They settled down to wait. As the morning progressed, the mists began to thin. A hill came into view. And another. And between them a tall landmark that was definitely not a hill.
"Shit!" said Dirk Edwards. "What the fuck is that?"
"It's the temple," Shane shouted. He was ignored.
"Looks like a building," said Gus.
"I know it's a fucking building. What I want to know is, what kind of building. Who's got the binoculars?" Someone passed them to him. Dirk stood up and trained the lenses on the rapidly clearing object.
"I thought we were supposed to be looking for a primitive island," he said bitingly. "This thing is huge."
"We are," Shane Billiken said uncertainly. "I mean, it was supposed to be. Maybe it's some kind of mirage."
"Yeah? Well, this mirage says the 'Oahu Hilton' on it."
"What does that mean?" Shane wanted to know.
"It means, you flaky fuck, that we're in Hawaii and if we don't get out of here before those bodies are found, our asses are grass."
At that, everybody started running down the mountain at full tilt. In between puffing breaths, there was a discussion about whether to shoot Shane Billiken for getting them into this mess.
Shane Billiken was immensely relieved when the vote was decided, five to two in favor of not shooting him because one more shooting would only bring more trouble.
"Outstanding," said Dirk Edwards. "We'll wait till we're at sea."
Chapter 32
Dolla-Dree, Low Moo of Moo, ran to her father's palace. Her bare feet skipped over the stones in her path. She felt light. Tonight she would enjoy the privilege that had not been accorded a Low Moo in hundreds of moons. The gift of a white man.
The oral tales of Moo were full of stories of the white men who once came to this remnant of Old Moo. None had come for so long that many believed the whites of the world had died out.
Dolla-Dree learned differently when she landed on the land of white men. But she had been on a mission. She could take no white man while she was a prisoner of the cruel magician who wore smoked glass over his eyes, yet was not blind.
Now she was home. Now she would ask her father. Remo would be hers. Forever.
"Father! Father!" cried Dolla-Dree as she approached the palace.
The High Moo, Tu-Min-Ka, emerged from the palace, his face questioning.
"Is there trouble?" he demanded.
"No, no," said Dolla-Dree, dropping at his feet. She knelt before her father, bowing her long tresses. "I crave a boon. One that will make me one with the Low Moos of the past."
"Go on, daughter."
"I wish to buy the slave Remo. For I crave him greatly."
"He is no longer a slave. He has been freed. We do not have slaves on Moo."
"Only because there are not enough Moovians to have slaves as well as workers. We had slaves in the days of the white sailors."
"Which we freed at the proper time."
"And I vow to follow that tradition. I will buy Remo, and before I take him into myself, I will free him."
"Well-spoken. But he is already a free man."
"Oh, he will not be a slave long," the Low Moo implored. She grabbed her father's legs eagerly. Her face lifted. "I will treat him as we treated the white men of the long-ago days. He will be mine forever, one with my heart, identical with my soul, the flesh of my flesh."
"The Master of Sinanchu cares for this man," the High Moo reminded.
The Low Moo reared to her feet, her dark eyes snapping. "You deny me? Your daughter? The one who, alone in the world, loves you?"
The High Moo winced under the tongue-lashing. He relented.
"I will speak with the Master of Sinanchu," he said. "I will see what his feelings are toward Remo."
"I will await his decision," the Low Moo told him coolly. "Do not disappoint me, for I am all you have." She promptly disappeared into the palace, her haughty back radiating scorn.
His war club in hand, the High Moo called to his Red Feather Guard. They surrounded him as he set out in search of the Master of Sinanchu. The golden plume on his fillet crown dipped with each heavy step he took. It was a difficult thing his daughter had asked of him. The rite had not been performed since Rona-Ku was High Moo.
The monkeys chattered at him as he walked, and the High Moo shook his fist at them as if they were the cause of all his troubles.
They were nearing the rice fields when one of the guards walking before the High Moo seemed to stumble. He fell against a tree. He did not rise.
"See to him," the High Moo said shortly. "His head must have struck a stone."
The other guards surrounded the man. They shook him. He did not stir. They rolled him over on his back and everyone saw his glassy sightless stare. And they knew.
It was the High Moo who spotted the thorn sticking from the guard's foot. He pulled it free. A tiny drop of blood dripped from the tip.
"A stonefish spine," he growled. "It must have been set into the ground to trap me."
A rustling of the foliage ahead caught their attention. The remaining guards started after the skulker.
"No," cried the High Moo. "Do not leave me. There may be others lurking about. We will attend to that one later. I must see the Master of Sinanchu. You will carry my scared personage so that I do not fall prey to another vicious trap."
The Red Feather Guard hesitated. They looked down at their naked bronze feet.
"I have bestowed upon you the gift of being my guards," the High Moo growled. "Any who do not wish to enjoy the comforts that go with it may choose between the mines and the fields."
The guards looked at one another and two men took the High Moo by the legs while the third reached under his armpits. In this fashion they carried him from the path. They went with ginger steps, their questing eyes anxious.
When the Master of Sinanju saw the High Moo being carried in a supine position, his heart leapt at the thought that he had lost the only true emperor he had ever known.
"What has transpired?" he demanded of the guards as they set their ruler on his feet. "Is the High Moo ill?"
"I have escaped another base attempt upon my life," said the High Moo. "A stonefish spine placed in the road. One of my guards lies dead."
"He died knowing that he served you well," intoned Chiun. "He could ask for no greater destiny."
"I saw the one who did it," said a guard. All eyes turned to the man. "Through the trees. I recognized his face. It was Uk-Uk."
"Then Uk-Uk must die!" cried Chiun. "Point him out to me and I will rend him apart with infinite slowness." Like yellow talons, Chiun's hands flashed in the sunlight. He clawed the air, making flamboyant sweeping gestures. He hoped the High Moo would be impressed. But the High Moo's next words stunned the Master of Sinanju.
"No," he said unhappily. "Uk-Uk is my metalsmith."
"The old one?" Chiun demanded.
"Truly. I had thought him loyal. But he cannot die, for there is no other with the skill to fashion my coins."
"Then what would you have me do to him?" asked Chiun, who had never known an emperor to show mercy to a traitor. "I could pluck out one eye as an object lesson."
"No, for if he loses the other to disease or bird attack, he will be useless to me."
"I will leave the eyes, then. Select a limb for removal."
"I do not know," said the High Moo after a long pause. His broad coppery features were troubled., "But I have something more important to speak of now."
"Yes?" said Chiun, his eyes bright. What could be more important than the intrigues of the Shark Throne?
"My daughter, the Low Moo, has come to me. She craves your freed slave, Remo."
"Do you propose joining our houses in marriage?" Chiun asked slowly.
"If that is necessary to satisfy my daughter's need. But I would prefer to buy him."
Chiun's beard quivered. "Buy Remo? My Remo?"