While the Roy followers of Grod the Silent fought among themselves until they gradually discovered that there was no one there except themselves, Myles Cabot and his Vairkings safely regained the Village of Sur with the rifle, the ammunition, and the still unconscious Roy warrior.
In the public hall, under the tender ministrations of Vair-king maidens—who would far rather have plunged a flint knife into him—the captive finally regained his senses and looked around him in bewilderment.
“Where am I?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“In Sur,” some one replied.
“Then are we victorious? For never before has a Roy set foot in Sur.”
“No, your forces are not victorious,” Crota answered. “You are a prisoner. And it is only by the grace of Cabot the Minorian that you are permitted to come here even as a prisoner. For the men of Sur take no prisoners, and give no quarter.”
In reply, Myles himself stepped forward.
“I myself, am Cabot the Minorian,” he said.
To which Crota added impressively: “The greatest magician of two worlds!”
The prisoner shook his head.
“I know of only one world,” he asserted, “and this man before me is dressed as a mere common soldier, as are all of you.”
“Know then, O scum of Poros,” the earth-man admonished, “that there are other worlds beyond the silver skies, and that in the world from which I come, all soldiers are gentlemen.”
But the Roy warrior was not to be subdued by language. “How did I come here?” he asked.
Tou did not come here,” Myles answered. “You were brought. I brought you.”
“But how?”
“By magic.”
“What magic?”
“My magic cart which swims through the air as a reptile swims through the waters of a lake.”
“True,” the Roy mused, “there be such aerial wagons, for I have seen them near the city of the beasts of the south.”
“Mark well!” Myles interjected to the assembled Vair-kings, then to the prisoner again: “I captured you because you possessed the magic sling-shot, and presumed to use it on one of my own men. This effrontery could not be permitted to go unpunished; hence your capture. The offending weapon is now mine, and you are my prisoner.”
“What do you propose to do with me?” the captive asked.
“I propose to ask you some questions,” Myles evaded. “First where did you get the magic sling-shot?”
“The great magician knows everything,” the Roy replied, with a sneer. “Why, then, should I presume to tell him anything?”
But the earth-man remained unruffled. ‘Tou are correct,” he countered. “I ask, not because I do not already know, but because I wish to test whether it is possible for one of your degraded race to tell the truth.”
“Why test that?” came back the brazen Roy, “for doubtless you, who know everything, know that, too.”
Myles could not help admiring the insulting calm with which this furry man of inferior race confronted his relentless captors.
“Who are you, rash one?” he asked.
The prisoner drew himself up proudly, with folded arms, and answered: “I am Otto the Bold, son of Grod the Silent.”
“Ah,” Myles said, “the son of a king. And I am the father of a king. Well, then, as one man to another, tell me where you got this gun.”
“Gun?” Otto queried. “Is that the name of this weapon of bad omen? Know then that I got it from you yourself when I wounded you beneath the tree beside the brook at the foot of the mountains, before the Vairkings of Jud the Excuse-Maker drove me off. I have spoken!”
“And spoken truly,” Cabot replied, concealing his surprise with difficulty. Of course. Why had he not guessed it before? But there were still some more points to clear up, so he continued: “Why did you shoot those two arrows at me in the house at the top of the mountains?”
“Because we wished to explore the house. But you killed my companion, whereupon I resolved to kill you in revenge, and to capture the noisy ‘gun’—and is that the right word? So I trailed you. The rest you know.”
“Remember, I know everything,” Myles said, grinning. “But did you ever see any one but me shoot the gun?”
“You know I never did,” was the reply. “No one on Poros, save Cabot the Magician and Otto the Bold, has ever done this big magic. I saw the results, but not the means, when you killed my companion; so I experimented for myself after I had stolen your gun, and soon I learned how, after which I carefully conserved the magic stones until last night when I shot one of the Vairkings of Sur, so as to give visible proof of my magic powers to my doubting comrades.”
The earth-man heaved a sigh of relief. There existed as yet no alliance between the Formians and the Roies. Pray Heaven that such a calamity would never suggest itself to the minds of either race; for if so, then woe to Vairkingia!
“Son of a king,” he said, “return to your people and your father. Give him my greetings, and tell them that you are the friend of a great magician, who lent you his ‘gun’, who transported you through the air within the walls of Sur, where no Roy has ever stood or will ever stand, and who last night caused phantom warriors to attack your camp under the guise of followers of Att the Terrible. Go now. My men will give you safe conduct to the plain below.”
“And what is the price of this freedom?” Otto disdainfully inquired.
“The friendship of a king’s father for a king’s son,” Myles Cabot replied with dignity.
The two drew themselves up proudly and regarded each other eye-to-eye for a moment.
“It is well,” Otto the Bold declared. “Good-by.” And he departed under the escort of a Vairking guard.
“The master knows best,” Crota remarked, sadly shaking his head, “but I should have run the wretch through the body.”
The next morning Cabot thanked the headman of Sur for his hospitality, and took up the return trail for Vairkingi, the vacancies in his ranks being filled by the loan of soldiers from Sur. The party had gone but a short distance when they found the way barred by a formidable body of Roies. But before these came within bow-shot a bullet from Cabot’s rifle brought two of them to the ground, whereupon the rest turned and fled precipitately.
Later in the day a bend in the road brought them suddenly upon a furry warrior. Myles fired, and the man instantly fell to the ground. But when they reached the body there was not even a scratch to be found on it; the bullet had missed.
“Dead of fright,” Myles thought; but no, for the heart was still beating, although faintly, and the lungs were still functioning.
“Sit up there!” Myles ordered.
“Can’t,” The Roy replied. “I’m dead.”
“Then I’ll make you alive again,” his captor declared, placing his hands on the head of the Roy. “Abra cadabra camunya.”
Thereat the soldier sat up with a sigh of relief, and opened his eyes.
“Stand up!” Myles ordered.
For reply the Roy jumped to his feet and started running for cover.
“Haiti” the earth-man commanded. “Halt, or I’ll kill you again I”
The man stopped. “Return!”
The man returned, like a sleep walker. “What do you mean by running away? Now listen intently. Are you one of the men of Grod?”
“Yes.”
“Then go to Otto, the son of Grod, and tell him that it is the order of Cabot the Magician that Vairking expeditions into these mountains, in search of golden cubes and other minerals, be unmolested. Tell Otto that he can recognize my expedition by the blue flags which they will carry hereafter. Now go. I have spoken.”
The Roy warrior ran up the trail and this time was not halted.
“Another mistake,” Crota remarked, half to himself.
The rest of the return to Vairkingi was without event. On the way the radio man made notes of the best deposits of quartz, limestone, and fluorspar. Also he carried with him a few large sheets of
mica. But he found no traces of galena, zinc ore, or platinum. These would require at least one further expedition.
Crota spared no extravagant language in relating to Jud the exploits of Cabot the Minorian in raising the siege of the village of Sur; and Jud repeated the story with embellishments to Theoph the Grim. Also the long deferred sleight-of-hand performance was held at the palace, to the great mystification of the white-furred king.
Arkilu did not show up to mar the occasion. In fact, little Quivven reported that her sister was very indignant at the earth-man for trifling with her affections, and had turned to Jud in her pique. Needless to say, Jud had taken every possible advantage of Cabot’s absence to reinstate himself with the chestnut-furred princess. But neither Myles nor Quivven appeared to exhibit any very great sorrow at this turn of affairs.
So long as Arkilu’s hostility did not become active, the support of Jud and Theoph ought to prove quite sufficient.
The standing of Cabot the Minorian as a magician was now well established, and accordingly Jud the Excuse-Maker and even Theoph the Grim were willing to accord him all possible assistance in the gathering of the materials with which he was to perform his further magic, namely radio.
Theoph made a levy upon all the nobles, and turned over to the earth-man upward of five hundred soldiers with their proper carts and equipment. Jud (himself,) Quivven (still unknown to her father), and Crota (the soldier who had demonstrated on the expedition an intelligence far above his social class), were enrolled as laboratory assistants. Several inclosures adjoining Cabot’s yard were vacated and converted into factories, in one of which were mounted a pair of huge millstones such as the Vairkings use in grinding certain of their food.
Myles divided his men roughly into three groups. One group, under Crota, he established at the clay deposits to the northeast of the city, to make bricks and charcoal.
The second group, under Jud, were engaged in the mining operations, digging copper ore, quartz rock, fluorspar, limestone, and sand, at various points in the mountains, and carting some of the limestone to the brickyard, and the rest with the other products to Vairkingi. The carters carried back with them to the mountains all the necessary supplies for the expeditions.
The third group, under Quivven, were engaged in setting up the grist mill, and in other building and preparatory operations.
At the clay pits the first operation was to scrape off the surface clay and spread it out thin in the open air, so it would age fast.
The limestone, upon its arrival at the brickyard, was burned in raw brick ovens, and then carted to Vairkingi, to be ground at the mill. It was then shipped back to the brick plant, where it was mixed with the aged clay—first screened—molded into bricks, baked, burned, and carted to Vairkingi, to be ground into cement.
Some of the ground limestone was retained at Vairkingi for use in later glass-making, and some of the unground for smelting purposes.
Other aged clay was screened, moistened, molded, and baked to form ordinary brick. Fire-brick was similarly made by the addition of white sand finely ground at Vairkingi, but this kind of brick had to be baked much more slowly.
Thus only a week or two after this whole huge industrial undertaking had begun, the radio man was in possession of fire-brick and fire-clay with which to start the building of the smelting furnaces.
Meanwhile -Myles Cabot, with a small bodyguard, kept traveling from one job to another, giving general superintendence to the work. And when everything was well under way he set out on another exploring expedition in search of galena, zinc ore, and platinum.
Quivven had furnished the inspiration for this trip by suggesting that the sparkling sands of a large river, which ran from west to east, about a day’s journey north of Vairkingi, might contain the silver grains which he sought. So thither he set out one morning, with camping equipment and a detachment of soldiers.
All day they marched northward across the level plains. Toward evening they reached a small estuary of the main stream, and there they camped.
As the silver sky pinkened in the west Myles Cabot ran quickly down this brook to inspect the sands of the river, which lay but a short distance away.
The pink turned to crimson, and then purple. The darkness crept up out of the east, and plunged the whole face of the planet into velvet and impenetrable black. But Myles Cabot did not return to the camping place.
XI
ATT THE TERRIBLE
When Myles Cabot left his encampment beside the little brook, he hastened down stream to where the brook joined the big river, along the edge of which there stretched a sandy beach. Falling on his knees, he picked up handful after handful of the silver sands.
There was still plenty of daylight left for him to examine the multitude of shiny metallic particles.
There could be no doubt of it, these sands held some metal which could be separated out in much the same manner as that in which the California gold miners of 1849 used to wash for gold, but only time would tell whether or not this metal was the much-to-be-desired platinum which the radio man needed for the grids, filaments, plates, and wires of his vacuum tubes.
On the morrow he would wash for this metal, using the wooden pans which he had brought for that purpose. The precious dust he would carry back to Vairkingi, melt it into small lumps if possible, and then try to analyze its composition in his laboratory.
As he sat on the sandy beach and thus laid his plans, his thoughts gradually wandered away from scientific lines, and he began again to worry about Lilla.
It was many days since she had sent the SOS which had recalled him from earth to Poros. Whatever she had feared must have happened by now. It was possible that he would never be able to effect a return to Cupia. Why not then accept the inevitable, settle down permanently among the Vairkings, and solace himself as best he could?
Even an ordinarily stalwart soul would have done his best and have been satisfied with that. But Myles Standish Cabot possessed that indomitable will which had given rise to the Porovian proverb: “You cannot kill a Minorian.”
To such a man, defeat was impossible He would rescue the Princess Lilla in the end; that was all there was to it.
So he laid his plans with precision, as he sat on the sandy shore of the Porovian river in the crimsoning twilight.
Before the velvet darkness completely enveloped the planet, the earth-man arose from the sands, and began his return up the valley of the little estuary. But, as he was hurrying along, and was passing through a small grove of trees, a dark form noiselessly dropped on him from above.
The creature lit squarely upon his back, wrapping its furry legs around his abdomen and its furry arms around his neck. Although taken completely by surprise, Cabot wrenched the creature’s feet apart and then threw it over his head as a bucking broncho would throw a rider, a ju-jitsu trick which he had learned from one of the Jap gymnasts at college.
The Roy, for that is what Cabot’s assailant proved to be, scrambled quickly to his feet, although a bit stunned, and crouched, ready to spring at him again. The earth-man planted his feet firmly apart, clenched his fists, and awaited the onslaught; then, when the creature charged, he met him on the point of the jaw with a well-aimed blow. Down crashed the furry one!
Cabot was rubbing his bruised knuckles and viewing his fallen antagonist with some satisfaction, when suddenly he was seized around the knees from behind, and was hurled prone by one of the neatest football tackles he had ever experienced.
Squirming quickly to a sitting position, he dealt the Roy who held his legs a stinging blow beside the ear. The grip on his knees loosened, and he was just about to scramble erect, when a third assailant caught him around the throat and pulled him over backward. Then scores of these furry savages swarmed upon him from every side. Yet still he fought, until his elbows were pinioned behind his back, his eyes were blindfolded, and a gag was placed between his teeth.
Thereupon, he ceased struggling, not because there was no fight left in hi
m, but rather because he wisely decided to save his strength for some time when he might really need it. So he offered no further resistance when he was picked up and thrown across a pair of brawny shoulders, and carried off, he knew not whither.
Finally, after what seemed many hours, he was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground, and then jerked roughly to his feet.
His bandage was snatched off, and he found himself standing in the center of a circle of flares, confronting a large, squat, and particularly repulsive gray-furred Roy, who sat with some pretense of dignity upon a round boulder in front of him. Beside him stood another Roy, evidently the one who had brought him thither.
This one now spoke. “See the pretty Vairking which I have brought you.”
“If that’s a Vairking,” the fat one remarked, “then I’m my own father.”
“If he isn’t a Vairking,” the other countered, “then why does he wear Vairking leather armor? Answer me that.”
“Vairking or not,” the fat one declared, “he will do very nicely to string up by the heels and shoot arrows at. For quite evidently, he is no Roy. What say you to that, my fine target?”
The guard removed the gag.
“I say,” Myles evenly replied, “that you had better not take any such liberties with me.”
“And why not, furless?” the seated Roy sneered.
“First, let me ask you a question,” Myles said. “Who is King of the Roies, Grod the Silent or Att the Terrible?”
“Grod the Silent, most assuredly. Why do you ask?”
“And do you know Prince Otto, his son?”
“Otto the Bold? Most assuredly.”
“Know then,” the captive asserted, “that I am no Vairking, but rather a Minorian, which is a sort of creature I’ll venture you have never met before. Furthermore, I am a particular personal friend of Otto the Bold. He will not thank you to string up Cabot the Minorian by the heels, and shoot arrows into him. I demand that I be taken before Prince Otto.”
Thereat the fat Roy smiled a crafty smile. “I shall take you before Att the Terrible,” he said.
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