Smith took off his hat and turned the brim around in his hands. "How can you know that?"
"I know. I can explain no more. You are not of Sinanju and you would not believe." He lapsed back into silence as Smith twirled the brim of his hat.
"Are you saying this is the end?" Smith said at last. "The end of Remo? The end of our working together?"
"Perhaps," Chiun said.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand anything you are saying," Smith said. "And I don't know what I could do about it even if I did."
He looked toward the door, and Chiun said, "Do not go, Emperor. I have thought of a way to protect him." Smith's lips tightened. The usual, he thought. Just done with a little more dramatic flair this time.
"More tribute, I suppose," he said sarcastically. "Chiun, I'm a busy man. There was absolutely no reason to call me away from my office for this. If what you wanted was more gold, you could have told me over the telephone. I want you to know I don't appreciate this. Not one bit." He turned to leave.
"I do not want gold," Chiun said.
Smith's hand was on the doorknob. It froze there. "Then what?"
"I must go to Sinanju immediately," Chiun said.
"Out of the question. Things like that take time to set up."
"It is the only way," Chiun said.
"No."
"There is something in my village that can save Remo," Chiun said.
"And you just happen to get a free vacation at the same time," Smith said. "You've cried wolf once too often, Chiun." Smith opened the door.
"Hold!" Chiun's voice was like electricity cracking. He rose to his feet in one smooth movement that seemed like a puff of colored smoke rising, walked over, and pushed the door shut. "I rescind my request," he said.
"Pardon?"
"For the additional tribute. The extra four-weight of gold was not Remo's wish, in truth. It was my own for the welfare of my village. I hereby offer it back to you in exchange for my passage to Sinanju and back. Immediately."
Smith studied the old man's face. It was the first time he had ever heard Chiun give up an opportunity to amass gold. "This is serious, isn't it? It means that much to you?"
"Yes, Emperor."
"You honestly think it will help Remo?"
"I do not know. I can only try," Chiun said.
"Maybe if you'd tell me . . ."
"It is no dishonor to you, Emperor, that you would not understand. There are things in this world that none understand but me. This is because I am reigning Master of Sinanju and the history of scores of centuries rests with me. I must go. Now."
The two men looked into each other's eyes for a long time. Smith realized how small and old and frail Chiun was. Finally the American nodded. "Done. You'll go back to Folcroft with me. I'll arrange for jets and a submarine."
"Thank you, Emperor. Before I leave, I must see Remo."
"I'll send him in," Smith said.
"I'm glad you two had such a nice chat," Remo said as he plopped down on a chair.
"Our conversation had nothing to do with you. Nothing really," Chiun said.
"Oh, bulldookey. You think I was born yesterday? You think I don't know about your little arrangement to have me bumped off in case something goes wrong? Like if I can't work anymore?"
"That was an old agreement that I made with Emperor Smith. Long before I knew who you were and what you would become," Chiun said. "This did not concern that."
Remo stared at Chiun for a moment, then buried his head in his hands. "Maybe it should have," he said. "I'm ... I'm just ... nothing left. It's getting stronger, Chiun. The smell, the feeling. It's with me all the time now, and I can't shake it."
"And you will not be able to shake it, as you say," Chiun said.
"I'm losing my mind. That's all there is to it. Maybe you ought to go back to that old agreement and get it over with and send me to never-never land. Sometime when I'm not looking. No. Do it when I'm looking. I want to make sure you keep your elbow straight."
He smiled at the private joke between them. For ten years he had learned at Chiun's feet and absorbed all that the Master had given him of the disciplines of Sinanju. But praise was not Chiun's way to teach, and when Remo did something perfectly, without flaw, Chiun's final defense against having to praise him was to complain that Remo's elbow was bent and no one with a bent elbow had ever amounted to anything.
But Chiun was not smiling. "I am not going to remove you, no matter what my contract says with the Emperor," he said.
Remo was silent, and Chiun went on. "Instead, I will tell you a story."
Remo's face fell. "Maybe it'd be better if you just killed me."
"Silence, you pale piece of pig's ear. I have little time. This story concerns Master Lu the Disgraced."
"You gave me all that one before. He cleared the muggers off the roads of Rome and then went to work in a circus. Lu the Disgraced. Tsk, tsk."
"And I told you there was more to his story," Chiun said. "And now the rest. And don't you go telling anybody this, because the last years of Lu's life are a story so secret that knowledge of them is restricted always to the reigning Master. I am violating tradition by telling you."
"He must have done something really bad," Remo said. "What was it? It must have had something to do with money. The worst thing that all those old Masters ever did was forget to get paid: Master Lu the Unpaid. No wonder he was disgraced."
Chiun ignored him. He closed his eyes and spoke in Korean, his singsong voice taking on the cadences of ancient poetry as he unfolded the rest of the story of the disgraced Master Lu, who, after his shame in the arenas of Rome, fled that decadent city to wander through the uncharted regions of Asia.
The Master's wanderings, as Chiun related the story, gave Lu no peace in his heart until one day, after all the moons of the year had passed and come and passed again, he ventured into a small village high in the mountains of central Ceylon. The village was an isolated place, far smaller than Sinanju, and the people in it showed the effects of a population closed to outsiders. They were a beautiful people, unlike any the Master had ever seen. Neither white, nor black, nor red, nor yellow, the people of Bathasgata, as the village was known, resembled all the races of the world and yet none.
No one in Bathasgata knew the origins of the humans who lived there, but they were grateful for their land and their village and the companionship of one another.
As a token of their gratitude, the people created a statue out of the clay of their village. They fashioned the statue in the form of a woman more beautiful than any ever made of living flesh and worshiped her by the name of Kali.
But something happened after the statue was completed. The once peaceful villagers began to abandon their fields and flocks to devote all their time to the adoration of Kali. They claimed that although their love pleased the goddess, Kali wanted more than garlands of flowers and prayers written on paper, folded into the likenesses of animals.
She wanted blood. With blood, the devotees claimed, Kali would love them back. But none in the village was willing to sacrifice himself or a loved one to the statue.
It was then that Lu appeared in Bathasgata.
"It is a sign," the worshipers of Kali shouted. "The stranger has come just in time to serve as Kali's sacrifice."
And so the four strongest men of the village fell upon the traveler and sought to kill him. But Lu was Master of Sinanju, and greatest assassin on all the earth, and soon after their assault on him, Lu's attackers lay dead upon the ground.
"They seem only to be asleep," one of the village women said. "There is no blood."
Then the oldest of the village spoke. He said that the arrival of Lu the Master was indeed a sign from the goddess Kali. But the stranger was not to be the sacrifice, rather the instrument of sacrifice. Then the Old One instructed the others to take the bodies of the four dead men to Kali to see if their unshed blood, encased in death, pleased her.