"Damn!" Remo said, clapping his hand before his eyes.
The Master of Sinanju did the same. He expelled an angry breath past clenched teeth.
Through their pain, they caught the dry ratcheting back of a flintlock hammer.
Remo called, "Dive, Little Father!"
His shout was drowned in a splash of water. Chiun, moving first. Remo followed him into the cold, brackish brine.
A ball whupped into the water and knifed past them, sending rippling shock waves that made them separate like frightened dolphins.
Another shot struck the boat, knocking a hole in its bottom. It began to sink.
Remo, struggling to gain equilibrium, let his ears take him in the direction of the Master of Sinanju. His eyes were still closed. They stung terribly, as if heated pins had been driven through them.
When his bare arms felt the watery vibrations that told of Chiun's nearness, he reached out blindly. And got a wrist that was like a pair of long bones covered in loose chicken skin. It struggled.
He held on. Chiun calmed down. Like two groupers under a coral formation, they waited, not inhaling, and exhaling only slow beads of carbon dioxide that would not be visible in the darkness.
They waited. Through the water, the "Yo Ho Ho and a Bucket of Blood" song continued its rollicking cadence.
Remo began to wish the other song would come back. At least it was kind of catchy.
When the pain had lessened and he could trust his reflexes again, Remo let go of the Master of Sinanju and shot upward like a submarine-launched missile.
He emerged from the water a foot from the rocky river edge, hung a moment before gravity could reclaim him, and then, like a cartoon figure, simply stepped from his vertical position to the papier-mache shelf.
Remo still couldn't see. But he could hear.
The marionette that strongly resembled Uncle Sam Beasley was still there, holding his smoking flintlock at the ready. The bellows sound and the smell of oldfashioned black powder told Remo that.
At the sight of Remo, it cracked a hideous grin and brought the long-barreled pistol in line with Remo's chest.
Remo stomped the papier-mache under his feet and it split.
This stand of the outcropping collapsed, taking the peg leg pirate figure with it. He cursed like a cutthroat as he went down. Remo didn't hear a splash. But the bellows sound went away. He figured the mechanical thing was finally broken.
Remo returned to the water and, taking Chiun's wrist again, began to swim, the Master of Sinanju in tow. Chiun had lost his mouse ears.
They negotiated the underground river by feeling their way along the supporting shelf of slimy stone.
When daylight lightened the inner pink of their eyelids, they knew two things: that they were outside the attraction, and that their sight was gradually returning.
Remo was the first to the surface. The Master of Sinanju's bedraggled head surfaced a second later. His hazel eyes were like knife slits in his wrinkled visage as he released a squirt of brown water from his mouth.
"I think I got him," Remo said.
"That was not Uncle Sam," Chiun muttered.
"That's what I've been telling you," Remo said.
"Uncle Sam would never try to kill us."
"Have it your way," Remo said, looking around.
Sound from above them caused Remo to look up.
They were under the galleon's stern. Leaning over the rail of the poop deck was a menagerie of popeyed trademarks.
"The natives are about to revolt again," Remo said in a low warning voice.
Chiun looked up. His tiny mouth dropped open. He lifted a raging fist.
"Begone, vermin! Begone from my sight, or I will have all your heads on posts!".
A Terrapin brought a shotgun to his green shoulder, and aimed it downward. His movements were fluid, not jerky. A man in a suit.
The Master of Sinanju vanished beneath the waves.
The Terrapin redirected his weapon toward Remo's head.
"He wasn't kidding," Remo warned, as the creature adjusted his aim.
Before he could fire, the Terrapin tumbled over the rail, shell-over-flippers, into Remo's grasp. He pushed the bright green head down and kept it there, simultaneously bringing a knee upward.
The Terrapin mask cracked and leaked a cloud of blood. Remo released the floating flotsam.
Others began to fall. They were coming off the rail simply because the galleon itself was capsizing. They landed all around Remo.
Remo went to work, breaking necks and shattering spines. In a moment, the Master of Sinanju joined him. His technique was simpler. Remaining underwater, he began pulling the creatures down into the water, to hold them there like bunched grapes.
One by one they floated back to the surface, muzzles and snouts downward.
"I think that's all of them," Remo said when Chiun had resurfaced.
"I do not see the head buckaroo," Chiun complained.
"He wasn't real."
"Neither are these," said the Master of Sinanju coldly, indicating the dead. "Yet they bleed like persons."
"Point taken," said Remo. "What say we hit the castle?"
"No."
"No?"
"We will enter my castle as the conquerors we are."
Chapter 19
The angry voice crackled over the loudspeaker.
"Damage report, damn it!"
"The galleon has been scuttled, Director."
"I know, you ninny! I was on it. I barely made it into the escape hatch in time."
"Three major attractions down, and they're headed for the Sorcerer's Castle. We have no greeters standing."
There was a pregnant pause over the connection.
"Order evacuation," said the Director, hoarsely.
"We're not opening, sir?"
"We're not staying! The lid is about to come off this entire base. We have to regroup. I'm moving B-Day up a day."
"I understand, sir. I'll blow retreat. What about Drake?"
"Tell him to play the goat."
"At once, Director."
Captain Maus punched the pound button on a telephone handset.
"Drake here. What the hell's going on?"
"No swearing in the ranks. You know the Director's feelings."
"Sorry."
"You've been watching?"
"With my Gumpy binoculars. This is a catastrophe. Half the attractions are in ruins."
"The Director has sounded retreat."
"Then it's over?"
"No. The operation continues. But we need time."
"What can I do?"
"Shield the Mouse."
"You can't be serious!"
"Shield the Mouse. Those are the Director's express wishes."
"He . . . he can't ask that of me! I've served him loyally!"
"Sorry. The Director's orders stand."
"But . . . but," sobbed Drake. "I . . . I was his biggest fan."
"And now he's asking you to make the ultimate sacrifice. You should be very proud."
"I . . . I am . . . !"
A sob broke over the loudspeaker before it cut out, leaving only silence.
Chapter 20
Every avenue in Sam Beasley World led to the Sorcerer's Castle. It was like the fantastic hub of a great architectural wheel.
An iron portcullis barred the entrance. The drawbridge was in the half-raised position.
The moat held real alligators. They splashed their tails in sluggish warning.
Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju and said, "I think we can jump it."
"I will not be seen jumping into my own castle!" Chiun said stubbornly.
"We can't stay here."
"We will not. You will leap, and lower the drawbridge so that I may enter in a manner befitting my suzerainty."
"Oh, come on!"
"No. You go on."
Shrugging his shoulders, Remo stepped back and took a running jump. At the edge of the moat, he gave what looked like a weak double kick. But he seemed to take wing.