"He was your slave in the outer world. Here, only we know that he has been liberated. Perhaps there is an honorable way you could unfree him. Then I would be prepared to discuss a price."
"Buy? Not marriage?" Chiun squeaked.
"I will do whatever is necessary, for my daughter's happiness is dear to me."
Chiun considered. "I will think on this matter. But I make no promise," he said hastily.
"Understood. Now I must return to my palace. For only there am I safe, it seems." The High Moo motioned for his guards to lift him off his feet.
Chiun watched as the High Moo was carried off. Then he went in search of Remo. He wore a slight smile of amusement on his parchment face, but it disappeared when he caught sight of Remo standing with his arms folded and looking bored while the miners worked half-heartedly.
"I have spoken with the High Moo," Chiun said solemnly. "His daughter desires you beyond all others."
"I got that impression when I talked to her."
"Indeed?"
"Yeah. She said she wanted to poon me."
"She said what?"
"Poon. Is it dirty?"
"It is obscene."
"Sounds interesting," Remo said. "I don't suppose you'd care to share a few details?"
"No. And you must have misunderstood her. Your command of the Moovian tongue is atrocious."
"Well, we'll find out tonight. She and I are having a tryst. "
"Do not go to her, Remo. The High Moo has offered to buy you from me. I was going to tell you that I entertained the idea, but only as a jest. Now I tell you in full sincerity, do not meet with the Low Moo."
"I was starting to look forward to it. She's probably the only Moovian maiden I haven't made it with. Don't these people believe in marriage?"
"They marry. But it is not like other people marry. They are free to dally with whomever they wish. All children born on Moo are considered children of the mother and of the village. The concept of the father exists only in the royal house."
"That would explain the singular absence of irate husbands."
"There is other news. The metalsmith. Uk-Uk. He tried to kill the High Moo with a stonefish spine set on his path. "
"Brrrr. Nasty," Remo said. "Does that mean he is an octopus worshiper?"
"Anyone can break a spine from a stonefish. And octopus worshipers are slaves to ritual. They always dress in imitation of Ru-Taki-Nuhu. Or leave a symbol of their evil, like the jug which contained a living octopus which was hurled at the High Moo. No, it means that the list of those who desire to topple the Shark Throne is longer than I would have believed. For the young assailant knew not of the metalsmith's designs."
"If you ask me, the way these people are worked, anybody could be out for his skin."
"We must expose the plotters tonight," Chiun said firmly. "All of them."
"Yeah? How, pray tell?"
"The metalsmith does not know he was seen. You will follow him if he leaves his hut tonight. I will guard the High Moo."
"What about the Low Moo? She's expecting me."
"Have nothing to do with her."
"That's gonna be hard. We're stuck on the same island."
"She is not your type, believe me."
"Since when do you know what attracts me?"
"On Moo, every swaying teat attracts you. I am surprised you have not been chasing the female monkeys."
"Har de har har har," Remo said. But his face flushed in embarrassment.
Chapter 33
The physician in charge of patients at Folcroft Sanitarium was a rotund little man named Dr. Aldace Gerling. His white smock bulged at its lower buttons and Smith wondered as they walked down the two-tone green corridors of the sanitarium's psychiatric wing how a man could be a physician and yet allow his stomach to get so out of shape. If wasn't for his salt-and-pepper goatee, Smith would have suspected him, with his baby-fat features and soft voice, of being in the late stages of pregnancy.
"As I told you, Dr. Smith," Dr. Gerling was saying, "all rooms and patients have been accounted for."
"I know. But it's been nearly two weeks. I'm now convinced that Grumley never left the premises. There would have been police reports or incidents if he had."
"Then we will triple-check," Dr. Gerling said. His voice was a frown.
As they went from room to room, matching room numbers with a patient list Smith carried on a clipboard, Smith reflected that he had gotten nowhere with his other problem. Perhaps devoting more attention to this one would help clear his head. And there was still that nagging feeling he had that the two matters were connected somehow.
"And here is the unfortunate Mr. Purcell," Dr. Gerling said. They stopped at a heavily reinforced door.
"Oh, yes, Jeremiah Purcell," Smith said, peering in through the wire-mesh-reinforced porthole.
The walls of the room were gray and padded. A youngish man sat on the floor, wearing a strait-jacket that confined his arms. He stared at a far corner of the ceiling as if it held the image of God.
"I have never seen such a case before," Dr. Gerling remarked, pursing his wet lips. "The man's mind is totally blank. His state is beyond catatonia."
"He has not been a problem?"
"No more than a patch of catnip. He sleeps, he eats, he uses the toilet although sometimes he forgets to put down the seat and falls in. Then he cries. Other than that, nothing. No words, no complaints. No nothing. His is a sad case."
Smith looked at the young man for several minutes. His hair was long and blond and the texture of cornsilk. His eyes were so blue they looked like neon points. But in back of them lay an uncomprehending opacity.
Jeremiah Purcell has been brought to Folcroft by Remo and Chiun. He was perhaps their greatest enemy living-a white man who possessed the powers of Sinanju and an additional faculty: the ability to project his thoughts as visible hallucinations. In their last encounter, the Dutchman-as Purcell was also known-had snapped mentally. His mind was an absolute blank slate.
No, Smith thought. Purcell would have nothing to do with this. This was not his style. There was no point to it. And every staff doctor had pronounced his mind a roiling confusion of thoughts.
Smith checked Purcell's name off and walked on.
"And this is Mr. Chiun's room," Dr. Gerling said when they rounded the corner to the guest wing.
Smith started. "Mr. Chiun?"
"Yes, the Alzheimer patient. The one who prattles on in the most astonishing ways. His stories about his village were most entertaining, if preposterous. As I recall, Dr. Smith, he once confided that he considered you to be his emperor. Is there a problem?"
"Mr. Chiun left us last month. Along with his guardian, Remo."
"Oh? Then who is in this room?" asked Dr. Gerling. Smith pushed the door open. A man lay on a narrow bed. He slept. Smith shook his shoulder and the man roused slowly. He blinked uncomprehending eyes at them. "This is not Mr. Chiun." Smith said.
Dr. Gerling looked at the patient's face. His own face loosened like a deflating balloon.
"But . . . but this man is Grumley," Dr. Gerling sputtered.
"Grumley! Are you certain?"
"Absolutely. I know Grumley. But what is he doing here?"
"Obviously he's hiding here. Why didn't you check this room more carefully?" Smith demanded.
Dr. Gerling drew himself up sternly. "You instructed me in quite explicit language, Dr. Smith, that the patient Chiun was not to be disturbed by the staff for any reason."
"Yes, yes, you are right. I did," Smith said distractedly.
"And you further neglected to inform me that Mr. Chiun had been discharged."
"It was quite sudden, actually," Smith admitted.
"Well, here is the solution to our little mystery. I shall escort Mr. Grumley back to his room."
"Yes, carry on. Thank you, doctor," said Dr. Harold W. Smith. He left the room hurriedly, clutching his clipboard. Despite his acute embarrassment, Smith was relieved. He had indeed neglected to brief Dr. Gerling when Remo and Chiun had abruptly moved out of Folcroft. He had no idea where they had gone after that. They had promised to communicate with him once they were settled in a new location, but had not. It had been Smith's policy to relocate them at intervals. They had ended up residing at Folcroft by default.