was seething with
suppressed excitement, and that they had succeeded in getting into the
radio station and “pying” the apparatus.
“Let us start then at once,” Buh Tedn counseled. “No one can now get
word to Yuri, and perhaps they will mistake us for a Hymernian, anyhow.”
But impatient as he was, Myles would hear none of this.
“They could easily dispatch a runner to some near-by town to send the
message from there,” he said. “Furthermore, a plane looks very little
like a whistling bee.”
So the group feasted, and waited until the last streaks of red had died
in the west, before they shot into the air and southward. The plane was
driven to its utmost, but it was later than 1:00 o’clock before the
lights of Kuana loomed ahead.
Turning to the right, Cabot skirted the city and landed near the
arsenal.
Nan-nan promptly left them.
“I have church affairs to attend to,” he explained.
“Great are the ramifications of the lost religion,” the earth-man
replied, laughing, “and I hope that you pick up some useful
information.”
After the young cleric had gone Buh Tedn asked:
“Surely you don’t plan for us to attack the arsenal? It is heavily
guarded by the only men whom Yuri permits to carry fire-arms in this
entire kingdom.”
XXV
ALL KINDS OF TROUBLE
“We must reconnoiter first,” Cabot replied, “for as yet I have no
definite plans.”
Accordingly they made their way to a grove of trees near the arsenal.
Where they stood they were completely enveloped by foliage and tropical
darkness, but the arsenal was in a flood of light which emanated from
large floodlights on poles a short distance outside the surrounding
wall. Along the top of the high wall walked sentinels armed with rifles.
Cabot quickly formed his plans.
Turning his rifle and bandoleer over to the best shot in the party, he
instructed the sharpshooter as follows: “When I raise my hand so, then
shoot the sentinel to whom I am talking. Follow that by a shot at the
nearest light. Then, under cover of the darkness, slink across the plain
and join me at the wall.”
Without any further explanation he walked boldly out into the light.
As he approached the arsenal there rang out the cry of “Halt!”
He halted.
“Who is there?”
“Not so loud!” he cautioned. “You see I am unarmed. Let me approach near
the wall so that I may explain my mission, which is for your antennae
alone.”
The sentinel signified his assent, and Cabot drew nearer.
“Halt!” The Cupian on the wall repeated, but this time in a low tone.
Cabot halted again, this time almost directly under the light.
“Stand where you are,” said the soldier, “while I let down a ladder.
Make any attempt to flee, and I shall fire.”
Myles remained where he was, with every indication of extreme terror, as
the Cupian let down a rope ladder from the top of the wall, and
descended.
“Hold up your hands!”
Up shot Cabot’s right hand. It was the signal agreed on with the
concealed sharpshooter. _Ping!_ The sentinel dropped to the ground
without a sound. _Ping!_ The light went out. Hastily the earth-man
exchanged his white toga for the black toga of his fallen enemy, and
picked up the latter’s rifle and cartridge-belt. It felt good to have a
real rifle-shaped rifle in his hands once more in place of the buttless
firearms of the ants.
Just then a voice hailed him from the top of the wall. “What’s the
trouble?”
Out of the dim twilight below Myles called back:
“I shot a sutler, and just as I was about to search his body the light
went out. Have you your flash light with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then come on down and help me search.”
The second sentinel, eager for a taste of sutler’s food after weeks of
garrison rations, started to scramble down the rope ladder; but as he
neared the ground Cabot stepped to his side and put a single bullet
through his brain.
Out of the semidarkness around him there arose seven forms. They were
Buh Tedn and the six Cupian marksmen from the hills. Buh Tedn started to
change clothes with the fallen guard, but Cabot stopped him, saying,
“No; your limp would give you away. Let one of the others assume the
personality of this sentry.”
One of the others made the exchange.
Then said their leader: “Two of the posts of the guard are now cleared.
Do you, marksman, ascend the ladder and walk this beat, impersonating
Yuri’s guardsman.”
The man did so, while those below cowered close to the wall. Soon Cabot
heard a shot to the extreme right of the beat. Then a voice from above
called softly:
“One less guard, O Cabot. Three sections of the wall are now cleared. I
have the body up here.”
Myles and one more sharpshooter mounted the parapet; soon all three were
walking post with the precision of old war-time practice, while the
other five members of the party clung to the rope ladder under the
shadow of the wall. Cabot himself walked the leftermost post, and took
pains never to meet the adjoining sentry. Thus nearly half a parth of
time passed.
Finally an officer with a squad approached along the top of the wall to
the left. Cabot promptly crowded to the extreme right-hand end of his
beat, and cautioned his own adjoining sentinel to remain close at hand.
As the squad drew near he sang out, “Halt!”
The squad halted.
“Who is there?” the earth-man demanded.
“Relief.”
“Advance one and be recognized.”
The officer stepped forward.
“Advance relief.”
The officer brought the relief forward, halted it again, and called out,
“Number four!”
Thereat one of the squad stepped from the ranks at port-arms. Cabot
himself came to port in unison.
At this point the routine ended. Tilting his gun slightly from its
position, Myles suddenly fired two shots, and the officer and the new
Number Four sank down upon the parapet.
Instantly the whole squad was in confusion, but before they could raise
their rifles to reply Myles and his companions riddled them with
bullets.
One of them, more quick-thinking than the rest, dropped prone without
being hit, and then cautiously drew a bead on Myles Cabot, who, seeing
his enemies all down, had just paused to breathe. Neither he nor his
companion saw his hostile move, and Myles’s other man was walking his
post, far to the right, in a military manner, so as to attract no
attention from the guardsmen farther on.
Everything was all set for the tragedy which would forever put an end to
the hope of the redemption of Cupia from the renegade Yuri and his bee
allies.
But just as the soldier was about to pull the trigger, a brawny arm
slipped across his throat and yanked him backward, so that his gun went
off in the air. It was Buh Tedn, who had crawled to the top of the wall
in the rear of the squad. A shot from Cabot’s companion promptly put an
end to this last enemy.
Then the seven conspirators searched the bodies and equipped themselves,
Cabot pinning on the insignia of the officer. There were eight bodies,
but some had undoubtedly fallen from the wall in the struggle. No time
could be spared to hunt for these, and eight was more than enough for
the present purposes.
Myles formed his men in two ranks, counted them off, faced them to the
right, and proceeded along the parapet, picking up his one already
posted man as he went.
Number Six was relieved in true military form. He was too glad of
getting off duty to notice the unfamiliarity of the officer who relieved
him. Similarly with Numbers Seven, Eight, Nine, and so on.
As he came to Number Eleven, Cabot began to worry for fear that his
supply of new sentinels might run out. Why hadn’t he made some
arrangement to have his own men rejoin him after being posted? But then
he reflected that that would never do, for it certainly would have been
noticed by the others. He was in a fix.
Number Twelve was relieved, all seven of his own men were gone, and
Myles Cabot found himself at the head of a squad composed entirely of
the enemy. What could he do at Number Thirteen?
But just as he was frantically turning this question over in his mind,
he came to a long ramp leading inward from the wall, down to a small
building between the wall and the main arsenal. He stepped back as
though to inspect the squad; and they, without command, marched past
him, turned, and proceeded past Number One down the ramp. This was the
guard-quarters; there were no more sentinels to relieve.
Inside the buildings he gave the commands: “Relief—halt! Left—face!
Port—arms! Open—chambers! Close—chambers! Dismissed! Hands up!”
The last was not in the Manual. The tired men, on their way to the gun
rack, stopped in surprise. Up shot their hands, some first dropping
their rifles, but some retaining them.
“It is Cabot the Minorian!” one of them shouted.
The situation was ticklish in the extreme. The Cupians were scattered
throughout the room, so that it was impossible for Myles to cover them
all simultaneously with his rifle. They were desperate characters, thugs
of the worst type, typical henchmen of Prince Yuri. If they started any
trouble, Myles could expect to get one, or at most two, of the seven
before the rest would get him. Furthermore, they knew it.
“Back up, all of you, into that corner! Quickly!” he directed.
But they did not budge. Gradually smiles began to break over their ugly
visages. They realized that they had him at bay, rather than he them.
And what a prize he would be for presentation to King Yuri! Why, the
king might even blow them to a beefsteak party.
The earth-man confronted them, unafraid. He still had the drop on them,
and he intended to press his advantage to the limit.
“You fat one over by the rack, back into the corner,” he ordered, “or
I’ll shoot you first.”
The Cupian addressed obeyed with alacrity.
“You with the scar! Lay down your gun! Now you back into the corner!”
The second soldier did so. Things were progressing nicely. One by one he
could subdue the Cupians confronting him. But, just as he was exulting
in his triumph, his gun was seized from behind. Turning, he saw Number
One leering at him.
One blow from his fist in that leering face and the newcomer crashed to
the floor. But before Myles could wheel to confront those in the
guardroom, they had rushed him and borne him to the ground.
“Capture him alive!” some one shouted, and that was the last that he
heard, for something snapped in his portable radio set, and from then on
he was deaf to antennae-emanations. All that he could hear was an
occasional rifle shot.
In spite of the overwhelming numbers upon him, he fought with feet and
fists, until at last, the weight seemed to lessen. Finally he struggled
to his feet and confronted his tormentors. Could it be that
single-handed, he had vanquished eight brawny Cupians?
But no, for the figures he confronted were Buh Tedn and his own men. The
eight enemies lay dead on the floor.
The mutual congratulations were silently given. A quick inspection
showed that the head-set and the apparatus-belt were hopelessly damaged,
so the radio man found a stylus and paper and wrote: “My artificial
antennae and the accompanying apparatus were ruined during the fight.
Luckily there is another set in the airplane. One of you go quickly and
fetch it.”
One of the party accordingly withdrew. The others, rifle in hand,
proceeded to search the building, but not a soul did they find, although
the couches had evidently been recently occupied.
It seemed likely that, during the struggle in the guardroom, the rest of
the guard, being unable to reach the arms racks, had stealthily left the
building.
So Myles and his party hurried on to the door which led from the
building into the arsenal yard. As they emerged they were met with a
volley from the arsenal, and three of their number went down. The rest
beat a hasty retreat and barred the door.
Then they made their way to the windows which faced the main arsenal,
but two more of them were picked off before they realized how perfectly
they were silhouetted by the lighted rooms within. One of these two was
Buh Tedn. Myles Cabot and one Cupian sharpshooter were all that were
left of the party.
As rapidly as possible the two survivors extinguished all the lights in
the guardhouse, and then mounted to the roof, which was flat and
surrounded by a low parapet which protected them from showing themselves
against the illumination of the surrounding vapor lamps.
Crawling along the roof to the edge nearest the arsenal, they peered
cautiously over. The whistle of a bullet caused Myles to duck his head,
and he pulled his companion to cover as well. With his artificial
antennae gone, he could not explain orally and it was too dark to write.
But the other followed him to the opposite edge, where they succeeded in
potting the sentinels at Posts Two and Three, which were the only
occupied posts within sight.
There appearing to be nothing further to be accomplished up there, they
crawled down into the building and took up their station at windows of
the upper story, from which they fired at every sign of movement in the
direction of the arsenal, taking care to drop to the floor and then
change windows after each shot.
Finally their ammunition gave out, and Cabot went down to the guardroom
for more. But a long and careful search revealed only a few rounds.
Myles returned to the upper story and groped through the rooms to find
his friend. But it was his foot, rather than his out-stretched hand,
which finally found him. The Cupian sharpshooter lay dead.
Myles Cabot alone, with only about a dozen cartridges, was the sole
remaining defense of the captured building. No life seemed to be
stirring on the arsenal side, so he crossed the building and looked out
at the wall.
Dark figures were stealthily creeping along where Post No. 12 should
have been. The earth-man let them have it with rapid fire, and they
quickly disappeared.
He now heard firing in that direction, and then the lights there went
out, so that the wall no longer showed against the sky. From time to
time he fired where he judged the wall was, so as to keep back the
invaders, and thus soon entirely exhausted his ammunition.
“Thank heaven,” he said to himself, “the downstairs door is barred!”
But as he said this he realized that he had omitted to bar the door
which opened toward the wall; and even as he realized this there came a
rush of many feet down the ramp which led from the wall to this door.
XXVI
THE DEBACLE
Myles drew his knife, crouched in a corner of the dark room, and
prepared to sell his life dearly. He was ready for searchers who might
come groping through the room, but he was wholly unprepared for the
sudden switching on of the electric lights. As he sprang to his feet and
rubbed his eyes, he saw before him Nan-nan and the sharpshooter whom he
had sent back to the plane to get his second radio set. Behind them in
the doorway were a score or more of Cupians.
Snatching the new set he fastened it in place, while the others waited.
Then, articulate once more, “You have come in the nick of time. How did
it happen?”
The young priest replied, “Through spies of our religion I located Oya
Buh; he rounded up a number of his followers, and we hastened hither.
The wall we found unguarded, with a rope ladder hanging down, and at its
foot six dead soldiers in black togas. We took their arms and mounted
the wall, only to be driven back by shots.”
“My shots,” Myles interjected.
“Not all,” Nan-nan replied, “for some came from the arsenal; we could
tell by the flashes. Several of our party were hit—although not by you,
so your conscience may feel clear—before we put a stop to this by
shooting out all the outside lights. Then we rushed the guardhouse, and
here we are. But where are _your_ men?”
“Dead—all dead,” the earth-man sadly replied. “Even Buh Tedn.”
Oya Buh then stepped forward and greeted his former chief.
“Yahoo, Cabot!” he cried. “May the dead rest beyond the waves. We, the
living, have work to do. Look—the sky turns pink and silver in the east!
Morning has come. What do you propose?”
“Morning means that the whistling bees will soon be upon us,” Myles
answered. “We must capture the arsenal before they arrive.”
The party then took inventory of their supplies. There were thirty-eight
rifles, forty Cupians, and Myles Cabot. One man was promptly sent to the
roof with crossed sticks. When these were recognized, thirty-eight men
under arms were marched up onto the roof as well. It was considered
advisable for Cabot himself to keep under cover. Then Oya Buh unbarred
the door and stepped out. An officer from the arsenal advanced to meet
him. The two gravely patted each other’s cheek.
The officer, whose rank was that of pootah, inquired:
“What is the idea of defying your king, professor?”
“The idea,” Oya replied, “is that we have come to restore Kew XIII to
the throne and the Cupians to their proper dominion over the bees. The
guardhouse, as you see, is manned by sharpshooters, fully armed. A vast
force, unarmed but determined, awaits outside the walls. If you
surrender, we shall spare your lives. If not, we shall rush the gates
while our sharpshooters pick off any one who opposes, and shall kill all
whom we find within. What say you?”
The pootah shrugged his shoulders. “What is there to say?” he replied.
“We surrender, provided we are given safe conduct.”
“Safe conduct without arms?”
“Agreed.”
So the guard, about a hundred in number, in their black togas, filed out
of the arsenal, through the guardhouse, onto the wall, along it, and
down the rope ladder. The ladder was then hauled up again. The pootah
looked around him.
“Where is your vast army?” he asked.
“On the other side of the wall,” Oya Buh replied, with a smile. “Now run
along away from here, like a good little boy.”
But the officer and his followers started circling the wall to
investigate. Before he gained the main gate, however, it had been opened
and, for all he could tell, the “vast army” had passed inside. A guard
stationed there advised him to get out of rifle range as speedily as
possible, and twelve sentinels, who by now had manned the wall, bore out
this menace; so, grumbling somewhat the pootah led his men off toward
the city.
Thus did Myles Cabot and forty-seven practically unarmed followers
capture the Kuana arsenal from its hundred defenders.
Straggling Cupians now began to drift in from the city. These were put
to work carting arms and ammunition out of the arsenal and stacking it
up in widely separated piles wherever cover could be found. Every Cupian
who reported was issued a rifle and a full bandoleer of cartridges.
“We may perhaps thus arm some enemies,” Myles admitted, “but we must
take the risk. The majority will be friends.”
It was well that they removed all the ammunition which they could. It
would have been better if they could have removed more. They all worked
feverishly for half the morning, even taking the guards off the wall for
this purpose, but they had scarcely made a dent in the supplies stored
in the arsenal when a fleet of bees appeared on the southern horizon.
In spite of the approaching menace, Myles and his men continued to work.
The Hymernians flew low straight at the arsenal, until a volley from
Cabot’s men brought down two of them and caused the rest to soar into
the sky. Whereupon they started dropping bombs on the arsenal, and on
the men carting materials therefrom.
Naturally, this put an abrupt end to Cabot’s operations. His men
scattered as rapidly as possible; and individually made for the city
with small quantities of arms, keeping to cover as well as they could.
Cupians from Kuana helped themselves to the rest, and by nightfall the
captured supplies were pretty well distributed. The arsenal was a
smoking ruin.
All through the afternoon the bees, flying low, harassed whoever they
saw moving on the streets, especially such as were carrying rifles; but
these retaliated by firing at all bees that came within range, in spite
of which very few bees were killed. Night brought a cessation of this
sort of warfare.
Emsul arrived and of course at once gave up the idea of his projected
peace mission to Yuri. He and Cabot and Nan-nan and Oya Buh spent the
night under heavy guard at separated points throughout the city,
securing much-needed sleep. Under cover of the darkness, many of their
followers foraged in the ruins of the arsenal and secured a surprising
quantity of undamaged material, being joined in the morning by the army
in kerkools from the north.
Before daybreak a resolute band of several thousand loyal Cupians had
gathered in the streets and houses surrounding the palace, and promptly
at sunrise they launched an attack. They had expected to find the palace
guard unarmed; but evidently a large quantity of the rifles and
ammunition, which had been distributed throughout the city, had found
their way to the palace, for the assault was at once repulsed by heavy
fire from the palace guards.
As Cabot’s forces reformed for a second attack, they were deluged with
explosives from above. The bee-people had evidently not returned to
their base at Wautoosa, but had spent the night near by, so as to be on
hand to protect the palace.
Whenever they sighted even a small group of Cupians, or wherever they
had reason to suspect that some building was hostilely occupied, there
they would drop one of their devastating bombs. Cabot’s forces were
completely at the mercy of the Hymernians. There was but one thing to
do—flee.
In vain, the earth-man and his able lieutenants tried to rally their
troops. What was the use in assembling, when assembly was the signal for
a bomb from above? What was the use of attacking the invincible bees?
Myles Cabot stood irresolute in one of the public squares. He was as
near to despairing as he had ever been in his many vicissitudes on the
planet Poros, since his first arrival there five earth-years ago. Oh, if
only he had airplanes with which to subdue the Hymernians as in the days
of old! Almost was he tempted to return to the vicinity of the arsenal,
ascertain whether his one plane was intact, and if so fly alone in a
last desperate attempt to give battle to his winged enemies.
The more he thought of the plan, the more it appealed to him. There
seemed to be no other way out. His bravely engineered revolution had
crumbled. If he stayed where he was, he would undoubtedly be tracked
down, and put to some ignominious end by the usurper. How much better,
then, to die bravely fighting for his Lilla and his adopted country.
And his baby? He wondered where the little darling had disappeared to.
At least the infant king was out of Yuri’s clutches.
So, his mind made up, Myles set out on a run for the wood overlooking
the arsenal. After a few paraparths he reached it. There stood his
plane. Rapidly he went over all the struts, and stays, and engine parts.
Everything appeared to be in first class order. The fuel tanks contained
plenty of alcohol. How this machine had escaped capture or destruction
was a marvel, but probably the bees had been too busy bombing groups of
Cupians, to take the time to explore the apparently deserted grove.
Myles sprang aboard and was just about to start the trophil engine, when
a familiar sound, smiting upon his earthborn ears, caused him to delay
for a moment. From the southward came the purr of many motors.
Was the wish the father to the thought? His longing for an air fleet,
with which to vanquish the bees, had been so intense; had it affected
his mind and caused him to hear things which did not exist? Impossible,
for the purr of the motors was unmistakable.
He strained his eyes toward the southern horizon, so that they might see
what his ears heard; but there was nothing there. The radiant silver sky
was untouched save by an occasional small cloud.
The bees still kept up their bombing of the city. He could see them
flying low over the housetops, and up and down the principal
thoroughfares, ferreting out any groups of Cupians who dared to gather
in Cabot’s cause, dropping bombs on any houses which presumed to fly the
blue pennant of the Kew dynasty in place of the yellow of Yuri.
The bees did not heed the approaching planes from the south. Of course
not! For the whistling bees of Poros had no ears. They heard with their
antennae, and heard only radio waves at that, in fact only short-length
radio waves.
The noise of a large fleet of airships swept on out of the south. Nearer
and nearer it came, until it was right over the city, and still not a
single plane appeared in sight. Meanwhile the bees continued their
depredations, and the earth-man sat in his own plane and watched and
waited.
As he watched, he saw one of the bees who happened to be flying higher
than the rest, suddenly vanish in a puff of smoke. And then another and
another.
The Hymernians, too, saw this and rose to investigate, whereat there
came the shut-off whir of descending planes.
Fascinated, Myles stared into the sky, whence came these sounds, and saw
occasionally, against gathering clouds, a glint of silver light.
Several more of the ascending bees exploded. And now Myles was able to
see from time to time, silhouetted on a background of cloud, the ghostly
form of an airship. The bees, too, saw, and flew to the attack. What was
this shadow fleet? Had the spirits of the brave Cupian aviators of the
past returned to free their beloved country from Hymernian domination?
The two fleets, bees and ghostly planes, had now completely joined
battle, and were drifting slowly to the southeast. Myles came out of his
trance, started his engine, and rose into the air, intent on joining the
fray.
On his way, he circled over the city, and gave it a glance in passing.
Then he gave it a second glance, for the Cupians, relieved of the menace
of the bees, were forming for a second attack on the palace.
Instantly his plans changed. What business had he running off to watch
however interesting a sky battle when right here before him lay a chance
to do what he had braved so many misfortunes to accomplish, namely free
his Lilla from the unspeakable Yuri! Veering sharply, he landed on one
of the upper terraces of the palace.
He still wore his bandoleer of cartridges, and still carried his rifle.
Filling the magazine, he boldly descended into the building. No one
guarded the approaches from the air, for they depended on their aerial
allies to do that for them. The upper rooms were deserted, doubtless
because the womenfolk were cowering in the basements and because the
palace guards and Yuri’s other henchmen were resisting the attack of
Cabot’s Cupians at the ground levels.
Cabot himself explored the place unimpeded and unchallenged. Here he was
at last at his journey’s end, but where was Lilla? Lilla the blue-eyed
princess, Lilla of the golden curls, his Lilla!
The rooms which he and she had occupied showed every sign of continued
and present occupancy, even to the crib of the baby king, emblazoned
with the arms of the House of Kew. Cabot looked reverently around the
living rooms of his wife and child, and then swept on into the lower
levels of the palace.
Occasionally he would come upon groups of defenders; but they, naturally
assuming that he was one of them—especially as he still wore the black
toga of the arsenal guard—gave him but little heed. Whenever the group
was not too numerous he would shoot them. He hated to do this, but he
knew he had to in order to save his loved ones.
Thus he traversed practically the whole of the upper reaches of the
palace without encountering his arch enemy Yuri, or any of the
womenfolk. Yuri was no coward. However much of a scoundrel he might be,
no one would ever accuse him of that. Therefore he was not in hiding. He
was apparently not in command of the defense. Therefore he must be
either away from the palace, or concocting some devilment.
Figuring thus, Cabot continued to descend to levels below the ground
floor. While treading these subterranean passages, searching, ever
searching for either Lilla or Yuri, he came upon one of the palace
guards. The fellow was unarmed, so Cabot did not shoot.
Instead he ordered, “Up with your hands.”
The guard promptly obeyed.
“Now,” said his captor, “the price of your life is to lead me to your
king.”
“Indeed, I will with pleasure,” the soldier replied with a sneer, “for
King Yuri will make short work of one who turns traitor to his black
garb.”
The earth-man smiled. “I am no traitor,” he announced, “and this black
toga is mere borrowed fur. Do you not know Cabot the Minorian?”
The other blanched. “Good Builder!” he exclaimed. “We did not believe
the story that you had returned from the planet Minos. But I am at your
orders, for I am one of the old guard who served under King Kew the
Twelfth, the father of Princess Lilla, may he rest beyond the waves.”
“Lead on, and no treachery,” Myles curtly replied. “I trust no one who
has ever worn the livery of Prince Yuri.”
So the guard led the way through many winding passages, down into the
very bowels of the subterranean labyrinths of the palace. What could
Prince Yuri be doing way down here unless he was hiding, which seemed
unlikely? Cabot became very suspicious, and, rifle in hand and finger on
trigger, watched his guide with eagle eye.
Finally they came upon a form in an elaborate yellow toga, huddled in a
corner.
“King Yuri,” said the soldier laconically.
At the sound of the voice the usurper looked around; and now it became
evident that he was crouching there not for fear, but rather because he
was engaged in repairing something with a set of typical Porovian
queer-looking tools.
Apparently not at all surprised, he hailed his deadliest enemy and rival
as though the latter were a long lost friend, “Yahoo, Cabot the
Minorian. I rather expected you would turn up sooner or later. Just a
minute until I fix this wire, and then I will be at your service. You
see, one of my mines wouldn’t explode; no one else seemed able to get at
the cause of the trouble, and so I had to come down here in person.”
And so saying he turned back to his work. Myles stepped forward to see
what Prince Yuri was doing. For a brief moment the earth-man’s
scientific curiosity got the better of his caution. But that moment,
brief as it was, proved long enough for the watchful soldier, who had
led him hither, to snatch Myles’ rifle from his hand, and cover him with
its muzzle.
“Up with your hands!” the soldier peremptorily commanded.
Cabot obeyed. Not to do so would have been suicide.
Yuri, still unperturbed, remarked, “Well done, Tobo; you shall be
promoted for this.”
“Shall I shoot him, sire?” Tobo eagerly asked.
“N-no,” the usurper ruminated, waving his antennae thoughtfully, “not
just now. Wait until I finish with this wire. In the meantime you might
let the Minorian lean against the wall, so that he will be more
comfortable.”
So Myles leaned against the wall and waited, his hands still held high,
while the prince puttered around in the corner. Finally, after a
seemingly interminable period, Yuri arose, slung his tools together,
brushed one hand against the other, and looked at his victim with a
cruel smile.
“Shall I kill him now?” asked Tobo.
“No. I am reserving that pleasure for myself,” the prince replied. Then
to Cabot: “At last, you are in my power. I intend to shoot you myself. I
intend to shoot you down, unarmed.”
Turning to Tobo, the prince asked, “How is our battle going?”
“Very well, sire,” the soldier replied. “We are repulsing all assaults,
in spite of the departure of the bees to the southward.”
A momentary cloud of doubt spread over the sinister handsome visage of
Prince Yuri. Then he smiled and said, “Doubtless the bees know what they
are about, and will soon return to the fray. So let us proceed with the
execution. Follow me!”
Myles followed. Almost was he tempted to spring upon his enemy and
attempt to throttle him before the inevitable bullet from Tobo could do
its work. It would be well worth the sacrifice of his own life to rid
Cupia of this incubus. But what if Yuri should survive? No, it would
never do to risk this. So he meekly followed.
The prince led the way up several levels, until they came to a small
circular chamber hung with curtains. At one side was a dais. An electric
vapor-lamp on the ceiling furnished the light.
Prince Yuri took the rifle from the guard, stood Myles in the center of
the room, and sat down himself on the dais.
Then he directed Tobo, “Go and summon the Princess Lilla hither, for I
wish her to see me kill this lover of hers, this beast from another
world.”
Myles winced at the mention of his beloved, and thereat his tormentors
smiled.
The soldier departed on his errand. Yuri toyed with the weapon, and
watched his victim, with a sneer on his handsome lips. Myles returned
his stare without flinching.
“You can put down your hands now, if you wish, you fur-faced mathlab,”
the prince remarked.
Cabot did so, and instinctively felt of his face. The insult was
unwarranted, for he had shaved only that morning.
“Don’t go too far!” he admonished his captor. “Remember Poblath’s
proverb: ‘You cannot kill a Minorian’.”
“I’ve a mind to kill you right now,” the prince replied, “just to prove
to you that your friend is wrong.”
“Go ahead and try it,” Myles challenged, half hoping that Yuri would
take him at his word, and thus spare Lilla the pain of attending the
execution.
A grim look settled on the usurper’s face as he slowly raised the rifle
and pointed it at the earth-man’s right side.
“Left side,” Myles admonished. “Remember that my heart is on the other
side than is the case with you Cupians.”
“My, but you are a cool one!” Yuri admired, shifting his arm as
directed. “Now, are you prepared to die?”
“Yes,” Myles replied.
It all seemed like a dream. It couldn’t be possible that he was really
going to die on the far-away planet Venus. Perhaps all his adventures in
the skies had been a mere dream, and he was now about to be awakened.
“Thus do I bring peace to Poros!” the Cupian sententiously declaimed.
His finger closed upon the trigger.
The rifle spat fire.
XXVII
PEACE ON POROS
Myles felt a sharp warm pain in his shoulder. But he still stood erect.
He was not dead. Could it be that Yuri had missed? Shaking himself
together and blinking his eyes, Myles stared at the prince.
The prince stared back with an open-mouthed expression of surprise. His
eyes were fishlike. His body was no longer erect. The rifle lay in his
lap, and he seemed to be feebly trying to raise it and point it at
Cabot.
Then, with a gurgle, some blood welled from the prince’s mouth and
trickled down his chin.
With one supreme effort his antennae radiated the words, “Curse you!”
Then the rifle dropped clattering from his nerveless hands, and his body
slouched forward prone on the floor at the foot of the dais. From the
right side of his back there protruded the jewelled hilt of a dagger.
Behind the couch, between parted curtains, stood a wild-eyed Cupian
woman, her face hideous with pent-up hate and triumph.
For a moment Myles stood rooted to the spot; then, tearing his feet
free, he rushed to his fallen enemy and plucked out the dagger. From the
wound there gushed bright cerise-colored blood, foamy with white
bubbles. Myles turned the body over, and listened at the right side of
the chest. Not a sound. Then, the Prince’s chest collapsed, with a sigh,
a little more blood welled out of the mouth, and all was still once
more.
Prince Yuri, the most highly developed specimen of Cupian manhood—but a
renegade, traitor, rejected wooer of the Princess Lilla, pretender to
the throne of Cupia—Prince Yuri was dead!
And such an ignominious death for one of his high spirit to die! Stabbed
in the back by a woman.
Cabot rose and faced her, the jeweled dagger still in his hand. “Who are
you?” he asked. “And why did you do it?”
“I am Okapa,” she replied in a strained voice—“Okapa from the mountain
village of Pronth. Do you remember how in the Second War of Liberation
you found Luno Castle deserted and a slain infant lying on the royal
bier?”
“Can I ever forget it?” he answered, his mind going back into the past.
“Naturally I thought it was my baby son, whom I had never seen.
Therefore I fought all the harder against the usurper Yuri until I drove
him and his ant allies southward, rejoined Lilla in Kuana, and learned
that little Kew was safe, and that the dead child was but an orphan baby
whom Lilla had substituted for our own baby for fear of just such an
outcome.”
“It was no orphan!” Okapa shrieked. “It was mine—mine! The dead child
was mine! Yuri stabbed my child and now I have stabbed him with the
selfsame dagger. Yuri killed my baby, and I have slain him, and now I
must die myself for killing a king.”
So saying, her anger spent, she flung herself upon the couch and wept
silently, as is the habit of Cupians.
Just then the Princess Lilla in a black gown swept into the room.
“They told me the king wished to see me here,” she said. “Where is the
king?”
She stopped abruptly as she saw the body on the floor. Then her eyes
rose until they rested on Myles Cabot. With a glad cry she rushed toward
his outstretched arms.
But a peremptory shout of “Hands up!” from the doorway caused her to
halt. She was between Myles and the door. He still held the jeweled
dagger in his hand. Stepping quickly to one side, he cast it straight at
Tobo who stood by the entrance, a rifle in his hands; and before the
Cupian soldier could raise his weapon to fire, the missile had
penetrated his heart. Down he went with a crash.
While this had been going on, Okapa, the madwoman, had crept stealthily
toward Yuri’s body with a view to securing the rifle which he had
dropped. Seizing it, she leaped to her feet with a shriek.
“You too!” she cried, pointing at Lilla with one skinny finger. “For it
was you who took my babe from the orphanage and exposed him to danger.
You are joint murderer with Yuri. Him I have slain, and now it is your
turn.”
But Myles stepped between her and the princess and wrenched the gun from
her poor mad hands, whereat she flung herself upon him, clawing and
biting like a demon. It was only the work of a few minutes, however, to
get both her wrists behind her back.
Lilla, sensing the need, ripped some strips from the hanging draperies;
together they tied the woman and seated her to one side. Then once more
the long separated earth-man and his Cupian beloved started to embrace,
while Okapa glared at them with baleful eyes.
This was too much for Myles.
“Just one paraparth!” he said; and, stepping over to Okapa, he spun her
around until she faced the wall.
Then he clasped his princess to him in a long embrace.
But at last a pang intruded in his bliss. “Lilla dearest,” he asked,
“where is our little son?”
She shook herself together.
“I know not,” she replied, “They would not let me know, for fear that
the usurper—may he rest beyond the waves—might force the secret from me.
But our country is more important than our child. While we tarry here
the battle rages. Quick, to the upper levels, and let us take control.”
“We cannot do so without a message from their king,” her husband
asserted. “Let us therefore bring them one.”
Stooping down, he picked up the dead body of Prince Yuri and flung it
across his shoulder.
“Lead on!” he said.
As they emerged up a flight of stairs into the main hall of the palace
they saw a frantic throng of palace guards piling tables, chairs, and
other furniture into a barricade across one of the doorways. Evidently
the troops of Emsul and Hah Babbuh had penetrated the palace and had
driven the defenders back to this point.
The golden-curled Lilla, standing straight and slim in her black gown,
stopped all this work of fortification with an imperious gesture.
“Desist!” she cried. “I, your princess, command it. The war is over.
Yuri, the usurper, is dead.”
“Prove it,” snarled back the guards like a pack at bay, recoiling from
her regal presence.
“Here is your proof!” Myles Cabot shouted, stepping forward and casting
Yuri’s body down before them. “Your king is dead.”
“’Tis true,” one replied. “The king is dead.”
“Yuri is dead,” another echoed. “Long live King Kew!”
“Long live King Kew!” shouted all the palace thugs, just as the
besiegers stormed over the barricade with leveled rifles.
But at the shouts within, and at the sight of their princess and their
intrepid earth-man leader, they grounded their arms and, holding their
left hands aloft, gave the Porovian greetings:
“Yahoo, Myles Cabot! Our regent has returned from Minos to rule over
us!”
Then one guardsman had an idea. “Come,” he said, “let us mount to the
upper terraces, haul down the yellow pennant of King Yuri, and restore
the red banner of the Kew dynasty.”
From one of the balconies above came a boyish voice: “It has already
been done, Myles Cabot.”
Every one looked up, and there stood Yuri’s younger brother, the loyal
Prince Toron, wearing the insignia of admiral of the Cupian Air Navy.
“I hope you don’t mind, Myles,” he said as he descended. “I made myself
admiral on my own hook. You see, while all the bees were here at Kuana
bombing your men, I captured the air base at Wautoosa with a crowd of
ex-aviators whom I had assembled for that purpose.
“We had been hiding in the woods for several sangths, with spies at
Wautoosa to inform us when there was an opening. When the time came we
walked right in, killed a few old bees who were on guard, reconditioned
the planes which have lain in storage ever since my brother seized the
throne, painted them with silver paint, flew up here to Kuana, and put
the bees out of business.
“The silver paint was my own idea, and I must say it seemed to work. The
bees couldn’t see us at all against the silver sky. The plaza and the
fields beyond are strewn with dead and dying Hymernians, and my men are
tracking down the survivors.”
And he would have chattered on in his boyish excitement, had not one of
the soldiers brutally interrupted with:
“Thy brother lies dead, O Toron.”
The young prince followed the pointing finger of the guard until his
eyes rested on the crumpled body in its blood-stained yellow toga. Then
he flung his arm across his face to blot out the sight. For a few
moments he stood thus, while all respectfully kept silent. At last he
uncovered his eyes and addressed the earth-man.
“May he rest beyond the waves!” he said. “I crave the corpse so that I
can give my brother a decent funeral.”
“He shall be buried with full royal honors,” Myles Cabot replied, “for
he was a brave and regal Cupian who would have served his country well
if his inordinate ambition had not blinded his judgment.”
“My cousin shall have royal burial,” echoed the Princess Lilla. “It
would be due you, Toron, for your share in the victory, if for no other
reason.”
“I appreciate this courtesy more than words can express,” Toron replied.
The news of the capitulation had rapidly spread, and the huge hall was
filling with Cupians from without. Among them came Emsul, Nan-nan, Hah
Babbuh, Oya Buh, and even Poblath the Philosopher. Warm were the
greetings between the friends.
“But where is our king?” Myles asked, as soon as he could free himself
from all the congratulation.
“Now it can be told,” Poblath replied. “He is safe in the care of my
wife Bthuh, in our villa at Lai.”
“The darling! I shall go to him at once,” Lilla announced.
“And I too,” Myles added.
“But no,” Hah Babbuh interposed, “for the populace are already gathering
in the stadium and are demanding a speech from the great liberator.”
“So be it,” Myles said with a shrug of resignation. “Affairs of state
cannot wait even the presence of the king, it seems.”
“But shall these black-togaed guards be permitted to retain their arms?”
Emsul asked.
“Why not?” the earth-man replied. “Their only crime is that they fought
loyally for their leader. Besides, this is a free country. One of our
grievances against the usurper was that he deprived us of our rifles.”
Then, to the palace soldiery: “Care tenderly for the body of Prince
Yuri, and lay it out in state pending our return. Oh, and I almost
forgot—there is a crazy woman bound in one of the cellar rooms. Turn her
over to the mango of Kuana for incarceration in the mangool, and under
peril of your lives do not permit her to escape.”
“All hail our regent! And our most beautiful and beloved princess!”
shouted the guards, as Myles and Lilla left the palace.
A kerkool awaited them at the gate. Getting into this, they proceeded at
a slow rate through the city and across the plaza toward the stadium
through lanes of cheering Cupians. Prince Toron, Emsul, Hah Babbuh, Oya
Buh, and others of their retinue followed them.
The plaza and the fields beyond were strewn with bodies—mostly in
fragments—of the once great race of the Hymernians. One of these bees,
as they passed it, gave sign of still possessing some life. A faint
whistling noise assailed the antennae of the passing procession.
Cabot gave one look in the direction of the sound, then signed the
kerkools to stop, dismounted, and approached the dying creature.
Adjusting his control to the wave length of bee speech, he sadly said,
“Portheris, once my friend, whom I made king of the bees, it grieves me
to see you lying thus, struck down in a war against my people.”
Raising himself feebly, the dying Portheris replied, “I bear you no
malice, Myles Cabot, and I pray that you will bear me none. Although I
opposed the war, yet when it came to a fight of race against race I was
loyal to my own, as any honorable individual would have been under like
circumstances. Perhaps it is just as well; for do you not remember that
when you were driving the ant-men off the face of Cupia, you said:
‘There is no room on any given planet for more than one race of
intelligent beings?’ Now the last Formian is gone, and the last of my
own people is gone. May Cupia be at peace. It is the sincere wish of
your old friend.”
The huge bee fell back, quivered a moment, and lay still. Thus died
Portheris, the last of the Hymernians.
“May you rest beyond the waves, dear friend,” the earth-man murmured as
he returned sadly to his car.
They found the stadium packed with cheering throngs in gala attire.
Everywhere fluttered flags of the Kew dynasty.
After Lilla had been comfortably seated and Marshal Hah and the others
had arrived, Myles stepped to the transmitter and was about to broadcast
some appropriate remarks to the assembled multitude, when an airplane
arrived overhead and settled softly into the arena.
From the plane there stepped Poblath the Philosopher, followed by Bthuh,
his dark and beautiful wife. Both were smiling, and Bthuh held in her
arms a baby Cupian.
Then Cabot spoke into the microphone: “Behold your king!”
It was the shortest speech he had ever made—and the best.
Thus came Kew XIII into his own.
There is not much more to tell.
Prince Toron retained his self-given title of Admiral of the Air Navy.
Hah Babbuh was restored to his professorship at the Royal University.
Oya Buh was promoted to full professorship. Poblath the Philosopher
again became mangool of Kuana, and his wife was made governess of the
infant king. Emsul, the veterinary, was given the title of court
physician.
Owva, the Holy Leader, died shortly after this, and Nan-nan was selected
by the Great White Lodge as the fit person to reestablish the lost
religion publicly throughout Cupia.
Myles and Lilla, leaving their friends to reconstruct the capital,
departed for a vacation at Luno Castle.
Thus end the story of the adventure of Myles Cabot, the radio man, on
his return to the silver planet Venus, as received by the Harvard
scientists and myself over the long distance radio-set at my farm on
Chappaquiddick Island, Massachusetts.
Ralph Milne Farley.