“All right,” said the bird; and he flew down, alighting at his Majesty’s feet, making so polished an obeisance that all were astonished.
The Emperor was much gratified. “What can I do for you?” he inquired.
“I have important news,” replied the bird, “and I would ask to communicate it.”
“Impudent scoundrel!” exclaimed the Prime Minister, “your right place would be in the cooking-pot if you were not so nasty.”
“It would certainly be fitter for me than for you,” observed the raven, “seeing that you are old and tough and that I am young and tender.”
“Your Majesty must not think of giving the audience unattended,” said the Prime Minister; “this disreputable creature may have some design upon your royal life. Someone should be present.”
“Anyone, so long as it is not yourself,” replied the raven.
And with that, he hopped into the palace in front of the Emperor, who was too much agitated to notice the breach of etiquette. The Prime Minister hurried after, hoping to get in also, but he was too late, for the guard who stood at the door shut it behind his Majesty according to custom. The Emperor seated himself and the bird stood respectfully before him.
“Is it anything about my poor little daughters that you have come to tell me?” he asked, looking very pitifully into the raven’s face.
“Your Majesty is right,” was the reply. “I myself saw them, not twenty-four hours ago, but in great distress. The Sorcerer Badoko has stolen them away.”