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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Can you write these things?" he asked, after each had repeated them and emerged safely from all cross-questioning. Each boy wrote them correctly from memory. "Write yours in French in German in Russian in Samavian," Loristan said to Marco. "All you have told me to do and to learn is part of myself, Father," Marco said in the end. "It is part of me, as if it were my hand or my eyes or my heart."
I've invented things about him because these chaps like to hear me tell them. They're only stories." "We likes 'im," a voice called out, "becos 'e wos the right sort; 'e'd fight, 'e would, if 'e was in Samavia now." Marco rapidly asked himself how much he might say. He decided and spoke to them all. "He is not part of a legend. He's part of Samavian history," he said.
They must be spies who were paid to follow his father because he was a Samavian and a patriot. He did not know that they had taken the house two months before, and had accomplished several things during their apparently innocent stay in it. They had discovered Loristan and had learned to know his outgoings and incomings, and also the outgoings and incomings of Lazarus, Marco, and The Rat.
They were to show at what points The Rat if he had been a Samavian general would have attacked the capital. As Marco pointed them out, he explained The Rat's reasons for his planning. Loristan held the paper for some minutes. He fixed his eyes on it curiously, and his black brows drew themselves together. "This is very wonderful!" he said at last. "He is quite right.
He was inwardly shuddering with a rapture of exultation which was almost anguish. The people were looking at him shouting at him surely it seemed like it when he looked at the faces nearest in the crowd. Perhaps Loristan "Listen!" said Marco suddenly, as the carriage rolled on its way. "They are shouting to us in Samavian, 'The Bearers of the Sign! That is what they are saying now.
When we meet in the daytime, we pretend not to know each other. We are meeting now in a Samavian city where there is a fortress. We shall have to take it when the secret sign is given and we make our rising. We are getting everything ready, so that, when we find the king, the secret sign can be given." "What is the name of the city we are in?" whispered Cad. "It is called Larrina.
I am a Samavian myself, and I think night and day. What does he think of the rumor about the descendant of the Lost Prince? Does he believe it?" Marco was thinking very rapidly. Her beautiful face was glowing with emotion, her beautiful voice trembled. That she should be a Samavian, and love Samavia, and pour her feeling forth even to a boy, was deeply moving to him.
"They are doing something with Samavian flags and a lot of flowers and green things!" cried The Rat, in excitement. "Sir, they are decorating the outside of the carriage," Vorversk said. "The villagers on the line obtained permission from His Majesty. The son of Stefan Loristan could not be allowed to pass their homes without their doing homage."
Now that I know you are doing this I may even sleep. You are one of us." And it was because he was following this plan that The Rat had turned into Brandon Terrace and heard the Samavian song ringing out from the locked basement of Number 10. "Yes, he is one of us," Loristan said, when he told this part of the story to Marco as they sat by the fire. "I had not been sure before.
Sometimes The Rat heard a few words which sounded almost like a murmured prayer, sometimes he heard a sob as a shaggy head bent, again and again he saw eyes wet with tears. Once or twice Marco spoke a few Samavian words, and the face of the man spoken to flamed with joy. The Rat had time to see, as Marco had seen, that many of the faces were not those of peasants.
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