The Radio Planet by Ralph Milne Farley (reader novel TXT) 📕
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- Author: Ralph Milne Farley
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Evidently, this was one of Jud’s choicest tapestries, for the noble emitted a howl of grief and rage, and leaped from his divan, scattering the reclining beauties in both directions. If he had interfered in time to prevent the burning, it would have spoiled the trick, but as it was, the confusion caused by his onrush played right into Cabot’s hands.
Myles stepped back in apparent terror as Jud seized his precious curtain and hunted for the scorched hole. But there was no hole there; the curtain was intact.
Jud looked up sheepishly into the triumphant face of his protégé, who thereupon stated: “You did not need to worry about your property in the hands of a true magician.”
“Oh, I was not afraid,” Jud the Excuse-Maker explained. “I merely pretended fear, so as to try and confuse your magic.”
“Please do not do it again,” the earth-man sternly admonished him.
The Vairking noble seated himself again.
His guests were enthralled.
This was a fitting climax for the evening. The amateur conjurer bowed low and withdrew.
Quivven was waiting for him at his house, and reported that some one had torn a small piece out of one of the tapestries. Several days later she found the piece, but alas, there was a hole burnt in the middle of it.
The next morning Jud the Excuse-Maker called at the quarters of Cabot, the furless. It was a rare honor, so Cabot answered the door in person. Jud expressed his conviction that the earth-man really was a magician, after all, and that therefore he—Jud—was agreeable to an expedition to the mountains in search of rocks whose mystical properties would enable the performing of even greater magic. It was soon arranged that Cabot, with a bodyguard of some twenty Vairking soldiers and a low-ranking officer, should start on the morrow.
Myles was thrilled. Now he was getting somewhere at last! The rest of the day he devoted to preparing a list of the materials for which he must hunt.
To make a radio-telephone sending and receiving set, he would need dielectrics, copper wire, batteries, tubes, and iron. For dielectrics, wood and mica would suffice. Wood was common, and the Vairkings were skilled carpenters and carvers. For fine insulation, mica would be ideal; and this mineral ought to be procurable somewhere in the mountains, whose general nature he had observed to be granitic.
To make copper wire, he would need copper ore—preferably pyrites—quartz, limestone, and fuel. The necessary furnaces he would built of brick; any one can bake clay into bricks.
For cement, Myles finally hit upon using a baked and ground mixture of limestone and clay, both of which ingredients he would have at hand for other purposes.
The Vairkings used charcoal in their open fires, and this would do nicely for his fuel.
For the wire-drawing dies he would use steel. This disposed of the copper questions, and brought him to a consideration of iron, which he would need at various places in his apparatus. This metal could be smelted from the slag of the copper furnaces, using an appropriate flux, such as fluorspar.
Cabot next turned his attention to his power source. For some time he debated the question of whether or not to build a dynamo. But how about the storage batteries? He wasn’t quite sure how to find or make the necessary red and yellow lead salts for the packing plates.
Thus by the time that Cabot reached the contemplation of having either to find or make his lead compounds he decided to turn his attention to primary cells. The jars could be made of pottery, or from the glass which was going to be necessary for his tubes anyhow. Charcoal would furnish the carbon elements. Zinc could easily be distilled from zincspar, if that particular form of ore were found. Sal ammoniac solution could be made from the ammonia of animal refuse, common salt, and sulphuric acid.
Mass production of zinc carbon batteries should thus be an easy matter, and they would serve perfectly satisfactorily, as neither compactness nor portability was a requisite. The radio man accordingly abandoned the idea of dynamos and accumulators in favor of large quantities of wet cells.
The tubes, it appeared to Myles, would present the greatest problem. Platinum for the filaments, grids, and plates had been fairly common in nugget form in Cupia, and so presumably could be found in Vairkingia. Glass, of course, would be easy to make.
Alcohol for laboratory burners could be distilled from decayed fruit.
But the chief stumbling block was how to exhaust the air from his tubes, and how to secure magnesium to use in completing the vacuum. These matters he would have to leave to the future in the hope of a chance idea. For the present there were enough elements to be collected so that he would be kept busy for a great many days. Accordingly he copied off the following two lists:
Materials readily available: Wood Wood ashes Charcoal Clay Common salt White sand Animal refuse Decayed fruit Materials to hunt for: Mica Copper ore Quartz Limestone Fluorspar Galena Zinc ore Platinum Chalk MagnesiumBut that afternoon all his plans were disrupted by a message reading:
To The Furless One:
You are directed to appear for my amusement at my palace to-morrow. Fail not.
Theoph The Grim.
“That puts an end to my trip,” he said to Quivven. “How do you suppose his majesty got wind that I am a conjurer?”
“One of the guests at the show last night must have told him,” she replied.
But something in her tone of voice caused Myles to look at her intently, and something in her expression caused him to say, “You know more than you tell. Out with it!”
Whereat Quivven shrugged her pretty golden shoulders, and replied, “Why deceive you? Though you are so stupid that it is very easy. Who brought you the note from Arkilu the night of your arrival here?”
“You did,” Cabot answered. “Why didn’t I put two and two together before? Then you are connected in some way with Arkilu?”
She laughed contemptuously. “How did you guess it?” she taunted. “Yes, one would rather say I am connected in some way with Arkilu; for I am her sister, set here to spy on you by connivance with the chief woman of Jud’s servants, who is an old nurse of ours. I am Quivven the Golden Flame, daughter of Theoph the Grim, and it is from me that he learned of your mystic abilities. What do you think of that, beast?”
“I think,” Myles said noncommittally, “that although you truly are a golden flame, you ought to have been named ‘Quivven the Pepper Pot’.”
Whereat she suddenly burst into tears and rushed out of the room.
“Funny girl,” Myles commented to himself, as he laid aside the list prepared for his prospecting trip, and set about the concoction of some stage properties for his forthcoming command performance before the King.
It was a sulky Quivven who served his meal that evening, so much so that Cabot playfully accused her of putting poison in his stew. This did not render her any more gracious, however.
“If I did not love my sister very much,” she asserted, “I would not stand for you for one moment.”
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence during which Cabot had an idea.
So when the food had been cleared away he asked the aureate maiden, “Can you smuggle a note to your sister for me?”
“Yes,” she assented gloomily, “and I shall tell her how you are treating me.”
At which he could not refrain from remarking, “Do you know, Quivven, I believe that you are falling in love with me.”
“You beast!” she cried at him. “Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” And she turned her face to the wall.
“Come, come!” said Cabot soothingly. “I don’t mean to tease you, and we must both think of your sister. The note. How long will it take you to deliver it and return?”
“Shall I hurry?” she asked guardedly.
“Yes.”
“Then it will take me less than one-twelfth of a day.”
That would be quite sufficient for his plans. Accordingly he wrote:
Arkilu The Beautiful:
Send word how I can see you after the performance. But beware of Jud.
Cabot The Magician.
This note he folded up, placed it in the palm of Quivven, and closed her golden fingers over it.
Whereat she sprang back with, “Don’t you dare touch me like that!” and rushed out of the house, sobbing angrily.
Really, he must be more careful with this delicate creature; for although her intense hatred furnished him considerable amusement, yet it was possible to go too far. He must at least be polite to the sister of his benefactress.
But there was no time to be given over to worrying about Quivven’s sensitive feelings; for the note had been sent merely to give him a slight respite from her prying eyes, in order that he might sneak out for a conference with Jud; of course he had no intention of any secret tryst with Arkilu. Heaven forbid, when he loved his own distant Lilla so intensely!
So he hurried to the quarters of the Vairkingian noble, who received him gladly, being most interested in learning whether there was any rational explanation to be given to the various magic tricks of the evening before. But Myles blocked his inquisitiveness by the flat assertion that all were due to mystic spells and talismans alone, and then got rapidly down to business, for there was no time to be lost.
Myles told Jud of the note from Theoph the Grim requiring his presence at the royal palace, and how he suspected that Princess Arkilu was responsible. Also, he related his discovery that his maidservant was Quivven the Golden Flame; but he had the decency to refrain from implicating the head of Jud’s ménage.
“I shall have her removed at once,” the Vairking asserted.
“No, no,” Myles hastily interposed, “that would never do; for now that we know she is a spy, it will be easy to outwit her. But a new one we never could be sure of.”
Then he told how he had gotten rid of Quivven for the evening by sending her with a note to Arkilu. Jud’s brow darkened.
“But,” Myles insisted, “that note will serve a three-fold purpose; first, it has enabled me undetected to pay this visit to you; secondly, it will allay Arkilu’s suspicions; and thirdly, it will stir you to block my appearance before Theoph to-morrow.”
“Oh, I would have done that anyhow,” Jud insisted. “My plans are all made. I shall send a runner to Theoph, and warn him to search Arkilu’s room for your note. When he finds the note he will certainly cancel the arrangements for your performance. Thus will the note serve a fourth purpose.
“Return now to your quarters, and I will send you word of the outcome.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Myles admonished. “For a message from you would reveal to our fair young spy the fact of my secret interview with you this evening. Let Theoph himself send the word.”
“So be it. You may count on starting on your expedition to-morrow as planned. Good luck to you.”
“Good luck to you, Jud the Great, and may you win Arkilu the Beautiful.”
So the earth-man hastened back to his quarters, where Quivven, on her return, found him placidly reclining on a divan.
For a few minutes they chatted playfully together, and then she suddenly narrowed her eyelids, looked at him with a peculiar expression, and asked: “Aren’t you the least bit anxious to know what answer Arkilu made to your note?”
That was so; he had written Arkilu a note; but now that it had served its purpose he had completely forgotten about it. How could he square himself with little Quivven? By flattery?
“Of course I’m anxious to know,” he asserted, “but I was so glad to have you come back again that for the moment I neglected to ask you.”
Quivven the Golden Flame pouted.
“Now you’re teasing me again,” she said, “and I won’t stand for it.”
“But I really want to know,” he continued with mock eagerness. “Please do tell me about your sister.”
“I gave her the note—”
Just then there came a loud pounding on the gate outside; so loud, in fact, that the sound penetrated within the house. Quivven stopped talking. She and Myles listened intently. The pounding continued.
“Evidently we are to have company this evening,” he remarked, glad to change the subject.
Quivven replied, “Such a racket at this time of night can mean naught but ill. Let us approach the gate with care, and question the intruders.”
So saying, she took down one of the hanging stone lamps and opened the outside door. It was a typical dark, silent, fragrant Porovian evening, except for the fact that the darkness was broken by the glare of the torches beyond the wall, and that the silence was broken by the pounding on the gate, and that the fragrance was marred by the smoke of Quivven’s lamp.
“Who is there?” Quivven called.
To this there came back the peremptory shout: “Open quickly, in the name of Theoph the Grim!”
The golden girl recoiled. Even Cabot himself shuddered as
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