“It certainly looks very much like The Potter’s eagle,” said Jupiter.
“The commentary is on the next page,” said Bob.
Jupe turned the page and began to read aloud:
” ‘The imperial crown of Lapathia was fashioned by the artisan Boris Kerenov in approximately 1543. Kerenov based his design for the crown on the helmet worn by Duke Federic Azimov in the battle of Karlon. Azimov’s victory at Karlon brought to an end the civil wars which had devastated the tiny country of Lapathia. After their defeat by Azimov’s army, the barons of the south each took a solemn oath that the peace of Lapathia would not again be broken. The following year, Duke Federic called the nobles to meet in the fortress of Madanhoff, and there he declared himself king of Lapathia. The nobles, isolated in the fortress and cut off from their own armies, bowed to the wishes of Duke Federic and pledged their allegiance to him as sovereign ruler. One dissenter, Ivan the Bold, refused to take the oath of allegiance. Legend has it that this proud warrior was executed in the main hall of Madanhoff, and his head was impaled on a spear and displayed on the battlements of the fortress.
” ‘The coronation of Federic I of Lapathia took place in the chapel at Madanhoff in 1544. The crown, designed and executed by Kerenov, remained in the possession of the Azimov family for almost 400 years, and was last used in the coronation of William IV in 1913. Following the overthrow of the Azimov dynasty in 1925, the crown was declared the property of the people of Lapathia. It is now on display in the National Museum at Madanhoff, the capital city which grew up around the site of Duke Federic’s ancient stronghold.
” ‘The Azimov crown, solid gold and set with lapis lazuli, is surmounted by a huge ruby said to have been the possession of Ivan the Bold, whose estates were forfeited to Federic Azimov after his execution. The two-headed eagle atop the ruby is the family device of the Azimovs. Kerenov fashioned it of enamel on gold. The eyes are diamonds, each weighing more than two carats.’ ”
Jupiter stopped reading and turned back to examine the photograph of the crown again.
“That’s one way to get to the top,” said Pete. “Kill off the opposition.”
“Swiping the poor guy’s ruby and sticking it in the crown was a nasty touch,” said Bob.
“They played rough back in those days,” said Jupiter.
“They played rough in 1925, too,” said Bob. He had his notebook out. “I looked up Lapathia in the encyclopedia. Believe it or not, it’s still there.”
“You mean none of the big powers gobbled it up?” said Jupe.
“No. It is now the Republic of Lapathia, area 73 square miles, with a population of about 20,000 people. The major industry’s cheese. There is a standing army of 350 men, 35 of whom are generals.”
“That’s one general for every ten soldiers,” exclaimed Pete.
“Well, you can’t say they lack direction,” laughed Jupe. “What else?”
“The National Assembly of Lapathia is the governing body, and is made up of the 35 generals plus one representative from each of the departments or provinces. There are ten provinces, so I guess we know how the voting goes.”
“The generals run the country,” said Jupiter.
“They also elect the president,” said Bob.
“But what about the Azimovs?” asked Pete.
“Aha! They are not still there. I said they played rough in 1925. William IV–you remember, he was the last one to wear the crown–decided that the royal treasury was getting low. He had married a Lapathian lady–she was a cousin, actually, so she was an Azimov, too–and she had very expensive tastes. She liked diamond bracelets and Paris gowns and she also had four children, each of whom had to have his own tutor and his own carriage and his own horses. King William ran into debt, so he put a tax on every pound of cheese that came out of the Lapathian dairies. Naturally, the Lapathians were unhappy, and the generals saw their chance. They waited until King William’s birthday, when all of the Azimovs would be gathered in the capital, and they marched into the palace and told William he wasn’t going to be king any more.”
“What happened then?” asked Jupiter.
“Probably much the same thing that happened to old Ivan the Bold,” said Bob. “The official account is that His Majesty became distraught and jumped off a balcony.”
“Someone shoved him!” declared Pete, horrified.
“It seems likely,” said Bob. “The rest of the family became so upset that they did away with themselves in various ways. The queen is supposed to have taken poison.”
“You mean the people believed that?” cried Pete.
“With all those generals around, who was going to argue?” Bob retorted. “Also, the generals immediately removed the tax on cheese, which helped. The royal palace became the National Museum, and the crown jewels were donated to the people, so everybody could enjoy them.”
“And no one could wear them,” put in Jupiter. “A fantastic story. On the other hand, a tax on tea had a great deal to do with our American Revolution, so perhaps it isn’t so fantastic. And are there no Azimovs left?”
“I’ll double-check it at the library tomorrow,” promised Bob. “According to the encyclopedia, the family became extinct when King William jumped off that balcony.”
Jupe brooded. “Tom Dobson said his grandfather came from Ukrainia. Suppose Tom is wrong? The Potter and that Azimov eagle seem to be old friends. I wonder if he could have had anything to do with that royal family.”
“Or with the revolutionary generals,” added Bob.
Pete shivered. “Whole families do not commit suicide,” he said. “Remember what happened to the Romanovs in Russia.”
“They were massacred,” said Jupe.
“Right. And if The Potter had any part in that, I don’t want to know him any better than I do already.”
8
Worthington Comes Through
“I AM sure,” said Jupiter Jones firmly, “that whatever may have happened in the past, Tom Dobson and his mother know only that The Potter makes beautiful ceramics and that he is missing. Also that somebody or something left flaming footprints in his kitchen this afternoon. Mrs Dobson is extremely upset, and Tom is not at all happy about the situation. I suggested to Tom that one of The Three Investigators might spend the night with the Dobsons. They will feel safer, and one of us will be on the scene if something unusual occurs. There is another line of inquiry I would like to follow up with Bob. Pete, could you call your mother and–”
“Not me!” cried Pete. “Listen, Jupe, somebody could burn that house down with those flaming footprints! And the windows upstairs are awfully high. If you got shoved out of one of them, you might not recover.”
“You won’t be alone,” Jupiter reminded him.
“King William wasn’t alone, either.”
“Well, if you won’t, you won’t,” said Jupiter Jones. “I had hoped, though . . .”
Pete scowled savagely. “All right! All right! I’ll do it. I get all the dangerous assignments.” And he picked up the telephone and dialled his home.
“Mum?” he said. “I’m with Jupiter. Can I stay over tonight?”
The boys waited.
“Yeah, all night,” said Pete. “We’re looking for something. It’s a medallion. It’s lost.”
The telephone made worried noises.
“Jupe says his aunt won’t mind,” said Pete. And, “Yes, I’ll be home early in the morning.” And, “Yes, I know I’m supposed to cut the grass tomorrow.”
Finally, “Okay, Mum. Thanks. See you.” And Pete hung up.
“Beautiful!” said Bob.
“And quite true,” announced Jupiter. “We are looking for a lost medallion–the one The Potter wears.”
Then, at Jupiter’s request, Bob called his mother and received permission to stay for supper at the Jones’s.
“Jupiter!” Aunt Mathilda’s voice carried clearly through the air vent in the top of the trailer. “Jupiter Jones! Where are you?”
“Just in time!” said Jupe. The boys hurried out as fast as they could through Tunnel Two, brushed off their knees, and emerged from Jupiter’s outdoor workshop.
“I declare to Betsy!” exclaimed Aunt Mathilda, who stood near the office of the salvage yard. “I don’t know what you boys do, pottering in that workshop all the time. Jupiter, supper’s ready.”
“Aunt Mathilda,” said Jupe, “can Pete and Bob stay and . . .”
“Yes, they can stay and eat with us,” said Aunt Mathilda. “We’re only having pancakes and sausages, but there’s plenty for everyone.”
Pete and Bob thanked her and accepted the invitation.
“Call your folks,” ordered Aunt Mathilda. “You can use the phone in the office. And lock up after yourselves. Five minutes, and I want you boys ready to eat.”
She crossed the street to the house.
“Do you suppose she’s a mind reader?” said Pete.
“I hope not,” declared Jupiter fervently.
Five minutes later the boys were at the table in the Jones’s dining room, devouring pancakes and sizzling sausages, and listening to Uncle Titus tell of the old days, when Rocky Beach was only a wide spot in the road.