"What did he look like?" asked Smith.
"His face was masked, ninja-style," Remo said.
"And with good reason," said Chiun. "Did I ever tell you about the ninjas and the Masters of Sinanju, Emperor Smith?"
"I don't believe so," said Smith.
"You will like this tale," said Chiun, drawing up a chair so he could be closer to Smith. "And I have many more besides. "
"While you're regaling Smith with tales of Sinanju, I'm going for a walk," said Remo. "And for the record, Smitty, the ninja was six-foot-one, white, and had blue eyes."
"He was my height, Japanese, with beady black eyes," insisted the Master of Sinanju.
"And I'm Kris Kringle," snorted Remo, slamming the door behind him.
"Do not mind him, Emperor," said Chiun after Remo had gone. "Obviously he is not well."
"What makes you say that?"
"Any man who would mistake a Japanese ninja for a fat white man in a ninja costume is obviously sick. I think Remo's mind is going soft. After all, he is the first white to learn Sinanju. For years I have been concerned that his weak white mind could not endure the strain of perfection, and now I am sure of it. I only hope he does not reject his training entirely. All the more reason for us to reach a new agreement. "
"Didn't Remo say the ninja wore a mask? It's possible that one of you was thrown off because his face was obscured," said Smith, turning the black plastic card over and over in his hands, as if its secret could be worried from it.
"All ninjas wear masks," spat Chiun. "It is a curse that Sinanju has placed upon them. Let me tell you that story."
"Yes, of course," said Smith absently. The plastic card held his attention.
"Once," said Chiun, striding to the center of the room, "a Master of Sinanju was hired by a Japanese emperor. The year was A.D. 645 by Western dating."
"What was the Master's name?"
Chiun paused in his pacing of the room. "That is an excellent question," he complimented. "A very excellent question. Remo has never asked such an intelligent question in all the years I have worked with him."
"Thank you," said Smith. "But I was just curious."
"Master Sam was his name," said Chiun, bowing in recognition of the wisdom of Emperor Smith in asking such an insightful question. "Now, Sam was summoned to the court of Japan by its emperor of that time."
"His name?"
"Sam. I have said it already," said Chiun, his face stung. "No, I meant the Japanese emperor."
"Pah! What matter his name? That is not important to the legend."
"Keep talking while I look it up," said Smith, reaching for his computer keyboard. After a moment he looked up. "It was Emperor Tenchi."
"Possibly," said the Master of Sinanju vaguely. Why did Smith always insist upon wallowing in foreign trivia? he wondered. "Now, this emperor," Chiun went on, "whose name might have been Tenchi, told the Master Sam that he had enemies. And the emperor told where his enemies might be found, in their homes or in their places of business. And one by one, the Master swooped down upon each of these enemies and they were no more. And each time Master Sam returned to the ruler of Japan to report success, the emperor said unto him, 'Go not yet, for I have discovered a new enemy. Attend to him as you did the others before him and I will increase the tribute to be paid to Sinanju.'
"And because the Master Sam did not wish to leave his work undone, he took responsibility for each new victim as they were brought to his attention by the emperor. Until with the fifth victim, the Master of Sinanju grew suspicious because some of these men were simple peasants, without wealth or will to plot against the chrysanthemum throne."
"I see," said Smith, his eyes drawn to the greenish light of his computer terminal as a steady stream of news digests flashed on and off.
The Master of Sinanju ignored his emperor's rudeness. The legends of Sinanju were traditionally shared between Master and pupil, not Master and emperor. Did Smith not understand why he was being told this story? Still, he would ignore Smith's inattentiveness this time. The white mind was congenitally incapable of focusing on one thought for very long.
"And so, charged to eliminate a sixth victim, the Master went early to the place the emperor had told him the plotter would be found. Arriving there, he discovered concealed high in a tree a spy who had been sent there to watch the Master Sam work his art.
"Taking the spy by the scruff of the neck, Master Sam demanded of this man his true business. And the spy, knowing full well the power of Sinanju, trembled and said, 'O Master, my emperor seeks the wisdom of Sinanju, which I was to observe and report to him, just as I have observed you kill the others.' And the spy also revealed that the emperor had no known enemies. The Master had been slaughtering peasants."
"That's terrible," said Smith.
"Not as bad as it could have been." Chiun shrugged.
"I fail to see how it could have been worse."
"Master Sam was paid for his work in advance."
"Oh," said Smith.
"Now," Chiun continued, "having learned these things, the Master had a final question for the spy of the Japanese emperor, and it was this, 'What have you learned, spy?' And the spy replied in a suitable quavering voice that he had learned from watching the Master of Sinanju how to move stealthily by wearing clothes the color of night, how to climb sheer walls like a spider, and certain ways of killing with openhanded blows."
"And Master Sam killed him, naturally," said Smith, thinking that he understood how the mind of Sinanju Masters worked.
"No, of course not," Chiun said irritably. "The Japanese emperor did not pay him to kill that man." Why was Smith so dense? It must be a white trait, he decided. Remo was like that too.
"He let him go, even though he had learned Sinanju?"
"Imperfectly," corrected Chiun. "He had learned Sinanju imperfectly. His blows were weak, and in order to climb walls he needed artificial aids. Like spikes and grappling hooks. No, he did not learn Sinanju. He stole the inspiration, but in practice he was like a mechanical man pretending to be human. So Master Sam said to this man, 'Return to your emperor and tell him you have learned naught but how to skulk and steal, and also tell him that the Master of Sinanju kills for payment, not for the enlightenment of emperors.' "
"What was his name, this man?" wondered Smith.
"Why would you ask such a question?" demanded Chiun in an exasperated voice. "What has that to do with anything?"
"Historical curiosity," said Smith. "That man was the founder of ninjutsu."
"Founder!" spat Chiun. "He did not find anything, he stole it! Have you not listened to a word I have said? You whites are all alike."
"Er, never mind," said Smith hastily. "I'll look it up later. But you haven't told me why the ninjas go about masked. "
Chiun subsided. "Very well," he said in a controlled voice. "It happened years later, after word came out of Japan of a new sect of assassins who dressed in black and were known as ninjas. And Master Sam ventured back into Japan, unsummoned and unknown, in order to evaluate this new competition. And he found a tiny band of these ninjas, and their leader was this unimportant thief from years before, who had trained others. Of course, they were as clumsy as monkeys, but that is not the point. They were taking work that should have gone to Sinanju."
"So naturally Master Sam killed them all this time," said Smith, who knew that Sinanju Masters stopped at nothing to guard their livelihood.
Chiun froze in the middle of a grand flourish and fixed his brittle hazel eyes upon Dr. Harold W. Smith.
Smith felt a chill, as if the cold rain had somehow penetrated the great picture window to run down his back. He shook his head in a silent negative.
Chiun shook his head in response, and went on, the edge in his voice glittering. "Master Sam stood before this thief and his face was wrathful. But he did not slay him. Instead, he said to him, 'You have stolen that which lasts longer than rubies. You have stolen wisdom. I could kill you, ninja, but you are a child imitating his elders, and I will not kill you. Instead, hear my curse: you are a thief, and I curse you, and all who follow in your path, to forevermore conceal your faces in shame. And should any of your number in succeeding generations ever go about his skulking work with his face uncovered, the Master of Sinanju will no longer suffer your existence. And that is why to this very day these so-called ninjas go about with their heads covered."