For a moment Myles was dumfounded. Almost he fired. Then, remembering
his instructions, “Arta,” he said, and made the sign.
“It is well,” the sentinel replied, lowering his gun. “Come, I will
conduct you.”
Where the sentinel was to lead him, the Lord only knew, but Cabot
trusted in the foresight of the priests, and followed.
The fellow proved a most loquacious guide, so that Myles had little
difficulty to remain reticent. The guide started talking almost at once.
“From the capital?” he asked.
“No,” Myles replied, “what is the news from the capital?”
The sentinel smiled a sagacious smile.
“Yuri reigns over Cupia,” said he, “and beside him on the throne sits
Formis, the black hag of the ants. Surely you have heard the ribald
jests which this has caused among both races?”
Cabot shook his head.
“Too many damned ants in this country now,” the Cupian continued, “but
we have been given to understand that this is only a temporary measure.
Of course King Yuri cannot know whom to trust among his own people—I
hope that I have not offended?”
“Not at all,” said Cabot. “Go on.”
“I don’t know that there is much more to say. Our leaders tell us that
Cabot the Minorian is the cause of all our troubles. But for my own
part, I share the belief of most of the common soldiers that he was a
great patriot. I can say this without treason, now that he is dead. May
he rest beyond the seas! But I talk too much; that is always my failing.
Do I offend?”
“Certainly not,” Cabot replied. “In fact, I share your belief to a large
extent. But just how did the Minorian die?”
“They burned him to death in the woods north of Luno. No man could live
in that blaze, and he was completely surrounded. But they never found
his body. Not that I doubt his death,” he added hastily, “still there be
many who say that Cabot is supernatural. And there is ample grounds for
that belief. Did he not vanquish a whistling bee alone and single-handed
at Saltona? Did he not escape alive from the Valley of the Howling
Rocks, after his ant executioners had actually seen him perish because
of the terrible din, and after he had been pronounced officially dead?
Did he not slay a woofus in the woods south of Kuana? In the present
war, was he not killed at the barricade north of the capital, only to
show up alive forty-three days later at Lake Luno? All of these events
are evidence pointing to the conclusion that Cabot is not mortal. And,
unless he be supernatural, how did he ever get to this planet in the
first place, from Minos, twenty-five million stads away through space?
Answer me that. But I mustn’t talk so much.”
“Go right on,” said Myles, “though, of course, I cannot agree with you
that this Cabot person is any different from the rest of us.”
This started the guide off on a new track, an anatomical discussion of
earth-born peculiarities, while Cabot permitted his attention to center
on wondering whither he was being led and why. Great were the
ramifications of the lost religion!
The guide discussed how this remarkable Cabot person, being a Minorian,
had strange mushroomy growths at the sides of his head, the use of
which, if any, was vague and uncertain, but apparently something like
that of antennae. Also, how he had no real antennae and no vestigial
wings, as he ought to have if he were a veritable Cupian.
But mostly, the guide dwelt on the fact that this Cabot had five fingers
on each hand, instead of the proper six. At these remarks, Cabot himself
carefully hid both of his telltale hands in the folds of his toga. His
artificial wings, his electrical antennae, his sandals, and the locks of
hair which concealed his ears, all served as a perfect disguise,
provided that he could keep his hands from being seen. But the guide was
too intent on his own conversation to notice anything, even if Myles had
not taken this precaution. So he rambled on, as they wended their way
through the mountains.
Around noon they stopped to mess with a small encampment of Cupians. As
they waited for the meal to be served, they sat down on the crest of a
slope overlooking a fertile valley, at the other side of which rose a
range of hills.
The guide indicated these hills with a wave of his hand and said,
“Thither lies our enemy on whom you have been sent to report.”
So that was what this trip was supposed to be for.
“Tell me,” said Myles, “their condition.”
The guide turned inquiringly to one of the other Cupian soldiers and
explained: “This is Arta, a messenger on reconnaissance. He has the
sign, so you may tell him all.”
Whereat the soldier stated: “Know then that those hills beyond that
valley hold a force of Cupians which greatly outnumber us. The enemy are
too scattered and too little is known of their exact disposition to
enable us to bomb them out by airplane. But on the other hand, our
complete control of the air prevents them from attacking us. We are
rapidly completing a topographical survey by airplane. New planes are
arriving from Mooni as fast as the factories there can turn them out.
And ant reenforcements are arriving as fast as kerkools can bring them
up. The stage is nearly set for the victorious advance of King Yuri, and
for the end of the pretendership of his brother Toron. But, of course,
being from headquarters, you know all this; what you now want is
details. Is not that so?”
Just then the food arrived, bowls of alta and green milk. The guest was
served first.
Instinctively Cabot extended his hand to accept the proffered bowl, and
instinctively the soldier with whom he had been talking followed his
movement with his eyes. All too late Cabot realized what he had done;
for there, exposed before them, was a right hand with no counterpart on
all Poros, a hand with only five fingers, not six, the hand of Cabot,
the earth-man.
Simultaneously the two sprang to their feet, overturning the bowls of
food, as the Cupian soldier shrieked: “Not Arta, but Cabot! Cabot the
Minorian has come to life again!”
Out shot the right fist of the earth-man and tumbled the soldier in the
dust. Then, before the rest of the astounded company had time to grab
their rifles, Cabot had leaped from their midst and was rushing down the
grassy slope to the valley below. A volley of shots followed him, and
then the chase began.
But his earthly agility stood him in good stead, in spite of his
weakness, for he covered the ground much more rapidly than his pursuers,
and finally cleared at one bound the brook at the bottom, whereas they
were forced to halt and ford it. But this halt brought forth several
more volleys of bullets, one of which nicked the lobe of his ear, where
the tiny ear-phone failed to cover it.
Cabot smiled grimly as he raced up the opposite slope. He could never
repay that outrage, for Cupians have no ears.
* * * * *
At last he dropped panting in a little ravine which shielded him from
his pursuers, whom he was confident would not dare to penetrate thus far
into enemy territory.
But a peremptory cry of “Halt!” brought him suddenly to his feet again.
He found himself looking into the muzzle of a Cupian rifle.
“I _am_ halted,” he replied somewhat testily.
“Then stay halted,” countered the Cupian, “in the name of the king.”
“Which king, O! sentinel?” asked the earth-man.
To which there came back the answer: “Toron, rightful ruler of all
Poros.”
“Thank God,” exclaimed Cabot, dropping once more to the ground, “for I
am Myles Cabot.”
At last he had reached his journey’s end!
The sentinel hastily summoned assistance, and their exhausted leader was
carried on a litter to army headquarters, where Buh Tedn, Poblath and
the others crowded around him and patted his cheek with every expression
of joy at his deliverance, Poblath exclaiming jovially: “I told you they
could never kill a Minorian!”
Even Hah Babbuh was there, too. How he had gotten there, when he was
supposed to be holding the Kuana jail as a nucleus for the loyal
elements at the capital, was a mystery to Cabot, but the earthman had
not time to inquire, for other matters of more immediate importance now
engrossed his attention.
Hah was in charge of the loyal forces; and Myles, because of his
weakened condition, permitted his friend to retain the active command,
which otherwise would have reverted to him as field-marshal of Cupia.
While the greetings were in progress, who should enter but Prince Toron!
It was instantly evident that he had not been informed of Cabot’s
arrival and was taken by complete surprise. So much so, in fact, that
the young fellow appeared embarrassed and confused. The earth-man sensed
this, and immediately there was reawakened in his breast the suspicion
which had been born when he had read Toron’s note pinned by the dead
body of the baby king, but which had been stilled for a time by the
plausible story told by the priests of the lost religion in the Caves of
Kar.
Accordingly the greetings between these two were a bit formal and
stilted.
After the cheek-patting between them was over, Myles controlled his
voice as much as possible, and asked: “Your majesty, does your majesty
happen to know anything about the death of my son, the baby king?”
Toron started, and his face darkened.
“Were you at Luno Castle?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Cabot grimly.
“Then did you not find the body, and the note pinned with a dagger?”
“Yes,” said his inquisitor. “That was what aroused my curiosity.”
“But the note told the facts,” exclaimed the startled young prince.
“Yes?” said Myles. “And, as I remember it, the words were merely: ‘This
is what did the deed. I came too late.—Toron, King of Cupia.’ That
explains nothing. It does not even state _who_ killed little Kew.”
Cabot snapped his words short with an air of finality. A look of horror
gradually spread over Toron’s face, as he stared at the other.
“My Builder!” he exclaimed, “you don’t mean to say you think that _I_
did it.”
“This is treason!” Hah Babbuh declared in a determined tone.
“Now see here,” interjected Poblath soothingly, “let’s get this
straight. I don’t believe that our good friend from Minos is quite
himself after all his hardships, but I can assure him that I saw the
blow struck, and that Prince Toron had not then even arrived at Luno.”
Toron and Cabot both collapsed limply, and looked at each other with
pity in their eyes.
“I, too, have suffered and am not myself,” said the young prince in
extenuation.
“Toron, cousin of my wife, forgive me,” replied Myles.
Whereat Poblath, the philosopher, to relieve the strained situation,
hastily suggested: “Come, Myles Cabot, tell us all that has happened to
you these many days since we last saw you in my mangool at Kuana.”
Cabot roused himself.
“But no,” said he, “for I want first to hear the tale of my good friend
Prince—er, King—Toron.”
“Yes, yes, tell him,” said Poblath hurriedly.
The boyish contender for the throne looked inquiringly around the
circle, and, receiving several nods of approval, began:
“It happened this way, Myles. The instant that my uncle was shot dead by
my murderous brother at the Peace Day exercises, my first thought was of
my beloved cousin, the Princess Lilla. I did not even stop to consider
that the assassination had given me a claim to the throne. If I had
paused, it might have occurred to me that the proper place to strike a
blow for her safety was right there in the stadium, in an attack on the
pretender Yuri. But, as it was, I had but one idea: Northward!”
“I have had that idea myself,” Cabot interjected with a smile.
The tension was broken, Poblath remarking dryly. “Great minds think
alike.”
“So,” the boy continued, “I rushed for the nearest exit, and gained my
own plane before the fighting in the stadium got really under way. But,
as I helicoptered up into the air, I noted that my fuel tanks were
nearly out of alcohol. This meant stopping at the nearest
filling-station, and a delay of many precious paraparths. Nevertheless
there was no alternative.
“The keeper of the station did not recognize me, but, noticing our
family crest on the machine, he asked: ‘A supporter of Yuri?’
“This gave me an idea.
“‘You, too?’ I replied.
“He assented.
“‘Then, in the name of the Great Architect, lend me a rifle and a yellow
pennant, so that I may join his forces in safety.’
“He readily complied. In fact, he seemed to know all about the _coup_.
And thus it happened that I rose into the air, flying the accursed
colors of the new dynasty. But, even as my plane left the ground, there
passed overhead a Formian fleet of bombers headed northward, undoubtedly
bound for Lake Luno on some devilish errand. It was up to me to
interfere.”
“You mean to say,” interjected Myles, “that you dared to tackle,
single-handed, a whole squadron of Mooni-trained ant men?”
Toron shrugged his youthful shoulders.
“Why not?” said he. “I am a graduate of the ant-university. It would be
a good lark. ‘A Cupian can only die once, so he might just as well die
happily,’ as Poblath here would say. Besides,” and his face hardened,
“it was necessary for my cousin Lilla’s sake. So up I went and after
them.
“My newly acquired yellow banner gave me free passage into the very
midst of the fleet. And then I let loose with the rifle. Oh, it was fun,
to see the black beasts drop. My only regret was that I didn’t have
explosive bullets, like those which we used in the War of Liberation.
“Of course,” ruefully, “eventually they shot me down, but it was a great
fight while it lasted.”
“Were you hurt?” asked the earth-man.
“Oh, no,” the boy replied, “they merely got my fuel tank, and so I was
able to make a fair landing one hundred stads or so north of Kuana. But
down they all came on top of me.”
“And captured you?” inquired Myles.