"When you have conveyed us there, you will know."
"Do you mean 'convey' as in 'get there by cab,' or 'convey' as in 'boat?'"
"You ask too many questions," said the Master of Sinanju, lapsing into silence.
Near the waterfront the Master of Sinanju left Remo to contemplate the blue Pacific, but as he waited, his attention was drawn to a bus-stop billboard advertising one of the summer's films.
It showed a green-faced man with roots and leaves growing from his mottled skin. The film was titled The Return of Muck Man. It wasn't the swampy face that caught Remo's eye, but his deep, soulful mud brown eyes.
Something about them held Remo spellbound. The eyes seemed to be looking at him. When Remo moved to the right, the eyes seemed to follow him. The same thing happened when he drifted left.
Chiun returned minutes later, saying, "I have found a worthy vessel."
Remo seemed not to hear.
"What are you looking at?" Chiun asked.
Without shifting his gaze, Remo said, "That face on that billboard seems to be looking right at me."
"Perhaps it is your long-lost father."
"Not funny, Chiun."
"He does have your complexion."
"Something about those eyes strikes me funny." And Remo started to approach the billboard.
Chiun clapped his hands abruptly. "Enough. Come." Remo snapped out of his pensive mood. Chiun led him to the end of a wharf, and Remo found himself gazing out over the sparkling blue Pacific.
"So where is it?" he asked.
"You are looking out when you should be looking down."
Remo looked down and saw the rowboat. Its oars were tucked in at the gunwales. It could seat two people comfortably and a third in a dire emergency. "Who's rowing?"
"He who boards last, of course," said the Master of Sinanju, stepping off the wharf. He floated to his seat in the stern with the ease of a feather landing.
"Figures," said Remo, climbing a ladder to take his position at the oars. "Where to?" he said sourly. "Row south. And take care that you do not bump any larger craft."
Remo took up the oars. "Bump? If we hit anything bigger than a Coke bottle, we're going under."
"Save your breath for rowing," Chiun admonished, rearranging the splendid folds of his kimono skirts. As they beat out of Mamala Bay, the sun began to dip in the sky once more, and Remo realized he had lost track of the days since they had left the U.S.A.
"How long does this go on?" he asked an unperturbed Chiun.
"Until we reach our destination, of course."
"No, I mean how long does this marathon go on?"
"It is not a marathon. That is something else. These are your athloi."
"How long do they go on?"
"Until you reach your destination."
After Remo had rowed many hours, with the Master of Sinanju frequently looking up the night sky, Chiun lifted his hand sternly.
"Cease rowing!"
"A pleasure," said Remo, stowing the oars.
"We are here."
Remo looked around. The Pacific in all directions was as black as ink. The sky was a litter of bright stars around the misty arm of the Milky Way.
"How do you know this is the right place?"
"What star is that?" Chiun asked, indicating an especially bright bluish white one directly overhead. "Vega."
Chiun made a disgusted face. "Pah. And that?" he asked, pointing to another.
"Altair."
"Again you are wrong."
Remo craned his head, trying to fix the positions of the stars. There were the two brightest in the early-July sky, and they straddled the Milky Way.
"That's Altair and that's Vega," he insisted.
"Only to a white," retorted Chiun unhappily. "They are known to my people as Kyon-u the Herder and Chik-nyo the Weaver. They were lovers, who having neglected their duties, were exiled to opposite sides of the Silvery River, by Kyon-u's father, the king. It is said that the seventh day of the seventh moon always begins with a light sprinkling of rain, signifying the beginning of another year of bitter separation for Kyon-u and Chik-nyo."
Remo looked down. "So what do we-or should I say I-do now?"
"We wait."
"In the middle of the freaking ocean?"
"Unless you would rather row in stately circles."
"On the other hand," Remo said quickly, "waiting can be very restful."
Chiun smoothed his silken lap. "If you wish to sleep, you may."
"I'm tired but I'm not that tired." Chiun looked up.
"You are certain?"
"I've been sleeping too much as it is. And I'm sick of these dreams I've been having."
"Dreams cannot harm you," Chin said thinly.
"I said I'm not tired. I just need to rest."
The Master of Sinanju said nothing. His unwinking eyes came to rest on Remo's own. He stared. Remo stared back. After a while Remo looked away. When he looked back at the Master of Sinanju, the Master of Sinanju was still regarding him like a stern old owl. "What are you staring at?" Remo asked peevishly.
"You."
"Cut it out, will you?"
"I have nothing but darkness surrounding me," Chiun intoned. "I will stare where I will."
"It's making me uneasy."
"Then do not look back," said Chiun, looking hard and unflinchingly at his pupil.
Remo averted his eyes again. Every time his gaze wandered back to the Master of Sinanju sitting at the stern, Chiun's hazel eyes were fixed and unblinking upon him.
After a while Remo closed his eyes.
He never felt himself drop off. He just did. There was no transition from wakefulness to slumber. But he dreamed.
A SPLASHING BROUGHT HIM out of sleep. Remo sat up on his hard wooden seat of the rowboat. "Where am I?" he asked.
"Beneath the Silvery River."
"No, I meant what's making this splashing? Sharks?"
Chiun shook his aged head coldly. "These are the children of Sa Mangsang."
Remo looked over the side. Luminous shapes glided in the water, just beneath the surface. They resembled circling torpedoes with flexible tails. A few wallowed on the surface, slashing it with birdlike beaks. Several disconnected circular eyes stared skyward.
"What are those things?"
"Squid."
Remo looked more closely. He recognized them now. The flexible tails of the circling squid were their bundled and trailing tentacles. They were an eerie sight. "What's got them so riled up?" he asked Chiun.
"They are feeding."
"Any danger they'll bite the boat?"
"Yes."
"I hate squid."
"Squid cannot harm you. Not squid so small."
"Small! They're easily five feet long."
"They are small for squid. In the deeper parts of the Pacific, some grow large enough to pull down whales to their doom and eat them."
Remo said nothing. On every side, for nearly a quarter mile around, the long phosphorescent shapes sped, wallowed and slashed. Occasionally a whipping tentacle would lift and slap the water.
Remo felt a preternatural chill run through him.
Chiun spoke up. "Do you remember my telling you of Sa Mangsang?"
"What Master was he?"
"Sa Mangsang was no Master of Sinanju. He was-and is-the dragon of the abyss. In Korean, 'Sa Mangsang' means 'Dream Thing.' In Japanese, he is known as Tako-Ika, Octopus Squid. To the Vikings, he was Kraken. To the Arabs, Khadhulu. To the Moovians, he was Ru-Taki-Nuhu, the enemy of life."
"Wait a minute. Are we talking about the lost continent of Moo here?"
"We are."
Remo's strong features grew grim. Years ago he and Chiun had discovered an island outpost of an ancient continent that had sunk during a Pacific upheaval, leaving only its highest hill, which poked above the sea like an island. The continent was called Moo. It was an ancient client state of Sinanju five thousand years ago. One of its beliefs was in Ru-Taki-Nuhu, the Heaven Propper, a giant octopus that had fallen from the sky to sleep beneath the waves, awaiting the end of the world, during which it would drink up the oceans. Remo and Chiun had briefly lived with the survivors of Moo until even the island was swallowed by the Pacific.