"Yes, I do. It's north of Beltrazo and east of Jiardasia, and they are
fighting because one party has assassinated King Maran, and the other
will not let them crown Nicola Iarovitch. And why should they? He's a
brigand, and hasn't a drop of royal blood in him."

"Oh!" reluctantly admitted the hunchback. "You do know that much, do
you? Come back here."

Marco turned back, while the boys still stared. It was as if two leaders
or generals were meeting for the first time, and the rabble, looking on,
wondered what would come of their encounter.

"The Samavians of the Iarovitch party are a bad lot and want only bad
things," said Marco, speaking first. "They care nothing for Samavia.
They only care for money and the power to make laws which will serve
them and crush everybody else. They know Nicola is a weak man, and that,
if they can crown him king, they can make him do what they like."

The fact that he spoke first, and that, though he spoke in a steady
boyish voice without swagger, he somehow seemed to take it for granted
that they would listen, made his place for him at once. Boys are
impressionable creatures, and they know a leader when they see him. The
hunchback fixed glittering eyes on him. The rabble began to murmur.

"Rat! Rat!" several voices cried at once in good strong Cockney. "Arst
'im some more, Rat!"

"Is that what they call you?" Marco asked the hunchback.

"It's what I called myself," he answered resentfully. "'The Rat.' Look