Eight days. The thought stabbed Croft almost as keenly as a dagger-thrust might have hurt. Eight days--and how much longer until he finished his work. There were times when his course--the time of her durance, seemed an infinity of days no less to him than to Naia of Aphur herself--times when, save for his unshakable resolution, he would have been tempted to wring his hands, to mouth at the trick fate had played upon him, to curse--perhaps to shriek his protest at the seemingly countless delays by which even in his labors he was faced. And Naia of Aphur had not even labor to break the ordeal of her waiting. On the morning of that eighth day Jason Croft, Mouthpiece of Zitu, stood looking down to the swirl of the Na's yellow flood past the hull of the galley with a somber face. Presently he raised it. Before night he would be in Himyra, and he had come back to the same conclusion he always reached. He squared his shoulders and set his lips back into lines of determination. He turned his face up the yellow river as though even then to catch the first glimpse of its mighty walls. In Himyra he would work. Work! It was the panacea for waiting--it was the answer to the riddle that obsessed him as he himself had said more than once in considering the matter--the means to Naia of Aphur's and Jason, the Son of Jason's, release. He had forbidden word of his coming preceding him to Robur's city. He wanted no trumpery of public welcomes, no ceremonials, however slight, to delay his purpose now. Almost before the galley had tied fast to the quays he left it, and threw himself into his task. He gave himself wholly to it. He appeared unexpectedly that afternoon in the shops, the forges, learning that Robur had not been idle, with a mounting satisfaction, finally meeting Aphur's governor face to face on one of his stops. "Zitu!" cried Robur. "I knew not of your returning. Is it your spirit come to mark my progress, Jason, my friend, or do I behold you in the flesh?" "Both," Croft answered. "Spirit and flesh united on the work before us, Rob, at last." "All is arranged?" Robur's eyes flashed with anticipation of Croft's answer. "Aye." Jason inclined his head. "There should be naught to distract from our labors from now until the end." "The end--_hai_--the end," said Robur. "Together we shall bring it quickly, my friend." Little by little each day the work advanced. The liquid fire was an accomplished fact. Trusted men--the best educated in their line in Himyra were engaged now upon its production, its preparation for the final venture, as they filled it into the containing flasks. The shapes of six blimps were slowly forming--huge, unwieldly seeming bags constructed out of Croft's varnished cloth. Little by little the means of putting the plan of rescue into execution was taking concrete form at last.