"And now we will feast!" proclaimed the king of Macedonia in an expansive voice. And all raised glasses of plum brandy in toast to the return of the Master of Sinanju.
Chiun beamed more broadly. His thin eyes narrowed to happy little walnuts of pleasure. His long-nailed hands came together like an infant applauding himself.
"Did you hear that, Remo? A feast. Smith never so much as invited us to break bread in his home."
"Good. I'm starved."
"Hush. The feast is not for our stomachs, but for our souls."
"Still, I'm eating."
"Remember your pledge. No maize."
"Don't remind me."
When the food came, it was conveyed in steaming pots and samovars. There was much lamb, great hunks of beef and fowl and other dishes that delighted the senses with their vibrant colors and scents.
When all was laid out before them and the king of Macedonia had joined them on the floor of his palace dining room, whose Western-style furniture had been cleared out in deference to the more refined sensibilities of the Master of Sinanju, Remo and Chiun both spoke the same sentence in the same beat.
"Where is the rice?"
"Rice?" said the ruler of Macedonia. "Rice is Greek."
"Rice is Korean," said Chiun.
"Rice is food," echoed Remo.
"Have we rice?"
The chief said, "No. Rice is outlawed as a forbidden Greek foodstuff."
Remo started. "You outlawed rice?"
"Greek rice," the Macedonian king said hastily. "Unfortunately we have no Korean rice."
"Japanese rice will suffice," said Chiun.
"Or Chinese," added Remo.
"Alas, we have no rice of any kind due to an unjust Greek embargo."
Chiun's hands fluttered in annoyance. "No rice? No rice? The first Master of Sinanju was paid in rice."
The downcast king of Macedonia brightened. "Truly? You would accept rice in payment?"
"No. I said the first Master, for in the days of the first Master gold was unknown and the first coins lay in the dirt unminted."
"I didn't know that," said Remo, genuinely interested. "I guess that's sorta like Will Work For Food, huh?"
A slap on his knee informed Remo that he was not to interrupt again.
"It was in the days of Master Kum that the House first knew of gold. When offered gold instead of rice, he instead slew the king who requested service."
"Did he keep the gold?" the Macedonian king wondered.
"Of course. For it was payment," Chiun answered testily.
"Later, a king of Lydia named Croesus created the first coins of gold, and Kum, curious of this, sought service of him. When the coin was proffered, it looked to Kum's eye like a kind of food the Japanese made, ornate and appealing to the eye. When the king attempted to show its purity by making tooth marks on it, Master Kum took the coin and attempted to eat it."
"He slay Croesus?" Remo asked.
"No. But as gold and coin became the currency of greatest value in the ancient world, Masters ever since have demanded gold first and other valuables secondly."
"You will not accept rice?" asked the king of Macedonia.
"As tribute, yes. As payment, no. You have gold?"
"Some. Some. But I must tell you about Macedonia."
"Where's the fish?" interrupted Remo.
"In with the stew."
"I can't eat fish stew."
"It is good."
"It has corn floating in it," Remo complained.
"Pick the corn out."
"He cannot taste any food that has been contaminated by corn," Chiun said loftily. "For he has allergies."
Remo hunted among the arrayed dishes with his dark eyes. "You got duck?"
"No duck. But there are many delightful dishes prepared. Sample any. If you like it, eat your fill."
"I'll have water," said Remo unhappily.
A flagon of water big enough to bathe in was hauled in by two strapping waiters.
Remo dipped a finger in, sniffed and sampled it.
"Brackish."
"It came from the Varda."
"Brackish," Remo repeated.
Chiun spoke up. "Back to the gold."
"This is a proud land," said the king of Macedonia, beating the sunburst on his chest in his deep pride. "The Serbs conquered us. The Turks conquered us. The Greeks conquered us. But we are still here. We are still Macedonians."
Chiun nodded sagely. "Do you contemplate continued service or a single dispatch?"
"We invite the House of Sinanju to bask in the radiance of the Sun of Vergina for as long as you wish, because our houses share such deep historical ties."
"Yes. Very good. Macedonia is eternal," Chiun stated.
"I am glad you think that way."
"But gold is forever. Duration of service equals the weight of gold. In order to speak of the gold, the service required must be known."
"You may have all the gold in our treasury, if only you will swear allegiance to Great Macedonia," the king said magnanimously.
Chiun's small nose wrinkled up. Remo dipped a cup into the brackish water and sipped slowly through his clenched teeth, hoping to strain out the most disagreeable impurities. To the horror of all, he ended up spitting the water back into the flagon.
The Master of Sinanju raised his voice to cover the rude noise.
"Sinanju will consider extended service, then. And the gold in your treasury will suffice—"
The king of Macedonia clapped his hands together. "Excellent!"
"—providing it is equivalent to the gold bestowed upon the House by the Persian, Darius."
The king stroked his chin carefully. "How much gold was that?"
Eyeing the attentive retinue, Chiun said, "Some matters are best not spoken of in the presence of those who depend upon the gold of the emperor for their comforts."
"Ah." The king leaned forward. An amount was whispered in his ear.
The king froze, leaned back on his cushion and went so pale his scarlet robes deepened to crimson.
"That would be acceptable," he said slowly.
"Good."
"—if we had such an amount. But we do not."
Chiun frowned. "How much gold does your treasure house contain?"
The king looked left and right and leaned forward. He whispered an amount.
On his cushion the Master of Sinanju stiffened, hazel eyes widening.
All the color drained from his face. He arose, so perfect he might have been a yellow flower seeking the sun.
"Come, Remo," he said in a cold voice. "We must leave this fraud that dare call itself Macedonia, for they have no gold."
The king of Macedonia leapt to his feet. "Please do not go."
"Forget it," said Remo, opening the exit door for the haughty figure of the Master of Sinanju. "Next time remember the rice."
Remo had to drive the limo back to the airport, and when he got there, the entire artillery complement of the Macedonian army sat waiting. Both cannons.
After a knot of sweating officers finished ramming the iron balls into the mouth and tamping them down with ramrods resembling giant Q-Tips, they fired the powder hole with a Bic lighter.
Remo was just exiting the limo when the cannon-ball began whistling in his direction.
One ball arced high from the west. Remo stepped to the rear fender and slammed the trunk lid with a hand that caused it to spring open.
The ball impacted the vertical armored trunk lid, making a wonderful reverberation. The ball stuck to the lid. Remo smacked it with his hand, dislodging it. It toppled into the trunk, and Remo slammed the lid back. The limo stopped rocking on its springs.
The other ball came whistling from the south and, after it whistled over their heads, went whistling happily to the north.
It landed somewhere in a patch of weeds with a meaty thunk.
Climbing aboard the waiting jet, Remo waved to the chagrined artillery officers and closed the door behind the Master of Sinanju.