Remo saw the streak of upset dust at the same time as the Master of Sinanju.
"Brigand!" Chiun cried when he realized what was missing. "Robber!" he shouted as he bounced over the debris field that was the floor. "Bandit!" he wailed, after he had made certain the ancient wood carving had not fallen to the sturdy old floor.
"What was it?" Remo asked, stepping gingerly into the room. He had to climb over a pair of stone slabs.
"A map to a treasure forever lost. A piece of a puzzle whose other fragments were scattered to the winds of history. An invaluable reminder of the folly of fools."
"It doesn't sound that bad," Remo offered encouragingly.
"Bad?" Chiun moaned. "It is terrible."
"I'd say you made out okay," Remo said. "A couple of gold coins and a useless puzzle piece. We should get a lock for the front door. Maybe an alarm system." As Chiun continued to stare at the vacant spot on the shelf, Remo turned to Pullyang. "Is there electricity in this rathole of a village?" he asked.
"Only in the Master's house," the caretaker ventured.
"See, Chiun," Remo said. "An alarm system would be easy. I bet Smith could fix you up real nice."
Chiun refused to be encouraged. His eyes never wavered from the barren spot on the shelf. Beside the marks in the dust, an ancient rusted battle helmet sat on the counter. A corroded falcon was locked in a perpetual struggle to take flight on the front of the headpiece.
The look on his teacher's face was so forlorn as he stared at the shelf Remo couldn't help but feel a welling sadness of his own.
Remo felt uncomfortable with someone else seeing Chiun in this inconsolable state. The old caretaker was hovering at the edge of the room, the mass of wrinkles around his aged eyes pinched to narrow slits.
"We can handle it from here," Remo whispered softly to Pullyang.
The aged caretaker wasn't certain if he should take the suggestion of the Master of Sinanju's white pupil.
"Master?" he asked.
Chiun didn't say a word. He raised a long-nailed hand, waving it dismissively. Pullyang bowed respectfully from the room. A moment later, the front door opened and closed.
The Master of Sinanju continued to stare morosely at the empty spot on the shelf.
This was not like Chiun. His angry reaction to the missing gold coins-that was Chiun. But by his own admission, the item stolen from this room had been worthless. Yet he seemed to grieve more for its loss than for the loss of his beloved gold. To Remo, it didn't make sense.
"Chiun?" Remo said gently. "If it means that much to you, to hell with Kluge. We'll go after whoever did this. I promise you'll get everything back."
Chiun at last looked up. There was still sadness in his eyes, but there was a sliver of pride, as well. "You are a good son, Remo," Chiun said. Remo felt his heart swell.
"Look, I know what this stuff means to you. It means something to me, too. It's our history."
Chiun nodded. "It is that," he said glumly. "More than you know. Come, Remo, sit down." He indicated the two stone tablets on the floor. Remo obediently sank to a sitting position on the nearest slab. Chiun joined him on the other, arranging his orchid kimono hem neatly around his scissored knees. He settled easily into his role as instructor. Chiun closed his eyes, taking a deep steadying breath.
"You know, Remo, of Master Bal-Mung," Chiun began.
Remo nodded. "I know he's not on the A list," he said.
There had been several Masters of Sinanju in the long history of the ancient house of assassins who had in some way or another disgraced their ancestors. Most of them were stricken from the official history. Bal-Mung was one of the lucky ones. As part of his earliest lessons, Remo had learned Bal-Mung's name along with all of the other past Masters. However, he had learned nothing more. Until today, Bal-Mung had just been a name on a list with no connecting story.
"I have never told you the tale of Master Bal-Mung," Chiun began, "because it is a story that shames our House and all it represents."
It pained Chiun to even discuss this. In deference to his teacher, Remo resisted making a smart-alecky remark.
"What did he do?" Remo asked gently.
"Bal-Mung committed the most grievous of sins. He squandered his masterhood on a fool's search," Chiun said bitterly. "Before him, there were two other Masters called Bal-Mung. After the time of his disgrace, their names were changed in our records so as not to cause them the shame of being associated with such a one. Shame to you, Bal-Mung of the Fruitless Quest."
"He must have been pretty awful for someone to change the names of previous masters." Remo frowned.
"In truth, this was not so," Chiun lamented. "Until the time of his disgrace, Bal-Mung served his House and ancestors well. He was not on the level of the Great Wang, of course. But he was still not entirely inadequate."
Chiun's voice grew less inflected as he somberly related the painful tale of Bal-Mung's disgrace. "This occurred in the Sinanju Year of the Fire Petals, by your Western reckoning prior to 500 A.D. It happened that at that time Bal-Mung the Waster of Precious Time was known as Bal-Mung the Good. Not Great, for that is a title bestowed only at death. But Good. Good is not bad, Remo, remember this."
"So Bal-Mung," Chiun continued, "who at that time was considered good, journeyed far from his home to toil in the employ of a great king. This king was named Siegfried and he did rule the people known as the Nibelungs. The king had conquered this race years before and had taken as his own their abundant treasure. This wealth was so vast that it was deemed worthy of a name. Called the Nibelungen Hoard, this store of riches and its possessor became known the world over. News of the Nibelungen Hoard spread even to these shores where Master Bal-Mung was resting between assignments. So taken was he with the stories he had been told, Bal-Mung did abandon his rest in order to venture to the land of the Nibelungs."
"He smelled the cash all the way from Korea," Remo interjected.
"I did say, Remo, that he was good," Chiun reminded him. "And so Bal-Mung and his servant did travel far across the great desolate mass of land to the west. For weeks they trekked through dangerous terrain. The people they met grew paler of skin and rounder of eye. The Master's servant was greatly afeared of these cloud-skinned men, afraid that his master had led him to the land of the dead, and that these were ghosts whose curse it was to walk the frigid land with eyes of an improper wideness. But Master Bal-Mung did allay the fears of his youthful companion. Sinanju had worked for whites for many years, having toiled in Greece and Rome. But to his servant, this was all new and so he continued on in fear.
"Eventually they did find the court of King Siegfried, and the Master did offer his services as protector of both sovereign and gold."
"I'll bet I know which one he was more interested in," Remo grumbled.
"The gold, of course," Chiun sniffed.
"No surprise there."
"And there should not be, for as I have told you, up until now Bal-Mung had demonstrated the qualities of a Master of Sinanju destined for posthumous greatness."
"So did he get the gig?" Remo asked.
"Of course," Chiun said. "The reputation of Sinanju had spread even to this barbaric part of the world. The king immediately retained Master Bal-Mung as his royal protector. You have heard, no doubt, that Siegfried possessed a powerful sword, as well as a cloak of invisibility."
"To tell you the truth, the only Siegfried I know was on 'Get Smart,'" Remo admitted sheepishly.
"Your lack of education aside," Chiun continued dryly, "history records that the Nibelungen king owned both of these items. History-as so often happens when it is recorded by whites-is wrong. The name of Siegfried's powerful sword is said even by those in the West to have been called Balmung. It is a distortion of the Master's name but not of his performance as defender of King Siegfried."