"Next time, guys," Remo said. And the raft shoved off. The Master of Sinanju strode from the bleak rocks to the stretch of sandy beach. He looked around him, his face unreadable.
"At least I am home, where I am respected by my people," he said solemnly.
"You've got a short memory, Little Father."
"No, it is my villagers who have short memories. In the past, they thought well of you because you had agreed to care for the village and uphold its traditions when I am gone. But a full year has passed. Their memory of your promises has faded from their hardworking minds. Instead, they will remember the great accomplishments of Chiun, who has brought new glory to their lives."
"We'll soon know, because I see people coming now." A small group of villagers stumbled down to the beach. Remo recognized old Pullyang in the lead.
"Pullyang will know if there has been a problem," Remo said confidently.
"Yes," agreed Chiun. "Pullyang will know." He closed his eyes and stuck out his hand so that his worshipful villagers could kiss it as they sang adorations. In a moment, he heard the traditional Korean words in all their glory.
"Hail, Master of Sinanju, who sustains the village and keeps the code faithfully. Our hearts cry a thousand greetings of love and adoration. Joyous are we upon the return of him who graciously throttles the universe."
But his hand remained cool, unwarmed by adoring touches.
"Cut it out," complained Remo. "You're drooling all over my hand. Chiun, how do you get them to stop?"
The Master of Sinanju's hazel eyes blazed open. The sight was a shock to his aged heart. There were the villagers-his people-clustered about Remo, kissing his hands and offering him the traditional greeting.
Chiun stamped a sandaled foot. A nearby barnacled rock split and fell in two sections. Chiun yelled in Korean. "He is not Master yet! I am still Master! I, Chiun. Do you hear me? You, Pullyang, speak to me. Has there been any trouble since last you wrote? Is the treasure safe?"
"Yes," said Pullyang, scurrying to fall at Chiun's feet. "And are my scrolls still in their resting places?"
"Yes, O Master," said Pullyang.
"Pullyang deserted his post," said a pinch-faced woman, running to Chiun's side. "He fled when the devil herons came."
"Herons?" asked Chiun, not understanding.
Pullyang threw himself at Chiun's feet. "I only left to call the villagers back after they fled the coming of the purple birds. They had all deserted the village for the hills. I went after them when the birds were gone."
"You left the House of the Masters unguarded!" shrieked Chiun.
"For minutes only," protested Pullyang.
"Minutes! An empire can fall in seconds."
"No harm was done," Pullyang promised. "I examined the door. It was locked."
"Did you enter?"
"No, I would have had to break the door. That is forbidden."
"Not when it assures that all my property is safe. Come, Remo, we must see to the treasure."
"What's the rush?" Remo said testily. "If it's gone, it's gone. The trail won't get any colder. I want to see Mah-Li. Why isn't she here?"
"Do not be a complete fool. It is forbidden for you to see her. You are to be married."
"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Remo.
"The bride is always placed in seclusion before she is wed. It is traditional in this country. You will see her at the ceremony. "
"When? Next year?"
"No, tomorrow. The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow," snapped Chiun. "Now, are you coming?"
"Tomorrow? Really, Chiun? No tricks?"
"No tricks. Now, will you come?"
"I'm with you," said Remo.
At the door to the House of the Masters, Chiun examined the wood with a critical eye.
"There," said Remo. "It's still sealed."
"We shall see," replied Chiun, pressing the top panels, which released the inner locks. Then he removed the bottom panel, undid the dowel, and pushed the door open.
Remo followed him in. Old Pullyang lit tapers on the floor. Light swelled in the main room, revealing stacks of gold and treasure surrounding the low teak throne of the Master of Sinanju.
"The treasure's still here," Remo pointed out.
"There is more than one treasure of Sinanju," sniffed Chiun, stepping into the next room, where his steamer trunks reposed. Chiun fell upon these and snapped open each lid until all seventeen displayed their contents.
"Looks fine to me," said Remo.
"Someone has been in here," Chiun said softly.
"Says who?" Remo demanded.
"Say I. Look," Chiun said, lifting pinched fingers to Remo's nose.
Remo looked. Something like a silver thread hung from Chiun's fingertips.
"A hair," he said. "So what?"
"Not just any hair, but the hair of the Master Wang."
"Wang?"
"Yes, it is customarily stretched across the receptacle of the oldest, most sacred scrolls of Sinanju and anchored at either end by the saliva of the current Master. It is an honored Sinanju tradition."
"I think it's gotten around since then," Remo said dryly.