"Not so," said Chiun. "It is I who have brought your daughter. I found her in the thrall of an evil wizard, and recognizing her as of true royal blood, rescued her from this man."
"Then I am doubly grateful," murmured the High Moo, taking his daughter into his arms. He turned away from the Master of Sinanju abruptly.
Chiun's face wrinkled. An emperor did not turn his back on the Master of Sinanju during a formal greeting ceremony. Still, this was the man's daughter, whom he had believed lost. On the other hand, a daughter is only a female who happens to be a blood relation. This was the first meeting between the Master of Sinanju and a High Moo in nearly five thousand years. One would think that the man had more respect for history than to take his daughter aside to gossip. Chiun wondered what it was they discussed, but decided that eavesdropping would not be seemly. Besides, they were too far way.
Remo drifted up beside Chiun.
"What are they saying?" he wanted to know.
"I do not know. But he is probably thanking her profusely for finding me." Chiun noticed Remo's posture. "Straighten up! Do you want the High Moo to think I have trained a laggard?"
"Yes, Master," Remo muttered unhappily.
"Are you certain, my daughter?" the High Moo whispered.
"He alone of all I met spoke our language. He remembers Old Moo."
"But the Master of Sinanju is tall and powerful. This man is elderly. And he carries no weapons."
"I do not understand it either, but I am certain it is he."
"And where are the night tigers? Did he not think enough of my plea to bring his retinue? He travels with a slave, and a sickly pale one at that."
"He is a nice slave," said the princess. "I like him."
"If you are certain; my daughter . . ." the High Moo said vaguely. "But I fear he will not be able to help us. For he is very old and his limbs look as if a fever has withered them."
The High Moo turned to the Master of Sinanju. He forced himself to smile. In his heart he felt sick. The Master of Sinanju had been his last hope.
"I bid you welcome to Moo," he said. "And in honor of your landfall, we have prepared a feast. We have all the foods that in ancient times Masters of Sinanju enjoyed. There is roast pig, turtle, fresh eggs, and we have butchered a Korean delicacy-dog."
"No way, Chiun," Remo whispered in English. "I don't care what taboo it violates. I draw the line at dog."
"Hush, Remo." To the High Moo the Master of Sinanju said, "We are grateful for your thoughtfulness, O High Moo, but times have changed. Masters of Sinanju no longer eat meat."
"No meat?"
"Have you fish?"
"Yes, of course."
"We still eat fish. And rice."
"We have rice. But fish is peasant food." Chiun winced at the implication.
"Here, perhaps," he said, "but in Sinanju it is considered a delicacy."
"Fish and rice are a delicacy nowhere on earth, Little Father," Remo whispered in English.
"What did your slave say?" the High Moo asked.
"He asked if you have lemons," Chiun replied.
"Yes."
"Good, he will have egg-lemon soup. But it must be prepared under my supervision."
"Very well," said the High Moo slowly.
"Thanks a lot, Chiun," Remo said sourly.
"I knew you would appreciate my suggesting it," Chiun replied.
"I don't mean the soup. I meant the fact that you didn't disabuse him of the notion that I'm your slave."
"This bothers you?"
"Slightly," Remo growled, looking at the Low Moo, who stared at him with a wild eager light in the depths of her black eyes.
Chiun suddenly shook his spindly arms free of his sleeves. He raised them to the heavens, and in a loud voice proclaimed, "In honor of this historic occasion, and knowing that the wicked practice of slavery has been long abolished by the enlightened rulers of Moo, I hereby set free my unworthy slave, Remo."
"Oh, you're a thrill," Remo hissed.
"He does not look happy," said the High Moo, taking note of Remo's expression.
"It is the shock," Chiun assured him. "He has been in my family for years. But he will get used to being free."
"And in honor of this meeting, joining the House of Sinanchu with the House of Moo," proclaimed the High Moo, "my royal priest, Teihotu, will bless you both so that no harm will come to you during your sojourn with us." The priest padded out of the crowd. His dark robes rustled like serpents slipping through dry leaves.
"Please kneel," he intoned. Chiun dropped to his knees. Remo did likewise. But only after Chiun pulled him down.
The royal priest laid his bony, long-fingered hands on their heads. Remo noticed that his hands smelled fishy. He held his breath until the man was through muttering incantations to the sky. Then he withdrew and they found their feet.
"Now, quickly, darkness comes," said the High Moo. "We must hurry to light the fires. For when darkness comes, they walk."
Chiun marched in the High Moo's wake. Remo stepped up alongside him.
"Moo looks pretty small, Little Father," he remarked casually.
"You have not seen the whole of it yet," Chiun sniffed.
"You spoke about an empire."
"I told you. Moo sank. This is all that is left."
"Where are the jeweled clothes, the golden shields? And that crown on the High Moo's head looks like an oversize wedding ring with feathers."
"It is his summer crown. I am certain that his winter crown is more impressive."
"I don't think they have winters in the South Pacific."
"And how would you know, O well-traveled one?"
"I remember my geography lessons."
"And did these geography lessons include a history of Moo?"
"No," Remo admitted.
"Then you have been taught by the ignorant and should not be surprised at your own lack of knowledge," Chiun said haughtily.
"Where are the women, by the way?"
"You did not see them because your back was turned as you rowed. They were here smoothing the sand for us. Then they left."
"Yeah? Were they bare-breasted?"
"I did not notice," Chiun said distantly.
"How could you not notice an important thing like that?"
"Because unlike you, I am not a lover of cows."
"Moo," said Remo.
"Is that another of your lame jests?"
"More like a prayer. If there aren't any bare-breasted native women on this sandhill, I've come a long way for nothing. "
"You are very haughty for a newly freed slave," sniffed Chiun. He hastened his step so that he would not have to listen to any more of Remo's nonsense.
Chapter 14
The world had done it to Shane Billiken again.
It was always this way. Just when success was within his grasp, some retro-case would snatch the brass ring away. The Beatles hijacked his singing career. Roy Orbison's lawyers squelched his comeback. And now, two strange men had stolen the perfect channeler out of his own house.
Oh, sure, Glinda had been good. He'd never have gotten into channeling without her. Shane had met her in a Muscle Shoals bar, where she was waitressing. One drink led to another, which led to her apartment. They were reminiscing about the sixties-or Shane was. Glinda hadn't been born until 1967, so was lamenting that she'd missed out on "the good years."
"What was it, like, like?" she had asked.
"You want to experience the sixties?" Shane had replied, firing up a joint. "Try this organic time machine." It was in the smoky moments that followed that he made his discovery. When high, Glinda babbled. Not in English, but in some crazy nonsense baby-talk. That was what had given Shane the channeling idea.
And so was launched the career of Glinda Thrip, who, under certain conditions-usually a joint before a performance-became possessed by the spirit of Shastra, high priestess of Atlantis. Shane Billiken translated her babble into prophecies, for, as he repeated to anyone gullible enough to listen, the high priestess knew all and saw all.