King Konrad Karl came running to Gorman. He was in a state of considerable excitement.
“That admiral,” he said, “has it in mind to stone the palace. He has stones for those guns. I know it.”
“If it was a matter of stones,” said Gorman, “but they look to me more like shells.”
“Shells, stones, it is the same. He will batter, destroy, slay. Gorman, my friend, it must not be.”
“Why the devil does he want to do it?” said Gorman. “Now don’t say Real Politik or the Emperor. I simply can’t believe that either one or the other would set that pirate shooting at us.”
“It is Real Politik, without doubt,” said the King. “And it is the Emperor. But it is also me, me, Konrad Karl of Megalia. I am—what is it you say in English?—I am wanted. And I go. I offer myself. I become a ewe lamb of sacrifice. I say good-bye. I leave Corinne. I go. Then the admiral will not stone the palace.”
“Don’t start for a minute or two yet,” said Gorman. “The pirate is sending a boat ashore. We may as well hear what he has to say.”
It was the admiral himself who landed. He was in full dress. His uniform was almost entirely covered with gold braid. Gold cords with tassels at their ends hung in festoons across his chest and down his back. He carried a large sword in a highly gilt sheath. On his head was a cocked hat with a tall pink feather in it, perhaps a plume from the tail of the Megalian vulture.
Gorman received him with great respect and led him up to Donovan’s room.
The admiral saluted Donovan gravely, and held out a large paper carefully folded and sealed. Donovan offered him a cigar and a drink, in a perfectly friendly way. The admiral replied by pushing his paper forward towards Donovan. He knew no English. That was the only possible way of explaining the fact that he ignored the offer of a drink. Donovan nodded towards Gorman, who took the document from the admiral and opened it.