"Working, of course."
Remo frowned. "I thought islanders lived the life of Riley. "
"Who is Riley?"
"A figment of someone's imagination. Why do people have to work here? They have the sun, all the fruit and fish they could want. This place is a paradise."
"Come," said Chiun.
"I want to get my shoes back," Remo said.
"What I have to show you is on the way to your precious shoes."
Remo shrugged. He followed silently as Chiun began speaking. The jungle all around them steamed with a pleasant warmth.
"I have heard you speak of Moo with ill-concealed mockery in your voice. You think Moo is small?"
"It is small."
"Once it was larger."
"I'll bet Old Moo was nothing to crow about either, otherwise why wouldn't anyone have heard about it?" Chiun stopped and whirled.
"Sinanju has heard of it. And the nation that is looked upon with favor by the House of Sinanju needs nothing else especially the approval of a nation that is only two hundred years old."
Remo sighed. "Point taken. Shall we just try to keep up the pace?" he suggested.
Chiun turned and stalked off. It was a while before the dark flush left his face and he resumed speaking.
"Once, Moo was the great seafaring empire in the world. Before Egypt it was. Before Greece it was, and before the oldest settlements in Africa."
"Okay, it's old. So's the moon. So what?"
"Before Sinanju it was," Chiun continued. Remo's face registered surprise. It was rare that Chiun gave anything credit that dimmed the shining beacon that was Sinanju.
"Yeah?"
"For in truth, when Moo became a client of Sinanju, Moo was old. Its glory days were waning like the moon that we will behold tonight. It had withdrawn its mighty fleet from the world's seas. Moo had turned inward, beset by octopus worshipers and internal strife. But strong it was still. And its coins were the most prized of all currencies. "
They walked along a winding jungle path. On either side, Remo saw rice and sweet-potato fields tended by young boys and girls. They stood in the rice fields, ankle-deep in brown water. Their bare brown backs were bent. They paid Remo and Chiun no heed.
"The rice did not grow itself in the days of Old Moo, either," Chiun remarked dryly.
"They could live off the coconuts."
"You could live off egg-lemon soup if you wished. But variety is preferable."
"I wouldn't mind a steady diet of it."
"Good," Chiun murmured.
"What's that?" Remo asked.
"Moo was strong because it produced abundant food," Chiun went on as if he hadn't heard. "It is a tradition that the current High Moo holds dear. Each year, they grow more rice than necessary. This way they never want."
"How come I see only boys and girls? Where are the adults? Fishing?"
"Some fish. The women do that."
"What about the men?"
"Have you forgotten the coins of Moo?"
"Oh, right," Remo said as the path began to dip toward the lagoon. "The mines."
"Moo had the most powerful currency because Moo had the greatest treasury. Its treasure house held stack after stack of the great round coins. For the Moovians were great miners in those days."
"These days too," Remo said, jerking a thumb at a shored-up hole in the side of a creeper-overgrown hillock. It was the third abandoned mine they had spotted during their walk.
"They have fewer mines, but they work them very hard. So the High Moo told me."
They came at last to the lagoon where their junk lay anchored.
"Still there," Remo said.
"Of course. Why should it not be?"
"No reason. I was just thinking it's our only ticket home."
"Assuming that it does not sink," Chiun said.
"Don't even say it out loud."
Chiun turned. He allowed himself a gentle smile.
"I merely jested. Can you not take a joke in return, O teller of Moo jokes?"
"Touche," admitted Remo. He jerked his thumb to the right. "The grove is over that way."
"Soon, soon. For now look to the east."
Remo shielded his eyes from the sun. It was at its apex. High noon. Remo wondered what time it was back in America.
"I see water," he said.
"Do you see the far water that touches the very sky?"
"You mean the horizon? Sure."
Chiun nodded. "Now look to the south. Do you see that horizon?"
"Sure. "
"And north? And west?"
"That's a lot of water."
"If you could see twice as far in all directions, still your gaze would not encompass the whole of the Empire of Moo. "
"From where I stand, Moo is about three square miles," Remo said flatly. "Most of it vertical."
"I feel like a swim," Chiun said brightly. "Will you join me?"
"Is that an invitation or a command?"
"Did it sound like an invitation?"
"Yeah, but I'm wondering what will happen if I decline."
"Do not decline and you will forever have a mystery to ponder," Chiun said.
Remo considered. "Lead on," he said. "I don't know where this is going, but obviously it's going somewhere. Without another word, Chiun waded into the water. When it was up to his chest, he slid onto his stomach and began striking out for open water. Remo dug in after him. Three miles out they had left the junk behind, and Chiun paused, treading water.
"Come, Remo. I want to show you something."
And Chiun disappeared as if something had pulled him down by the leg. Remo jackknifed in place. The water closed in over his head. It was cool, and clearer than he had expected.
Remo homed in on the trailing air bubbles left by the Master of Sinanju. A hammerhead shark cruised into view, but left them alone. Other, more colorful fish scattered out of Chiun's path. Remo kept his eyes out for octopi, but he saw none. For as far as the eye could see, the ocean floor was a fairyland of multicolored coral formations.
Hundreds of feet below, Chiun alighted on a sprawling pink coral outcropping. Remo settled beside him, his stocking feet touching the sandpaperlike coral.
Remo faced Chiun. Sea shadows dappled their faces. Remo made a question mark with a finger.
Chiun bent over and chopped away a chunk of coral with his hand. Under the coral, a flat gray surface was exposed. Chiun continued chipping away. Finally he had a man-size place on which to stand. He stamped his foot once and disappeared. There was only a hole in the gray surface to show that he had stood there.
Remo hesitated, thinking of octopi. Then he dived into the hole.
Inside, Remo found himself in a square room. Dead seaweed clung to what he recognized were stone benches. There were murals on the walls. They were made up of colored tiles. There was just enough sea-filtered light coming in that Remo could make out scenes of a great city with tall towers and golden domes. People dressed like Greeks, in togas and short skirts, were visible on the depicted walkways.
Remo realized he was inside a sunken house of Old Moo. Chiun disappeared into an adjoining room. Remo swam after him.
Though not impressive by the modern standards of Western architecture, for buildings that were thousands of years old, they were magnificent.
Remo touched pottery jars, wooden chests that had fallen in from the eroding action of the sea. They swam down a long tunnel with muraled walls. The light grew dimmer.
Eventually they came to a huge vaulted room. Remo sensed the expanding space. He kicked himself up to the ceiling, and touched stone blocks. He started pulling them loose. The mortar was brittle. He got through to pink coral. A series of rapid straight-fingered blows brought the coral floating down in chunks.
Greenish light flooded the room. Pushing off, Remo joined Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju floated like a jellyfish. His legs scissored, keeping him upright. With spread arms he indicated the distant walls.
Every wall was the same. Row upon row of glass vessels. They were huge. Each wall had been built up with shelves so that the vessels covered every available square foot of wall.