Gunztar immediately threw up his hands. “We don’t want to kill Tuffy,” he said, quickly. “But you must understand, my friend. The crown is an object of truly immense historical, political and social value. It is no exaggeration to say that it is one of the most iconic and significant objects we Icheloe have. It’s been missing for generations. Its importance to us is incalculable. And your dog is wearing it.”

“It’s not his fault,” Waverly said.

“I agree, of course,” Gunztar said. “But ultimately that is neither here nor there. The council is unanimous that the crown must not stay on your dog.” He pointed out the window, toward the chittering masses gathered in front of the palace. “The reactionaries we have at the gate don’t represent our people at large, but there are enough of them to cause trouble. If they were to find out a pet wore the crown of the disappeared king, the riots would last for days. And I would be lying to you if I said there weren’t those on the council who didn’t find the fact Tuffy wears the crown deeply insulting. One of them even began calling him ‘the Dog King.’ And not in an affectionate way.”

“You’re saying Tuffy wearing the crown is jeopardizing our diplomatic mission,” Abumwe said.

“Not yet,” Gunztar said. “The fact that you found the disappeared king far outweighs the issue of the crown, for now. But the longer it takes for it to be returned to us, the more questions the negotiating council will begin to have about it. Make no mistake that eventually it will jeopardize your mission, and your standing. And the standing of the Colonial Union.”

“Philippa,” Abumwe said, to Waverly.

Waverly said nothing, looked at them all and then went over to Tuffy, who was by this time on his back, paws adorably in the air, snoring lightly. Waverly sat next to her dog, picked him up, waking him in the process, and began sobbing into his little back. The dog craned his head back and heroically tried to lick the head of his owner, hitting only air instead.

“Oh, come on,” Wilson said, after roughly thirty seconds of awkward silence from everyone in the room except Ambassador Waverly, who continued sobbing. “I feel like I’m twelve and being made to reread the last couple chapters of Old Yeller.”

“Lieutenant Wilson, it might be advisable to let Ambassador Waverly have her moment with Tuffy,” Praetor Gunztar said. “It is hard to say good-bye to a friend.”

“So we’re all agreed that we’re going to have to kill the dog,” Wilson said.

“Wilson,” Abumwe said, sharply.