The tension slipped slowly from his shoulders. Chiun noted the change in his pupil's bearing with a nod of approval.
"Now, on to more-pressing matters," the tiny Korean said, his voice growing serious. "I assume by your hesitation before entering Fortress Folcroft that you have spoken to Smith?"
Remo frowned. "Not since I called him from London on our way back from Russia. Why, is something up?"
Chiun pursed his wrinkled lips. Troubled eyes gazed out upon the icy waters.
"That is for the Emperor to say, not his assassin." Remo's brow furrowed.
"Great. More intrigue. I'll go see him now. You coming with?" He was turning to go when he felt a bony hand press his wrist.
"You say you have not spoken to Smith since before you bundled me in a taxi like some nuisance fishwife and headed off to sulk alone?" Chiun asked quizzically.
"Yeah," Remo admitted cautiously.
"If you did not know why you should hesitate before entering Smith's palace, then why did you hesitate at all?" His hazel eyes had grown accusing.
Remo exhaled a heavy sigh. Though the air was cold, his warm breath was invisible as it slipped from between his tightly parted lips.
"It's just-" He paused, gathering strength. "It's just you looked like you might be in a mood, that's all," he said. "You were standing all alone back here in that me-against-the-world pose. I figured it might be safer to tiptoe inside and hide under the bed." He held up his hands. "But it's okay. I assumed wrong. Mea culpa. Now, let's go see what Smitty wants."
This time when he turned to go, the hand that latched on to his wrist was less gentle.
"Mea culpa," the Master of Sinanju echoed. "How appropriate you should use that phrase, given your recent association with the hooligans of Rome."
Oh, God, why did I even open my mouth? Remo asked himself. Aloud, he said, "Good one, Little Father. Ouch. You zinged me but good. Come on, I'll race you inside."
"Why?" Chiun asked, his voice growing pitiful. "Is it garbage-collecting day? Are you in a hurry to throw my meager belongings into the refuse? I beg you in advance to please spare me the lash, Remo, for I am old and frail. It will take me some time to haul my trunks out to the curb."
"Okay, couple of things wrong with that. For one, you're as frail as an avalanche. On top of that, I'm the one who's always had to lug those trunks of yours around. Until a couple of weeks ago, I didn't even think you knew where the handles were."
Chiun held a weak hand to his heart. "As usual I suffer your abuse in silence."
Remo raised a skeptical brow. "For the amount of abuse you claim I dump on you, I'm surprised the Department of Social Services isn't kicking in the door and trying to stick you in a foster home."
The Master of Sinanju shook his head morosely. "I will not be taken in again by your false promises, Remo. When you said recently that others would give me a home to replace the one I lost, I, in my innocence, believed you. I know better than this now. Whoever these Fosters are, they will not put a roof over my aged head. And at the risk of being flogged for my insolence, I find it exceedingly cruel that you would test my trusting nature with the same lie twice."
On their recent trip to California, they had briefly visited a charity event that was being held to raise money for the homeless. The Master of Sinanju had decided that, since he was currently without a residence of his own, the first deed passed out should go to him. Things had not worked out the way he wanted them to, and he had returned to the East Coast emptyhanded.
"I never told you anyone was giving you anything," Remo said firmly. "In fact, I'm the one who told you they wouldn't give you a house."
Chiun raised his button nose in the air. "That is not how I remember it," he said with certainty.
"Big surprise there," Remo said, rolling his eyes.
"I suppose you will next tell me that someone else is to blame," said Chiun. "You have been doing much of this passing of the puck lately. Ever since you and your Roman playmates set fire to Castle Sinanju."
"Oh, boy, here it comes. I did not burn down our house," Remo insisted. "Those Mafia guys did it all by themselves. I've even got an airtight alibi, for chrissakes. I was out eating supper with you."
"Yes, dining while the Romans burned," Chiun droned. "However, that does not erase the fact that you have admitted your own foolishness led them there."
Remo had heard this one before. Unlike in the past, this time he had a response.
"I've copped to that one," Remo nodded. "But I've been doing some thinking about that night. If you hadn't tried tipping that waitress with counterfeit money, we might have gotten home in time to stop them."
Chiun's eyes saucered. His hands clenched to knots of ivory bone. The very air around him stilled. "Are you now saying it is somehow my fault?" he demanded coldly.
"No," Remo insisted quickly. "What I'm saying is it's the fault of whoever programmed the traffic lights that kept us from getting home faster. It's the chef's fault for being too slow in the kitchen. It's as much anyone else's fault as it is mine. I did not burn down our house. End of story."
As quickly as it came, the fight drained from Chiun. "Of course you are right. You are always right." His fragile shoulders rose and sank pitifully.
Remo had known the old con artist long enough to recognize the pose he now struck. He had guessed it as soon as he'd spotted the Master of Sinanju from the parking lot. Chiun was angling for something.
"Why the shift to self-pity mode?" Remo asked warily.
"I am attempting to cope with my great loss," the wizened Asian said. Cold mist from the Sound kissed his leathery cheeks. "There are stages to such a thing, Remo. The first is fear, which neither you nor I experience. The next is denial." His voice dropped low. "You are steeped in that at the moment," he confided.
"I'm not denying anything," Remo sighed.
"Thank you for making my case," Chiun said. "As for the rest, they are unimportant. I have reached the final phase. Bitter acceptance." A pathetic sigh seeped from wrinkled lips, and his shoulders rose and fell once more.
Remo shook his head knowingly. "I know how this game is played," he said. "You haven't accepted diddly. You're up to the bargaining phase, and you know you can catch more flies with moping. So what do you want? And I'm warning you ahead of time, if it's a house you're after we're not getting an eye-sore like the last one."
Although he had grown used to their home of ten years, he wouldn't have picked it himself. Chiun and their employer had gone behind his back to purchase Castle Sinanju.
This time Chiun's gloomy expression was genuine. "Is there more than one Basilica Julia?" the Master of Sinanju lamented. "Where in the Forbidden City did the Chinese build another Palace of Heavenly Purity? Show me Egypt's second Temple of Karnak, that they would have another in the event disaster struck." He shook his head sadly. "There are no two gems alike, Remo. There was only one Castle Sinanju. My beloved home is gone forever."
Remo shared the old man's loss.
"I miss it, too, Little Father," he said gently. "Believe me, I'm not doing cartwheels down the hallways now that we're stuck living in this loony bin again." He glanced at the back of the big building.
Folcroft was a throwback to another age. To the right of the rear loading dock, two stories up, a picture window of mirrored glass reflected tired sunlight.
"I'm sure Smitty isn't thrilled with us being here, either," Remo continued. "That's probably what he wants now. To send us packing. Speaking of which, he's probably having a spaz attack right now if he sees us out here like this. I better go see what he wants."
Turning, he headed up the rickety old dock. Expression thoughtful, the Master of Sinanju kept pace. Not a single warped board so much as creaked beneath their combined weight. They hit the shore and began mounting the hill.