All this time Cabot kept a careful watch for his Formian jailers, and finally one of them arrived with breakfast, which was shoved in to him at the end of a long pole. Plain fare, but satisfying, alta and green milk.
Cabot asked for wash water, rags, and a clean toga. The wash water and rags were forthcoming, but the toga was refused. Then the Formian withdrew, and Cabot resumed the care of his patient.
Off and on throughout the day he bathed the poor creature’s eyes and massaged its tired muscles.
Toward evening Yuri appeared, carrying a long whip, with which he proceeded to flick the five purple guardians into a state of frenzy.
“Stand up, or I’ll flick you, too,” he called out to the captive. “Haven’t you sufficient manners to stand in the presence of your king?”
“Yes,” Myles answered, “but, according to your own statement, I am only a mere animal, by which token you are not my king, unless you lay claim to being king of the beasts.”
In reply, Yuri gave a few vicious swipes at Cabot’s pet woofus, which strained at its chain with rage. The earthman went white.
“Are you doing that to frighten me, or just for the fun of it?” he asked tensely.
“Not that it is any of your business,” answered the king, “but, as a matter of fact, I am doing it merely because it gives me intense pleasure to demonstrate my power over these five fierce creatures, any one of which is a match for ten Cupians.”
“Then stop it at once,” Cabot thundered, rising to his feet, “or, by all that is holy, I’ll risk my life to untie their chains.”