"He must be brought to the school for warriors on the Isles of Wa off the coast of the Fouchu Peninsula."
The four travelers turned toward the newcomer: a five-foot-one oriental man in a ragged kimono that seemed to be at least a hundred years old- and at that only half the age of its wearer. The parched skin that covered his head was bald save for five strands that drooped across his weathered face, two in the place of eye brows, two in the place of a mustache, and one in the dead center of his chin acting as a poor excuse for a mandarin beard.
"Who are you?" Volo asked, coming forward, mindful that rarely were those who appeared so unthreatening really as they seemed.
"Gracious travelers," the old man replied, "I am Chiun de Lao, last surviving adult of the caravan whose remnant you have seen around the ridge. It is I who hid the child, which you now possess, so that I might go in search of help. As the gods would have it, help found us."
"What happened to the rest of your party?" Volo inquired.
"Slaughtered by bandits. Only the child and myself survived," Chiun answered. "The child's father was a brave warrior who gave his life protecting his son. It was his final wish that his son be sent to the Warriors' school that he himself attended."
"Well, we will be happy to allow you to travel with us until we reach a town where you will be able to book passage for yourself and the child," Volo offered.
"No," the old man insisted. "You must accompany us on this journey so that you might guard the child. His father was an honorable samurai of a dishonorable shogun, and assassins are lying in wait for us at every turn. His enemy will not rest until the legacy of this warrior who died defending our caravan has been erased from the world."
"Why didn't they kill the kid with the others?"
"Father hid son," Chiun replied. "When father was killed, bandits assumed like father like son. Their patron will be very angry."
"I guess it's hard to find good help these days," Passepout offered, taking a moment to noticeably glare over at Curtis.
"How did you survive their attack?" Volo inquired.
"I was away from the others when the attack came," the old coot replied. "I had to relieve myself, and such things take time."
"I see," answered Volo, not wishing to hear any further details on the matter. "Well, once we arrive at a sizeable town, I am sure that you will be able to hire sufficient protection for your journey. If not a powerful ward, perhaps a mercenary who happens to be heading your way."
"Mad Monkey say, 'You don't loan a wolf a cub if protection is what you want,' " replied Chiun.
"What?" replied the befuddled Passepout.
"Mad Monkey also say, 'The young should pay attention to the elderly so as not to tire them out by making them repeat what they have already said,' " replied the old man, then insisting, "you must take the child to the Isles of Wa."
Volo fingered his beard, partly in amusement at the old man, partly to evaluate the situation at hand.
"I think we will have to talk about this among ourselves before we come to a decision, Mister Lao," Volo said finally.
"Chiun," the old man corrected. "You may call me Chiun."
"Would you mind holding the child while we discuss this?" Volo asked, indicating to Shurleen to hand the babe to the old man.
"No," he replied. "No can do. My arms are old and frail, and my skin ravaged by the diseases of age. A child as pure as this must not be placed in the arms of the incompetent. Mad Monkey say…"
"No," interrupted Volo, holding his hand in a symbolic gesture to halt the onrush of epithets, "that will be fine."
"Chiun will fetch his staff from the caravan while you talk among yourselves," replied the old coot, who proceeded to scramble around the ridge with greater ease than either Passepout or even Volo had been able to manage.
Volo motioned for the rest of the party to draw close together to discuss the matter at hand while they were alone save for the child.
"Well, what should we do?" Volo asked to no one in particular. "We can't abandon either the child or Chiun. There are bandits and other dangers around, and if there are assassins lying in wait for this child, all the more reason to get it to a safe haven like that school on the Islands of Wa."
"It's not like we had another destination in mind," Passepout offered, "but who will take care of the child?"
"Why, Shurleen, of course," Curtis proclaimed. "Child care is women's work."
"How dare you talk to me like that?" Shurleen protested, coincidentally without giving up the child, who had fallen asleep in her arms. "Woman's work, indeed."
"It's not like you've ever done any work or anything," Curtis sniped, throwing fuel on the fiery rage of their female companion.
"Why, you…" she sputtered.
"I think you'd make a wonderful mother," Passepout offered, trying to calm her down, though his comment fell on deaf ears.
"That's enough from all of you," Volo commanded, taking control of the situation. "Since no one seems to have another plan in mind, it's now settled. We will escort the child and Chiun to the Isles of Wa, and we will all take turns tending to the child."
"Thank you," replied Chiun, who appeared behind them, having fetched his staff from the caravan, and rejoined the group at just the right moment. "Mad Monkey will bless you all."
"By the way," Passepout inquired, "who is this Mad Monkey that you always quote?"
"Oh," explained Chiun, "Mad Monkey is a powerful demigod and free spirit who protects those who follow his school of martial arts, such as the one located on the Isles of Wa which will be our destination. He is also the author of many pithy epigraphs."
"Like what?" the chubby thespian inquired.
"Man who have yen for success in baking business may have to amass a fortune in cookies. Too tight a top knot tangles many a comb. Man who forsake the fire of cookery to eat raw fish may find himself with flames in his bowels and belly. Dwarf who enlists in the army of titans often comes up short. Dragon who…"
"Enough," the thespian interrupted. "I get the idea."
"Some are quite funny," Chiun concluded, "but all are insightful."
"Uh, right," Volo replied, trying to get the show back on the road. "Chiun, why don't you ride with Curtis?"
"You are most kind," the old man replied.
"Uh, yes," Volo continued, "and Shurleen, would you mind taking the first shift in child care?"
"No problem," she replied agreeably, the addition of the child having a wonderful effect on her disposition. "I can feed him as we ride."
"We can do it together," Passepout offered.
"I pity the poor horse if you do," Curtis sniped.
Passepout was about" to retort with a full measure of vitriol, when Shurleen intervened.
"No, that's all right," she offered. "I'm sure I can manage on my own… but thank you for offering," and with another bat of her long lashes, she returned her attention from the chubby thespian to the child.
Passepout helped her mount her horse with the child in her arms and rejoined Volo, who was holding the reins of his steed for him.
"You see," the chubby thespian insisted, "I told you she likes me."
Volo turned away so that no one could see him rolling his eyes, and turned his steed toward the one bearing Curtis and Chiun.
"Well, Chiun," he inquired, "where do we go from here?"
"To the sea," he replied, then adding, "that away."
They journeyed at a varied pace to accommodate the needs of the child and the bowels of the old man, whose age and diet had left him with little self-control, particularly after a long day of horseback riding.
If one was to believe Chiun, Mad Monkey was indeed smiling on them, as it never rained when they couldn't find shelter, nor did they ever run out of food when generous farmers weren't around to restock their supplies.