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.”