If an enchanted city had risen from the waves because some one had chanced to speak the right word, it could have been no more bewildering; and yet the look of this city was so substantial, so adapted to all commonplace needs, so essentially the scene of every-day activity and purpose, that dozens of towns of petty European principalities seem far less actual and practicable homes of men.  Busy citizens hurrying, the bark of a dog, the mere tone of a temple bell spoke the ordinary occupations of all the world; and upon the chief street the moon looked down as tranquilly as if the causeway were a continuation of Fifth Avenue.

But it was as if the spirit of adventure in St. George had suddenly turned and questioned him, saying: 

“What of Olivia?”

For Olivia gone to a far-away island to find her father was subject of sufficient anxiety; but Olivia in the power of a pretender who might have at command such undreamed resources was more than cool reason could comprehend.  That was the principal impression that Med, the King’s City, made upon St. George.

“To the right, adon,” Jarvo was saying, “where the walls are highest—­that is the palace of the prince, the Palace of the Litany.”

“And the king’s palace?” St. George asked eagerly.

Jarvo lifted his face to the solitary summit light upon the mountain.

“But how does one ascend?” cried St. George.

“By permission of Prince Tabnit,” replied Jarvo, “one is borne up by six imperial carriers, trained in the service from birth.  One attempting the ascent alone would be dashed in pieces.”

“No municipal line of airships?” ventured Amory in slow astonishment.

Jarvo did not quite get this.

“The airships, adon,” he said, “belong to the imperial household and are kept at the summit of Mount Khalak.”

“A trust,” comprehended Amory; “an absolute monarchy is a bit of a trust, anyhow.  Of course, it’s sometimes an outraged trust...” he murmured on.

“The adon,” said Jarvo humbly, “will understand that we, I and Akko, have borne great risk.  It is necessary that we make our peace with all speed, if that may be.  The very walls are the ears of Prince Tabnit, and it is better to be behind those walls.  May the gods permit the possible.”

“Do you mean to say,” asked St. George, “that we too would better look out the prince at once?”

“The adon is wise,” said Jarvo simply, “but nothing is hid from Prince Tabnit.”

St. George considered.  In this mysterious place, whose ways were as unknown to him and to his companions as was the etiquette of the court of the moon, clearly diplomacy was the better part of valour.  It was wiser to seek out Prince Tabnit, if he had really arrived on the island, than to be upon the defensive.

“Ah, very well,” he said briefly, “we will visit the prince.”

“Farewell, adon,” said Jarvo, bowing low, “may the gods permit the possible.”